Hey! Guess Who's Pregnant!

It's me! I'm the one! We've known for awhile, but I wanted to hold off internet announcing until I told Boss Man. I nervously told him yesterday, and it went really well. He said, "Welcome to the club!" ...which sorta sounds snarky written out, but was not at all. Anyway, he was excited. We'll see how it goes when we start talking maternity leave and post-baby work schedule...

Want to see some pictures?

Week 7--Wee Woo (Get it? Last name Wooten? I would say please don't steal my identity now that I've announced to the internet my first and last name, but it's been sitting up there in my "About Me" the whole time, so I guess my identity isn't that tempting.) Where were we? Wee Woo is the size of a raspberry.



Week 8--Wee Woo is the size of a green olive.



We haven't taken our Week 9 picture yet. Wee Woo is 1.5 inches, the size of a prune, but I didn't have any prunes laying around, so it'll require a special trip to the store. I have to hurry though because tomorrow we start Week 10.

I know I'm still early, still in the first trimester, and maybe I shouldn't be sharing so openly quite yet, but I'm excited, and I want to talk about it.

It's Like a Wet T-Shirt Contest

... except it's at work and my mushy belly isn't sexy and I was just trying to water our plants up in here.

What's that? Oh, that's what I get for trying to balance my open Nalgene on my hip while opening the door. You're right. Lesson learned. At least Boss Man isn't here.

It's Monday. I'm Back in the Office.

Create a MySpace Music Playlist at MixPod.com

Lunch Break

I know this last one is out of focus, but I wanted to show off my hydrangea blooms. :)

Cook, Cook, Cooking all Week!

This week is chocked full of cooking and catering. I've mentioned the ten-person interactive dinner party on Tuesday night in a previous post.

I'm also looking forward to making a Mother's Day brunch with my sis on Sunday morning.

Image from Fly Through our Window

We're having: tomato, caramelized onion, herb egg casserole (if I call it a quiche, will you respect me more?); maple-basted bacon; fruit plate/salad; homemade rustic honey wheat bread; mimosas; and, of course, coffee. I can't wait! How should I set the table? With the way the backyard is going, I think we can snip a few things and provide our own flowers or at least greenery. 6th Street Design School had a sweet post on Mother's Day Etsy gift ideas. Did I mention that I'm really looking forward to the brunch? Mother's Day might be my favorite holiday to cook for. This year's celebration meal is pretty simple because I have a paying gig that afternoon...


Image from Food Network

I'm doing a graduation luncheon Sunday afternoon. Now, you might be suspicious that if I'm busy that morning with brunch that the luncheon will be difficult to pull off, but don't worry because the menu is simple, and most of it is easily prepared beforehand. In fact, most of what they want just requires assembly and not actual cooking. We're doing a few types of sandwiches (chicken salad, pimento cheese, etc.), pasta salad, fruit plate, cheese plate, brownies, and vanilla cupcakes. I like a tarragon chicken salad, but this family has requested The Lunch Box's chicken salad, which I've never had (I'm always tempted by their egg salad), so I think I need to go do some research tomorrow.


Image from Urban Spoon

Eavesdropping

I spend a significant amount of time overhearing people talk.

My office shares a wall with the psychologist next door. My huge and immovable desk is against this shared wall, so I inadvertently hear murmured secrets and many times weeping and sometimes loud, manic laughter and sometimes dried up, bitter laughter. (I also know they must hear me on the phone, scanning, shredding and all the boring audible details of my work, too.) One sad thing is to hear the older women who come in to share. It seems there are a disproportionate number of old women who need therapy, or maybe older ladies just have a particular affection for Dr. T for some reason or another. It is a sad thing that gives me pause as they talk over how their children ignore them and how their doctors can't fix them. I don't like to hear the old women cry. It is one of those things that makes you sad for the whole world and the insensitive, fallen way humans treat each other. I try not to listen too much. I will confess that one time there was a really juicy conversation going on, and I pressed my ear to the wall. I did.

