"Buy Me a Cupcake" has a whole new meaning...

Leave it to Neiman Marcus and Judith Leiber to make your local bakery's $5 cupcake look like the deal of the century... For just $4300, you too can carry this jeweled strawberry-cupcake confection!

Remember when Big gave Carrie that awful purse? What was it, a bird? Blech. Sorry, Judith Leiber, but you're out of my price range and far from my taste.

ABCs of me

A is for age: 26
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B is for burger of choice: A plain "Bradley" burger - just burger, bun and whatever deliciousness my husband marinates into it.
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C is for what kind of car you drive: A fabulous but dirty Nissan Altima
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D is for your dog's name: Blue
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E is for essential item you use everyday: Lip gloss/balm.
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F is for favorite TV show at the moment: So You Think You Can Dance because Lost and The Office are on summer break.
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G is for favorite game: I play a mean Scrabulous.
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H is for Home State: Right here.
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I is for instruments you play: Violin. Gotta pick that back up - I loved it.
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J is for favorite juice: Cran-Grape, but I never drink juice anymore.
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K is for whose butt you'd like to kick: No one, really. Though I'd be quite tempted to kick Michael Vick in the leg if I ever ran into him.
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L is for last restaurant at which you ate? Moe's.
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M is for your favorite Muppet: Wait...my original answer was Snuffy but that's Sesame Street, right? So I guess I'd say Kermit or Miss Piggy.
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N is for Number of Piercing: One in each ear. Wild times!
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O is for overnight hospital stays: Not since I was born.
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P is for people you were with today: My husband, my dog (he's a person!), my coworkers, the Welcome to Moe's! guys.
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Q is for what you do with your quiet time: Read, blog, read blogs, nap, catch up on my DVR viewing.
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R is for biggest regret: Don't have one.
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S is for status: Happily married. July 21 will be our first anniversary.
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T is for time you woke up today: Around 5 with B for a moment, around 7 for good.
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U is for what you consider unique about yourself: My first name, my chatty nature, my height, my crazy-dark hair and pale pale skin, my hysterical husband.
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V is for vegetable you love: green beans, carrots, peas, broccoli, squash, zucchini.
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W is for worst habit: Wiling away hours online when I should be running!
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X is for x-rays you've had: Chest x-ray for a yucky case of bronchitis.
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Y is for yummy food you ate today: Kashi cherry dark chocolate granola bar.
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Z is for zodiac: Don't get into that.
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So, dear friends, have we anything in common??

You Decide

In my many volunteer hours at the Junior League's Nearly New Shop, I purchased more than my fair share of "summer reading" books. I have just finished The Memory Keeper's Daughter and now have way too many choices for what comes next.

I'd love to get started this weekend in some scheduled "down time" - isn't that an oxymoron? We have a long weekend at the lake planned for July 4th, so I hope to tear through a few of these then as well.

What book should I start first? This is the most pivotal vote you'll cast all year, no doubt.

The Other Boleyn Girl by Philippa Gregory
The Pilot's Wife by Anita Shreve
Water for Elephants by Sara Gruen
The Secret Life of Bees by Sue Monk Kidd
The Book of Ruth by Jane Hamilton
The Virgin Blue by Tracy Chevalier, author of Girl with a Pearl Earring
My Antonia by Willa Cather
Wuthering Heights* by Emily Bronte
Jane Eyre* by Charlotte Bronte

I think there are a few more in my stack, so I may be updating this list soon. Can't wait to hear your feedback!!

*I've read these, but not in several hundred years.

Obsession of the moment

As of noon today, I'm obsessed with Needtobreathe's song "Washed by the Water." (Though I am decidedly less obsessed with the band's name. Did their collective space bar stop functioning?)

"Washed by the Water" is on constant replay in my head or on my iPod; it's the perfect mix of Southern rock, gospel and all-around fabulousness. Reminds me a lot of Marc Broussard, whom I also love.

Look it up on iTunes or check out their MySpace page. You'll notice a few things if you do:

1. They're from Seneca. Yes, seriously. (Actually, their bio says they're originally from Possum Kingdom, SC - but even Bradley doesn't know where that is. Apparently there's a Possum Holler in that area, but not a Possum Kingdom. At least not officially - and surely no one would name their subdivision that, so I'm at a loss...)

