September 27, 2010
Leave a comment if you're surprised that I forgot all about school picture day last Friday and sent James to school wearing a Star Wars t-shirt (third day in a row) and looking like there was a mother bird living in his hair.
Really, go ahead and leave a comment if you just can't believe it.
Party Games
September 26, 2010
I'm glad I saw this yesterday. Maggie's birthday is in a few weeks and I was at a total loss about which games to play at her party.
Problem solved.
Chocolate Cake, 305, Work Schmirk, and Seminary
September 24, 2010
And, a wrap-up of my week:
Chocolate Cake was a really good girl, but just like we promised ourselves, we didn't take her home. We didn't take one of the puppies either--because every once in a while, I do exhibit a smidge of self control.
But guess what? Jared randomly bought me a Garmin 305 after reading that post from earlier this week. It hasn't come in the mail yet, but when it does, I'll be sure to tell you all about it. Turns out you actually can buy love. Yay!
The work gods were coming at me from every possible angle this week. I was taking work calls at the dinner table, during my exercise class, while I was pooping--and I accidentally flushed. Excellent. The woman on the other end of the line was like, "Was that a toilet flushing?" And instead of making up some lame-o story about flushing a spider, I was like, "Yup. This phone call's getting so long that I couldn't hold it anymore."
Seminary is...um...early. Early but good. Just to refresh your memory, I'm teaching a religion class, to ten or twelve teenagers, out of my den, every morning at 6:05. Here's a picture of the classroom:
Oh gosh no. I totally don't miss that square footage. Not even a little bit.
I've only had to yell at the kids once so far, when I looked at that table and I fool you not, every single kid, except for one, was sleeping. It was so dramatic you guys. I took in a deep breath, I threw down my Scriptures, slammed my fist on the table and said, "YOU KNOW WHAT? I'M NOT ABOUT TO STAND HERE AND TALK TO MYSELF. SEMINARY CAN BE OKAY, OR SEMINARY CAN SUCK AND RIGHT NOW YOU'RE ALL MAKING IT SUCK! SO SNAP OUT OF IT!"
They did. They snapped out of it. It was fierce. And awesome.
Speaking of awesome, the kids are really awesome.
Hope you have an awesome weekend.
Awesome.
And, a wrap-up of my week:
Chocolate Cake was a really good girl, but just like we promised ourselves, we didn't take her home. We didn't take one of the puppies either--because every once in a while, I do exhibit a smidge of self control.
But guess what? Jared randomly bought me a Garmin 305 after reading that post from earlier this week. It hasn't come in the mail yet, but when it does, I'll be sure to tell you all about it. Turns out you actually can buy love. Yay!
The work gods were coming at me from every possible angle this week. I was taking work calls at the dinner table, during my exercise class, while I was pooping--and I accidentally flushed. Excellent. The woman on the other end of the line was like, "Was that a toilet flushing?" And instead of making up some lame-o story about flushing a spider, I was like, "Yup. This phone call's getting so long that I couldn't hold it anymore."
Seminary is...um...early. Early but good. Just to refresh your memory, I'm teaching a religion class, to ten or twelve teenagers, out of my den, every morning at 6:05. Here's a picture of the classroom:
Oh gosh no. I totally don't miss that square footage. Not even a little bit.
I've only had to yell at the kids once so far, when I looked at that table and I fool you not, every single kid, except for one, was sleeping. It was so dramatic you guys. I took in a deep breath, I threw down my Scriptures, slammed my fist on the table and said, "YOU KNOW WHAT? I'M NOT ABOUT TO STAND HERE AND TALK TO MYSELF. SEMINARY CAN BE OKAY, OR SEMINARY CAN SUCK AND RIGHT NOW YOU'RE ALL MAKING IT SUCK! SO SNAP OUT OF IT!"
They did. They snapped out of it. It was fierce. And awesome.
Speaking of awesome, the kids are really awesome.
Hope you have an awesome weekend.
Awesome.
Chocolate Cake
September 22, 2010
That short, little post down there made me feel a whole lot better. This is one of those days that I just want to get through. I just want it to be over, and thankfully, my 7 o'clock bedtime is getting closer and closer. In the mean time, I kind of want to elaborate on the dog thing I mentioned down there.
There are two separate and distinct sides to my husband. There's the side that goes to work every day wearing dress pants from Banana Republic and $100 shoes, and there's the version that comes out on the weekends, usually wearing flannel with blaze orange accents.
It's very confusing. I'm like, "Jared. Are we going to the NPR benefit or the duck decoy expo??? Make up your mind."
And he's like, "Oh I don't know. Would you rather go bury your head in a bag of cheetos or exercise?"
Point taken. We want both.
So this redneck side of my husband is becoming more and more pronounced with every tick of the clock, and this gun slingin' man of mine really reeeeeeaaaaaalllly wants a huntin' dog. A German Shorthaired Pointer to be exact. A female....so they can make out....I think.
For the past three years, Jared's talked about his potential/conceptual/imaginary German Shorthaired Pointer every single day. He pours over names (like Copper and Zip), which breeder to use, studies up on bird dog training, clips Iams coupons, so on and so forth. And every single time I even begin to hear his mouth make the soft G sound (you know, for German Shorthaired Pointer), I literally stick my thumbs in my ears (so I can give him the double finger) and go LA LA LA LA LA LA LAAAAAA!!!!!
