Anything Lime

Home sweet new home

I’ve moved! Head over to the new anything lime.

Love and happy reading!


That Baby

Naylyn_Key West__20090711_0114

Last weekend I was able to finally make the acquaintance of Naylyn Jane Cuvier Pritchard, the newest love of my life. Naylyn is my sister’s first baby, and she’s the tiniest ball of adorable I’ve ever had the pleasure of kissing on the mouth.

Naylyn_Key West__20090712_0320

Naylyn was born tiny – but in these photos is pounds heavier than she was when she was born. At three weeks old, Naylyn is still smaller than I was when I was born. If baby weight was any indication of adult size, I’d say it’d be a pretty safe bet to estimate she spend the rest of her life living with the pygmies.

Naylyn_Key West__20090712_0323

She’s absolutely perfect: alert, advanced mobility for her age, smells like heaven, cries only when she’s hungry and gives kisses (and when she’s hungry, she sucks on your mouth and nose!). Oh, and did I mention SHE SMELLS LIKE HEAVEN? I can’t wait until my next oil change when the mechanic is all, “what smell” and I’m all, “Why, I’ll take FRESH BABY, OF COURSE!”


I spent so much time holding onto Naylyn’s tiny fingers and rubbing her teeny back. I bonded so much with that baby in so few days that by the end of my trip to the Keys I was certain she and I knew each other by heart. I talked to her and sang to her and read to her enough for her to memorize my voice. Partly because I can’t help but snuggle that adorable baby, but mostly because I wanted to beat Ashley in the Race For The Favorite Aunt. And, for the record, I’m pretty sure I’ve got it in the bag. :)

Naylyn_Key West__20090712_0329

Being there with Naylyn made me realize how fun and exciting and emotional and beautiful it is going to be when Patrick and I become parents in five years or a hundred. I watched the way he was really gentle with her when he was calming her down, and the way he tried to make her smile and laugh. The first time he held her he started tickling her on the butt, and she would twitch and spazm and stretch. He was laughing hysterically, and it will always be one of my favorite memories of the two of them. It was perfect.

Naylyn_Key West__20090711_0043

I’m in love.

To get to the other side

Woke up 30 minutes late. Had a mental breakdown while trying to dress myself. Wore my hair up because of the matted-down sweaty look from having slept on it. Typical morning stuff.

I was finally on my way to work with an estimated time of arrival of 9:07 – math I did while sitting at my first of 17 red lights – when I saw an innocent creature attempting a death-defying feat. A turtle was trying to cross the road. In the land of normalcy, you drive by, maybe ignore the turtle or at most think a good thought for it and hope it makes it across. In the land of Whitney, this falls into the CATASTROPHE!! column and ranks right up there next to a bomb in a maternity ward set to go off at the sound of a baby’s cry and blow the entire Midwest off the map. Needless to say I re-focused my energy and made this turtle my first and foremost priority. Because sometimes there are more important things than hunger and world peace.

I pulled the most illegal of U-turns and parked my car on the wrong side of the road in the exit lane of a driveway headed into a nook housing business buildings. That might be hard to follow or picture in your mind, but just understand that it was risky. And James Bond-ish. Well, more like Jack Hanna meets James Bond. Yeah, that’s probably pretty accurate.

I got out of my car – other vehicles flying past – and looked forward at my little shelled amigo who had by now made his way into the center of one of the two lanes on this road. Cars were honking and swerving to miss him. My heart pounding, I got the scare of my life (or so it seemed at the time) when a big black Escalade came speeding toward the turtle. It seemed to happen in slow motion as I flailed at the driver, and then the turtle and I seemed to perform the same series of movements as though we were a pair of synchronized swimmers moving through a choreographed routine. Both of us extracted all of our extremities into our mid sections. My head was completely buried in my arms and neck, wondering whether I should even look up. My heart broke at the thought of him being squished, but I lifted my head and was overcome with a feeling of relief. I puffed up my chest and took commanding steps into the road. Horns were honked, middle fingers were thrown, but I managed to STOP TRAFFIC WITH MY BODY in order to grab the turtle. And by God, I was proud.

