Guest post from the Suniverse

I have a very special, awesome surprise for you: today's guest is the Suniverse, who is the author of her eponymous blog.  And you know what?  She's funny, and clever, and that kind of amazing that you only find once in a while.   Please, read away:


Food, glorious food.

First, I want to thank Bill for being so kind as to invite me to post on his blog, and then being even kinder for not telling me to go suck it when it took me over a month to get him this post.  I am a horrible person.

And that's not the only reason. I'm horrible about the topic of food.

Food is amazing and wonderful and tasty and when you're hungry? It's the best.

It's also weird and bizarre and when you come from an immigrant family, it can be a little scary.  Actually, there are only a few scary things for me [mostly the giant buckets of smelt, the lamb's head that stares at you while people - like your own mother! - start stripping it for weird bits of flesh, and that gross onion stew that permeates the entire house]. 

The other stuff? I'm fine with.  Yummy little bits of meat that have been sauteed until they are super crispy are not merely pieces of fat, they are DELICIOUS.  That baked bit of lamb that's crispy and tasty? OH HOLY HELL, get out of my way.  The crusty bit of dough that has no filling? GIVE IT TO ME, PLEASE.  My sister and I discussed these delicacies, much to my future [non-immigrant] mother-in-law's horror, at the dinner the night before I got married.

The husband, who is generic American, has done a good job enjoying - well, maybe enjoying is too strong a word, maybe he's done a good job just eating the food that is foisted upon him at various parties and dinners.  He deals well with pots of beans and lamb, pastries that are filled with he knows not what and the giant portions that come with them.

I, on the other hand, have a really hard time adjusting to American food.  I mean, it's ubiquitous and I eat it all the time and I cook it, but it never ceases to amaze me that people will make regular American food for a party.  Where is the painstakingly made platter of sweets? You BOUGHT THAT CAKE? What's wrong with you?  You're making dinner and it's a something you'd eat on a weeknight? WHAT? WE'RE COMPANY!

I get very weird about that kind of thing.  It's a culture shock for me, despite the fact that I was born and raised in this country and lived on my own and married an American.  There are some things, evidently, that are simply ingrained in the genes, and my expectation of food that has been slaved over is one of them.

When are you inviting me for dinner?  


Me! I'm inviting you over for dinner.  and I'll get my wife to cook something outrageously rare and difficult.  I'm sure she won't mind.  In the meantime, while she's whipping it up, head over to the Suniverse's blog and get your immigrant on.  Best part of her blog?  The obscure scrubs quote at the top.

We're off the hook!

I’m girly girl. I love shoes and makeup and fixing my hair. 

Whoa, whoa, whoa - oops, I didn't mean to say that.  There was a slight mix up due to my being overly exhausted.  It just so happens that that's the first line of my spectacular guest poster today, Amanda @ It's Blogworthy.  I...uh...am not a fan of makeup.  I swear - it was just that one time for Halloween.

Moving on...Amanda is a spectacular girl with a spectacular family and a love for her kid like no other.  And on top of that, she's funny, and clever and, above all else, endearing.  I think after reading this, you'll know what I mean.  And on top of all that, this post is probably one of my favorites ever created by anyone. Read on, and you'll see.

I’m girly girl. I love shoes and makeup and fixing my hair. 

I don’t like sports or getting dirty. I hate to sweat. My favorite color is pink. I spend my weekends watching the likes of Project Runway and Toddlers and Tiaras.

So you’d think, based on all those facts, that I would have longed for a little girl to dress in the fluffiest pink skirts, bald head adorned with a flower bigger than her face.

And you’d be wrong.

Of course we did the thing where we said “Oh, we don’t care if we have a boy or a girl. Just as long as he/she is healthy.” That was totally true, too. I would have loved a little girl and yes, any daughter of mine would have had a whole mess of ginormous hairbows. Deep down inside, both of us walked into the ultrasound room over a year ago with an unspoken desire to have a son.