2. The brothers who started the band are named after a certain SEC football coach - Bear Rinehart and Bryant "Bo" Rinehart. Of course Bradley knew of them - they played football at Seneca High and then headed to Clemson and Furman, respectively. One even won the state-wide Banks McFadden football award. Impressive. Love them already!

3. They had a song on the P.S. I Love You soundtrack. The reviews scared me off of that movie, but I'm a fan of the track.

4. They've opened for lots of famous folks already... And did I say one's a Clemson grad?? Go Tigers. Super proud!

Also, it's midnight on a "school night" and I'm awake fighting off a migraine that has hounded me all day. Excuse the incoherence. Go listen to the song already!

Have I Ever Told You...

...that I really love this poem?

Sorting Laundry
Folding clothes,
I think of folding you
into my life.

Our king-sized sheets
like tablecloths
for the banquets of giants,

pillowcases, despite so many
washings, seems still
holding our dreams.

Towels patterned orange and green,
flowered pink and lavender,
gaudy, bought on sale,

reserved, we said, for the beach,
refusing, even after years,
to bleach into respectability.

So many shirts and skirts and pants
recycling week after week, head over heels
recapitulating themselves.

All those wrinkles
To be smoothed, or else
ignored; they're in style.

Myriad uncoupled socks
which went paired into the foam
like those creatures in the ark.

And what's shrunk
is tough to discard
even for Goodwill.

In pockets, surprises:
forgotten matches,
lost screws clinking the drain;

well-washed dollars, legal tender
for all debts public and private,
intact despite agitation;

and, gleaming in the maelstrom,
one bright dime,
broken necklace of good gold

you brought from Kuwait,
the strangely tailored shirt
left by a former lover…

If you were to leave me,
if I were to fold
only my own clothes,

the convexes and concaves
of my blouses, panties, stockings, bras
turned upon themselves,

a mountain of unsorted wash
could not fill
the empty side of the bed

-Elisavietta Ritchie

Sweet Enough?

I grabbed some unsweetened applesauce at the grocery store recently and discovered, upon closer inspection, that the tiny packages were actually labeled "no sugar added." I guessed that this accounts for naturally-occurring sugar and, a week later, pulled one out for a delicious snack.

Moments later, spoon in head, I saw (drum roll) a Splenda logo!! What in the world? Since when does Splenda not count as a sweetener?

Why aren't apples sweet enough on their own?

(I'm not going to turn this into some metaphor about raising women in the South or embodying feminism in the workplace in our post-modern society. But we could go there.)

Will apples themselves soon be sweetened with Splenda? Are they going to inject defenseless oranges and watermelons with syringes of sucrose? This has to be something out of A Brave New World...

Am I the only one bothered by this??

Happy Thoughts for Monday

Happy weekend thoughts to make Monday fly by:
-a healthy and full-speed-ahead Blue
-beautiful brides in Sunday's wedding section
-a weekend of more laughs than The Wedding Singer and Anchorman combined
-making progress on my stack of summer books
-catching up on sleep
-adorable babies
-fresh summer blueberries
-the perfect sundress
-dreaming of the beach (if I can't be there)
-Father's Day with Bradley's fam
-a gorgeous view of the lake on the way home
-the promise of another weekend just around the corner
-my Bradley necklace (with his initials on it)
-Cotton in a pirate hat

Big Weekend Ahead

Although I'm looking very much forward to seeing B tomorrow morning after a week of his working nights, the big weekend ahead will actually be my parents'.

Mom and Dad will be celebrating both Father's Day and their thirtieth anniversary while they're at the beach this week. (And Flag Day on Saturday if they can muster up the enthusiasm for three holidays in as many days.)

A very happy Father's Day to my fantastic dad, who has been all I could have asked for and more during my first year of marriage - and always. He is the giver of sound advice, the voice of reason, the keeper of secrets, the finder of good directions, the translator of estrogen-speak, the practical side of our family. Wish I could be there to tell him in person on Sunday!


On the 17th, I'll be sending a huge happy anniversary to my amazing parents. They were married three months after their first date and have been getting to know each other, on a daily basis, ever since.

In thirty years, they have lived on two continents and in four states, raised two children and two dogs, gained a son-in-law, lost three parents, conquered cancer, survived their daughter's wedding and awkward adolesence, seen (some of) the world and proved that there is such a thing as a happy ending. It just happens to be a choice that happens every day.

