Image by the fabulous Yvonne Wong

Okay, I’m only half-kidding. See, in writing this book about the whole mother-daughter wedding planning experience, I’ve come to the conclusion that the best way to learn about what a life commitment MEANS is to ask anyone and everyone.

And, OBVIOUSLY, that means you. You guys are my peeps, you know? You’re the reason I’m writing this book in the first place. So…here’s a list of questions. Answer any or all of them in the comment section. And make sure you include the name you’d like me to use if I end up quoting you in the wedding book. If you have anything extra to say that isn’t covered by the questions, let ‘er rip!

For those of you who aren’t married, I STILL want to hear from you – believe it or not, getting married doesn’t magically transform you into this wise woman who understands the core of her being. So tell me what you think, too.

1. If you’ve ever been married, describe the role your mother played (or didn’t play) in planning your wedding. Anecdotes, quotes, and copies of emails/letters are welcome. Interpret this question however you’d like.

2. If you’re a professional in the wedding industry, describe some of the lessons your job has taught you. What have you learned about the meaning of a wedding, both for the couple and for their loved ones?

3. What was unique about your wedding? Alternatively, if you’re a professional in the wedding industry, what non-traditional elements have you seen? What did these quirky touches say to you about the marriage, and what did you learn from this out-of-the-box approach?

4. Tell me your best wedding drama story. I KNOW you’ve all got ‘em.

5. Tell me a mother-of-the-bride story. Professionals, what crazy mother-of-the-bride experiences have you had?

6. Based on your experiences, what are the three pieces of advice you’d give a bride and/or her mother? Feel free to only speak to the bride, or only to the mother, or to both. I’m hoping that you’ll tailor this answer to your specific background – so Jocelyn, who’s a makeup artist, might tell brides to moisturize the HECK outta themselves in the months leading up to the big day. (And if y’all have more than three rules, friggin’ list ‘em!!!)

7. Anything else? Seriously – anything at all? Even if it’s totally unrelated to any of the above. Don’t hold back.

Image also by the fabulous Yvonne Wong who you should book IMMEDIATELY if you're looking for a photographer

Not REALLY, but here’s the deal: this isn’t a dog blog. And I don’t want to bug all of you with photo after photo of li’l Baxter once he arrives…so I sorta kinda started another blog. Just for my boy. It’s going to be a little more similar to The Daily Coyote, with more photos than words, so it won’t detract from this blog at all. Anyway, feel free to add Baxter’s Modern Life to your Google Reader or whatever if you want to see life through the eyes of my firstborn son puppy.

I woke up to my favorite sight this morning: freshly fallen snow. I don’t know what it is about that shizz – it’s like Prozac for me. This is the first snow we’ve gotten this season in Chicago so I’m pretty much jumping out of my skin with holiday cheer and optimism, which is a stark contrast from the horrified panic I was in last night over one of the finals I have this week.

That’s the view from our bedroom. Notice the pillow piles. I make them every night like a crazy person because I can’t deal with just throwing them on the floor. Sometimes I laugh because I’m totally one of those people who has about 47 pillows on her bed and only uses one. Dave was completely confused by the system at first.

Anyway, I don’t have a whole lot to say today but somebody (ahem, JILLIAN) did one of those “You’re awesome and I’m sad you don’t post more”-style compliments-slash-guilt trips so I figured I’d share the only new development I’ve got for ya. And I can’t even take credit for it because, you know, it’s snow. Other than that, I’ve had no time to work out, cook, or even wear makeup other than cover-up on the stress zits that keep erupting on my chin. OH! One other piece of news. I got a vacuum! See? Boring. I mean, it’s obviously not boring to me, since I have taken to vacuuming everything, including dirty dinner plates before putting them in the dishwasher, but…if you’re still reading, you’re a champ and I would give you a present if I could.

Last, a goodly number of you got in touch to say that you’re on the hunt for a puppeh. You’re doubtless doing hours and hours of research, but I wanted to share a link that should help you: Sarah Henery, from Yorkies of Walnut Hill, started a list of breeders suspended by the AKC. Make sure you check this before you purchase your puppy.  Here’s the most recent Baxter photo:

What a little man! I’ve been doing this embarrassing thing where I cry over every dog I see lately. Literally, tears squirt out of my face. I rode the elevator with our neighbor and his two dachshunds and I had to pretend I was having an allergy attack so he didn’t know I was getting emotional about bringing my boy home. And don’t even get me started on watching Bolt the other night. Dave had to force me to turn it off.

