Papillon (Hot Butterfly)

Oh, it's caterpillar season. After a couple of years of pretty light gypsy moth activity, it appears the tents are back in full force near my grandparents', and of course when you are two, this is fascinating:

I always loved caterpillars, before I learned just how destructive they really are. I still kind of think they're cute. At least I will always have lightning bugs.

Maybe my recollection is hazy, but I don't remember trying to actively kill every bug I saw when I was Shae's age. I was more of a girlie-girl, and I still get my husband to dispose of the spiders, flies, millipedes, etc. that turn up in the basement. But not my kid:

I'm not sure whether to be proud or horrified.


21st Century Digital Boy

Skype, people. It is t3h r0xx0rz! Last night Shae, G, and I had a video phone call with my sister and newphew, and it was AWWWWWWWWWWWWSOME. So much so that we're looking into a webcam for my parents.

Technology is amazing, yo.


Shae & the Giant Inflatable Hot Dog

So, yeah, when we went to the Phillies game on Monday? Apparently I managed to take exactly one photograph. Fortunately it was not of my poor beleaguered stalking victim, but of Shae and G and the Giant Inflatable Hot Dog:

And even she, at the tender age of two, cannot believe what an unfathomable dork her mother is, as evidenced by this Cute-Overload-style enhancement:

She is all, "Bitch, please!" like she's Sasha Fierce or Tyra or something. Kids these days, honestly.


Girls on Film

A couple more totally random pictures from last weekend before I offload the picture of Shae and the Giant Hot Dog from the Phillies game Monday (I really hope it came out OK!).

We are lucky enough to have a pint-sized one-woman cleaning crew, when she isn't busy being a pint-sized one-woman wrecking crew. She loves her "gardening tools," a bunch of Little Tikes toys that my mom found for her -- a watering can, a small spade, a sifter, a shovel. There is even a rake, which Shae likes to keep in her room, next to her bed. I shit you not: it's for "just in case," I guess. Can't imagine there are many occasions when a toddler needs a rake in the middle of the night, but it doesn't hurt to be prepared, I suppose.

I am not really crazy about her sudden interest in nakedness -- she is a very pretty little girl, after all, and there are a whole lot of pervs out there -- but I know I used to run around with no clothes on (as recently as ... this morning, actually) so as long as it's still occasional and not, like, a compulsion, we indulge her. To a point, at least: there will be no "nudie cuties" in Wal-Mart on my watch. I will admit, I do envy that she is so comfortable in her own skin and doesn't have body issues. And my goodness, that hair! And those eyelashes! I covet.

(Is it still a sin to covet another's hair and eyelashes if they're your own child?)

My Uncle Joe has an upright piano in his family room, the piano that my cousins used to play, but not so much any more. He loved listening to Shae bang on the keys and sing along to whatever she thought she was playing ("Twinkle Star," probably). And although the angle is funny here, you can tell that she was having a good ol' time. She loves music. Note to self: will need to investigate used Casio keyboards.


Insane in the Membrane

Um, so, yeah ... it's nothing. Poison ivy run amok, basically. Got a prescription for some prednisone and I bought myself a spray can of benzocaine. Good times, good times.

(Actually, I'm kind of disappointed; I won't lie. I was sort of hoping for some kind of exotic illness. "Contact dermatitis" is so ... pedestrian. Guess I'll have to keep working on my maladies until I get one that is exciting and will maybe inspire an episode of "House." Yes, I know I am butternuts crazy.)

Earlier I posted a blinged-out version of a picture I like for no particular reason -- I thought it only fair that I put the original up, as well.

Like I said, there is no particular reason why I like this -- there is just something about the expression on her face. I don't remember what she was doing when I took this picture, but she looks like she's deep in thought or conversation with My Anonymous Mother (at right) and my husband (on the left).

This shot reminds me of the scene in Kenneth Branagh's version of "Much Ado About Nothing," where he fights with a folding chair and loses spectacularly. (It also reminds me that I am very old, because probably none of you know what I am talking about.)

Here we are in the pool again, this time with one of the other bridesmaids from my sister's upcoming wedding. I don't know what this face is, but I like it.

Edit: OOPS! Apparently I have misidentified the girl in the last picture -- it's my future brother-in-law's niece, who is the program mistress, and not a bridesmaid. Sorry Jackie!


