Semi-Wordless Wednesday: Nature Edition.

Nature. We love it. No, for real.

We're doomed.

Can someone please call the ranger?

5 Ways Quaker Has Saved – and Fueled – My Mornings

The very hungry, very pregnant blogger in me is thrilled to be writing a sponsored post on behalf of Quaker and their spectacular line of breakfast foods. Yum.

When you have little kids – I've got two and another on the way – you learn very quickly that it’s important to feed them. (Like, all the time.) You also learn very quickly that they like options. Delicious options. Especially for breakfast, which is defined as “a very, very early meal needing to be served to your family before you've had your first cup of coffee.”

The good people at Quaker understand me and my breakfast dilemmas. They dig that, while I’m totally onboard to serve my kiddos healthy and tasty foodstuffs, I’m not the most awesome 7:00 am sous chef. So, to that end, I present 5 Ways Quaker Has Saved – and Fueled –  My Mornings:

5. Quaker Oatmeal. (Which my preschooler calls “oppameal,”something I hope will nevereverever change). We’re currently digging on Quaker’s Perfect Portions cinnamon instant oatmeal, a resealable bag of awesome. And did I mention “instant”? Listen, the quicker we can get to the coffee-makin’, the better.

Try some, kids.

4. Healthy Nourishment. Those really, really good aforementioned instant oats? They contain no added sugar. I could make some kinda cutesy joke about how my kids are sweet enough, but the honest truth is that I fear those sugar crashes.

3. Energy. Everybody and their Mama knows that oat-based breakfast foods give you (read: your kids) enough get up n’ go to actually get up n’ go. (Like the kind of physical activity that’ll inspire them to ride their bikes/run around the yard/ leave the kitchen long enough to let you wipe down the room.) I love seeing how it fuels their days.

2. Soccer! Lately we've been talking about how our hometown soccer team, the Chicago Fire, is teaming up with Quaker to host The Quaker Invitational. It will bring together hundreds of Chicago Fire Junior teams from around the country for a weekend of soccer, community, and fun. (Considering the type of breakfast-table convos that can occur between two little kids, this new topic is straight refreshing.)

1. Cookies. Quaker makes breakfast cookies. Cookies that are for breakfast. I cannot get enough of them. Namely,Quaker's Soft Baked Bars Banana NutBread. High in fiber, crazy amounts of vitamins and protein – lalala – I’m eating cookies for breakfast.

Full disclosure: My daughters do not yet know about number 1.

I feel not a qualm in the world.

Neither does Susannah.

I've been compensated by Quaker for my review, but all thoughts and opinions (and empty soft baked bar wrappers) are my own.

Keely's Best Weekend Ever (AKA Who's Paying For All These Sitters?)

So here's what's happened since we last spoke...

An Awesome Weekend

('cause yeah, I'm totally channeling college and pretending that Thursday is "the weekend"):

I met up with a bunch o' bloggy pals on Thursday (although not nearly enough- it was sadly but a mere cross-section of the girls with whom I wanted to dine and shriek and hold hands)...

Even though we were seated at a table for 20, Kristin and I pretended to be on a super romantic date.
Which entails feeding each other truffle fries. Obviously.

And I hugged Jennie- but not nearly for long enough. (Gal made it here from France!)

Also at this fabulous dinner were Arnebya, Deb, and Kristen...and they're all too cool for school.
And taller than me.

And this lady and I couldn't stop high-fiving each other and laughing like loons.

On Friday, I went to our darling friends' KT and Nate's rehearsal dinner...and was on a date with this guy...

Cheer up, buddy.
Seriously, it's a good thing I am currently With Child,
because this kid was giving me ridiculous Baby Feelings.

Saturday brought a stunning wedding, a radiant bride and groom, and at least one unexpected photo op:

It's kinda like a prom photo. Sitting down. Looking in opposite directions.
And someone on the date is pregnant. Otherwise- uncanny.