My husband and I also hear talk and giggles and shouting from the house across the street from us. The party house, we call it. A teenage girl lives there, and she must be remarkably popular because there are--and I cannot emphasize this enough--constantly a swarm of her friends over at her house, sitting on the front porch. Nevertheless, popular or not, she has a exceptionally permissive mother. Not only do those kids sit out on the front porch making enough noise that we can hear it from across the street when we are inside the house in our back bedroom, but also they smoke! I've seen them! Okay, so I don't really care about the smoking, but the screaming and yelling is getting old. I'm surprised no one has called in a noise complaint yet. I can't bring myself to be the surly old grump who ruined their fun, but come on. I have a feeling the summer heat will squelch some of their rambunctious outdoor behavior.

One Thing Leads to Another

I made cupcakes for a friend of my in-laws who was throwing a baby shower this weekend.



We decided on vanilla cakes with cream cheese, vanilla bean icing with a turbinado sugar crown...



and a lemon cake with lemon lime buttercream icing and boyish blue sprinks.




The best part? When she picked them up, she asked if I could do a graduation luncheon for her son in May, too. I was bouncing a few ideas off Carter, and I was warned not to make "girly" food for the luncheon. Hmm. Now, I'm trying to reconcile burly food with a luncheon menu. Suggestions?

Trying to Live Like George

"This is the true joy in life, the being used for a purpose recognized by yourself as a mighty one; being thoroughly worn out before you are thrown on the scrap heap; being a force of nature in stead of a feverish, selfish little clod of ailments and grievances complaining that the world will not devote itself to making you happy." George Bernard Shaw

And even if I didn't love his approach to life, I would still love him for Pygmalion and Eliza Doolittle.



I remember the first year I taught seniors, I was so excited that I got to teach it and got to show My Fair Lady (Don't judge. It was a play; it's meant to be seen, too, not just read!). I might have sung the songs in class while we watched it.

Now, I was not an exuberant, jokster, tap-dancing kind of teacher (Not everyone can be or should to be. I think being passionate about what you teach and real in the way you present it is 3/4 of the battle, but that's another post, I think.), so I hope you realize how this demonstrates my irrepressible joy in getting to share one of my childhood favorites with my kids. Alas, my students, although they did generally like the play, did not appreciate musicals (or my froggish singing) in the same way I did, and they certainly did not become giddy watching white people singing and dancing about things being loverly and how the rain in Spain stays mainly in the plain. Looking back, it was one of the highlights of my time at Everman, and, hey, at least I didn't do the dances.

Fairmount B&B?

I found this brightly colored cutie on Williams Trew's website for a very reasonable price. She's in the non-sketchy area of Fairmount. She has five (also brightly colored) bedrooms and three baths and was built in 1910. All I'd need is a couple of cans of paint, a new backsplash, and a landscaping budget, and I'd be in business! (oh, and also for Carter to be willing to live with strangers in his living room.)


Picture this as a lobby/reception area... Also, picture it not that color.

When I Grow Up

Every once in awhile, I dream about owning a bed and breakfast when I get old... or maybe sooner. Elements of Style just posted about the be-yeww-ti-ful Blackberry Farm in Tennessee, and it triggered this long-standing idea again.



I'm impressed with entrepreneurial go-getters because that's not really my personality. However, I think I could own a B&B pretty easily. Does that sound conceited and/or naive? Well... I don't care. So take that.

I really do think I could do it. I was a high school teacher, I can crack the whip and manage people. I know some of the ins and outs of B&B world. I worked at The Baldpate Inn in Estes Park, Colorado, for three summers while I was in college,



and then I cooked at The Reveille Inn in College Station for awhile.


I ingloriously cooked at a youth camp for a summer, and more recently, I've catered a few parties. I've seen (at least partly) some of the unglamorous toilet-cleaning-dish-washing-early-rising-monotonous-food-prep sides of the hospitality industry. And I really liked all of it.

I am afraid of the business side of things--the taxes and payroll and permits. (However, I have been in charge of our bookkeeping here at Colonial Risk Group and, after many trials, have learned to successfully navigate Quick Books... so that's kinda a start.) I don't know how you would every get over that intimidation unless you just did it.

I do think there's a niche for a non-doily style of bed and breakfast around here, a chic place in a historic home, close to some of the action but with a nice big private yard for Lu and my herd of goats.

So do I have any investors out there? Anyone? I'm willing to listen to all offers.

