Kansas University alumnus Rob Riggle anticipates a full house this weekend as he once again teams up with fellow actors Paul Rudd, also a KU alumnus, and notorious Jayhawk fan Jason Sudeikis, to co-host the third annual Big Slick Celebrity Weekend, a benefit for Children’s Mercy Hospital.
My friend, Jill, makes the most marvelously addictive fried fondue balls. I know this because I ate no less than 200 of them at bunko last month. This unleashing of my not-so-inner turophile, along with an upcoming vacation and the bikini I plan to pack, inspired me to try a conditioning session at a nearby boxing club.
I am not sure what my husband and I were discussing during dinner when Luke’s monologue finally registered in our heads with, “I told the guy to leave me alone. I’m only 10.”
I might look like a grown-up complete with gray hairs, wrinkles and a minivan, but inside I am still the girl who swoons at the very mention of the words “royal” and “wedding.” And, of course, “half of Wham!”
It was one of the many days our kids had off from school this semester (they are all running together at this point, and I can’t be certain which one it was), and I was in the kitchen making lunch (of this I actually am certain).
For all my fellow Gen X-ers who find themselves sitting around with friends, grumbling about how times have changed, lamenting the passing of their acid-washed, Karma Chameleon childhoods as kids these days bop along with their flat-billed hats and nanopods right before you yell at them to get off your lawn, I have found a time machine guaranteed to take you back and ma
Aaah, Valentine’s Day, a day for celebrating love. (And/or eating chocolate.) In honor of this special day I have a special story to share, inspired by a question my oldest daughter recently asked, “Mom, what was your worst date?”
Uncle! Mercy! Whatever Mother Nature’s safe word is, I’m calling it right now.
Apparently I had blocked out about eight years of my life from the recesses of my brain. But a few days with my nephew, Charlie, and all those memories of the eight straight years I spent turning my toddlers into preschoolers came flooding back. For those of you blessed to have survived this point and, like us, do not remember what it was like, here is a refresher…
It was after midnight in Chicago. My husband had taken our kids back to the hotel earlier, leaving me to enjoy an evening out at my BFF’s 40th birthday party with college friends and my brother, now living in the Windy City.