And P.J. and his pals (all the way from high school through college) performed a song.
By the Backstreet Boys. Maybe "performed" isn't strong enough. Try "emoted."
Again, to the Backstreet Boys.

Since it isn't possible to wish you this kind of week (because they don't come along all that often), I'll just go ahead and hope that your week includes dancing and laughter and incredible food and divine friends.

And hopefully a Backstreet Boys song. 

Best Friends You Haven't Yet Met.

In seventh grade, I had a pen pal who lived in Colorado. Through our respective English classes, we wrote weekly letters to each others' schools: What's your town like? Do you play any sports? Isn't my English teacher the best? (In case the letters were being monitored.) After school let out for the summer, we decided to keep writing- after all, this was pre-email (well, all but the most basic and expensive email, that is) and, growing up in Massachusetts, how else was I gonna find out about such glamorous, far-flung locations like Colorado? Even though we didn't meet in person until high school, I had already decided that he was one of the most awesome people I would ever know.

And in Freshman year of high school, I was introduced to what longtime readers of this blog know as the very geeky, very awesome text-based roleplaying adventure/magic/kill 'em online game, the one with which I'd be obsessed for [what my college pals would tell me was] way too long. During my stint with this game, I met a guy- a kid, really- who lived in Illinois. He was just so nice and so cool and, even though my mother had a (not-so-quiet) suspicion that he was a 60 year-old axe murderer masquerading as a high school junior, I was pretty sure that this dude would always be one of my best friends. (It was reinforced, too, when he came to visit my college while I worked admissions. He wanted to see if enrolling would be a good fit for him, too. It wasn't. Waaay too many hippies.)

And tonight, I get to meet even more of these stranger/BFF amalgamations.

When I became a blogger, I met and re-connected with a lot of great people; frequent readers, friends with whom I'd lost touch, and other bloggers. There's something kind of special (and intriguing) about scrolling though the details of someone else's life- and it's even cooler when you yourself are a blogger as well. I now have a wonderful group of gal pal bloggers who know my kids' milestones. My anniversary plans (and subsequent derailments). And why I have a terrible, awful fear of rats. I count these folks among some of my closest friends- especially since I keep up with their comings and goings (and vice versa) more than my high school and college besties. (Note to high school and college besties: Start a blog. For seriously. It will all but eradicate that late night I Haven't Returned Her Call Yet She's Gonna Think I Haaate Her guilt.)

So yeah, I have a trend of forming lifelong friendships with people, distance notwithstanding. Face-to-face chats notwithstanding. (And super-early-advent-of-the-internet notwithstanding. If you think it's easy to maintain a friendship during the age of dollar a minute dial up, well then, friend- you don't know what's what.)

And these relationships hold up. Besides meeting some of these fabulous bloggers tonight, there are already plans in the works for future writing workshops n' retreats n' glorified slumber parties.

And that guy pal from Illinois? He's easily one of my best friends and, just shy of two years ago, became Susannah's godfather.

And as for my first pen pal, he's still quite the awesome guy. But you know who else is awesome? His beyond-terrific wife, whom I also count as a close pal and who also happens to be a wonderful blogger. (And whom I've also yet to meet. YET.) Just goes to show: people who are supposed to know each other always find a way to know each other.

Also? God bless the internet.

Keely Goes Into Sugar Shock At The Windy City Soiree.

A warning: not since my wedding album has there been such a compilation of photos featuring mainly ME. However, yesterday's Windy City Soiree at Chicago's divine Water Tower Place (hosted by the equally divine ChicagonistaLIVE Show) was so supra-awesome fun (and required a good deal of selfies), that I decided to post some of my favorites. 

One of the "missions" involved stopping by Express and trying on our faves.
Whilst pregnant, oversized sunglasses are always a nice n' safe bet. 

This is the face of a girl who covets a skinny-topped li'l Free People dress.

Strawberry shake from MBurger. It made me forget that nothing had fit me at Express.

My editors, Betsy and Kristin, from The Little Style File at the fashion show!