Bar Carts

We're turning our vintage tea trolley into what I've been lovingly calling a bar cart because bar carts seem to be everywhere lately. They do seem to be the most portable and versatile pieces of furniture ever. Check out the post by Habitually Chic who has collected bar cart images from Lonny, Veranda, Domino and apparently everywhere else in the world. The one above is my favorite, but I'm a sucker for bamboo.

In the Garage

We have been getting busy with a few of our auction pieces. We have a chair that we're trying to reinvent as something like this. Don't you love white caning?


and a dresser that was recently reborn in something similar to Lost Oasis by Pratt & Lambert.




Images borrowed from my hero, Little Green Notebook.

We've spoken to Chiffonier on Camp Bowie about placing some of our pieces and rumor has it we're in talks with Stella's on Bluebonnet Circle as well. Nothing's decided yet, but hopefully, I'll post soon where we end up settling.

BIG NEWS, FOOLS! BIG NEWS!

Are you noticing everything in this picture? Do you see that tea trolley/bar cart in the foreground? Did you catch the chair with caning in the back? Did you notice the dresser with perfect lines? The vintage typewriter? All these delicious goodies are in my garage right now, and they're not for me. Want to know why I have them?

My MIL and SIL and I are getting down to business! Did you hear that?

We are researching, collecting, refurbishing everything you could possibly ever want in your life. Watch out. We are looking for a booth to rent in a venue chic enough to house our warehouse of wonderfulness.

Um, did I mention that my mother-in-law is an interior designer? She's basically bound by law into being elegant and perfectly edited. And did I mention that my sis-in-law is Monique, queen of trends and beautiful in everything she touches? I just want you to get ready. Just warning you that's all.


That's just another one our pieces with potential. Do you see the bureau/writing desk tucked in behind the dresser? I wish you could see it because it's one of my favorite things we have... so far.

So reader(s), where should we go? Where do you go? Where is the perfect place? A convenient place with mucho foot traffic? A place where our furnishings would mesh with the purveyor's aesthetic? Please tell me. I need some opinions here.

The Latest Pipe Dream

I've been scanning Craigslist lately looking for jobs, and I'm not finding much that would be worth leaving Lanny's... which means that everything's pretty much crap and pays pennies.  However, I did find a contract job writing as a food critic for Gayot.com for the Dallas Fort Worth area.  Can anyone imagine a better job (even if it is just part time)?  "I give this my lowest rating ever--seven thumbs up." The only con I can think of is the 900 lbs. I would gain from eating fried starters, butter-drenched sauces, and choco heavy desserts.  

Um, I'm literally salivating right now.  What's wrong with me?  I just had dinner a few hours ago--oh yeah, the problem is that tonight we had a sensible veggie-laden dinner of cassoulet.  It's one of our favorites, but lentils and leeks don't stick to your ribs like our other favorite chicken curry with its heavy cream base (or as Lanny has called it "full fat cream"... He informed us that's what it's technically called and that's what we should tell customers is in the pasilla soup.  Um, no.  I don't think the term "full fat" is going to sell anyone.)  

Anyway, what was I talking about?  Oh, yes, my application to Gayot.com.  Well,  I had to submit two 150 word sample restaurant reviews with my cover letter and resume.  I've decided to post them.  I picked two of my favorite Camp Bowie standards of which I was most comfortable: Lucile's and Winslow's.  Please enjoy my staggering food and bev knowledge.

LUCILE'S STATESIDE BISTRO  

15/20

For years, Lucile's Stateside Bistro has prepared Fort Worth's favorite brunch.  From the entryway of the historic building, the dining room opens up into two sections:  to the left, a raised more intimate area and to the right, the high-ceilinged, open sun room.  Although Lucile's lobster bisque and salmon salad from its everyday menu are sure crowd-pleasers, the bistro shines brightest with their Sunday brunch menu.  Not only do servers circulate with baskets of warm, tart sourdough rolls, but their chef cooks sides of beautiful, diaphanous, sugar dusted beignets to order.  As a quick disclaimer, Lucile's is no place for carb cowards.  However, for those without starch angst, Lucile's is happy to offer their most popular entrees, the Dutch Baby and the breakfast pizza.  The Dutch Baby, a delicate, platter-sized crepe, cloaks itself in lemon butter and powdered sugar, while a side of bacon or ham balances the flavor.  Additionally, they offer a variety of breakfast pizzas from their Morning Glory to the Southwest Pizza, all wood-fired in their stone oven.  Whether young or old, just coming out of church or just rolling out of bed, everyone can find something to love at Lucile's Sunday brunch

