Why I Love My Parents’ Love…

I love that my parents’ love is unassuming, like a John Prine song. It is soft and simple and real. Their love has no façade built by money or objects or worldly possessions or anything that cannot be expressed in the form of a deep kiss and tight hand squeeze. I love that they still find pleasure in taking a trip together to the gas station to fill up the car on a Tuesday night. I love that my mom knew she wanted to marry my dad the first minute she saw him from across the room.

I love that my dad promised my mom he would show her the world and that today they sit in a small café in Paris drinking champagne for lunch. I love that my mom wanted to see the world with my dad, not so she could spend his money on fancy Italian clothes, but because she wanted to bike with him through the French Alps and visit the heritage that built our family.

I love that my dad will look at my mom on any given Saturday morning and tell us kids how funny he thinks she is. I love that my parents kiss randomly, just because. I love that my mom still writes my dad silly “I love you” notes and wants to rub his old, swollen feet while he watches hockey. I love that my parents dance, not just slowly and sweetly, but fast and drunkenly. I love that my parents laugh together.

I love that my mom started taking golf lessons so she could spend more time with my dad, doing something that he loved. I love that my dad bought my mom a paper shredder for Mother’s Day six years ago and that she still loves him.

I love that my parents beat the odds, not because they were lucky but because they work hard. They fight and the fights are not always pretty or fair or based on the most reasonable argument, but the make-ups and “I’m sorrys” are. My parents committed to a life together twenty-five years ago today. They said vows and I love you and I do and never strayed from those words, those promises. I love that I walked to work this morning with a tear in my eye and a smile on my face thinking about them and that people looked at me with pity when really, I am one of the luckiest girls in this entire world. I’ve seen real love. I’ve seen real love be tested and grown and shaped by the commitment of two amazing people. I’ve seen a love so real and intoxicating that now I know I will never settle for a love that isn’t as unassuming and perfectly simple as the love of my parents. And those people, my mom and my dad, in their oneness as a couple, are what I love most of all.

Happy 25th Anniversary, Mom and Dad. I love you each and I love you as a whole.

Infinite x’s and o’s

Chicago Week One

Ahhhh, do you hate me?!

Finals, packing…..Chicago. All in ONE month! Don’t hate me. I’m back, who knows how often or for what reasons, but as of now, Miss Emelia has returned….and with pictures no less:)

1. When one lives in a studio with limited funds, one must learn to improvise. Champagne is drunken and bottle is reused. Bravo.

2. Sea & city all in one gorgeous, rooftop view. I may never make it the office with a scenery like this.

3. I get regular updates about Figaro. Still a diva. Still miss him.

4. First Cubs game of the glorious summer that is 2012. And yes, I put ketchup on my Chicago Dog. Sometimes, you just gotta learn the hard way.

5. Unfortunately, I was not able to bring my jewelry armoire to Chicago, for packing purposes and cozy living circumstances. Fortunately, a dash of Pinterest inspiration helped me create jewelry organization that is both fun and functional. You never disappoint, Pinterest.

6. Oh. These candles. Mmmm, these candles, these candles. Heaven sent Earth the most divine gift. THE most intoxicating scent. Tamarind Leaf & Lime from the Artisan Collection at Target. I have a leaf- and lime-induced, cheshire grin on my face. Take one whiff, you will too.

Before I sign off, I want to tell you my summer plan. Maybe not exactly….

You see, I’m not sure what my summer entails professionally, socially, personally, etc etc etc. But for my blog, I am least sure of all.

I don’t have my mom’s fancy camera or my mastermind Kitchenaid mixer. I don’t have my entire wardrobe or the funds to buy an entirely new one. BUT, I do have an amazing city, filled with wonderful people, streets upon streets of restaurants, new stories, new discoveries, new adventure. Bear with me. I’ll share with you what I learn about myself, this world, and this lovely city called Chicago. Not my ordinary routine, but sometimes a change of pace is good. This summer will be no exception. I’ll be in touch:)

Infinite x’s and o’s

DIY Glasses

In two weeks, I will be moving to Chicago for the internship of a lifetime. Yes, that means I was, in fact, offered a position with the company I was sweating bullets about in a recent post! More on all that mumbo jumbo later. For now, I’ve got planning to do. I’ll be living in downtown Chicago, and I have every intention of homifying (new word, starting today) up the two-thousand dollar two-by-four that will serve as my home for the next three and a half months. And because I will be financially responsible for rent aka a hefty mortgage payment, my funds for things like pillows and candles and table decor are otherwise limited. Laawwwdd bless the Internet’s inexhaustible supply of adorable DIYs, starting with these glasses that are sure to wow guests galore….

