Boring Can Be Fun

Hello, you fine people. 'Tis the last day of 2014. As such, 'tis the season to reflect on the year gone by and to firmly resolve to "do better," whatever that means, in the year ahead. And that's what I was going to write about. Instead, I'm sitting here balancing the family budget and checkbook and wondering, "Where in Franks Balls did all of our money go?" You see, we had two pretty big events this year. Had a baby. Bought a house. (Remember I said we hoped to buy the house we moved into some months back? Well, it's been bought. Yippee!) I'm incredibly grateful for both of these things. Is it bad to call my baby a thing? Well, you know what I mean. I was reminded in church the other day that you can't have the joy and love of a family without also having the responsibility of one. Similarly, I now fully realize, you can't have the joy and love of a house of your own without also having property taxes, homeowners insuran

Oooooooo, you've been gone for weeks and now you come rolling back in here with a dicey topic like this ? Yeah, you know me. Super controversial and stuff. So, if you haven't noticed, it's been a little minute since I've posted. Why? No good reason. I've just not been in the mood to write lately. I tell myself I should and I really ought to do something , but then, instead, I don't. Because I am dedicated to success! Anyway, yeah, that post title is supposed to be all attention-grabby. It's supposed to make you think, "OMG, is she about to judge me? I need to read this so I can berate her." Or. "OMG, she's going to help me judge people. I need to read this so I can agree with her and feel validated in my own choices." Either way, I'm pleased to let you know that you'll ALL be disappointed! Yes, folks, that's right. I sucked you all in with a misleading post title just to say, Hi. I'm still here. Hope you

Alternate title: My pretty son. Tuesday was my baby girl's 8-month birthday. It was also Veteran's Day, so we had the day off work. While home, Patrick's parents and grandmother dropped by our house unexpectedly, which turned into an unexpected lunch out with the family. Patrick and I got the restaurant just a few minutes ahead of his parents and grandmother, so we waited outside for a few minutes. While waiting, a nice, grandmotherly-type lady approached us. You know how it is. You go out with a cute kid (and ours, obviously, is the THE CUTEST IN THE WORLD I LOVE HER SO MUCH), people are going to hound you like paparazzi stalking celebrities. Hey! Over here! You, with the most gorgeous child in the world! God bless you and that sweet baby!   Hey! Over here! Your baby is so cute! I wanna pinch her cheeks!   Ma'am! Your daughter should be a baby model!   Oh, my! Isn't she cute! How old is she? What a fun age! I love her shirt! What? People don&

I was very recently reminded that we get to "fall back" and gain an hour of sleep Saturday night/Sunday morning this upcoming weekend. I was giddy! Elated! Positively joyous! For five seconds. Then I remembered I have a 7-month old who, in all likelihood, will not care one little bit that her mom and dad will be craving that extra sleep. She'll probably be all, "Waaaah, I'm a baby and I want to be fed NOW even though it's only 5:30am because I think it's 6:30! Waaaah!" And Patrick and I will be all, "But we just want the extra sleep! Go back to sleep little one, go back to--oh, forget it. Put on the coffee." And some of you are all, "I'm right there with you, sister!" And some of you are all, "Uh, that's what you get for having a kid." And some of you are all, "I wish she'd quit using the phrase, 'And some of you are all....'" Listen. I love my kid. I think she's the most perfe

So, um, I'm really good at quitting. That's my way to work around my declaration last week that I'd stop bad-mouthing myself. But I mean, it's true. About two months ago (or more) I decided I'd start logging what I eat and what exercise I got (under my I Challenge Me to a Duel tab) in order to hold myself accountable. And it worked. It totally worked. I was getting more exercise and being more mindful of eating heathfully. Until I had a weekend out of town where I failed to log anything and just never started again. Tee-hee--oopsie! I've still gotten some exercise since then, but not nearly as regularly. I did a Jackie Warner workout for upper body after doing nothing but gentle pilates and was sore for nearly a week. Fo' realz. But still, it turns out I really did need the threat of someone, anyone, catching that I haven't followed through to hold myself accountable. So here's what I'm-a gonna do: Nothing. I'm going to let that