I have to go to the doctor's to find out what weird plague I have this week -- could be nothing, could be shingles, could be scurvy or rickets or scabies, could be nothing -- so here, let me distract you with shiny things and bling.


I like this picture for no particular reason, and the original is just fine (I'll probably post it later, in fact), but this version has something special. It really sparkles, don't you think? Tee hee.


Under My Umbrella-ella-ella

I don't know what it is with this kid -- every day it's something else. Yesterday at my Uncle Joe's picnic she was entertained by an umbrella, of all things:

She gets very possessive of "her" things -- when my uncle tried to take the umbrella away because it was starting to thunder and lightning, she grabbed on and wouldn't let go. And today when we were at the outlets, she kept asking us to buy her an umbrella, which maybe we should have done, because she looks like the Morton salt girl:

I mean, okay, yes, technically I needed to flip the picture around to get the orientation of the umbrella correct vis-à-vis that famous graphic, but tell me this kid doesn't have "major brand name spokesmodel" written all over her.


Summer Lovin'

Here is the very first swimming picture of the summer -- the first of hundreds, no doubt. This one is cropped weird, and I apologize, but much like I often seem to get pictures of Shae with her mouth open, it seems I equally often get pictures of My Anonymous Mother with her mouth open, and the original of this one is no exception. Nobody needs to see that (and most of my readers {hi Jaime!} see that all the time anyway).

As a point of comparison, here is the first swimming picture from Memorial Day Weekend last year:

Oh my lands, what a long strange trip it's been! (And along the way, I like to think the quality of my blogging has improved, as well -- not to mention the quality of the photography.)


Twenty Questions: America, F*ck Yeah!

Sorry, that's kind of an obnoxious title, but I meant it ironically, so. In honor of the upcoming long Memorial Day weekend, as well as the unofficial start of summer, this week's random trivia is just that -- a random hodgepodge of stuff from different categories that I have cleverly disguised as an "Americana" quiz. Or not, depending on how flexible your definition of "Americana" is. Anyway, can you come up with answers to the following questions?
  • Three songs that contain "U.S.A." in the title (easy)
  • Three TV shows that featured a beach in the opening credits (easy)
  • Three kinds of salads that might be served at a picnic (easy)
  • Three kinds of beverages that people drink in the summer (easy)
  • Three games or activities that are played outdoors (easy)
  • Three movies that "reference" the 4th of July in the title (moderate to hard)
  • Two songs about American cities that were recorded by foreigners (hard)
Twenty total points possible. Approximate difficulty of the questions is in parentheses (didn't want to tax your brains too much, what with it being a long weekend and all). You shouldn't use your Google-fu -- and for this one you shouldn't even need it -- but how will I know if you do? I will post my answers in the comments on Tuesday (so you have time to come up with good answers and still have time to get your party on).


Sidewalk Café

My parents came down last weekend, not just to bring the "big girl bed," but also to do the (mostly) annual weeding. It's my birthday present every year, because while I am pretty good in the yard when it comes to vegetables and roses and stuff I actually started from seed myself, everything else is a potential crime scene. Like, I know I have bee balm and spiderwort and coneflowers in my garden beds, but until they are actively flowering, I don't always know what is what, and I run the risk of accidentally pulling out something that isn't really a weed. (Except morning glories: those I recognize on sight, and I pull those shoots right out and then set them on fire.)

While my parents were assembling furniture and pruning the lilacs, Shae dined al fresco. She and her bologna sandwich went everywhere my mom did all day long.

And it occurs to me, just now, that fully 75% of the pictures I have of my kid are either of her swimming, or eating. Easily that many. If you include the random naked and bathtub pictures, it's 90%. I'm not sure if that makes me a weirdo, or what, or just a typical parent. I hope we're not giving her a complex.

Now that we've mastered "Twinkle Star" and "You Are My Sunshine" and "Que Sera, Sera" and "Rehab" (Shae sings the "NO NO NO!" part, and she's very good at it), I think the next songs we're going to have to learn are some of the more traditional childhood classics: "Oh, I Wish I Were An Oscar Mayer Wiener" and "The Armour Hot Dog Song" and of course everyone's favorite, "My Bologna Has A First Name."

'Cause Oscar Mayer has a way with Mommy's pretty little Shae.


In Bed

It's hard to believe that it was 20 years ago that I first read "In Bed," Joan Didion's essay about migraines -- suffering from them, living with them, functioning in spite of them. It wasn't long before I read that piece that I had started getting migraines of my own, that I started understanding what it was like for my mother all those days when she was incapacitated with exquisite pain, that I could completely empathize with the wish "for a neurosurgeon who would do a lobotomy on house call."