WINSLOW'S WINE CAFE

Quick Bite

Winslow's Wine Cafe set up shop this fall in the seemingly ideal location on the corner of Camp Bowie and Clover, just blocks from Fort Worth's cultural district.  The owners repurposed the historic gas station for their sleek new restaurant, bar, patio, and retail shop.  Editing their wine list to include around fifty varieties of some of the most popular bottles, the menu contains Far Niente, Cakebread, and Darioush Cabernet Sauvignons as well as a Susana Balbo Malbec, a Sonoma Cutrer Chardonnay, and a Trefethen Riesling.  With this obvious focus on their beverages, the  food menu remains streamlined, comprised of hot and cold tapas, salads, and pizzas.  All the stock starters are accounted for:  bruschetta, check; crab cakes, check; carpaccio, check, and yet the menu contains some surprising inclusions, as well.  The vanilla-scented scallops and small brisket sandwiches satisfy customers looking for a starter with a little more Cow Town personality.  Within the wood fired pizza varieties, the Jim Bowie disappoints, bastardizing what pizza should be with its jam-like BBQ sauce.  However, the Spinach and Chevre pizza is the perfect combination of sweetness from carmelized onions, freshness from the spinach, velvety creaminess from the bechamel, and salty nuttiness from the shaved parmesan.  West-siders seem to love the idea of this neighborhood wine bar with its simple, elegant fare, and really, who can blame them?

Crossing Fingers

I interviewed (with hundreds of others) for a concierge position at the new Fort Worth Omni Hotel.  The interviews went pretty well, and I think I'll get offered something.  (By saying this, I realize I've destroyed any chance I had at actually getting a job.  ever.)  I like the idea of being a concierge, but I have a feeling they're going to try to coerce me into working on the food and bev side of things.  I'm also a little worried that a concierge gets paid approximately $0.37/hr.  We'll see.

This is a rendering of the future lobby.

They're going to have a Bob's Steak and Chop House and their own restaurant plus a sports bar and this wine room.

Waiting

I work at a fine dining establishment. I will confess that waiting tables feels much different at thirty than it did at twenty. I don't remember this feeling of humility... and sometimes seething anger. I find this change interesting. I attribute it to the comparison I now have between the respect of a professional job and the lack of it in a service industry job. It is interesting moving from a job where I lectured and controlled the behavior of those around me to a job where I control nothing and deliver the requests of others. I'm sure this is good for my character.

A few weeks ago, I had a nine top who came in to celebrate a birthday. They milled around everywhere, wanted to order at different times, and went out to the parking lot to smoke at random. I went back into the kitchen at one point, and homeboy from the party was back there with the cooks trying to chat up Chef. They were all in their late twenties, and the ladies kept talking about their benevolence in each of their charities.

One of them asked me if it took a really long time to make the margaritas because it was taking me a long time to get them out to the table. Um, I'm opening three bottles of wine for your stupid friends and delivering tapas, and this isn't even my only table right now, so shut it, vapid blonde fatty. But wait, things get better.

Later, I'm dropping off salads to the table and Trendy-single-girl compliments me on my wedding ring. Her friend, Whiskey-drinking-brunette, slurs that Trendy has a ring just like it. Trendy holds it up, and indeed, she does. I'm a little surprised by such an impressive diamond

ring worn just for the heck, but whatever, I'm middle class. But wait, it gets better. Whiskey astutely notes that Trendy's diamond is bigger than mine. (This is fine. I have a great ring. I feel no need to compete.) However, I'm starting to feel that Whiskey is not my favorite person. Whiskey points out that Trendy isn't married so that means that the waitress (that's me) is "better." Oh, but wait. Then Whiskey announces to everyone that Trendy's boobs are bigger than mine, so she's better. Um. (It is true. Trendy's boobs are bigger.) With horrified face, I moved on down the line with the Rioja. What do you say to that?