A favorite pair of jeans is like … a favorite pair of jeans.  Really, once you’ve broken in a pair that fits your backside to perfection, they really are an irreplaceable treasure.

I was switching out my winter and spring wardrobe the other day and pulled out my most favorite pair of summer capris I’ve ever owned.  Ever.  I confess I’ve even fallen asleep in them a few times, they’re that comfortable, and I don’t ever say that about denim.  I’m more of a lover of yoga pants, but these denim capris have the perfect amount of stretch and softness.  They are my favey faves. 

I’ve washed them a zillion times and they were showing it.  Everyone has their preference when it comes to the perfect shade of denim, but for me, these were way too faded to be worn out of the house.  These days as I creep closer to 40, I’m hopelessly devoted to dark wash, it’s just a little more slimming ay?

Meet my beloved crop denim jeans in their saddest state.

Notice the excessively deep crouch lines.

No, I did not say crotch, I said crouch.  I would never use the word crotch in a blog post, I’m too much of a lady.  I’ve earned these crouch lines cleaning up after kids and all those squats I do every day for the benefit of my gluteus maximus.  Actually that last part isn’t true, I can’t remember the last time I did a squat for the sake of exercise alone. 

I simply could never part with these jeans because they fit me so well, but mostly because this pair tells me two things I want to hear every single day of my life and it’s written right on the Jolt tag.  They are my daily affirmation.

“Live Your Own Dream, Follow Your Heart”

and

“You’re a size 5!”

My scale begs to differ.

Must be all that cheese. 

Scales are such Debbie Downers.

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A few weekends ago on a whim, I signed up for a cheese making class.  I don’t know why it’s taken me over 35+ years to do so, because one thing is true.  I revere cheese.  Or should I say, cheese is my Kryptonite.  It weakens me.  Yes, chocolate is tempting, champagne and wine are equally desirable (and quite frankly necessities), but the reason I will never be a Size 2 can be summed up in one word.  Cheese. 

There are several things in life that go hand in hand.  Hot dogs and baseball.  Peas and carrots.  Bert and Ernie.  Bo and Luke.  Around these parts, the two delectables that go hand in hand are wine and cheese.  It’s just how I was raised. 

I showed up a few minutes late at this ‘advanced’ artisan cheese making class, and they were doing that ‘icebreaker’ thing where they ask everyone to introduce themselves.  Quickly, it became evident I was out of my league. 

To my left was a distinguished Frenchman who’d been making cheese for a decade.  To my right, a Dairy Queen who knew everything there was to know about butter, eggs, and dairy products.  Then it was my turn to talk.  I was the self proclaimed rookie in the room.  All I could muster after a long awkward pause was this:  “Well.  I’ve never met a piece of cheese I didn’t like!”  They laughed.  I don’t think it was at my joke.  It was at my ignorance. 

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Hi all, how’s your fall?  Are you enjoying the cooler weather, the falling leaves, and the colors of the season? 

How gorgeous is this display at my local grocer around the corner?  A perfect harvest scene!  It just doesn’t get much better than this . . .

Except when you arrive home to find a little treat bag on your door, and you have no idea who left it there.  This is the second time this week a treat bag has arrived anonymously on our front porch.

We’ve been BOOed!

I had never heard of this Boo Game until this year, my family and I are smitten with it!   These anonymous ‘Boo’ treat bags are akin to the ‘Secret Santa’ and they are a fun way to spoil your friends and good neighbors.  Perhaps you’ve been BOOed too?

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Because we live to make our friends and family laugh.

And because we’re strange and fun.

And because you need a giggle this Friday.

Meet our front porch pumpkins, representin’ the CG household, yo.

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Many towns across America have their festivals every year which draw the local crowds.  Ours happens to be the ‘Butter & Egg Festival’ on the last weekend in April and it draws folks from all across the county to the tune of 25,000+ people.   The ‘Butter & Egg’ title has something to do with our town’s long poultry history, but I choose not to dig into the details.  Anyway, the ‘Butter & Egg’ kicks off with the Cutest Little Chick in Town contest before the big parade. 

When we first moved to this town twelve years ago, we never would have dreamed we’d be interested in a contest like this.  But then you go and have offspring of your own and something snaps inside of you, and all of a sudden, you want your kid to be crowned the Cutest Little Chick in Town.  It’s a small town pageant where nervous parents parade their ‘chicks’ before judges for the title and $50 bucks in cash. 

Many nails are bitten.  Grandparents pace back and forth.  The competition is fierce.  Every parent wants their critter named The Cutest Little Chick in Town.  I often wonder what the parental penalty is for not smiling on cue in front of the judges. 

A sampling of the candidates before their debut, and their secret thoughts:  

“I’ll endure the paparazzi as long as the lollypops keep coming.”

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