I still think about Didion on days like today, when something in the air -- too much sun, too much air, too much pollen, too much stress, too much life -- turns my body on itself, when I start to feel that all-too-familiar pounding behind my eyes, when I start to see that hazy ring of colored light encircled by and encircling concentric rings of pure white brightness, when the sound of my own breathing makes me want to curl up and put my head between my knees and kiss my ass goodbye.

Or, as Didion put it, far more eloquently than I ever could: "That no one dies of migraine seems, to someone deep into an attack, an ambiguous blessing."

Like most migraine sufferers, I never really know when or why they're coming, but suddenly at 6:22 one Thursday morning or 2:49 one Tuesday afternoon, there you are, lying in bed or sitting at your desk, cowering under the covers or covering your head, hoping that soon, very soon, it will all be over, one way or another. Sometimes going back to sleep helps, or hiding in the recesses of your cubicle with all the lights turned off, but global thermonuclear war seems as good an option, in the moment, as anything else.

Usually I find myself wanting to throw up, because that seems to make the pain dissipate faster, but just as often I catch myself doing some sort of alien pharmaceutical calculus: two of those pills plus two of these plus one of them plus a glass of water equals X. Always solving for X, working out the magic formula that will maximize efficacy and minimize downtime, a micromanager of my own perilous condition. Can I handle caffeine now? How much? Can I stick my whole head in the freezer for a while, or should I just save time and aim for the oven instead?

The worst days are when I get migraines while I'm at work -- there are not a lot of places to find darkness and quiet in a glass office building. The places I sometimes end up would be comical if they weren't also horrifying. I have been under my desk, á la George Costanza. I have hidden in the shower of the executive washroom. Once, I spent 45 minutes lying on the floor of the janitor's closet, thwarting a panic attack by counting rolls of toilet paper and vending-machine maxipads before I dozed off.

In an hour or so, maybe more, maybe less, the half-dozen assorted pills I took will start to do something -- not really stop the pain, or even really ease it, but deaden the rest of my senses so I can shuffle through the rest of my day in a Tylenol-frosted haze. Before I leave work, I might feel well enough to eat something, although at this point I can't imagine what I would want to eat anyway. Mostly I just want to finish my work and go home, where I can crank the air conditioner as cold as it will go, crawl under the comforter, and die in peace.


Operation: Renovation

We had to pick my car up at the dealer's tonight, and on the way home we stopped at Babies R Us (for a longer safety rail for the side of the bed), and it so happens that in the same shopping center is one of my favorite stores on Earth: Marshall's. The materials for our extreme home makeover are pictured below.

Once we're done washing and arranging and etc., I'll show you the finished product. Assuming it isn't a sucky embarrassment (which, let's face it -- the odds are better than even money that it will be, since I'm in charge.)

Twenty Answers: It's Raining Men

I said I was going to put my "Trivia Friday" answers in the comments, but I don't know whether I'll get a chance to post any new pictures today because I have to run all over the Western Hemisphere today so I can get my car back out of the shop, so I am cheating and making my replies a blog post. Hey, it's my damn blog, and I can do whatever the hell I want. Respect my authoritay!

Anyway ... here are the songs that I was thinking of when I wrote the questions last week (these are not the only correct answers, just the ones that I came up with and verified -- other possible answers may be correct):

  • Three songs from the 1970's that have "Rain" in the title ("Fire and Rain," James Taylor; "Laughter in the Rain," Neil Sedaka; "Rainy Days & Mondays," The Carpenters)
  • Three songs from the 1980's that have "Rain" in the title ("Blame It on the Rain," Milli Vanilli; "Purple Rain," Prince; "Here Comes the Rain Again," Eurythmics)
  • Three songs from the 1990's that have "Rain" in the title ("November Rain," Guns n' Roses; "No Rain," Blind Melon; "Rain King," Counting Crows)
  • Two songs that have "Weather" in the title ("Traffic and Weather," Fountains of Wayne; "The Weather is Here, Wish You Were Beautiful," Jimmy Buffett)
  • Two songs that have "Hurricane" in the title ("Rock You Like a Hurricane," Scorpions; "Trying to Reason with Hurricane Season," Jimmy Buffett)
  • Two songs that have "Thunder" in the title ("Thunder Road," Bruce Springsteen; "Thunderstruck," AC/DC)
  • Two songs that have "Lightning" in the title ("Lightning Crashes," Live; "Greased Lightning" from Grease)
  • And, the "change-up": Three songs by Earth Wind & Fire ("September," "Shining Star," "Boogie Wonderland" {featured The Emotions})

Tina practically read my mind and got a lot of the same answers I did, including the freaking bonus answers which I didn't even announce. That's kind of creepy and awesome, in a Teddy Ruxpin kind of way. Another quiz this week -- I am already working on it!


