Jennifer, flush with optimism and a bike ride, grabbed a table for four at C’ville Coffee Saturday morning, as we awaited our fellow bloggers. For a bit, it was just the two of us. Then we met . . .

• Patience Crabstick, who is lovely, warm and friendly, blasting to pieces what her pseudonym would suggest;
• Cory Capron wearing his brown hat, natch;
• Amy from Red Inked, which Waldo declared the best new blog in Charlottesville;
• the very interesting and engaging Bill Emory, armed with camera, for more posts on Black and White;
• C’ville’s podcaster Sean Tubbs, baby girl in tow;
• Jeff Lavezzo, who entertained us with children’s stories he’s developing, inspired by his child’s imagination; and
• Waldo and Amber stopped by on their way out of town.

It’s such fun to meet fellow bloggers in person. We’re bound together by common interests, and conversation flows easily among us, strangers, but really not so . . . all of us knowing a bit about one another, or at least what we’ve read. I hope to participate or host other gatherings in the future — it’s a treat to see who will show up and what new friendships might be formed.

The other day, I had lunch at Lime Leaf. I enjoyed the pad Thai with chicken. Meanwhile at home, Clover had the Ramen noodles and the entire contents of a birthday party treat bag, left behind by the girl. Someone had left the pantry door open.

Later, regretting his lunch decisions, Clover upchucked on the rug, displaying a tightly woven display of candy wrappers. I spied Laffy Taffy and Milk Duds in the wreckage.

Yesterday, Clover decided to raid my purse. In a fit of self-improvement, he devoured a package of Orbit teeth-whitening gum. Ah, yes, just look at the bright white teeth of my canine. Later, I noted the landmines deposited in the back yard glinted in the sun with shiny bits of gum wrapper foil.

Oddly, food, actual food we wouldn’t mind him scarfing down, such as the random cracker that drops from the table or the pretzel I clumsily dropped onto the kitchen floor holds no interest.

He visited the vet today for a checkup and some shots; he’s gained a few pounds. Gotta remember to close the pantry doors.

Twas the night before Friday when all through the ‘ville
not a blogger was blogging; the keyboards were still
Invitations were posted, and hyperlinked with care
I think it might be time to get a new desk chair.

The C’ville blogger gathering is but one day away
so throw up your posts before this Saturday
We’ll be there at 10, maybe the Mayor will be, too
Dig us, we number one hundred times two.

I can’t wait to meet Crabstick, Patience is the name
I’m wondering if my visions and reality are the same?
Waldo, the blog king, has promised to stop by
I wonder if we’ll get to meet Stanley and Wry?

That’s enough of this nonsense, I know you get my drift
See you at C’ville Coffee; if I don’t I’ll be miffed.
Drop Jennifer a line and let her know you’ll be there,
I’m really thinking about getting rid of this chair.

As I mentioned previously, I am the confirmation sponsor for the girlfriend (the boy’s). I arrived home after the first sponsor meeting to share that there would be many more such meetings and that the group, by comparison of our former home, is rather small. There are 35 confirmands, as they call them, and therefore, 35 of us sponsor-types.

I told the boy, “It’s a lot different than when you were confirmed.” The boy got away with confirmation three years ago at our giant mega church in Cottleville, Mo. where 6,000 onlookers witnessed his commitment to his religion.

“Yeah,” he said, “that was kinda like getting married in Vegas.”

Because he would know what that’s like, of course.

Before I get to that, please remember that there’s a C’ville blogger gathering this Saturday at C’ville Coffee, 10a.m.

The good folks at Red Inked wanted to know: how will we know one another? We’ll do it the way everyone from Kindergarteners to Chamber of Commerce members do. We’ll have nametags.

Oh, and about the secret? Now, it wouldn’t be a secret anymore, would it?