You see, I already have a 60 pound diaper eater. It would be quite self indulgent to have two:
That short, little post down there made me feel a whole lot better. This is one of those days that I just want to get through. I just want it to be over, and thankfully, my 7 o'clock bedtime is getting closer and closer. In the mean time, I kind of want to elaborate on the dog thing I mentioned down there.
There are two separate and distinct sides to my husband. There's the side that goes to work every day wearing dress pants from Banana Republic and $100 shoes, and there's the version that comes out on the weekends, usually wearing flannel with blaze orange accents.
It's very confusing. I'm like, "Jared. Are we going to the NPR benefit or the duck decoy expo??? Make up your mind."
And he's like, "Oh I don't know. Would you rather go bury your head in a bag of cheetos or exercise?"
Point taken. We want both.
So this redneck side of my husband is becoming more and more pronounced with every tick of the clock, and this gun slingin' man of mine really reeeeeeaaaaaalllly wants a huntin' dog. A German Shorthaired Pointer to be exact. A female....so they can make out....I think.
For the past three years, Jared's talked about his potential/conceptual/imaginary German Shorthaired Pointer every single day. He pours over names (like Copper and Zip), which breeder to use, studies up on bird dog training, clips Iams coupons, so on and so forth. And every single time I even begin to hear his mouth make the soft G sound (you know, for German Shorthaired Pointer), I literally stick my thumbs in my ears (so I can give him the double finger) and go LA LA LA LA LA LA LAAAAAA!!!!!
You see, I already have a 60 pound diaper eater. It would be quite self indulgent to have two:
Photo courtesy of James
This morning, Jared stayed home with a sick Maggie while I ran to a work meeting, and when I came home, his laptop was open to a screen sized picture of, what else? Say it with me in unison: A GERMAN SHORTHAIRED POINTER!
"Hey," he said, pointing to the computer screen. "Check her out. She's five, she's all trained to bird hunt, and she's right on the other side of the river."
Usually, that's my cue to slam the lap top shut, touch my nose to my husbands and go, "DUDE! YOU'RE CRAZY!"
But we all know I'm having a completely off day in the stable emotions department, and before I knew it, it's like I was looking in on myself saying the following phrase (in super slow motion of course), "She's cute. You should call about her."
And then, after a solid five minute dispute about whether or not to pick up the phone--I was completely egging him on--Jared called.
Well crap. Want to guess what the dog's name is?
Really, guess.
Chocolate Cake. The dog's name is frigging Chocolate Cake. So of course we're going to see Chocolate Cake tonight.
We've made a solemn vow that we will not come home with Chocolate Cake tonight. We'll pet her and scratch her back and whatnot, but that bitch isn't setting a paw in our station wagon--not until we think it through for a couple of days. I don't care if she turns out to be a cartoon dog who farts hearts and reads the Scriptures in Hebrew, we're thinking this one through.
...but I do hear that she likes to run.
Can't Ignore It
September 22, 2010
Today's the two year anniversary of my 18 week pregnancy loss. He was a boy.
As much as I feel like I should mark this occasion with a long, poetic post about growth and appreciation and finding beauty where you least expect it, that's just not on today's agenda.
Do you know what is on today's agenda?
When a friend or loved-one or random facebook person loses a pregnancy, please, please, PLEASE never say anything to the effect of:
Those are incredibly stupid things to say. Instead, try something like this:
Maybe I'll write more someday, but in the mean time, just know that you guys are great. Glad you've been with me through the happy and sad. I don't know you, but I love you.
Today's the two year anniversary of my 18 week pregnancy loss. He was a boy.
As much as I feel like I should mark this occasion with a long, poetic post about growth and appreciation and finding beauty where you least expect it, that's just not on today's agenda.
Do you know what is on today's agenda?
- Saying the F word. I think I've said it forty or fifty times, and it's only 12:30. I've said it at work, I've said it on the phone, I've said it just for fun.
- Laying (or is it lying?...either way it's just another reason to drop the f-bomb) under my covers.
- Egging my husband on to go take a look at a hunting dog he's had his eye on since the day we moved back to Maine--because you know, whatever, it's only a dog. I don't care. Seriously, what is there to care about? Have I mentioned that I don't care? What was I writing about? A dog? Whatever.
- Replaying the song I Will Follow You Into Dark over and over and over in my head, and crying like a baby when I pulled that video off of of YouTube. And since we're on the topic, this song always kills me. And this one. And pretty much every other song that talks about lost love, and uses the word "baby"--which, if I had to guess, is 79% of all songs ever written.
When a friend or loved-one or random facebook person loses a pregnancy, please, please, PLEASE never say anything to the effect of:
Everything happens for a reason.
or
That's too bad, but at least this didn't happen to you...[insert unbelievably horrible story about friend-of-a-friend's baby here].
Those are incredibly stupid things to say. Instead, try something like this:
I'm really sorry, I just don't know what to say.
or
I'm so sad for you.
Those things are so much better.
Maybe I'll write more someday, but in the mean time, just know that you guys are great. Glad you've been with me through the happy and sad. I don't know you, but I love you.
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