Big Girls Don't Cry

What do you get when you have a toddler who is ready for a "big girl" bed, but parents who aren't? You get a bed that ends up looking something like this:

Totally mismatched, stuffed animals everywhere, with a pillow that up until an hour ago was mine. I knew the bed was coming, and I knew my parents were coming down here, but somehow I just never put together that the bed was coming with them today.

So we will be going bed-in-a-bag shopping, because as much as I have no qualms about "recycling" linens and things -- I mean, seriously, the sheets were my parents and both the Garfield (TM) comforter and the matching plush that is as big as my head were my husband's once -- exactly nothing matches the Lily-Pulitzer-esque pink-and-green color palette of the rest of the room.

And while Shae is clearly ready to move on up to the East Side:

Mommy? Won't get a wink of sleep until everything matches just so. Freak.

PS -- No, not pinkeye, just a weird trick of the camera.
PPS -- She doesn't even know who Garfield is; he's just a cat to her.


Mutual of Omaha Presents: Wild Kingdom

The video and sound quality on this are terrible, but it was an early attempt to capture this specimen on video. As you can see, our subject was a little excitable and agitated in the presence of the Webcam, but hopefully as she becomes more exposed to our modern human technology, she will become more cooperative.

As the specimen might say: "Ni-ceeken!"


Twenty Questions: Heavy Cloud, No Rain

Hey, remember way back around the Super Bowl, when I said I wanted to start doing Trivia Fridays, and then I sort of ... stopped? Well, I'm bringing sexy back, babies! And in honor of the 40 days and 40 nights of rain that we've had in these parts, with more on the way, I decided to do a quiz about The Weather. Specifically, "songs about the weather." Can you come up with songs that fit the criteria below?

  • Three songs from the 1970's that have "Rain" in the title
  • Three songs from the 1980's that have "Rain" in the title
  • Three songs from the 1990's that have "Rain" in the title
  • Two songs that have "Weather" in the title
  • Two songs that have "Hurricane" in the title
  • Two songs that have "Thunder" in the title
  • Two songs that have "Lightning" in the title
  • And, the "change-up": Three songs by Earth Wind & Fire

Twenty total points possible. You should name the artist if possible but if it is a correct song title you won't lose any points. For the first three questions, "Rainy" or "Raining" or some other form of "rain" is acceptable, but "rainbow" is not. For question #6, a compound word containing "thunder" as one of its parts is acceptable (which means I just gave a REALLY BIG CLUE). You shouldn't use your Google-fu, but how will I know if you do? I will post my answers in the comments on Sunday (so you have time to come up with good answers).


I'm A Girl Watcher

Oh, look! A bunch of random pictures of Shae that have absolutely no thematic relationship! How shall I handle this latest intellectual challenge? Why, with snark, of course!

G took this picture when we were at the playground near my grandparents' on Saturday. I like this one because she looks like Kilroy, sorta, if you squint a little bit and maybe have a couple of shots of tequila first. We have like 583 gajillion pictures of her on the swings, and she is almost never looking directly at the camera. She's starting to give me a complex -- the ol' "Look! There's a bird on Mommy's head!" trick doesn't even get her attention any more.

Interesting paradox: I have noticed that it does not appear to be possible for Shae to have a clean nose and a clean mouth at the same time. Here, she is booger-free, but she's got a little something in her teeth. Basil, I think. (The flowers in the background are yellow ranunculus. That is not important, but I mention them because I like them.)

There is no good reason for this picture to be here, except you can see some of the detail on her Mother's Day dress, if you happen to give a snot about details on little girls' Mother's Day dresses. I might put Shae in this dress for my sister's bridal shower, provided she does not hit another growth spurt and outgrow it by then.