That’s what your saying, isn’t it? I know, I know, bad blogger and yadda yadda. My only excuse is that juggling school and book-writing and now it’s finals season and…and…feel sorry for meeeeeee!! Okay, just kidding. Anyway, things will pick up after the holidays.

Oh, and about Aubrey’s faaabulous wedding…I have to hold off on publishing photos of it. It’s very exciting and that’s all I’ll say.

I just wanted to drop in and tell you that Wednesday of this week, December 3, marked the four-year anniversary since Dave and I shared our first kiss. It was the last first kiss with another person either of us would ever experience. I’m hell-bent on still celebrating this little miniversary, since it reminds me of how much we’ve grown and experienced in the last four years…but he says it detracts from our new, cooler anniversary. What do you guys think? Do you still celebrate your old anniversary after you get married? Apprope or inapprope?

Here’s a photo taken of us the day after our first kiss. He came to my dorm room hang out and got in trouble with his friends because it was the first time he had ever ditched them for a girl. I think they forgive him now. Look how happy and giddy we were (and still are):

Who knew that four years later we’d be married? Aw, I love life.

Check back soon for a whole truckload of photos from Aubrey’s wedding. It was, in a word, stunning.

Also, I realized that in the meme that I posted a while back, I had some blonde moments and crossed out a few items I actually haven’t done. I’m surprised none of you commented on it…seriously, people, I’ve never snorted cocaine. I’m too much of a spaz as it is. For the record, I’ve also never smoked cigarettes, cried myself to sleep (actually, I did that over my accounting class last week, but as of that post, I was a cry-myself-to-sleep virg), cheated on anyone, been in a mental hospital, had an online diary (this is NOT my diary) (most of the time), overdosed, or had a drug/alcohol problem. Yeesh. I have no clue why those got crossed out. Anyway, not a big deal but I know some people who would care (hi, Grammy and Pa!) read this blog and I had to clarify. For posterity’s sake.

So, in sum: come back soon for Aubrey’s wedding, and I’m not a skank.

Some people already caught onto this because of a Twitter message I left the other day. I thought I was being vague and confusing, but it turns out that most of you either guessed our news or thought I was knocked up.

I am not knocked up.

Unless, of course, you believe that someone can be spiritually knocked up, in which case, I most certainly am. Because while Dave and I aren’t bringing a human life into the world anytime soon (my mom’s probably puffing her inhaler right now and putting a cold compress on her head from hearing me talk about babies so much)…we WILL be welcoming a new little being into our family.

Meet Caesar.

Or Baxter.

…or maybe his name is Milo. Or Brian. Or Fang. Or Rambo. Or Bruno. See, we’re having trouble deciding what to call this little dude, because originally we were settled on Caesar, and now…I don’t know. I keep thinking of that annoying “PIZZA PIZZA” guy. Dave is still attached to the original name, but I think we should do our due diligence. After all, he has some pretty awesome canine family members with equally awesome names: Osa, Rufus, Ezra, Streak, Tater Tot, Obi…and of course his famous uncle Barkis. I don’t want him to feel left out in the great name category.

Anyway, Dave and I have given this a CRAPLOAD of thought and research, and I finally found a breeder who I trust and respect. Our teeny tiny ball of joy will arrive here in early January, after he’s had a chance to get a little more independent (and hopefully the littlest bit potty-trained, although I’m already beginning the process of puppy-proofing our house for when he decides to christen our floors with a tootsie roll or two).

I should note, to preempt those of you who own dogs and to warn those of you who do not, that Dave and I know how much work a puppy is. He will ruin some of our stuff, keep us up at all hours of the night, and depend on us to sift through his loose stool when he’s sick to make sure he didn’t eat any m&ms. He will require a daily commitment to exercise, feeding, and play, and will sometimes be the reason Dave and I can’t go out to dinner or pick up and leave town on a moment’s notice. He’ll need to go to the vet regularly, and will cost money to own. But most importantly, he will be loved and cherished as a member of our new little family, and he’ll also be so friggin’ cute that I might just puke up a rainbow every time I look at him. He will have two incredibly doggish parents who will work their butts off to make sure he’s happy and healthy at all times.

Here’s a newborn photo of him with his brother and sister. He’s the one on the right, looking modest-yet-ready to win Jeopardy with his freakishly high IQ:

"I'll take Potent Potables for $2000, Alex. And let's make it a true Daily Double."