A few weekends ago, while at our cousin's house, I took a peek at a group photograph that had just been taken of me and a few of my cousins-in-law. For reasons I don't fully understand, and before I'd even gotten a good look at the picture, I glanced at my image and said, "Ugh, I look fat." One of the cousins said, "I ought to slap you," or something else insinuating I deserved a throttle. After decrying my appearance, I got a closer look and thought, "Oh, wait, never mind, that's not bad." Frankly, saying that I looked fat wasn't even accurate. "My teeth look big" (the better to eat carbs with, my dear) or "my hair doesn't look as voluminous as I thought it did" would have been more accurate, if accurate self-insults are important. It's no big secret that women--heck, most of us in this country are image obsessed, and I'm no exception. It's also no secret that putting yourself down has bec

I'm so flipping fancy. That's what I wanted my interweb friends to know when I posted the filtered, instagrammed version this picture: Let's be honest: the only reason I posted this photo is because I was so proud that I made such a divine and impressive looking meal. That's what the internet is for, after all: bragging. In case you can't tell, this is salmon en papillote (the fancy French way of saying salmon in paper) with a maple balsamic sauce, a blended sweet potato soup, and spinach. You can call it a spinach salad if it rings your bell, but it was only raw spinach with dressing on it. I feel there ought to be at least one other ingredient to try to call it a salad. Did I just whip this up with no guidance whatsoever? Not a chance. I totally followed a recipe. But man, can I follow a recipe! With a meal this snooty and fabulous, you cannot just eat it off of your everyday dishes. Non! This is not an everyday meal! This was definitely a wedding

My very own mother asked me if I stopped blogging. a) Hi, mama. b) No. c) L-A-Z-Y. Remember? I had to check and sure enough it's been two whole weeks since I last thrilled you with my mindless musings. I suppose I haven't felt particularly hilarious lately. But I promise to be really funny sometime very soon. Here are some things I'm thinking about telling you about: My capsule(ish) wardrobe--where I am on that A review on a book I recently read that made me immediately want to write up a weekly cleaning routine so I can be a fabulous and chic working mom with an easy, effortless system for maintaining our abode A follow-up when I fail to achieve Chic Mama status School pictures for my INFANT CHILD. How happy I am that Gilmore Girls is streaming on Netflix Ummm... other stuff I'll think of something. In the meantime, am I the only one suddenly struck by what an odd word "infant" is? Infant. In-fant. In. Fant. Fanta. Doncha wanna?

It's official. We're less than 3 months away from Christmas. Less than 3 months from trimming the tree. Less than 3 months until Charlie Brown Christmas and Rudolph and all the good, old programs come on TV. Less than 3 months until the holiday party season. Less than 3 months to shop for gifts for the ones you love. Less than 3 months to save for those gifts. Less than 3 months to get cocktail dress ready. So what does that all mean? Obviously, we have to start the pre-season diet and exercise plan so that you look perfect in that LBD that you'll never actually wear to a single holiday party. We also need to get a shopping list going so we know what we want to get for whom--then never look at it again or lose it in a pile of junk mail. And we have to start saving all our pennies so we can buy gifts for other people and somehow end up keeping 30% of it for ourselves (I mean, we do have good taste), thus having to go shopping again for the people who no lo

When you strike gold, you keep digging, right? Well, piggybacking on my RAGING success from the other week , I'm here to post my... AWKWARD SELFIE OF THE WEEK   Or my awkward selfie of the month. Or year. Or I may never do this again. Whatevs.   Elements of the selfie that I nailed: downward angle for most flattering (ha) results duck face/silly face (with an element of "Say WHAAAAT?" thrown in) excellently clever hashtags   It also highlights my highlights. More accurately, it highlights how long it's been since I've had my highlights done. (Over four months.) Howdy-doo, roots?   I did not get a truly awkward location but I did do it at work which is probably a no-no. That was 10 seconds spent not doing something I should have. But, hey, I'd been at work for, like 30 minutes. I needed a break.   Now, on to the show:   #worklife #dontcare #helloroots #hashtag     Take note of the immense clutter on the window si

What with getting a house, focusing more on my diet and getting some exercise, and wiping the cutest butt I've ever seen, I've not really focused on my wardrobe here lately. However, after rushing out the door in a pair of pants that, I discovered too late, had a stain on them (and unlike my spit up jeans , these had just been washed), I thought perhaps I should start replacing some of these things. Which made me remember that I was going to go all Fabulous Capsule Wardrobe on my closet. (That's the sartorial equivalent of going all crazy on your--ahem--butt.) I decided to sit down with a pencil and paper and play a game. If I had to start completely over from scratch, what core items of clothing would I want? I didn't say you'd think it was a Fun game. Bear with me. 1.) Pick your color. It's still pretty much a sauna outside here in North Florida, but we are approaching fall and winter. I don't think I look spectacular in black, and I get awfull

