Eenie Meenie

I just thought this was funny. I don’t think you can actually even tell how tiny this sandwich really was. It was almost the size of a post it note. Just made me giggle.

Babies R Robinson

My beautiful sister Annie Fannie is pregnant with her very own little Doak....errrr....Robinson. It has been so much fun to see my sister pregnant. And why, by the way, are we not capitalizing on this Immaculate Conception? We should be millionaires!!

After Mark and Anne told us at Thanksgiving they were preggars, I started asking every week how big it was. “It” started as a poppy seed, then a blueberry, then an olive, then a peach, etc. Eventually “It” turned in to “him” and then “him” turned in to “Graham”. We have all watched his nursery come together (slowly but surely, in true Anne fashion). Besides Anne’s humongous cankles that look exactly like Grandma Bernie’s (ugh…), she looks amazing. She thinks she looks like a swarm of bees stung her but who am I to argue? She has the crazy pregnancy hormones running through her and lets be honest, she already shaved part of my head. What’s next? Nope. Not getting in to that with her face to face. But on my blog where I can say anything I want, I can say it. She looks great and is such a trooper. I can’t imagine having a stomach big enough to hold LeBron James and she really hasn’t complained at all. Well, I imagine maybe to Mark…but not to me. Everyone has read her blog and knows how big this butterball is. While she is a bit nervous about having to deliver this little fatty, I think this is fantastic news. Fat babies are the sh*t. I think Anne probably finds quite a bit of comfort in the fact that our mom (who was a miniature 110 pounds or something ridiculous) gave birth to 5 children that were all 9 1/2 and 10 1/2 pounds. I would think that would give someone serious bragging rights but if you ask my mom she’s like, “ohhhhh it’s nothing.” WHAT? You better believe if I had a baby as fat as Pat (almost 11 pounds…right? Just disgusting) that I wouldn’t be so blasé about the whole thing. BUT. That is one of the many things about my mother that makes her amazing. I feel pretty confident that Anne will give our mom a run for her money.


I can honestly say more than anyone I know, I think Anne will be the most amazing mom. She is fiercely protective of the people she loves. The most important thing you can give a child is love and there isn’t even the slightest possibility that her kids will ever doubt how greatly they are loved. Her creativity mixed with Mark’s wit will make them a fun set of parents to watch raise children. I’m so excited to watch Anne be a mom – it will be so natural for her. I really think some people are just born to be parents. My mother certainly was. I will always believe that her purpose on this earth was to raise children and make people smile. I can’t think of two more fitting people to do exactly the same thing.

Can't wait.

The definition of overdoing it

I come from a pretty pastey family. I’m just going to refer back to Anne’s post a while back. Now…while we can all look like we were extras on the Twilight set, our mom actually has a lot of olive in her skin. THANKFULLY I inherited a combination of my white ass father and my Italian looking mother. I can actually get pretty tan. I look like a used hand bag when I get that tan, but atleast I’m capable of it. Poor Anne can’t get a tan to save her life. She’s either white or red. Period. (No offense Roonie) All of the rest of us are atleast capable of getting a little bit of color. For the past two summers I have decided I would rather be pasty than look like I’m 40 when I’m 30. I really haven’t been out in the sun very much and I’ve gotten several comments in the past few weeks on my “see through skin”. Ugh. Okay. Maybe just a little tan. I’ll just get a little color so the circles under my eyes won’t show so much (thanks for that too Mom and Dad) and I look like I’m living in the same season as everyone else.

So I’m sitting at the pool with my friends they were like, “you’re really white…shouldn’t you really load up on the sun tan lotion?” and I say, “Nah, I put on some oil that has 8 in it…I’ll be good. I can actually get a really good tan”.


Fail.

Just Dirk it

So this picture has been floating around Facebook and it cracks me up. I’m certainly not putting it on FB, and probably shouldn’t even put it on here…but it was too good to pass up. He is so good it’s ridiculous.

A tale of six ducks

I. Love. Ducks. And elephants and penguins…but that isn’t the subject of this post. We showed up at our first kickball game at the JCC and there are ducks waddling through the dug out. I think I shrieked out of giddiness, commented on how cute the little family was, snapped a photo and walked away.