After my gait analysis at S.A. Elite, I tried for a "serious athlete" face.
I think I ended up with "seriously sad."

This is the prize-winning photo at Candyality. No, really, I won a backpack full
of candy and swag because of my natural I LOVE CANDY face.
(Stay in school, kids, stay in school.)

Pose with some high heels at Akira Shoes? Uh, OKIE DOKIE!

Another mission included photobombing with a steamed bun cut-out from Wow Bao.
The least likely placed I expected to find a pork bun? An athletic store.
Well played, pork bun, well played.

So I think we all know the moral of the story, here. Everyone should be a blogger. It is, quite honestly, the funnest job in the history of fun.

Okay, maybe we still need a few doctors and scientists. A third of you? Study those things.

I'll see the rest of you at the candy store.

The Way To A Girl's Heart Is Through Her Neighborhood Eateries.

Occasionally, I get the urge to move. Somewhere else. Anywhere else. The far reaches of the country, the edge of the forest, smack dab in the center of small town America (with a three-color gingerbread Victorian). Away from the nonstop noise, away from the screechy (and drunken) neighbors, away from the Good Lord, change your a/c filter, you're blowing rancid air right into our shared walkway/my nasal passages.

But then I have a weekend like this past one. Which starred, namely, the food of my oft-condemned 'hood.

There were the sweet cherry tomatoes, abundant raspberries, and rampant mint of my backyard- picked by some pretty cute li'l blonde farmhands.

There was the takeout barbecue joint that recently moved in three blocks down the road. (Chicago pals, if you haven't tried Small's Smoke Shack, go there. Run there. Say hi to me there. Because I'll be there.) Between the brisket and the pulled pork and the fried chicken and grilled elotes and copious dipping sauces (comprised of garlic mayo and bacon mustard and banana ketchup), we didn't say a word to each other during the meal- except for "Have you tried this yet?" and "Are you eating garlic mayo with a spoon?"

And there was the leftover duck cassoulet (from Chalkboard!) handed to me by a pal who stopped over after a celebratory dinner...to watch my children...so I could hear Eddie Vedder play at Wrigley Field from atop our friends' posh roof deck. I mean, really.

Obviously, there were also tamales verdes from Veronica, our favorite tamale cart goddess (because this unborn child- like the two who have come before him/her- is a goodly part Mexican food).

And since yesterday WAS National Ice Cream Day (Observed), we celebrated with chocolate cherry Bordeaux ice cream...and a few of the chocolate chip cookies that Peej and the girls made. Because- Ice Cream Day.

Serious bakers.

While no amount of food can erase last night's overheard (and shrieked) conversation about the merits of Walgreens from my brain...I'd have to be pretty daft to leave a part of town which shoves this kinda food into my mouth.

I'm many things, but rarely daft.

Over-full, yes. Definitely.

Unless you're making a quick trip to Small's.

Then I want the brisket.

The Kiddos Take You To Montrose Beach.

This morning, I took the girls to the beach. And thought I'd show you the drive towards the lake, just so everyone (i.e., non-Chicagoans) can see how bizarre it is that there are miles of beach within a major metropolitan area. (Like- not off a highway, not a town over, just right there. In the city.)

Pulled out of our alley and headed east on Montrose. It's very quiet here at 9am- the drunks are sleeping
it off and no one (to the best of my knowledge) is running around naked. Not pictured: three separate tamale
vendors. Also not naked. Just incredibly awesome.

Just over ten minutes later (because a high heat index apparently makes every stoplight turn red) we're under
the Lake Shore Drive overpass and pulling into the marina/park/beach/rollerbladers.

View from the parking lot. That little person by the bike trail is Nora, yelling at me to either hurry
up with the beach toys or to leave Susannah and hurry up with the beach toys.

Just past the bike trail, the march to the beach (whereupon Nora is already too tired to go any further). It's been
roughly nine feet. Also, Zuzu is done with her sunglasses for the whole day.