We walked out of the office that day with a print out of our son’s junk, an arrow artfully pointed to it with a caption that read “BOY!!!!” (as if it wasn’t obvious) with a spring in our step. At our celebratory dinner that night, we listed all the things we wouldn’t have to worry about now that we knew we’d be having a boy: no evenings chaperoning a boyband concert; no periods to explain; not prom dresses to buy. Weddings? WE’RE OFF THE HOOK! *HIGH FIVE*

Little girls? They are great. But I was a teenage girl. My husband teaches teenage girls. Teenage girls aren’t fun. So, ok, we’d have years before we dealt with teenage hormones, but before then? Listen, I read your people’s blogs. You, there --  with the daughter who at 3 years old has already sassed you more TODAY than I have sassed anyone for six months – I’m sure that’s cute for like four days.

Ok, ok. I know I’m stereotyping greatly here, but the fact of the matter is, my husband hates being bored. Having a little boy to teach the important things in life – like basketball and eating steak and whatever else is important to men – was and is really appealing to him. He’ll have a buddy. And I’m looking forward to the day when we can all go to the beach and my husband and son can play catch or make sandcastles and leave me alone to soak in the sun and read a book for crying out loud.

I’m also secretly hoping to have a sweet little mama’s boy who likes to treat his Mom like a Queen.

They say, "Know your Audience" and she was spot on when she wrote this post.  I think I mention nerf gun fights at least once a week on this blog, and there won't be any nerf fighting with a daughter.  Unless  I'm misunderstanding what a daughter is. But I don't think I am. 

Negotiating Your Marriage

Whoop, BAM big-a-dee boom!  These are the kinds of sounds you'll hear in your ears when you read KLZ's blog called Taming Insanity.  Mostly because it's a whole crazy land of insane over there, and to be perfectly honest, taming that insanity is more of a process than you'd imagine.  My suspicion?  Cute kid syndrome.  It gets the best of us sometimes.  AND she's got a second one on the way, so she's doubly screwed by the cute. 


But the nice part is - she's got a husband who is ok with a little bit of the nutso.  


So to cut to the chase - she's agreed to guest-post for me because she's super, duper awesome - and likely also because she was the person who really got me getting into the whole "blogging" thing in the first place, which plays into it somehow, I'm sure.  She is sarcastic and sweet all at the same time, which pretty much makes her the best person ever.

DISCLAIMER: Dear Bill’s readers: I have been trying to write this post for two weeks. I keep coming up with ideas that seem interestingly random and then falling flat on my face. I’m trying for you, I really am. My point is: pretend you like this so Bill doesn’t send his father-in-law after me. I hear he’s got a guy.

I recently started a conversation with my husband. Now, husbands may refer to this type of conversation as “Nagging” but years of working in Corporate America has taught me that it is really called “Level Setting”.

“David,” I said casually while checking Twitter, “I’ve really been trying to keep the house clean lately. I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

Like any good husband, he was wary and refrained from speaking to me.

“Now, I know we’ve got a lot going on,” I continued, “but I think we need to set some priorities before the baby gets here. Our closet needs to be organized and the garage is a mess.”

“I told you it was your job to get that Jacuzzi out of the garage,” he was quick to point out to 5 months pregnant wife. I ignored him.

“So, those things are things I really think we need to focus on in the next two months. I also need to buy diapers, wash the baby’s clothes and determine what we need to buy the boys’ for their winter wardrobe.”

“Wah wah wah, wah wah wah, wah wah wah wah,” heard my husband.

“But what’s really important is this,” I continued on. “I hate the goddamn vacuum. I need you to know that I am never, ever going to vacuum upstairs. If you think that needs to be done more often, that’s on you. Because while I should do it, I won’t. I need you to be aware of that so that you don’t get any unrealistic expectations.”

“When have you EVER vacuumed upstairs?” he spit, suddenly slightly outraged.

“Never,” I confirmed. “I need you to know that won’t change. Not while we get ready for this next baby, not while I’m on maternity leave, not if I become a stay at home mom. I’ll do laundry and dishes and cook. Hell, I’ll scrub toilets but I absolutely will not vacuum upstairs. I thought you should know.”

He was quiet. For a long time. I’m not sure he knew how to respond without getting slapped. Although he could have been fuming that I hadn’t yet disposed of the Jacuzzi that was sitting in our garage.

“Well honey,” he responded some hours later, “you should know: laundry is my vacuuming. Never gonna happen.”