It didn’t really occur to me how they were going to get out of the fenced area (because you have to walk allll the way around the dug out to the other side) until some annoying girl started screaming asking everyone if they were “animal people”. I mean, what the heck were we supposed to do? Pick up the wild duck and her ducklings and politely carry them to a safer area? Yeah right. I like ducks but not that much. So the ducklings are jumping back and forth through the fence because they’re little enough, but the mom is flipping out. She keeps sticking her neck through the holes but then gets stuck. So then she tries another hole the exact same size because well…she’s a duck and she’s stupid. (Whoopsies)

So not only can we not play our game with a bunch of ducks behind home plate, but I’m also worried that this mom is going to kill herself trying to save her family or give herself a heart attack. – Can ducks have heart attacks? I wonder how common that is? – Anyway.

My plan is this. I will simply break the fence, hold it up and scoot the little ducks through the hole. Um. Negative. I can’t break the fence – it’s metal! Oh wait. Found a part of the fence that was already sort of broken (thank you poor city maintenance). So I’m pulling the bottom of this fence up with all my might so this damn duck can waddle under. Unfortunately me being there is scaring her…so while she gets CLOSE to me…she never actually goes under. Finally I found the first aid kit, stuck it under there to hold it up so the humans could step back. She knows something is good about what I did, but again…she’s a duck and she’s stupid so she’s jumping on TOP of the hole I made. The damn duck just can’t figure out she needs to go UNDER. Finally after probably 20 minutes (I’m not exaggerating) she finally figures out what the h she is supposed to do and jumps under the fence with her little babies safely in tow. Lizzi to the rescue. I know, I’m amazing. Who knew I would be such a duck lover? Our childhood dog Smokey scared the sh*t out of me for the whole 48 hours we owned him.

Hopefully they didn’t walk across Northaven and get run over after my heroic attempt to save their lives.

Tiny Wings

Okay, I’m jumping on the band wagon. A friend of mine told me to download the Angry Birds app. I knew about it but didn’t really care to learn how to play and I’m not totally in to video games. Except the original Mario, Duck Hunt, and Contra. DUH.
He let me play it on his phone and it was actually sort of fun, so I downloaded it. Honestly, I think it gets kind of old after awhile but it led me to the subject of this post. Tiny Wings.


It’s the same idea…a lame game that helps you kill time. But caution: This game gets addicting. It’s this little birdie (who is adorable by the way) that zooms down hills when you press your finger on the screen and then flies based on the amount of momentum he gains. It’s your job to know when to press down your finger to give him more and more momentum. If you have a “good slid” you get points. If you get him high enough (tee hee hee…) to touch the clouds, you get points. You have certain objectives and when you check them all off of your list, you get a new nest which just advances you to the next level where you are assigned new objectives. It’s way fun. I’m just saying.

Kickin' it

If you’re young and half-way normal (even if you’re not), you most likely know someone on a kickball team. I’ve always thought of doing it but never took the plunge. Amy (of course) called me a couple of months ago asking if I wanted to be on a team. And so it began. I wont lie, the team is a little random and I basically know no one…but I saw serious potential for fun and an excuse to drink on a Thursday night (now when did I ever need an excuse?). There are a lot of things going on here. First of all, trying to learn the rules. The last time I played kickball was in my fourth grade science class. I mean…it’s like baseball, right? Only problem there is while I love going to baseball games…it’s only for the beer, dollar hotdogs, and the opportunity for a tan. I never actually WATCH the game. What the hell do I know about baseball? General rules of course but…whatever, I’ll figure it out.



Week number 1. Amy sends out an email. She needs volunteers to be head referee and line refs for each game. Ugh.

Long story short, some rando assigned to our team volunteered to be head ref (thank god). Unfortunately…no one volunteered to be line ref. So guess what Doak sisters were stuck in that sticky spot? I would like to take this opportunity to reiterate that the last time I played kickball was when I was like…10 years old and it was geared towards science so I'm pretty sure adult rules didn't apply. Clearly I didn’t know the rules. Some crazy man tried to explain the rules to us about three minutes before the game. Force out? What the heck is a force out? What constitutes a foul? How do you get someone out? Ugh. Amy looked like she was going to throw up and her nervous laughter started kicking in and I was like, “dude, what’s the worst that can happen? It’s just a volunteer kickball league”. Oh. Hmm. Here is a situation that could happen:

Someone kicks a ball and it comes flying at you (duh, it’s a kickball game) and on instinct you lift up your leg to block it.

Whoops. Was that still in play? ……………..Needless to say, the team I helped get to first base was happy and the other team was…not. I had to sit the rest of the game listening to the team behind me talk sh*t. What did I do? Pretend it didn’t happen. I’m too cool for school. Duh.

Whoops….


*I feel it necessary to say that the man in the picture is not on our team. He is from Google. But I really wish he were on our team and my new best friend.