Free of their possessions, the girls have renewed energy to hike the [admittedly long] walk to the actual water.
The sand on Montrose Beach is actually sandy. Not so in all other Chicago beaches. Also- it is boiling hot.

Zu is the thrilled-iest to be dumping water on things which can actually get wet. (A big change from the other 95 percent
of her daily existence.) Also, her bottoms look like they're about to fly away. I assure you this did not happen.

This beach has the coolest (and cutest) miniature seashells. Like, teensy twists and impossibly small bivalves. 

We made sandcastles, witch's castles, and a moat for Zuzu to stomp in. (We also went swimming- but I'm
not insane. The camera phone stayed in the beach bag. In a Ziploc.) 

Beach picnic! 2 parts salami, 1 part sand.

Two hours later (and ten degrees warmer), we headed home. Thankfully Nora was there
to put Zu's hood onto her [sweltering] head.

Beached. Also? My car is now 2 parts sand, 1 part apple slices.

I love summer.

Officer, I'd Like To Report A Herbicide.

When P.J. and I moved in together, we received a housewarming plant. And even though I have a solid track record of alternating between over-loving plants (watering and pruning within an inch of their lives) and letting them die slow, neglected deaths, I seemed to be doing okay with Planty.

Even when I didn't allow for proper drainage, Planty persevered.

And that time[s] I forgot to water Planty for roughly three weeks, he still grew another inch. 

We had a good, bizarre run for seven years.

However, the other day I had the brilliant idea of moving our indoor plants to the outside patio. Lovely fresh air, a consistent watering schedule, and gentle exposure to the elements. Seven years of neglect + three days of awesome treatment = 

A dead Planty.

"I can still tend the rabbits, George? I didn't mean no harm, George."

...I'm so sorry, Planty.

I'll miss your tough-as-nails, Can Do Midwestern attitude, and foliage of indeterminate origins.

Rest in peace.

(And if you wanna see what I'm doing when I'm not killing shrubberies, check out my guest post over at the awesome Greta Funk's GFunkified! She's the coolest, her Great Expectations series is fabulous, and my post is...concerning my failures as a wife and mother. Enjoy!)

Cold Cereal Would've Been Faster.

We were approaching hour six of the drive home yesterday- right around dinnertime. The girls had been good. SO good. They'd napped, read, played, and watched individual media like champions.

I had also been good. (SO good.) I'd written and filed and emailed and kept my passenger seat comments to a minimum. (Hush up, P.J., I did. Ponder THAT.)

So when we hit the city limits, Peej suggested we stop and pick up dinner to make that aspect of mealtime (and clean up) that much cinchier. I called in an order, pausing to ask P.J. which street the restaurant was located on.

"Clybourn. Right by the store, so I'll go grab some milk, too."

I phoned in dinner (in more ways than one), and quietly prided myself on having a night that was shaping up to be extremely easy. We pulled up to the restaurant and I ran in to grab it.

"Name?"

"Keely."

"Spelled?" (I spelled it.)

"Did you call it in?" (I had.)

"...Was it phoned into this location?"

I took to a sec to breathe, not roll my eyes at this moron, and even pulled out my phone to confirm that I had called them- these flighty people at the Clybourn restaura-

"Wait a sec. We're on Elston, aren't we?" (He nodded patiently.)

We were on Elston, of course we were. This was the one we always went to, not their other place on Clybourn, nearly two miles south of here. I smiled jovially. (I think they were glad to see me go.) I got back into the car, giving the same bright smile to my quizzical husband.

"Hey!" I beamed. "We called in order to CLYBOURN!"

He gave me a weird look. "Of course we did. And it's right- GAH."

So we drove to Clybourn, berating ourselves for acting like tourists (and not the braindead parents who had resided here for over a decade). My monologue was silent. P.J.'s was not. And as we drove, we gave the evil eye to the people clogging the roads at 6pm on a Sunday, all of these other folks who were out and about wanting dinner. (Jerks.)