“Duly noted,” I replied.

And that is how you set levels. Suck it, Corporate America. You ain’t got nothing on us.

Pew pew pew!  Did you hear those sounds of laser-y awesomeness?  If so, head over to Taming Insanity and tell her just how cool she is.  Thank you for guest posting, KLZ!

Stasha from Northwest Mommy is Guest Posting!

Dear everyone who thinks that Communism is bad: Please read the guest post from Stasha (who is the curator of Northwest Mommy) who has hard evidence to the fact that Communism is awesome. 

This is a true story.

I grew up with my grandparents in a small country in the heart of Europe. Back then it belonged to Yugoslavia. Much like Bill’s lovely wife I was raised in a socialist system. Except all my memories are fond.

My grandpa was a high-ranking officer in National army. He joined the Academy young, not long after the 2^nd world war ended. Like many of his peers, being a child of war gave him a unique perspective on life. He was a proud and hardworking man. But most of all, he was a man of honor.

Back at the end of 60’s, the town near Lake Bled planned to build a campsite for tourists to enjoy. The area was marshy and a few contractors failed to drain it properly. The mayor contacted the government and my grandfather was asked to assist. He was an engineer and his department was deployed to give the grounds one last try.

It is of course a happy story. They managed to drain it, and since then, it has been a five star camping ground. In return my grandfather was offered a bid at a lot to build his dacha on. (Note from Bill - for those who don't know, a dacha is like a house in the country side...pretty much required for all people of society in Eastern European countries) He declined.  Afterward he mentioned he had to stop at the chocolate factory to pick up some giant bars for his three daughters, but the mayor sent him some as a thank you.

My grandma repeated this story many times. I think there was a longing in her voice, regret that her husband never provided her with a luxurious summer retreat. He was a civic servant, an officer doing his job. She never understood him.

In socialism we were all given equal privileges and responsibilities; in return we were expected to be productive members of society. Grandpa was never politically involved, but he followed the principles and accepting a gift was against everything he stood for.

He was my role model, my hero. I hope one day, soon, my son and I go camping back home. I will tell him a story of his great grandfather. It is worth so much more then a summerhouse ever would be.

Thank you, Stasha, for sharing a truly touching story about your Grandpa.  My wife's father is trained as a Marsh-draining engineer as well - small world.  And also, thank you for showing the beauty of Communism - which is: if you do something good for the government, you can get some giant chocolate bars in return.  And seriously, who doesn't like chocolate?

Go on over to Stasha's and check out her blog, which she shares with her adorable son who is gutsy enough to sport pink Chuck Taylor's and massive Newfoundland dog who does shag carpet impressions.

Phase Three of Life is Guest Posting!

Today, I'm welcoming Meghan from Phase Three of Life to guest post!  There are few things that are awesome in this world. But, a mom who can wrestle an 11 month old with chronic, near crippling ear infections and a penchant for high speed chases down the freeway hallway, while maintaining a blog that extolls her outstanding sense of wit and charm is definitely one of those things.  Also, I just learned that she makes a mean chocolate chip cookie bar.  

Back in the days before I became a mom, I was a baker. I say “was” cuz once I had a kid, something had to give. Taking non-stop care of the kid is borderline required, and my boss had an expectation that I would keep coming into the office every single day, so my baking time took a major hit.

Recently, I realized I missed eating loads of cookies and cakes baking for family and friends.  I set aside one precious hour to whip up some chocolate chip cookie bars. Once Mike and I had devoured a significant portion of them, it occurred to me: my kid has never sampled my baking.  

Eleven full months of life on Earth and none of Mom’s baking? “Unacceptable,” I thought to myself.

So after Ryan ate an impressive amount of chicken and sweet potatoes for dinner the other night, I decided his good appetite and general happy demeanor should be rewarded with some dessert.

Kid gobbled it up. (Well, most of it: the chocolate chips are something of a choking hazard, and so I made the supreme sacrifice of ridding the world of them. The things we do for our kids!)

It was a positive experience all around: Ryan was happy to finally be allowed to eat something unhealthy, and I was satisfied with the confirmation – once and for all – that the kid is most definitely genetically related to me.