Your turn: tell me about your pet(s). When and why did you get your furry friends? Also, weigh in on names. We’ve narrowed it down to Caesar, Baxter, and Brian – but I’m open to anything. I just don’t want to give him a little-dog name. He might only weigh 6 pounds, but he needs to believe he can move mountains.

So I realize that I’ve been very food-focused recently and haven’t posted much about fitness. That’s because there’s nothing to post. After running the half-marathon, my life turned into a whirlwind of wedding, moving, and starting school and my exercise has dwindled to zero. I suck, people! I don’t know what happened! Anyway, I’ll come up with some brilliant plan soon and tell you aaaaaall about it.

In the meantime, here’s another Wiggs Original that – if made – will change your life. I am so awesome sometimes it hurts.

I call it…

Pineapple Cucumber Agua Fresca.

I know you’re intimidated by the overwhelmingly creative name. Me too. (I’m sort of ashamed I couldn’t come up with something more clever. Pineumber Juice? Cukapplesca? Yeah. I’ve got nothing.)

And, okay, while we’re being candid here I should admit that this isn’t a Wiggs-Original in its conception. I had pineapple cucumber agua fresca over lunch with a lovely friend at Xoco, Rick Bayless’s new restaurant here in Chicago. But I couldn’t find a recipe, so I figured it out on my own. First things first, though: the ingreeds.

• 1 pineapple
• 1 cucumber
• 1 cup granulated sugar
• 9 cups water
• A blender and a fine mesh strainer (I know these aren’t ingreeds, but I hate reading whole recipes only to discover that I don’t have one of the pieces of equipment needed)

So I won’t lie: pineapples are sort of annoying to work with. And woe be to the fool who plunges her hand into a pile of chopped pineapple when she’s sporting a hangnail. That shizz will burn like an STD. But friends, TRUST me – I am a patently lazy person and the effort was all worth it. Yes, this is a drink that takes 30 minutes to make and I would do it again in a heartbeat.

Step 1: Put 1 cup of sugar in 1 cup of water and bring to a boil on the stove. When all of the sugar is dissolved, remove from the heat and set aside. Congratulations, mofo! You’ve just made simple syrup!

Step 2: Put on some sort of hand protection (I used oven mitts but you could use some chain-mail gloves or alligator-skin mittens if you have a pair laying around). Twist the top of the pineapple off, which will be surprisingly easy to do, and cut the fruit into eighths. My pineapple conveniently came with instructions, so I’ll let Dole take it from here:

Like I said above, I cut mine into eighths – it was easier to cut off the skin without wasting a bunch of meat.

Step 3: Peel the cucumber and slice it in half lengthwise. Use a spoon to scrape the seeds out into the trashcan, but don’t accidentally drop your cucumber into the trash and then get it out and rinse off the dust and hair from when you swept the floor earlier. And you don’t have to be anal retentive about getting all of the seeds, since we’ll be straining the ever-loving life outta the cucumber later.

Step 4: Dump all of that crap, plus the simple syrup, into your blender. If it doesn’t all fit, you need to reevaluate your choice in blenders (not really, just do two batches and combine them in the next step). Hit liquefy and let ‘er rip.

If you MUST, add enough water to ensure that everything is liquefied – but try your hardest to keep this to a minimum.

Frustrated photography note: if I had a nice camera, I would have taken blender pictures like the ones in this amazing recipe. Instead, you get photos of my blender clearly sitting on my floor because that’s where the light was best. [shaking fist at the heavens] “WHY GOD?! WHYYYYYYYYYYYY???”

Ahem. Sorry. Step 5: strain the mixture into a large bowl (or your drink jug/pitcher if it holds 12 or more cups). I started with my uber-fine mesh strainer, got impatient, and switched to my mesh colander. If the word “mesh” has never entered your kitchen vocabulary, you can use cheesecloth. Actually, if “mesh” isn’t in your lexicon then “cheesecloth” DEFinitely won’t be. Use a woven kitchen towel draped over a bowl. Make sure you give it a good squeeze, though, to get all of the juice out.

That bowl of sludge to the right is what was leftover after straining. A little tip: throw it away before your husband sees it. Otherwise you’ll have to stick the pulp into the freezer and watch him attempt to choke it down, pineapple skin particles and all, later that evening. Another thing to note: the mixture immediately after blending will be very foamy (you can see that above). If you want to save yourself some hands-on time, you could let the bubbles die down for 30 minutes before straining.

Step 6: stir in the remaining cups of water. Taste for sweetness and add sugar or water until you want to die with deliciocity.

Serve as cold as possible, over ice. If you don’t drink all of it immediately (in which case, what’s wrong with you?) make sure you stir it before pouring.

