The kid and I were playing in the surf yesterday when I spotted the silver flash of a dorsal fin cutting through the water about 25 yards away. At first I thought it was a gull diving for food, but then I saw it again. I froze while the kid splashed around obliviously on his
It's a beach-themed Matryoshka Monday because that's where I am right now. I decided to take the kid down the shore this week. (For those of you not from south-central Pennsylvania or New Jersey, down the shore means to the beach.) Yes, we're hanging on the Jersey shore and no, it's not anything like THAT
I told the Russian before he left on his trip I was going to be hurting for blog content, him being halfway around the world and all. He agreed to let me share his messages from on the road because that's the kind of guy he is...
I'm sad because the Russian is in Chelyabinsk so I'm distracting myself making up Venn diagrams inspired by Russian Dolls. What else can I do? It's not like Marinka is allowing me to be her "plus one" at the premiere party or anything. I think I hate Marinka.
It was inevitable that I'd write about the new Lifetime series "Russian Dolls." Why not as a Matryoshka Monday post?
It’s Shark Week on the Discovery Channel. I assume you’re watching. On one of the shows a few nights ago they dissected a great white, slicing him nose-to-tail to reveal two tremendous lengths of muscle flanking a 15-foot spine. For some reason, I thought of our son -- all muscle and spine, getting stronger and
In an effort to perpetrate my sad mood on all of you even further, I thought I'd post a gloomy-faced doll for today's Matryoshka Monday. Blame the Russian -- I wouldn't be in this state if he wasn't fixing to abandon me soon.
Here are ten things I'm whining about today, in no particular order...
In this "Matryoshka Monday" I pay tribute to the only pop culture reference my husband and I share from our formative years: thank goodness for ABBA.
In which I review Wodka vodka which is -- wait for it -- POLISH. Anyone with the chutzpah to send Polish vodka to me, proud wife of a Stoli-drinking Russian, is worthy of a post. Wait till you see their, uh, "press materials."