He was much bigger than he looked from the side of the road. I scooped him up with both hands and ran him to his destination – the other side of the road. He poked his head out a little and showed me his eyes. This is why I save animals – because even though he couldn’t speak to me and tell me he was grateful for the lift, I knew he was. And that makes it worth it. That look in his beady little eyes makes it worth having run into traffic. And being called “crazy bitch!” by the passersby who apparently had an estimated time of arrival that was much later than 9:07.

I carefully got back into my car and tried to avoid touching anything with my turtle fingers. I started thinking about how that’s a great way to start the day. Saving a turtle from the middle of the road. Putting him in a safe place. Well, ok, maybe not a “safe” place, but at least the place where he was headed. Ok, well, maybe not even close to a safe place. In fact, wasn’t there a fence right there? So what now? He gets across the road, discovers there is a fence and then TURNS AROUND? WHAT WAS I THINKING?! I SHOULD HAVE TAKEN THIS TURTLE HOME AND TUCKED HIM INTO MY BED BECAUSE THIS WORLD IS REALLY NO PLACE FOR A TURTLE!

The rest of the way to work I thought about where else I could have put him, maybe over the fence? Maybe driven around until I found a happy turtle lake for him to bathe in? GEEZ?! WHY IS BEING A GOOD SAMARITAN SO FREAKIN HARD?!

I arrived at my office at 9:12 feeling lousy. I figured I’d just try to distract myself by going through my to-do list and throwing myself into non-turtle tasks to get my mind off of the fact that I might or might not be seeing a mound of shell and turtle sauce on my way home from work. Patrick called after about 20 minutes, and the conversation was filled with a lot of frustration on my end. “I’m sorry, Patrick, it’s not you,” I explained.  “It’s just that I’m not sure I found the safest place for that turtle.” Needless to say I’ve since been committed.

We discussed a few other things – bills, plans for the day – before the conversation circled right back around to where it started – my amphibious acquaintance.  Patrick hesitated a little before asking, “Where is the turtle?” He asked in a way that was of utmost seriousness – a tone that I knew meant he was planning to swoop in and save me as he so often does. I knew just by his asking that he was going to go find that turtle.

“You don’t have to go there, Patrick, I will go after my meeting at 10 and move him,” and then I thought, I just hope he’s not dead by then!

Patrick decided that checking on the turtle would make me feel less stressed. And relieving my stress would relieve his stress. So he left the course, which is 25 minutes away, to go check on my turtle. He never found the little guy, but he thoroughly inspected the situation and figured that the turtle likely made a short trek along the edge of the fence before finding refuge in some nearby shrubbery. Patrick said he’d probably followed his senses toward water and was most likely basking in the nearby lake just beyond the fence. Then Patrick told me that the turtle was no doubt thinking about me and how grateful he was to have met me. And this is the story I am going to tell whenever people ask me how I know Patrick is the one.

Sometimes life is about sticking your neck out for those who are helpless and can do nothing but duck and cover in the face of danger. And sometimes life is about containing the crazy, which is something Patrick’s become an expert at doing. He knows that I’m not without my quirks, he knows I’m not perfect and he knows that sometimes in the midst of a normal morning I’m going to run into traffic and stand up for a turtle. There are a lot of things about me that people don’t understand. But this is where Patrick is different – he understands everything about me. He consoles me and comforts me and saves me and protects me. And when faced with a choice, he makes a long drive to check on a turtle because he knows just what to do to make me feel at peace.

And that is why I am marrying him.



Meet the newest addition to my Collection of All Things Weird and Random. This handsome little gem came to me from the MOMA website.


I came across this little orange piece of heaven months ago and have wanted him since, though I haven’t much need for a paperclip holder. I mostly wanted him as a cubicle knick knack. And a snuggle buddy.


It was Patrick’s frustration with the swarm of bobby pins living in our bathroom that pushed him to eventually buy this for me.


And it’s serendipitous the way it worked out, because bobby pins, not paperclips, make this little guy look most like a porcupine.



I love him.


The end.

Ever so lovely

Kya's fifth birthday_20090525_0043

There are few things I love more than the look of my smiling dog. She possesses a kind of happiness that is contagious. Never judging, never holding grudges. Just pure happiness, and there’s something so lovely about that. Kya turns five today.

Kya's fifth birthday_20090525_0040

Throughout Kya’s five years of life, she’s demonstrated such poise, such grace and such kindness that I’ve realized why I’ve so often made the choice to pass up nights out with friends to hang out with her.