The most accurate way I could sum up their marriage is to tell you that they genuinely prefer one another's company.

Theirs is a remarkable example of a truly happy marriage. I feel so privileged to have grown up in our home; now that I'm gone it feels wonderful to know they still have their very best friend keeping them company. (And they are probably having more fun now than they ever were!)

At a friend's wedding just a few months before I got engaged, while B was far away enjoying the wonders of NASCAR, Dad and I happened upon the topic of marriage. He was probably testing the waters a little bit in his very stealthy, Dad-like way. I still can't relay this story in person without tearing up, so I don't believe I've ever told my mom.

To me, there wasn't enough time in a week to spend with Bradley. I found him even more funny and thoughtful and kind and endearing every time we were together. I could not pull into his driveway or answer his calls soon enough. It seemed, I said to Dad, that the very best thing about marriage would be just a chance to be together more. To hang out all the time. Was that a childish perspective?

In all of his widsom, and twenty-eight years into his relationship with mom, my dad told me that he had never once tired of "just hanging out" with my mom. "There might be times where I don't want to be with anyone, where a day has just been too much and I need to shut the door and close my eyes for a moment. But there has never been a moment when I didn't want to spend time with your mother," he said.

She was across the reception, chatting in her typically energetic way with another group of wedding guests. I got a quick kiss on the forehead before Dad stole her away for a dance and I was left to dab my eyes and count my blessings.

"Mo" and Dad, I love you both so much - keep on dancing! (I'm getting over the embarassment day by day...not that it ever stopped you!)

(If you can't dance at the party you paid for, where can you dance?)

P.S. Neither of you could have picked a better partner!

I Believe

I believe in miracles, right here in our own town.

I believe in faith, in God's perfect plan, in the beauty of a surrendered heart.

I believe that a family can be carried through tragedy, lifted through hard times from a thousand miles away - by people who have never met them.

I believe that forgiveness has a power that's incredible.

I believe that God can speak to me in a thousand different ways. Moses never heard God's voice in a blog, or on the internet or on the radio - but I have. Amazing.

Want to know what on Earth I'm talking about?

A Providential Meeting for Kim Arnold, Katherine Wolf's mom

The Past and the Pitcher from Angie Smith

The Threshing Floor, also from Angie

Public Forgiveness from a Charlotte church (watch the video)

Pig in Boots

Can Cotton please get a tiny pair of rain boots like this pig's? Apparently, this precious British porker is afraid of the mud, so her owner set her up with a sweet pair of wellies. Love it!

Pig in Boots

Slip of the tongue

Our office is putting together a Wii-mbledon competition tomorrow, so the joyous squeals and digitized tunes of the game have been drifting to my cube all day during "practice rounds." That's the context of the following:

Me: (Spoken classily over cube walls.) Wii is going to be the downfall of this agency.

Coworkers: (Stunned silence.)

Me: (Confusion. Do they not hear the obsessed game players? Pause for a deep thought.)

Coworkers: (More puzzled silence from the PR department as they mentally question my self-esteem, competency and basic grammar knowledge.)

Me: (Light bulb!) Oh no, not WE. We are not going to be the downfall of this agency. Clearly, I think we're pretty awesome. Oh never mind - y'all practice away.

This reminds me of my "two ears" flub in grad school - a story for tonight. Unless Kristen gets to comment before I return.

Pulling an Anne

After my last (wahoo!) shift at the Junior League's Nearly New Shop Saturday, I got home to find a seriously amused Bradley just itching to tell me something. (You can imagine how rare this is.) What could have tickled him so? He'd just "pulled an Anne." Turns out he turned on the faucet, walked away to do something else and momentarily forgot. (His story didn't end with flooding the house as my own experience did last year, but that's a tale for another day. If you haven't heard it already!)

The idea of pulling an Anne piqued my curiosity. What do I do often enough, or with enough gusto, that it could be considered a signature quality?

If I had to guess, I'd imagine that people would use the phrase "pulling an Anne" to mean:
-running into a stationary object
-overlooking something obvious
-having a "boulder" moment
-sharing information learned only through Facebook
-sporting pink shoes
-shopping online excessively
-craving spaghetti more than any woman (outside of Italy) ever should
-packing a spare outfit in the car just in case (it rains, you're overdressed, etc.)

