Family: June 2006 Archives

"A little part of me can't help but wish that my father's name was on there."

"Yeah, but then you wouldn't be here."

"I guess I've finally found something about him to be thankful for."

Happy Father's Day to all of the men worth their weight in gold (Chris).

I want to spread him on a cracker


This is Hudson:

He's the delicious pad of butter with whom we stayed in Baltimore. His favorite food is table and he always looks either pleasant or surprised.

Does he not have hair reminiscent of a pineapple stalk? I could EAT HIM, he's that adorable. His dad thinks so, too. Here he is devouring his child, toe by toe, in public:

Hudson's "Blue Steel" look, inspired by Derek Zoolander:

Our cousins, Dave and Bonnie:

We stayed at their gorgeously-restored historic home and decided that if we could be like any other people in the world besides ourselves, we'd choose to be like them because they are as genuinely good as you can get of people. That and Bonnie has perfect skin. PERFECT!



Last night we ate with a group of friends at Soda Fountain Square in Lafayette Park. I've often noticed that when parents and their children go out with a group of friends, the party becomes segregated; the single and childless sit on one end and the parents on the other end, corralling their children. It was more of the same last night, and while we truly love our single and childless friends - and our kids - it's one of the reminders of the separate worlds in which we live.

Chris wasn't especially celebratory yesterday. It's been a tough week, a tough year for la famille de Loesch. Chris's business is the looming factor in our lives and the building they're rehabbing isn't just a building they're rehabbing, it's a multi-million-dollar project - a blessing but dude, THE WORK. A lot of things are on the line right now. Our financial stability is on the line. So many little pieces of this puzzle have to fall perfectly in place for this venture to be successful and when one little piece aggravatingly won't fit all progress screeches to an abrupt halt. Normally I love the excitement that the rollercoaster of life brings, but we've found ourselves wanting to hide under the bed lately.

I've been fortunate enough to have opportunities which bring in some cash and do an awesome job of offsetting any stress. Plus, it's work that I absolutely love to do. But still, the stress remains; the stress over long-term finances, our kids' college education, savings, health insurance, etc. Chris and I were taking turns, freaking out in tandem, but last night I made the decision to NOT freak out anymore.

I'm the type of person that when pressure hits, I kinda break down Janice Dickinson-style for a nanosecond before digging my heels in and pushing back. I attribute it to my intensely competitive, perfectionist nature, and other things. I've never given up on any project I've ever attempted and I've never failed getting anything that I've wanted. I'm usually too busy going after the goal to worry about what may happen along the way. It's a blessing of selective tunnel vision.

So last night when Chris confided his worries to me after the lights were off, I dug my heels in. He expressed concern over his workload and wondered if it was perhaps putting a strain on our family. I said no. He was sad that he doesn't get to spend as much time with the kids as I do.

"I look at these projects as a war-of-sorts," I replied. "We're all manning it on different fronts. You can't be where I am because then your flank would go exposed. I can't be where you are because then who would hold down the homefront? We're each where we need to be."

I see the light at the end of the tunnel but there are a lot of hurdles we have to jump in the meantime. I'm not afraid. And we're sure as heck not giving up.

Back from D.C.


We made it back from D.C. unscathed and unpoliticized, which is hard to do in a town that wears its neurosis on its sleeve. The people there are insane. They drive crazy. They walk crazy - they power-walk. In heels! - they even eat crazy. Whereas crosswalks mean "slow down for pedestrians" in every other normal place on earth, they mean the exact opposite in D.C. I had to sprint across the crosswalk - much like a gazelle shoots across an open plain - just to make it safely to the sidewalk. Washington is a jungle of monuments, traffic cones, and tourists. I felt some sort of reverence while visiting all of the monuments.
That's a photo set for another time.
When we approached the Lincoln Memorial I fell silent as though I was sitting in a church pew.

We stayed in Baltimore with the ever-awesome and aforementioned Bonnie and Dave and their baby, Hudson. I affectionately referred to Hudson as "pineapple" and "cornstalk head" the entire time due to his sprig of fine blonde hair which stands straight up at the top of his head. He is one of the tastiest-looking babies I've ever seen. His little feet fit perfectly on hamburger buns.

I took the MARC into D.C. most mornings and cabs everywhere else within the city. St. Louis should perk up and take note: D.C. has an awesome public transportation system. The city (and outlying areas) is entirely accessible by Metro, MARC, bus, or cab.

On Thursday Dave told Chris to drive me to the city in his Mercedes Benz Ridiculously-Swanky-Class. MERCEDES. BENZ. BLACK. WITH GPS. They allowed us to take their car, which has a retail value higher than that of a child, to D.C. even after reading this.
Bonnie calls the GPS system the Navigation Wench. The Wench forbids you to get lost and prevents such an occurrence by nagging you to death:

"Prepare to turn left. Turn left 700 feet. Turn left 200 feet. Turn left now. TURN LEFT NOW."

I don't know if I imagined it, but sometimes I thought she became slightly irate.

St. Louis should also take note: D.C.'s parking situation SUCKS. The day that we took the Mercedes for a joyride we stopped to lunch at the Chop Shop something-or-other restaurant which features the best beer I've ever had - a rich vanilla stout. We parked across the street in one of the two-hour slots. We walked out of the restaurant and got to the car at approx. 4:10 p.m. and noticed that an over-zealous, satanic meter maid gifted us a $100 parking ticket for parking in a spot that, apparently, you can't park in between 4-6 p.m. The ticked said it was "clearly marked" which it SO WAS NOT. There was a tiny, nondescript sticker on the meter which read "4-6 p.m." and that was it.
(Addendum: We tried to contest it and they were all "Yeah...we don't care.")

Click here to view the D.C. set. You might notice that I started running out of ideas with the captions. Sorry.

The teenage invasion


In this week's column you're introduced to my cousin, Andi, the seventeen-year-old girl who has invaded our house and leaves her flat iron on the boys' bathroom sink. She might as well have a gigantic target painted on her face, because Liam aggravates the will to live out of her every chance he gets.

We have several sayings in our family to describe our bizarre, shared traits. We say things like "Oh, TOTALLY a Scaggs," or "Just like a Scaggs," and "It's because I am a SCAGGS" to explain or excuse large chests, lanky builds, occasional diva-esque behavior, sharp tongues, or bar fight mentality. People affiliated or familiar with our family are all "YEAH YOU ARE."
Because Chris is now in a house occupied by not one, but two Scaggs' women, a general collective pity for him has begun to accumulate. To illustrate: Chris is infamous for saying something only to forget it two minutes' after he's said it and trying to pass it off as something else. Now that Andi's here, I have a witness. Last night Andi and I were discussing our disdain for short skirts, she because she's delusional and thinks her legs are thick, and me because I am not and believe that my legs are too skinny and my knees resemble doorknobs.

"Well she hates skirts because of her thin legs and you hate them because your legs are thick," Chris said to us.

Our eyes widened and the air turned sour.

"Excuse me?" I whispered, my voice sucked from my throat by the frothy, black pit of rage which temporarily coated my lungs and at that moment, rendered speech a monumental feat. I am kidding. "Did you say that my legs were thin?"

"Yeah, did you say that my legs were thick?" Andi chimed.

"No, I did not. I did not. I meant that YOU think your legs are ... ohmygawd. FORGET IT."

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Dana asks: "Thanksgiving Traditions: Yours or Your Mother's?"