Kya's fifth birthday_20090525_0041

She wakes up in the mornings feeling happy, which is something I envy about her. She’s grown to be so beautiful.

Kya's fifth birthday_20090525_0039

And she’s become an expert at making me laugh.

Kya's fifth birthday_20090525_0002

As we have done for Kya’s past four birthdays, we went to the pet store to get her a delicious dinner, a treat and a toy. And also sticking with tradition, she spent the whole day wearing her special birthday bandana.

Happy day, baby girl. I love you.


shiner medium

In light of my recent injury, I’ve agreed to hold a brief press conference to clear up some of the confusion.

Q: Is this a mug shot?

A: No, I wasn’t arrested. I slammed my face into a door. No bar fights, no glorious story to tell the grandkids. Just some good ‘ol fashioned discombobulation that led to the inflamed, colorful markings strewn about my face.

Q: Is it true Patrick clubbed you with a table lamp?

A: Yes. No, it’s absolutely not true. The injury was sustained while attempting to use the bathroom in the dark. Actually, I was 100 percent successful in using the bathroom, it was exiting the bathroom that posed its challenges. I swung open the door, in the dark mind you, and cracked myself in the nose.

Q: Was there bleeding involved?

A: Massive, massive amounts of bleeding. And gushing. And crying. Then more bleeding until finally the bleeding stopped and I resumed my usual wee-hours-of-the-morning activity: sleeping.

Q: Is it true Patrick clubbed you with the butt end of a chain saw?

A: Absolutely not. Next question.

Q: What’s it like being in public? You know, around other people… people who don’t understand the fragile state of your nose?

A: Unbearable. Every time someone wheels a cart near me in a grocery store I scream my mother’s name. And she never answers.

Q: Is it true Patrick clubbed you with a vacuum hose while vacuuming for the 19th time in four days?

A: That’s not true. Except for his vacuuming 19 times in four days. Because that’s exactly right.

Q: What is it like going to work and sitting in meetings with people who are politely pretending you don’t look as though you were mauled by a rampant goat at a nearby petting zoo?

A: I can tell they’re trying to avoid looking at it, and when I catch them, I try my best to wiggle it a little. I think it hurts all parties involved. I can only imagine they assume I lead a double life as a bounty hunter or a parole officer or one of those break dance fighters. I think it’s better to let them make up stories – at least in terms of my street cred.

Q: Is it true Patrick clubbed you with a rampant goat at a nearby petting zoo?

A: That is incorrect regardless of what my coworkers might assume (which I’m still hoping has something to do with break dance fighting).

Q: How has this injury affected your life?

A: I had to skip yoga. I repeat: SKIP YOGA. In other words – THIS NOSE BASHING HAS COMPLETELY RUINED MY LIFE. I have been going to yoga with a layer of tape on my left big toe to help me cope with the pain and make me forget that I AM MISSING A TOENAIL. The amount of pain I feel while rolling over my toes during each vinyasa is nothing compared to the radiating throb that I feel in my nose and face every time I bend over. I’d be no match for the fearless Downward Facing Dog.

Thank you all for your questions. I’m afraid we’re out of time. Let this be a lesson to all of us in the importance of night lights.

Cancer free

Yet another family member of mine was diagnosed with cancer recently. And while his cancer is not skin cancer, I took it as the last straw to go and get a cancer screening. I spend a lot of time in the sun, I live in Florida and even though I always wear sunscreen, my pale white sunscreened skin is hardly a match for the sun. My mother and her mother both had skin cancer. So after hearing my uncle’s diagnosis weeks after having the cancer bug planted in my head by none other than Grey’s Anatomy, I decided to make an appointment with Patrick’s dermatologist, Dr. McCharming.

After hours of waiting in the modernly-appointed office, I was finally escorted to my exam room where I was questioned and handed one of those bibs you get fastened around your neck at the dentist’s office. Only the nurse called it a gown. I waited another 30 minutes in my “gown” before the doctor came in, pointed to my powder blue frock and said, “That’s a great color on you.” I forgave him for the gown.

My main concern was a large mole on my back. A mole that one of my friends once told me was growing a tail. A mole my grandmother called hideous during my wedding dress try on and told me I most certainly had to HAVE IT REMOVED before my wedding. A mole that for some unknown reason reminds me of my mother. A mole that for the last two decades has grown on me in more ways than one. A mole that hid under my bra strap during my cancer screening which made Dr. McCharming say in the most charming of ways, “There it is, right under your bra strap.” A mole that I really, really didn’t want removed.