I think it'd be a lot more flattering, and therefore pleasant to hear, if pulling an Anne indicated that you'd just done something wonderful. Something I fancy myself, on my better days, to be pretty darn good at.

I'd like it to mean:
-sending an unsolicited but sweet note that makes someone's day
-telling a wildly funny story
-maintaining composure when the world is all but on fire
-rocking Scrabble, Trivial Pursuit or a crossword puzzle hardcore
-finding the good in a less-than-fabulous situation
-swooping in to save the day with a meal, a shoulder, a prayer, a smile, a ridiculous anecdote
-saying just the right thing in a difficult moment

(To be fair, I "pulled a Bradley" on my husband the very next day. If he's in the middle of something at work when I call, he'll open his phone and let me hang tight for a moment or two until he can talk. Bradley got to hear 30 seconds of a titillating work conversation before I was able to put the cell phone to my ear...lucky guy.)

How would you define "pulling a you" - or how would you like it to be defined?

I'll give a few examples later from many of your own signature moves...that list is in development.

Jessica Alba's Mini-Me Enters World

"Jessica Alba just had her baby girl. I bet she named her GrapeNut. I just thought of that. (Pause.) Yep, that's my name now."
~My next-cube neighbor Jennifer

Don't worry, Li'l Jenn. That name is all yours!

Update: Alba's newborn is named Honor Marie Warren.

Sidenote: In my freshman class was a girl named Honor and a boy named Justice. Always wanted them to date. Mason (a girl) and Dixon (a boy) would have been a cute couple too. Alas, it was not meant to be.

Cupcake Time!

The Upstate's new cupcake cafe, Iced, opens tomorrow! Please look at their drool-inducing menu (linked below) and let me know what sounds good to you...

Too Many Flavors of Deliciousness

I'm all about the classics, so a Very Vanilla cupcake may be my first purchase. Almond, Chocolate Peanut Butter, Apple Cinnamon, Key Lime and White Chocolate all sound fabulous as well. Who am I kidding - I've never had a bad cupcake! (Even ones I've made myself.)

Aruba, Jamaica, I think you know the words

It's a bajillion degrees outside and Bradley made us some delicious pina coladas over the weekend to give me a mini-vacation. (Or maybe just because they taste so fabulous.) As a result, my train of thought is permanently located in the Caribbean.

We're hoping to go to another all-inclusive resort in early (January/February) 2009 and, as my summer vacation fund was swallowed along with various laundry items by a certain chocolate lab, I'm looking forward to it already. Bradley and I have been to Aruba, Jamaica and Puerto Rico together. Where should we go next year?

Have you stayed in any fabulous (and non-celebrity-priced) all-inclusive resorts? Heard of any? Just want to do some web browsing to take a mental vacation as well?

I'd love to hear your suggestions...honeymoons, spring breaks, lucky-girl get-aways. I'll take any input y'all can give me. Play me some steel drum music, hand me a daquiri and let me browse Expedia.com for the next eight months...

Skills for Women: What Each of Us Should Know

Let's make a list of things every woman should know how, or learn, to do. I'm not saying we can do all of these things, just that it's a great jumping-off point for a fabulous life. Below are my first thoughts - add yours!!

Every woman should know:
1. How to entertain herself for a day.
2. A quick, tasty recipe to quell the panic of an unexpected guest.
3. The basics of another language. Please, thank you, help, dessert.
4. How to sew on a button.
5. When someone is lying to her.
6. When and how to ask for a raise.
7. How to change a tire. (Or find her way to a good mechanic.)
8. Her own opinion about politics.
9. When it's worth fighting for and when it's time to walk away.
10. The importance of voting.
11. The titles of three books that matter. (To her.)
12. How to give sound advice. And accept it when it's given.
13. That dessert tastes better without guilt.
14. An activity that makes her happy and gets her blood flowing.
15. What unconditional love means.
16. How to set a real table.
17. The basics of football.
18. The names of the secretary of state, a good tailor, a thorough doctor and a favorite friend.
19. How to say "no" gracefully but firmly.
20. How much an unexpected note can mean.
21. How to fall in love without losing herself.
22. When to shake hands and how. (Firmly!)
23. To lock her doors and exercise caution - but live unafraid.
24. How she feels about having kids.
25. How to quit a job, end a relationship or confront someone without falling to pieces.
26. That you can't change your height, your imperfect childhood or your crazy family.
27. Not to apologize when it's not your fault.
28. What she needs to get through a terrible week.
29. That she's worth it, whatever "it" is.
30. How to truly forgive others, and particularly herself.

