Cute stuff he does [part I]

Everyone knows that when living with others, you're always bound to have unusual confrontations, you may start to notice quirky habits, and you're given a (sometimes too) realistic look into your roommate's life. Living with a boy is even better. Not only do you get to closely observe the male species, but if he's your husband, you get to poke fun at him (and love him) for the quirky things he does. Nathan is no exception. Now, while some of you may be annoyed when people take the time to close a box of crackers and place them back in the pantry when, in fact, the entire box is empty, I am quite different. This makes me laugh; they are little reminders of my husband throughout the day. He's just lucky that I didn't want the crackers that bad.

Today, I woke up, walked to the kitchen, went to the fridge to get the milk for my cornflakes, and found this little surprise:
Weetabix cereal in the fridge.


More to come.

Goooooooal!

And that's how La Suisse pulled off the biggest upset in the 2010 World Cup so far. Folks, it's a good year to be Swiss (or pretend to be by default). We're looking forward to the next Swiss game on June 25...and guess what else is going to be awesome about that night? We'll be able to watch it with the Coes! yessssss.

Home Swiss Home

After 15+ hours of travel, there's nothing like walking into a spic-n-span home with a 5 lb pup waiting/whining/and jumping to give you kisses. After taking a sweet sniff of the bright fuchsia peonies, and finding/reading all of the little love notes strategically placed throughout the apartment, I snuggled into the newly-washed bed sheets and crashed. Ahhh, it's good to be home.

And suddenly...

My brother became a college graduate today. My little brother. The same brother that danced in a baby blue tuxedo when he was five years old, imitating James Brown and Michael Jackson (Christy and I his back-up dancers, of course). The brother who played "cheese wars" in the backyard pool with me, even when the water felt like zero degrees. The brother who sang his heart out for my mother at Christmas (and burned her a CD of his original songs), while she listened with tears streaming down her cheeks.


I watched him rise on the bleachers, his once blond "bozo-winged" hair now a dark brown cluster of curls under his black cap, readying himself for the march down to the football field where he would receive a scarlet folder with a small slip of paper inside that signified the end of this chapter of adolescence; he could no longer blame my parents for things gone awry, or borrow money because his life was too consumed with studies to work. No more late nights morphing into early mornings at the studio, or emergency campus grocery drop-offs to replenish his bare pantry. As I came to, and focused once again on the ceremony, I realized that he was suddenly gone. The bleachers that once held my left-tasseled brother were empty, and I wondered when all of this happened. When did it all happen? When did my blue-suited, Michael Jackson singing five year-old brother become an award-winning, design-archived architect [to-be] ? With brief panic, I searched the sea of black for my brother---curls and converse shoes, I found him, a few steps away from receiving his diploma. I watched him shake hands with the dean, and switch his tassel from left to right. And suddenly, he didn't look so young to me anymore.

Crack what?

My mother is at it again. After "putting up" with my embarrassing indulgence in MTV reality shows (Real Housewives of NYC), she has somehow added three words to her ever-growing and evolving vocabulary. Today while walking home from Jeni's ice cream, she proceeded to use the terms "biatches" and "crack whores" in the same sentence. In a thick Chilean accent.



Priceless.



Oh, and I almost peed myself.