There’s something so beautiful about moles to me. And to the entire fashion industry, apparently, as evidenced by the success of Cindy Crawford and Nikki Taylor – whose mole doesn’t make her worthy of being listed next to Cindy Crawford.

The night before my appointment I was quite sad. I was struggling with the thought of getting it violently scooped out. How does a girl say goodbye to a piece of her body in an instant? How does a girl wave away one of the only distinguishing marks on her body?


My cancer screening gave me peace of mind. I don’t have cancer, all of my bumps and freckles and spots and boils look normal. Thank goodness – the Mole is here to stay. Nuts to you, Grandma, ‘Ol Moley will be at my wedding. And yes, I know he’s big enough to require his own seat.

Overflowing with adorable

It seems while packing for his trip Patrick forgot to pack one very important thing. I’ll give you a hint: the tennis ball made it to Atlanta.



Today I played in my second soccer game of the season. And the second soccer game of my life. This newest venture of mine was as thrilling to me as it was terrifying to the point of losing control of my bladder. And for two games in a row I was able to not pee my pants at mid field.

I played about 25 or so of the game’s 40 minutes, and in those 25 minutes I had about as many turnovers. Definitely not my proudest moments, but I’m pretty sure the team we were playing was actually a fleet of ninjas. From Brazil. We lost seven goals to nothing. Aside from the ninjas and the losing, I’d say it was a pretty good day.


In an attempt to improve both my mood and my productivity at work I recently made the decision to incorporate the principles of Feng Shui in the redecorating of my cubicle. Yes, improve my mood and productivity and also continue my streak as that Weird Girl With All That Freaking Weirdness. You know, the girl people love to be around so that when they talk about me they can say things like, “Oh, yeah, a carnivorous plant… I know a girl who’s totally into that. And get this – SHE’S NOT EVEN ONE PART CARNIVOROUS.”

So even though I have set myself apart as the girl who BROUGHT IN COASTERS FROM HOME, I figured I’d bring in a few trinkets – crystals and such – as if to say, “Here, coworkers who were kind of on the fence about whether I’m a total whacked out nut job who wears sweatshirts with cat paws on them. It was probably a good idea to not invite me to your little celebratory dinner party because LOOK – I JUST GOT A WHOLE LOT WEIRDER.”

And now it’s justified when they give me that blank stare, one I saw on Patrick for the first time when he watched my mother wash a jar and put it in the cabinet. An old spaghetti sauce jar that she was going to save because should there ever be an emergency situation that required such a jar, as God as her witness, she would have 19 or 34 or 97 jars for just that occasion. Wide eyed and open mouthed, the look on Patrick’s face was something to the tune of “OH MY GOD – IT HAS A MOTHER.”

My Feng Shui process started with a thorough cleaning of my desk, which included removing dust, dirt and various items I no longer use from my workspace. Follow this with some rearranging of some desk trinkets, some hiding of file folders, some sprinkling in of lemon scent and voila – the cleaning was complete.

I was then faced with a choice, a) pay off my credit card, or b) spend money on rocks. You are left to assume that because I am even bringing this up that my money-savvy mother in law is cringing at the mere mention of my credit card debt. OH THE INTEREST! OH HOW IT’S BUILDING!

The stones are for various things – maintaining individuality, inspiring creativity, helping me deal with emotional baggage and feeling peaceful. I even have one that I place at the edge of my desk to protect all negative energy from seeping into my cube. And it protects in all directions. ALL DIRECTIONS! Now if a rock like that isn’t worth eleven dollars, well, I don’t want to know what is.

I’ve also incorporated a number of other things including a mirror which faces the entrance of my cubicle, a pair of garnet stones next to photos of Patrick and me in the corner of my cube representing love and marriage, a plant (which is not in an ideal location for her sake – she’s very sensitive to light. And also to everything else) and a red box in my “power zone” with an Om on it, which I have filled with sage and lavender. Yes, I know, I’ve turned my cube into what some people might call a crazy voodoo space or something. I assure you that I haven’t gone around collecting toe nail clippings or other such discarded parts to shove in pickle jars with dolls resembling my enemies or anything. But now that you mention it, I do have some free time.