He happily splashed in the bathtub for a bit and then went down to sleep without so much as a whimper of complaint.

Mike and I enjoyed a relaxing meal, marveling at how easy the night was going (this is almost always our first mistake).

Then we heard a little cough over the monitor.

We paused our conversation for a moment.

He coughs a lot in his sleep, but this sounded different. Sort of... *cough*… muffled. Or... *cough*… thick?

Mike got to his room first and opened the door.

“Oh, god,” he said. “Oh, jeez. Oh, buddy.”

And there it was – chicken, sweet potatoes and chocolate chip cookie bar – all over his face, his hair, his neck, his hands, his sheet, his blanket. More food (did he really eat all of that??) than you’ve ever seen in your entire life.

We stood for a moment, just staring. It was quite a mess to behold, second only to one other incident that probably can never be topped (and I swear, we’re not trying to top it).

Here's what he looks like when he's clean and smiling. Trust me, you don't want to see him the other way.

Once the destruction was all cleaned up and Ryan was sufficiently tortured with a second bath and all the pieces of sweet potato had been plucked from behind the crib and the washer was happily humming, I asked the question that was haunting me:

"Do you think it was the chocolate chip cookie bar?"

"Nah, he probably just ate too much," Mike assured me. "Those cookie bars are delicious."

Please, go check out her blog, you won't regret it.  Also, we should all pool together our resources and try to bribe a couple of those chocolate chip cookie bars off of her.  Comments are off - go check her out!

Guest Posting at Daddy Runs A Lot!

Today, I have the grand honor of guest posting over at Daddy Runs A Lot - a blog about a dad who...you guessed it, runs a LOT.  Once, he just walked outside, willy nilly, and busted out a half marathon without even thinking twice about it.

I knew I liked the guy when he talked about his love of opera.  But then, he sealed it with an accurate discussion of the different types of zombies available to choose from when deciding which one to run away from first.  The list even includes the often contemplated "Rule 34 Zombies", who are at all times sexy, weird, and brain-hungry.

So, if you please, head on over to his place and peruse the merchandise, then read some blabbering monologue I put together about how impatient I am about Sammy growing up.

Guest Posting at The Good Life!

Today, I have the distinct honor of posting over at The Good Life.  Stasha (aka @NorthWestMommy)  apparently lives in a place as close to paradise as possible.  As long as you like rain. 

But her photography speaks for itself, and she's in the process of her very own 365 project that pretty much sums up peaceful Northwest USA, what with the horses, and the beautiful blond child and...wait, what is that?  A walking shag carpet?  Oh, no, that's just Big M, her trusty Newfoundland steed.  The dog plays as much of an integral role in her life as her son - which is as it should be.

I wrote about the darker side of Russian Cuisine.  And while there are many culinary bright spots, like the BBQ, the desserts, and the perogies, they DO eat food that I'm not really even sure Big M would be into.  So head on over, and check out the list!  Just make sure you aren't in the middle of eating breakfast. 

Guest Posting at It's Blogworthy!!

Today, I have the unique pleasure of being dubbed, "Blogworthy". 

The very sweet and always funny Amanda Blogworthy asked me to guest post over at her place today, and I have a beautiful tale of my inter-cultural wedding waiting for those of you awesome enough to make the jump.

Amanda is also the brilliant creator of the Celebrity Weekly Round-up, which is an always hysterical review of the week's happenings in the world of the glitter-azi.  No, I don't mean homosexual German fascists, I mean...well, I was never really clear on what glitter-azi meant.  But it has to do with celebrities.  And glitter.

She does a much better job than I do, which is why her blog is Blogworthy!

Guest posting over at Taming Insanity

Happy Friday everyone!  And as a special gift to you and your family, I bestow upon you my first guest post ever over at the lovely and wonderful Taming Insanity.  KLZ and her awesome husband have been good friends for a while, and KLZ is really the one that inspired me to start a blog in the first place.  So she's really the one to blame/thank.  And her husband is probably the one who got me interested in what it is that I do for a career now-a-days.

So I owe a lot to these kids.

So go check out KLZ - she's hysterical, sarcastic, and sweet all at the same time.