(My inspiration: 75 Skills for Men)

Photo Voices

I use a lot of words. Regularly. In fact, I'd hazard a guess that I can't fully experience something or understand it until I've shared it with someone else. (We'll save the "power to name is the power to know" communications theory discussion for another day...)

One segment of our community whose voices I've never really heard is the homeless population. My dad sent me the link to his foundation's blog for a little more insight into Columbia's Photo Voices project. I love the idea and wish we could emulate it here in the Upstate. Take a look - I'd love your thoughts!

http://www.communitydiaries.org/sc/columbia/

On a separate note, I read once that Midlands leaders were discussing the idea of each church or charity in the city sponsoring a single homeless person or family. I imagine that would have a real impact, particularly since I've learned recently (through the above-linked blog) that homelessness is typically a temporary state for families. It feels like we always imagine that homelessness is a permanent situation for people - perhaps that's why everyone seems to powerless to change things.

If understanding is the first step, this Photo Voices project should surely get us a lot closer.

Just so you know

I couldn't effortlessly say "World War Two" until I was about 15. At 26, I still struggle with "rural" - being from 'round these parts, that's a relatively important word. Maybe by 30 it'll have a little more distinction and won't sound so much like "rurr."

Reminds me of a 30 Rock episode where they couldn't determine the name of a movie based on hearing its title. Turned out to be "The Rural Juror." I felt very validated.

Embracing Your Inner So-and-So

In our small group last night, adorable Ashley talked about letting go of a self-imposed boycott and embracing her inner hug addict. So if you're in her sight and she's so much as laid eyes on you before, you're likely going to be the lucky recipient of a little affection from this gal.

What's the harm in that, you ask? I wonder if we don't each have a lifelong battle with our inner whatever-the-case-may-be. I consider myself to be a closeted dork, a fully-grown but still-awkward accident-prone gal, and a far-from-secret chatterbox.

In my mind, the problem only develops when I fight my basic nature. (For me in particulatr, that'd be my awkward and nervous chatting.) My friend Marianne and I have termed this sort of situation a "boulder" problem.

Bradley once remarked that he watches me get nervous in the same way that he'd watch a rock rolling down a steep hill. Once it gets started, there's very little he can do to slow it down, much less stop it. For me, that nervousness is manifested entirely in rambling. I'll chatter nervously, feel as if I've said something a hair too awkward and then keep going so that last silly remark isn't the very last thing hanging in the air.

Can you picture poor Bradley slowly backing out of a room as I'm doing this and hoping I'll soon follow suit? Because if he's around, that's what happens. Every single time. He can see it happening, and I can absolutely feel the boulder start rolling at a break-neck speed, but I can't seem to put on the brakes. If only my rambling was as endearing a habit as Ashley's inner hugging instinct.

My friend Stephanie once told me to worry a lot less about my chatty nature, that it was part of my charm and what put people at ease around me. (Coming from the woman who offered me my dream internship only to have it accepted with a speech about how her phone conversation was as ambigious and misleading as a Bachelor-style break-up/proposal...well, it means a lot. We may have to discuss that timeless conversation on another day.)

True or a bit biased, Steph's sweet comment has stuck with me. And it has talked me down after many a "boulder situation" post-mortem has left me worried that half of Greenville thinks I'm off my rocker.

In high school I handled this anxiety by incessantly flipping, twisting or just plain playing with my hair. You'd be hard-pressed to have caught me in a room full of people with my hands in my lap, that's for sure.

All of this to say (who knew I'd digress?!) -- what is your inner so-and-so? Do you struggle to quell a particular habit, a trait that makes you feel like every eye in the room is on you?

And may I say that, if you do, I'm dying to know what it is. I find all of you as charming and precious as can be and only wish I could be more like you... I relate entirely to the saying "I love you down to your last freckle," because I do. If only we could all be so forgiving of ourselves!

Ashley, next time you see me - hug away! For the rest of you, come out of the closet already and let me hear about your boulder...