Over the weekend, we filled two huge garbage bags of the girl’s clothes to donate to some lucky kid/s. Many of the items were barely worn. None of them fit. She’s growing so fast we can hardly stay ahead of it. We had to replace what we weeded out so we headed to Old Navy. We did really well, finding knit pants (kind of like yoga pants) that were two for $17, nice khakis for $21, and long sleeved tee shirts that were two for $15. The shirts are great because they’re nice and long, preventing the dreaded belly exposure. Every shirt she had from last year made her look like a refugee from a streetwalker training camp.

It’s so tough to stay ahead of growing kids and still outfit them in ways they’ll feel comfortable. My daughter mentioned, in passing, that one girl she knows (a friend of a friend of a friend) gets all her clothes from Limited Too. Nice try, sister. If I won’t spend $50 on a casual skirt for me, you’re certainly not going to get one when it’s only going to fit for three months.

This could read like one of those ads in the backs of women’s magazines. Just use this magic cream/exercise contraption/dietary supplement and you, too can look like one of those swimsuit models.

I got a coupon in the mail today from Victoria’s Secret; $10 off a Very Sexy Infinity Edge bra and a free panty to boot. I headed straight to the mall. Incidentally, before I moved to Charlottesville, I was a fashion obsessed shopping columnist for the local newspaper. When my husband got here, I had him walk the mall, cell phone in hand and tell me what stores were there. Once I heard there was a Victoria’s Secret, I knew I’d be OK. I gave up the shopping blog I wrote when I moved and oh, my how I’ve missed blogging about my undergarments. I’m sure my family has missed that, too. (I’m not the most embarrassing mom, ever. Seriously, consider Britney Spears or Pam Anderson. That’s my defense.)

So when I got to the store, I was hesitating between sizes. I’ve worn the same size since I was 13 or so with a few pregancy-related departures, of course. The sales associate said, “I think you need to be fitted,” and promptly summoned the bra fitting expert. I cringed. I can think of few experiences more humiliating than a bra fitting. I’m so self-conscious when it comes to items that may, or may not fit my body. Dressing rooms for me have long been many mirrored dungeons of hell.

But I thought, what the hey, I’m tired of tugging and being uncomfortable and very obviously wearing what I’m pretty sure is the wrong size anyway, so I dutifully trotted along to meet my Mephistopheles in pink.

Quickly, painlessly, she whipped a measuring tape around me in three different spots, ogled me for a bit and pronounced her decision. “You’re at least a D, and probably more like a 34.” Good thing the store is carpeted, or my chin would have really hurt when it hit the floor. “Trust me,” she said, in her expert, soothing tones, and sidled off to select a style I’d like in a size I never, ever would have chosen.

Millions have seen the episode of Oprah where a thousand women get bra fittings and something like 99 percent of them are wearing the wrong size. I’m here to tell you — you’re probably wearing the wrong size, too! I was stunned when I tried on what she brought me and yes, it fit really well. She had me raise my arms — did you know that a bra is not supposed to move when you lift your arms?

So for once, I had a pleasant dressing room experience, complete with a discount at the time of purchase and a free add-on. She said, “I bet you’re going to tell everyone you’re a D.”

No, I’d never do that, that would be way too embarrassing.

If you’re a blogger reading this post, consider meeting up with a host of other bloggers at C’ville Coffee on Sept. 30 at 10a.m. That is, if you’re a Charlottesville blogger. It would probably be more convenient for you if you are. If you’re part of the die-hard, St. Louis audience, hop a plane, come on down — we’d love to see you, too.

Jennifer and I are looking forward to putting some mugs to some posts, and slugging some coffee as well.

We’d like to gauge the turnout ahead of time, now that there are 200 of us, so drop a comment here and let us know if you plan to come.

Avast, me hearties! In case it slipped your mind, today is National Talk Like a Pirate Day.

We decided we were tired of yellow.

We all agreed it had to go. So I gave the girl a paintbrush and some directions. Now, we have this:

Ta da! Transformation. She did a good job, I think. Not bad for a 10-year-old kid, eh? OK, I may have helped a bit. Enough to get a Marge-worthy blue streak in my hair. See more of the kitchen redo here. Let me know what you think of the blue.