We got to Clybourn and I ran inside. Gave my name. And got a strange look.

"I just gave you your food."

"No, you didn't."

"To your husband?"

"Ah, definitely no."

She went to the back room. Came out with a manager. Who conferred with a third party, the order-taker.

"Yeah, Keely," he said.

"Yep!"

"The guy who just came in."

"Nope!"

The manager listed my order- exactly- and stared at me. I confirmed. After a painfully long time of re-listing, re-confirming, re-questioning, and trying to figure out if I was some sort of prankster, they checked their phone. Turns out, there were two identical orders placed, one right after the other; same salads, pasta, soup, all of it. Hilarity.

So they made me a fresh order. Took a nice discount from the price. And I got back to the car roughly ten minutes later, greeting my confused family and waving a gigantic bag of food. P.J. was miffed. Really miffed.

"They gave away our food? They had to make us new food?"

I showed him the receipt with the sizeable discount.

He smiled.

And he agreed that everything had worked out for the best, after all.

Pictures That May Just Make You Feel Awesome.

Sometimes, after a long week of posting about cancer (and how you inadvertently flash your thong at church), it's nice to see some pictures of baybees being all cute:

Fun factoid: Their swimsuits are interchangeable. That's right, my 1.5 and 3.5 year olds wear the same swimmies.

"I'm not tired. I'm just gonna sit here. Sideways. With my eyes closed. For an hour and a half. NOT TIRED."

Cancer And I Need To Have Words.

So listen, I'm super duper sick of writing about cancer. Because it sucks and it's awful and it's evil and I want it to stop affecting my loved ones (and their loved ones). 

But I'm gonna need to go ahead and ask for some more of those Hey Internet, Let's Beat Cancer vibes.

Because my Uncle Felix- an extremely good friend of my family's and my sister Rachel's godfather- was just stricken with cancer. And it's bad. Like, wicked, wicked, inoperable bad. And that's just wrong. Like, wicked, wicked this can't be possible wrong. Because Uncle Fe is the guy who makes the rules. He doesn't depend on the calendar to tell him when Christmas is; he is Christmas. 

Case in point: Whenever he'd visit us as kiddos (multiple times a year), he'd bring a carload of presents. Because (he'd say) that he missed Christmas (he never missed Christmas) or that someone's birthday was coming up and he didn't want anyone else to feel badly because he wasn't sure if he'd celebrated their birthday (he had), and "Dave and Debbie, are you trying to tell me what to do?" (They didn't stand a chance.) 

One year, during our vacation to Cape Cod, he decided that he must've missed everyone's birthday because he arrived with four birthday cakes. One for each Flynn girl. We couldn't possibly be expected to share, could we? (We agreed that no, we could not. Not for something as sacred as an individual birthday.) 

Netflix Wants To Make Your Summer Easier (And Nicer).

This is a sponsored post written by me on behalf of Netflix. (Whoo hoo!)

No one should be surprised by now that my family loves watching movies. And shows. And documentaries. And war epics. (Okay, that last one is a highly specific cross-section of the family which includes just one individual. He’s the tallest. And the only boy. And he’s P.J.)

And I know y’all know how hard I love Netflix. The instant gratification. The nonexistent commercials. And the ability to- say- watch it from nearly any device as I fold laundry/wash dishes/distract the heck outta my children. That’s not to say we haven’t been spending an insane amount of this [rainy] summer outdoors. We have. But sometimes- just sometimes- my overheated, overstimulated, undernapped children need a little help unwinding as we set the table, prep some dinner, and wash our hands for the umpteenth time.

And a crazy li'l fact: Did you know that parents spend nearly double on summertime entertainment for their kiddos than they do during the holidays? And how about this- a one year subscription to Netflix (at $7.99 a month) costs less than taking two trips to the movies with a family of five? (And we haven't even hit the snack bar yet.) Why not do as my family does...and watch a movie after supper...and stay up a little too late...and stay up even longer talking about it...and act out a few pivotal scenes/characters/voices...and ask for a breakfast inspired by the movie the next morning? (Again, a few of these things are very family member-specific.) 