And, yes, you can definitely make this with Splenda, or agave nectar, or any other sort of sweetener. I know many of you are against chemically processed food, and more power to you, but in my opinion Splenda (used in moderation when you’re not pregs) is a fine way to cut some calories. Let the commentroversy begin.

Agua fresca, previously: melon at Smitten Kitchen, watermelon lime at Culinerapy, cucumber/mint, strawberry/rosemary, and watermelon/basil at Furey and the Feast, mango at Whole Foods, and Jamaica at Recipes by Leslie.

My mom started something called The Gratitude Project last year in November. It was such a hit that she’s re-doing it this year – and you can be part of it! Check it out here, and bonus points if you can find my post.

From my mama’s blog:

Instructions: Posting is ridiculously simple. All you need to do is send your gratitude in an e-mail to post@gratitudeproject.posterous.com. You can write a line or two or three, whatever you like. You can also attach a picture or video. Then come to www.gratitudeproject.posterous.com and see everyone’s posts. Put that e-mail addy in your address book. Please chime in! I can’t wait to hear from you!

Only she would say “addy” instead of address.

Also, she didn’t mention that the title or subject of your email will be the title of your post.

Anyway, I have a plan: see, yesterday my mom and I were talking on the phone about maternal guilt, which had been the topic of a trend analysis I did for school, and she said: “I never felt maternal guilt when it came to you. I knew you were so lucky to have me as a mom. Why would I ever feel guilty?!”

So I’m trying to one-up her by proving that, in fact, she is lucky to have me as a daughter. Because I am awesome. This is where you come in: as my readers, you (by the transitive property of BOOYA) are also awesome. Post what you’re grateful for at her Gratitude Project, and BLOW EVERYONE ELSE OUTTA THE WATER. Let’s be grateful for so many things that we will CRUSH ALL OTHERS WITH OUR HUMILITY. At the end of your message, just say “brought to you by The Beholder” or something that lets everyone know to give ME partial credit for your thankfulness.

In other words, find (and post) FIVE things to be grateful for every day. Or TEN! Or TWENTY! Oh man, people, we’re going to knock my mom’s socks off. Think of it as a competitive food-drive: if we post more than anyone else, we get (1) the soul-healing benefit of taking some time out of our lives to reflect on our blessings, and (2) the knowledge that our thankfulness is superior to everyone else’s. It’s like a two-for-one deal.

Now…go!

People, I know that the majority of you do your blog-reading from your desk at work. I can tell because so far none of you have revolted against my overly verbose, parenthesis laden posts. Let’s be honest: if you’re reading a blog at work, you’re looking for some grade-A distraction.

All of this is to say that you should probably stop pretending to fiddle with an Excel sheet and read this blog. Right now. (Warning: Meg, the main author, douses each entry in deliciously foul language and offensive humor.) Every time I read a new post, I end up bursting into laughter, which is bad because I’m usually in a study lounge at school trying to look all smart and overworked.

And if on the off-chance any of you have connections with the Jager company, pass along Meg’s blog. I will buy anything she sells me. Anything.

Anyway, it’s midterms week for this little Wiggs, but pretty soon I’m going to share with you the recipe of the best thing I’ve ever made in my kitchen. Ever. The photo at the top of this post is a hint, and that’s all I’m going to say.

What blogs are you totally addicted to (besides mine, OBVIOUSLY)?

So now that I’ve got a job AND I’m in business school, I have zero time for anything unless it starts with “online” and ends with “shopping.” Obviously this has started to take its toll on my eating habits – a month ago I honestly couldn’t tell you the last time I consumed a fresh vegetable. I’m sure some of you were crying yourselves to sleep at night over my sad lack of cooking posts. It’s okay. This is a safe place. You can admit it.

I realized something had to change, so I went online and found my new best friends: Irv and Shelly. They run Fresh Picks, a family-owned business here in Chicago that works with 60 local farms to deliver fresh produce to our doorsteps. They have a weekly Fresh Picks box featuring whatever is in-season, or you can pick and choose the items you’d like to have delivered. Fresh Picks can also organic non-local products, like avocados and pineapples, so if you absolutely MUST MAKE GUACAMOLE RIGHT NOW OR YOU’LL DIE, you can count on them. AND they’re no more expensive than my local grocery store. AND they send a weekly newsletter with seasonal recipes in it! So booyah. I’m a changed woman. Here’s a little slice of this week’s delivery:

And that’s not even a third of it! We got fresh basil, homemade strawberry yogurt, a pumpkin, green onions, cranberry & pepper crackers, grape tomatoes, green beans, honey crisp apples…I’m getting a lump in my throat just writing about it. Seriously, folks, if you’re in Chicago you must try them – especially if you do most of your shopping at Trader Joe’s, where the produce is vomitously tasteless and pale. Oh, and by the way – I did something incredible with the veggies you see above. See, I sorta went overboard on this week’s order…everything looked so good!…and we ended up with about 10 pounds of root vegetables and no clue what to do with them.