Double whammy -- boogers AND mess-mouth! Here we are enjoying a little pre-dinner snack of ... ice cubes! Yes, I have a child who deliberately asks for ice cubes as a snack. Of course, I have also tricked her into believing that her Winnie-the-Pooh vitamins are "footnacks," although that is not exactly hard. And anyway, chewable vitamins rock.


Whine and Crackers

I debated whether I was even going to write about this -- I try not to air too much "dirty laundry" because even though I have an overactive imagination and I live in a fantasy world 95% of the time, the reality is that I live in a house with real people who have real feelings, and I don't want to deliberately hurt them.

But the fact remains: Mother's Day kind of sucked this year, and I'd be dishonest if I didn't admit to being sorely disappointed.

I know that Mother's Day isn't supposed to be about presents -- I know this. It's about recognizing and appreciating those women in our lives who have had the greatest impact on the people we are, who we will become, who we are still becoming. It's about thanking our mothers, grandmothers, wives, fiancées, girlfriends, aunts, sisters, cousins, friends. Acknowledging them for being there, supporting us, showing us the way and shouldering our burdens when we can't bear them alone.

We do it with cards, poems, brunches, bouquets, trifles and trinkets. We say, in whatever way we can: "You mean something to me, every day, every minute, and I want you to know this. You are important to me. You have made my life what it is."

And I know that there is more than one woman in my husband's life, and in my daughter's, just like there is more than one woman who matters to me. In the same way, but different. He has a mother too, and she has more than one grandmother, and of course I do not think that Mother's Day should have been all about me, all about what I want, all about what I think I deserve, all about what I think I am worth.

But I do kind of think it should have been like that, just a little bit, at least.


Walking on the Moon

So: busy weekend. Mother's Day, Star Trek, first communion party, trampoline.

Our "bounce guide" here is my cousin Zach, who was surprisingly awesome with Shae on the trampoline. Not that he isn't usually, but he was especially considerate of Shae's "littleness." Of course, me standing there with a camera to catch him in the act of anything "untoward" probably helped.

Shae was happy to just run around in circle on the trampoline, catching herself just before she would fall over, or spiraling into the center where Zach would catch her. She likes the Moon Bounce when they have it at school, but I don't think she's been on a proper trampoline before. We weren't allowed to have one when we were foster parents -- and we don't really have room for one in our yard, anyway.

She did OK jumping on her own, but she really liked it when she lay down and spread out, and someone else did the jumping. We didn't let her get too much air underneath her, but just enough to feel that little bit of weightlessness. I think she liked it. I'm actually very afraid of what's going to happen at Hersheypark this year -- she might want to go on roller coasters, and I might just have to hide out at the zoo or on the Chocolate World ride. (Hey, free samples -- don't you judge me.)

Anyway ... we really liked the trampoline.


Confidential to My Anonymous Mother

Dear Anonymous Mother,

Don't worry -- I make this face at Shae all the time. So I guess you got what you always wanted: I got a daughter who is just like me.

Make you keep that guest room available, eh? It's going to be a long time until college.

xoxo R.

Happy Mother's Day!


Sweet Caroline

Growing up in my parents' house, there were Rules, lower-case-C "commandments" that we would follow if we didn't want to get grounded or disowned: Don't eat the last cookie or take the last scoop of ice cream. Don't bring the car back with no gas left in the tank. Don't chase your sisters around the house with Cutco knives, what were you raised by wolves or something?

I have broken every single Rule my parents had, I think, or at least every single one I knew about, except for that which I considered to be The Big One: "Thou shalt not ever, under any threat or circumstance, become or date a NYC-metro-area sports fan. Ever. (And not Notre Dame, either, if you know what's good for you.)"

Obviously the Commandment of Lunatic Sports Fealty came from my father. My mom is a sports fan, too, but my father ... well, let's just say I now know which side of the family the gene that makes you yell obscene things at blind umpires, biased referees, and idiot wide receivers comes from. Not to mention my frothing insane hatred for the New York Yankees, which has only been compounded by ten years of marriage to a formerly closeted Vichy Boston baseball sympathizer.

So I suppose it will come as a shock to exactly no one that we are raising our daughter as a Red Sox fan:

We're working on the booing, the heckling, and the infield chatter, although I'm not sure how much progress we're making. And every time we try to get her to say "Go Sox!" she just starts examining her toes for fuzzies. And she kind of thinks Wally the Green Monster is the same guy as the Phillie Phanatic, which ... well, last time that didn't end very well. But we're getting there.