Everyday I Love Yous

My parents' thirtieth wedding anniversary is two weeks from today, and I'm more appreciative now than ever of the wonderful marriage they have. What a gift it has been never to wonder if they were happy, if they were together, if "forever" could really work. This Dear Abby column made me think of them. You know I love a good sappy story, so keep 'em coming! (My silent I love yous are listed in the previous post. Nothing better than a happy dog, a thoughtful husband, a hot dinner and some delicious coconut beverages!)

EVERYDAY KINDNESS IS SECRET OF MARRIAGES FULL OF ROMANCE
Dear Abby,I would like to respond to "Kelly in Austin" (March 24), who wondered if there were more than two men who excel at romance.

Abby, my husband has given me a total of four pieces of jewelry throughout our 13-year relationship. However, he has given me many intangibles that mean far more.

I have a best friend I can talk to and trust. I have a lover who cares for me and my needs. I have a husband who believes in and abides by the vows we took on our wedding day. I have a provider who works hard to assure my financial stability, not just for today, but also for the future.

My children have a father who loves them and makes sure they know it through his words and actions. And I have a partner for life who does "romantic" things like changing diapers, rocking babies, washing dishes and holding my hand.

In generations past, men were expected to be strong, gentle and responsible. I thank God that my husband has chosen to be that kind of man.
-- Beloved

Dear Beloved,
You are a lucky woman who married a real gem. A life partner with attributes like your husband's is a jewel more precious than any stone that nature could create. Read on:

Dear Abby,My husband and I have been married 15 years, and my heart still skips a beat when I see him. We have a little piece of paper with I LOVE YOU written on it, and we take turns hiding it somewhere for each other to find. It shows up in my wallet, in the book I'm reading, in the laundry. It never fails to brighten my day, and it costs us not one cent.

He brings me coffee in the morning and a cup of tea at night. He'll surprise me with a candy bar or a cookie when I'm feeling down. Expensive jewelry isn't what makes a romance -- it's my darling taking a moment to let me know he's thinking of me.
-- Tina in Virginia

Dear Abby,
When my fiance and I first got together, he told me that he didn't celebrate Valentine's Day. He claimed that he "did his thing" all year -- and it's true. He leaves cards in my book bag scented with his cologne and sings to me on my voicemail at work on dreary Monday mornings. He writes me poems and buys me spontaneous gifts. No jewelry commercials can compete with a gift from the heart.
-- Swept Off My Feet in Memphis

Dear Abby,I have been happily married for more than 10 years, and it hasn't been because of diamonds, flowers or trips to bed-and-breakfasts. We're happy because we laugh together, because we like each other, and because he was considerate enough to buy me a hands-free cell phone device to use while driving back and forth between our home and my father's.

It's because he knows what scent of candle to buy me from a kid's fundraiser and because he thought I needed a new lunch box for work and got me one.

This is real life. Diamond commercials on the television are not.
-- Rita in Pennsylvania

Dear Abby,
My parents have been married 45 years, and the most romantic gesture I ever saw took place about 10 years ago. One day, while she was digging in the garden, I saw my dad standing there, hovering over her with a can of wasp spray, ready to blast any potential threat into eternity if it got near Mom. Now that's better than a diamond any day.
-- Sam in Illinois

Man-Made (Better) Monday

My Monday in a nutshell:
1. Got Blue fed and antibiotic-ed up, headed off to work
2. Picked up rental car, headed to Atlanta
3. Three interstates and two-ish hours later, I'm there for a three-hour meeting
4. Back on the highway, took a little detour during some crazy construction
5. Return my rental car at 5:30, thoroughly exhausted. (How is that sitting still for a few hours can wipe a girl out so much? I could never commute any farther than I already do...)
6. The drive back to our house seemed slow as all get out and I was a little cranky...so I stopped by Target for some essentials (and some not-so-essentials)
7. Said pit-stop made me 20 minutes later than I'd said I'd be home, so I called B to let him know I was ok. (Fully expecting that he hadn't noticed.) He was worried, glad to hear from me, and a bit uneasy with the role reversal of waiting on me to get home for once. Cuteness.
7. Got home to find a happy Bradley, a newly suture-free Blue, dinner cooking, a pitcher of pina coladas, a clean kitchen and a big hug.

Wow. The crankiness evaporated immediately. Got lots of fabulous sleep knowing that Blue's (practically) all better, and now I'm ready for a fantastic Tuesday. Wishing the same for you ladies.

Bradley needs to get home early more often - I love it!!

Happy June, y'all!