Missoni-styled Chevron glasses via {{Hi Sugarplum}}

Marbled glasses via {{Honestly WTF}}

Etched glasses via {{A Beautiful Mess}}

Gold-dipped glasses via {{The Crafts Dept}}

Bring on the drinks.

Infinite x’s and o’s,

Girls Who Read Books

“Don’t date a girl who reads because girls who read are storytellers. You with the Joyce, you with the Nabokov, you with the Woolf. You there in the library, on the platform of the metro, you in the corner of the café, you in the window of your room. You, who make my life so goddamned difficult. The girl who reads has spun out the account of her life and it is bursting with meaning. She insists that her narratives are rich, her supporting cast colorful, and her typeface bold. You, the girl who reads, make me want to be everything that I am not. But I am weak and I will fail you, because you have dreamed, properly, of someone who is better than I am. You will not accept the life of which I spoke at the beginning of this piece. You will accept nothing less than passion, and perfection, and a life worthy of being told. So out with you, girl who reads. Take the next southbound train and take your Hemingway with you. Or, perhaps, stay and save my life.”

Charles Warnke

Banana Bread French Toast

Saturday morning.

The best morning of the week.

You get to sleep in. You get to spend an hour in bed, slowly waking up. There is no rush, no big plans that are pulling you from your perfectly warm sheets. You’ve got two full days of no work, no school, no traffic. Your only motivation to get up is the thought of a freshly brewed cup of coffee that can be enjoyed while you read your favorite newspaper or that new book you’ve been antsy to start.

Breakfast doesn’t even cross your mind until noon. By then, it’s more socially acceptable to prepare brunch, which is even better because that means you get to incorporate non-breakfast foods like biscuits and chicken and rice. And since you didn’t have ‘breakfast’, you get to eat twice as much. It only makes sense.

But that’s your Saturday morning. That is a normal person’s Saturday morning. Not mine. At least not today…

My Saturday morning was about as hectic as a hurricane evacuation.

It was the morning of a huge media segment that I have been preparing for my internship. The first big project that I have been given to take on myself and a solid month of hard work. I had to be at work at 5:45 a.m., so I wanted to make sure I was a ray of sunshine for the big morning. I stayed in last night, did a facial, painted my nails. I wanted to look and feel perfect.

Instead, I went to work without make-up, without a shower, without brushed teeth, without underwear. You see, I set my alarm for 4:30 a.m.. Seems like plenty of time to get ready, right? Right. Except I used my alarm that is only programmed for weekdays, and you got it, Saturday is not a weekday. So I woke up and checked the clock, thinking it felt great to wake up before my alarm had even gone off. Well, it was 5:48 a.m.

I was already 3 minutes late.

So I got up, threw on a dress and bolted out the door. It is a solid 20 minute drive to my internship. I made it there by 6:06 a.m.

Besides that littlish hiccup, the morning was a success. The segment went well. And I got to come home and devour this insanely delicious french toast. Yep, this sweet sin-of-a-breakfast made evvverrrryything worth it. And now, back to the Saturday morning routine:)

Banana Bread French Toast

Banana Bread Recipe

-5 ripened bananas

-1/2 cup butter, softened

-1 3/4 cup flour

-2/3 cup sugar

-1/3 cup mil

-2 eggs

-1 teaspoon baking soda

-1/2 teaspoon salt

-1 tablespoon lemon juice


-Heat oven to 350 degrees F

-Combine bananas and lemon juice, mash together

-Sift together flour, baking soda, and salt

-Mix butter, milk, sugar, and eggs

-Combine dry ingredients with liquid ingredients

-Add bananas to mix

-Bake 55-60 minutes

French Toast

-1/2 loaf banana bread

-3 eggs

-1 1/2 teaspoon vanilla

-1/2 cup heavy cream

-1/4 teaspoon cinnamon


-Slice bread to desired thickness

-Combine eggs, vanilla, cream, and cinnamon

-Dip bread in egg mixture, letting it sit for 30 seconds-1 minute.

-Cook in buttered pan for about two minutes on each side, or until golden brown.

Top with fresh bananas, whip cream, syrup, and whatever else your heart fancys. After all, it is Saturday.😉