Is There A Penance For That?

What's that old saying- No Good Deed Goes Unpunished? Well, it oughta be amended to include the words And It's Probably Gonna Be Public, Too.

The other night as we were tucking in Nora, she looked up from her laundry list of prayers (people she loves/cupcakes/apples) and asked if we could go to church soon.

P.J. and I exchanged a look. Oh yes, that. Ha HA! Now, my girls are no strangers to church, but our recent weekends have included odd deviations like the norovirus and 36-hour bachelor parties and debilitating morning sickness. And our usual parish has the unfortunate designation of being roughly an eight minute drive away, so sometimes it's easier to tell ourselves that no one would really expect us to travel so far a distance- we'd have to, like, get a room for the night.

The sinner and her accomplice during happier times.

But there's no guilt like a 3 year-old's guilt, so I decided that yesterday we would Make The Effort. There's a perfectly sweet Catholic church less than a block from our house- and sure, only a couple of masses each weekend are spoken in English, but we would Make The Effort to attend one of the English-speaking ones. What good Christians we were gonna be!

As we walked into the 11:15am mass, we were struck by two facts; one, that we were among a handful of non-Hispanic and non-Filipino families. Two, that Susannah- she of the 3am wakin' faction- was looking really tired. But we were there to pray, and we were all looking decently nice. This was an especially big deal for me, since the combo of oppressive humidity and a growing figure comfy in neither maternity nor non-maternity exclusively was making it difficult to wear things out n' about. But the outfit I had chosen- a long maternity tank and favorite lightweight (and elastic) summer skirt was making me feel rather pretty.

Sister Mary Pious, that's me.

The Museum of Science & Industry Combats "Summer Brain Drain-" And Gives You Free Admission!

(I'm more obnoxiously excited than my children to have had the chance to write this sponsored post on behalf of the Chicago Museum of Science & Industry. Seriously. It's ridiculous over here.)

Every single Chicagoan knows the glory of our awesome Museum of Science & Industry; from the famed Science Storms to the impossibly detailed Great Train Story to the charming Main Street (with obligatory ice cream parlor and old-fashioned cinema breaks).

And the MSI has added one more thing to love- their Summer Brain Games program. Created to combat the dreaded "summer brain drain," it's a FREE series of projects and experiments emailed to you all summer long! (Did you know that student-aged kiddos can lose up to three months of learnin' in the summer? I personally don't have that kinda grey matter to spare these days.)

As Nora and Zuzu can attest, these projects are indeed "all ages" (with a teenser bit of parental help). Pretty sure those of you with biggies will be watching your kids fly through these experiments with nary a request for assistance. Here's what we've tackled so far:

Science Project #1: Weather Station/Rain Gauge!

It's been a pretty good summer to measure some rainfall, yeah? Nora and Susannah were up to the task of slicing and dicing a seltzer bottle, inverting the top, adding some gravel, securing the two bottle pieces (with sock monkey tape, natch), attaching a ruler at gravel level, caaarefully setting the rain gauge outside, and proceeding to watch the rain fill their weather station for the rest of the afternoon. Science!

Science Project #2: Super-Stable Structure!

Everyone knows that the best structures feature triangles and a big ol' x in the design. (Everyone knows that.) So we built a completely non-threatened-by-the-elements model of the Hancock Tower out of popsicle sticks. And it is perfect. I'd show you the finished model, but you'd have envy. It's that beautiful.

SO. Here are two clutch tips which I figured I'd share from my experiment experience with the two Little Littles:
-Whenever possible, do these projects outside! Clean-up is a breeze, and it makes you feel like a super parent to combine both learning and fresh air.
-And do not let Susannah hold the tape. Ever. (Ever ever.)