I actually made up my own recipe! It was divine, if I do say so myself. Without further ado, I give you…..

Wiggs’s Roasted Freak-Out!

Ingreeds:

• Any root vegetables you’ve got. The batch I made included two sweet potatoes, about five smaller yellow potatoes, four HUGE radishes, one leek, 1 red bell pepper, 2 white onions, and 1 butternut squash.
• Honey – probably about three tablespoons per large bowlful of chopped vegetables, but you can seeeeriously eyeball it
• Balsamic vinegar – maybe…uh…5 tablespoons? I don’t know. Eyeball it again.
• Olive oil – three goodly glugs, perhaps?
• Salt and pepper – eyeballed
• Optional: about 2 tablespoons of butter, thinly thinly sliced (you want about five or six thin pieces)
• Chopped fresh parsley (or any other fresh herb you’ve got hanging around)

Typing this out, I’m realizing that I might not be able to take that much credit for the recipe, since I didn’t really measure anything. And you can substitute whatever ingredients you want. Maybe this is more of a template than a recipe. Oh well.

1. Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. You can crank it up to 375 if you’ve got tons of dense vegetables.
2. Wash and cut up all of your veggies, making sure that the slower-roasting things (potatoes, carrots if you’ve got ‘em, radishes) are smaller than faster-roasting items (onions, garlic, bell pepper). All in all, my potatoes were roughly 1/2-inch cubes (well, polyhedrons) and my onions and peppers were 1-inch chunks. Also, I left alllll of the skins on – even my sweet potatoes.
3. In a small bowl, whisk together the honey, balsamic, olive oil, salt, and pepper. Taste it – it should have a healthy bite to it from the vinegar, with a sweet finish from the honey. You can see above that I made enough of the mixture to coat the vegetables evenly.
4. Pour that shizz all over the veggies, stir them around, and spread them evenly in an oven-safe rectangular dish. I ended up making two batches at once – one in a porcelain dish and one in a metal dish – and I couldn’t tell the difference.
5. Evenly space the thinly sliced butter on top of the veggies. The purpose of the butter is to give the vegetables a teensy bit of a crust (also everything tastes better with butter). That said, you could omit it if you’re trying to watch your figure.
6. Stick the dish into the oven. After 30 minutes, take it out, give everything a stir, and put it back in. I ended up leaving my veggies in for another half hour, but you should keep an eye on things to make sure nothing’s burning. My onions and peppers got a little black, but they still tasted bomb-dot-com. And I don’t use that term lightly, since it’s so embarrassing to say (or type) out loud.
7. When your densest veggie – probably potato – is cooked through (you can tell this by poking a piece with a fork or by tasting it and burning the h-e-double-hockey-sticks out of your mouth), you’re done. Take the dish out of the oven and immediately garnish with your freshly chopped herb. I learned that trick in the Fresh Picks newsletter – the hot, roasted vegetables steam the herb and get infused with its flavor.

And then…ohhhh man, people, see how long you can resist getting out a funnel and force-feeding yourself. It’s so good. The balsamic vinegar and honey reduce to a tangy, delicious syrup, and the vegetables blend together to flavor each other. Observe (unfortunately, the sun had gone down by the time I took the dish out of the oven, so I had to use my terrible kitchen light. The dish was much prettier in person):

If you have leftovers, store in an airtight container in the fridge. You COULD reheat your roasted veggies in the microwave, but if you plan ahead you can just spread them on a baking sheet and pop them in the oven for 10 minutes on 250 degrees – that way they’ll crisp up again.

I should note that, in keeping with my devotion and love for you, I injured myself while taking a picture of the finished product. My stainless steel baking dish was still 300+ degrees, and I ended up resting my arm on one of the handles. Don’t say I never did anything for you:

Okay, I’m being a little bit of a drama queen – I messed with the saturation and contrast to make my burn (and therefore my veins and splotches that I never noticed before but am now very self conscious about) stand out more. But you wouldn’t have felt as sorry for me if I showed you the original.