Lullabye (Goodnight, My Angel)

"Good night, Shae."
"Goo-nat, Mommy."
"I love you, Shae."
"Ah la-loo, Mommy."
"Sweet dreams, Shae."
"No problem, Mommy."
"I -- what?"


Cupcake Calendar: May

Well, that experiment didn't last very long, now did it? I'm not even good at being a cheating fraud. No wonder I still smoke. Is it possible for me to suck at my own life even more than I already do?

Anyway ... this is my least favorite month on the calendar, and I am willing to bet large American dollars that it is because this is the only month that has me in it. There aren't a lot of pictures of me these days, since I am usually behind the camera. This one isn't too bad -- I mean, that's a real smile and all -- but it's not that great either. It appears I am missing my neck, and I wonder, is it even humanly possible to have more linebacker-y shoulders than I do without actually putting on shoulder pads? (Answer: Probably not, but the gals from Dynasty could potentially give it a go.)

{Totally unrelated aside -- have you seen Linda Evans and Joan Collins lately? Holy tomato! Something weird and wonky is going on with Linda's face, but her body is still killer, and I would really like it if whoever it is that Joan sold her soul to would give me a call. Yowza! She is still a dish, isn't she? Bitch.}

Still and all, even though in retrospect I find the background to this one is kind of meh, these pictures of Shae are still some good ones, I think. We have the obligatory babushka shot, and one of the few photos in captivity of her dress from last Mother's Day, which she wore maybe once before she outgrew it -- and that's a shame, because this is a really cute dress, one of those Carter's numbers that comes with the matching panties. And if I remember correctly, the picture of us in Uncle Quack's hot tub is from the very first time we took her in the pool, and we all know how that ended up.

Now I am thinking hopefully about the coming summer (assuming it ever gets here, and that I will be able to enjoy it from the ark we are building in the basement -- better tell G to make sure to put a lido deck on the G.S. Lollipop). This year we will be able to go to the shore without a court order, and in fact we are already planning a short trip to Wildwood near Labor Day. We might be able to start actual swimming lessons this year, and I know a couple of swimming coaches and several lifeguards who want to assist.

Oh, and Shae will be wearing an adorable bikini which threatens to give my husband a stroke -- that's comedy gold, right there.


Rainy Days and Mondays

Today is my birthday. I am 35. And this has been one of the crappiest birthdays I can remember. It isn't because of the Big Significant Number -- my age does not scare me or anything, and I know that I have earned every damn one of my wrinkles. But it is Monday, and it rained all day, and work sucks, and there is water in the basement, and I still have the pig-SARS-avian-flu-plague thing or something, and I kind of really wanted a party. Although I did get ice cream cake, and G took me out for lunch. That at least counts for something, although ... not much. But he tries, and I can be very difficult.

Yet again, I am going to start whining about how I need a vacation. It's hard to get over the Seasonal Affective Disorder when the season won't change and stay changed, when it won't warm up for long, when it won't stop being so damp and dank and miserable. I want to feel like this:

So I'm going to pretend that I do. And I'm going to take a mini "vacation" from blogging this week and let other people write my posts for me for a couple of days or so, beginning with my sister Jaime.

Promise you won't download the old photos and try to blackmail me with them later, 'kay?


I Am The Warrior

A quick little update about World of Warcraft, because it's been at least ten minutes or something: as of this morning, Roxxii the super-fantastic arcane/frostfire mage is now an Exalted Champion of Gnomeregan and she does not wish to hear any more of anyone's shit.

Yes, that's right -- I now have a "pet" who is bigger than I am and if you piss me off and my nuclear Arcane Barrage doesn't kill you, I'll send Petey in to kick your hairy Tauren ass. (Yes, I have named my Argent Squire "Petey" ... got a problem with that?)

Of course, that assumes that I am not wearing some kind of ridiculous outfit involving rabbit ears, a tuxedo, flowers, and an Easter basket because I am working on some sort of seasonal achievement that grants a vanity title -- although no one I know would ever do such a thing.

If you're looking for me, I'll be herb farming in Icecrown or trying not to die in battlegrounds while I'm trying to figure out how to complete that damn Children's Week achievement so I can work towards my violet proto-drake. I need to have it, because purple is my favorite color.

Thank you for visiting the World Headquarters of Magic Roxxii Airlines. Please enjoy your travels! Good day, and good luck.
All images © Blizzard Entertainment.