I bet you're wanting in on this action, right? (I know.) Check out- and sign up for- this FREE series of science projects here...and guess what else? With your enrollment into this FREE program, you automatically get one complimentary museum admission.

As someone who lives and dies for the museum's free and discounted days, that's nothing to shake a [taped and measured] stick at.

And guess what else, people? I'm holding a little giveaway, courtesy of our friends at the Museum of Science & Industry: good for four free passes to the Museum of Science & Industry. Yes. And it's open to anyone able to get to our good ol' MSI sometime this year. Stoked? I know. (More details attached to the Rafflecopter below.)

So go sign up. Get your science on. And then I'll see you at the Museum.

I'll be the one hogging the Avalanche Disk.

The Chicago Museum of Science and Industry is offering a fun and free online science program called Summer Brain Games. The eight-week program lasts from June 17, 2013-August 12, 2013 and features a weekly experiment or science challenge that can easily be performed at home with kids of all ages.

Visit msichicago.org/summerbrain now to register for Summer Brain Games and download your free Summer Brain Games kit. As an added bonus, registering automatically gets you a pass to come to the Museum for free this summer.

This is a sponsored post written by me on behalf of the Chicago Museum of Science and Industry.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Happy Fourth...

...Love, 

Our Little Sparklers.

(Happy birthday, America!)

Reports From The Front. (On Their Sides.)

Thankfully, everyone's feeling much better around here.

Unfortunately, this is what the aftermath looks like:

You'd think I'd appreciate the whole "staying put" and "not climbing the bookshelves" thing.

But the truth is- when they're this worn out, I kinda find myself longing for a good ol' fashioned Chair Topplin'.

Remind me of this next week, yeah?

June Date: Wait A Sec, REALLY?!

So on Friday night, P.J. had an awesome Date Night planned for us. It was a surprise n' everything. (For the newcomers, P.J.'s Christmas present to me was a year of cool date nights, highlighting and celebrating everything we say we love about living in Chicago...but somehow never find time to do.)

The date he had chosen for June was an evening at Hollywood Beach. (It's a really, really nice beach traditionally frequented by a largely gay population- meaning that it's clean and super pretty. Plus, on Pride Weekend? Can't go wrong. For real.) We were gonna picnic under the stars and watch a screening of Funny Girl.

When he revealed his big date plans, I almost cried.

Half outta regret, half out of delirium.

Because unfortunately, I had woken up on Friday morning at 4am the sickest I've ever been in the history of ever. (This includes food poisoning, various flus, c-section recoveries, and lost weekends in college.) For about 25 hours I believed I had horrific food poisoning/early onset death. I was almost admitted to the E.R. for baby-related checkups and rehydration- but thankfully the E.R. gods deemed two emergency room trips in under a week rather cruel and unusual.

So why 25 hours? Oh, because at 5am the next morning, the rest of the family fell victim to the plague as well. Imagine Florence Nightingale tending to her patients while dragging her lame leg behind her, vomiting profusely, and weeping like a Dickensian child. That's what Saturday looked like.

(PSA: The norovirus is real, terrifying, and enough to make you consider placing bleach directly into your ocular cavities.)

Long story semi-short, we cancelled our sitter, our date, and our 6th wedding anniversary.

However, by Sunday night we were feeling loads better. (Fatigued and drained, sure, but keeping our bodily fluids exactly where they oughta be, thankyouverymuch.) So Peej- my awesome, non-grossed out guy- prepared our picnic and movie screening.

On a blanket on the playroom floor.

Picnicking on the floor is not only romantic, its also safer.
'Cause if we pass out, we're already on the floor.

We watched the first half of Romance & Cigarettes- before deeming it rather Not Good- and then turned on an episode of The Twilight Zone. (Much better.)

And yeah, sure, we fell asleep ten minutes in...but at least we were holding hands.

And when I crawled up to bed, I found that my date had laundered and re-made the bed, prepping me for my first good night's sleep since Thursday.

Romance is most decidedly not dead.

Even though the norovirus sure tried.