I have two really excellent Halloween costume ideas that I may or may not ever use. #1: Dress my child up like a squash with buckles all over her. Instead of a swashbuckler, she'll be a squashbuckler. #2: Put on bird costume. Top with party hat, maybe a t-shirt that says "Ready to party!" Accessorize with streamers, maybe a kazoo. I'll be a Party Fowl. Another one I've heard of and will probably use one day is to glue some miniature cereal boxes and plastic knives to a t-shirt. Be a Cereal Killer. My best (in my opinion), laziest costume ever was when I was slightly too old to be trick-or-treating, but went with a group anyway. I didn't feel like coming up with something clever, so I just threw on a ton of things that didn't go together, including a Gator hat and some Seminole shorts. I told people I was Confused. If you use any of these ideas, and we show up to the same place doing exactly the same thing, you heretofore and hereby waive any and

Every morning on the way to school and work, Sutton and I say a morning prayer. I usually get it started since, you know, I use words. Just to get you in the "morning prayer" mood. We say thank you for a great night of sleep and another day. We say thank you for the food in our bellies and the roof over our head. We ask blessings for those who are hungry, hurting, or homeless. We ask the Lord to forgive our sins and to help us be forgiving of others. We ask the Lord to help us, in our own little way, be His light in the world. We ask that Sutton has a great day at school with her teachers and friends, and that Patrick and I have good days at work. We say thank you for anything in particular that we are grateful for, or pray for anyone who lands on our hearts and minds, or ask forgiveness for anything in particular we know we've done (or not done). We say that we pray this in the name of Jesus, our only Savior. We say, Aaaaaamen! I suppose I should

Following an most excellently hot and sweaty walk Saturday morning, I decided that I really needed to take a post-workout selfie. Because if you don't, did it even happen? No, it did not. Based on all the selfies I've seen, and I've seen far too many, I've learned that all the best selfies contain a few crucial elements: hand on the hip duck face OR "I'm so ridiculously happy" smile OR sassy face downward angle, to aid in looking slimmer and/or showing some cleavage   There are also some fantastic optional elements that seem to bring some further life and interest to the picture: bathroom locale post-workout flushed cheeks faux-self-deprecating caption OR blatantly bragging about yourself caption I've also noticed that the most enjoyable selfies contain awkward items in the background, and those are often found in bathroom selfies. Putting all of those things together, m y goal was simple. Extend arm upward, place hand on hip, f

Did someone wish a pox upon my house? Because it worked.  Even sick, still doesn't care if you see her face. Tuesday afternoon, just as I was beginning to eat lunch, Sutton's day care called to let me know she had a fever and was acting puny. Cue mom reaction: My baby? Nooooo! Quicker than the bat of an eyelid (not really, but close), I was leaving work and hurrying to get my girl. She felt hot, and looked miserable. A small rash--just a few pink spots--had appeared around her mouth and on her arms. A few spots on her legs, too. She has good timing at least, since that afternoon she was already scheduled to see the doctor for a 6 month exam. They weighed her (15 lbs 9 oz) and took her temperature (102.1). The doctor guessed she had something viral, probably Hand, Foot, and Mouth disease (not to be confused with Hoof and Mouth--she's not bovine), possibly some kind of chicken pox. Either way, it was something that simply needed to run its course. He advised k

You know those mornings where you dump boiling water on your fingers? And let hot grease pop you? And don't have time to put on all your makeup or do anything more with your hair than scrape it into a (not great-looking) bun? And you don't like your outfit? And you're late for work? No? Oh. Neither do I. Not burnt hands and green lights all the way to you and yours, xo

No one has asked about it. So, naturally, I assume you're all secretly DYING TO KNOW about the new tab at the top of the page, I Challenge Me to a Duel, and you're just too darn shy to ask me about it. Silly Goose! You can ask me anything! Or, you didn't even notice/care. Either way, I'm here to let you know that I'm keeping a separate blog over there about my diet and exercise. My child is nearly 6 months old now and the old muffin top  doughnut top is threatening to become a permanent fixture. It's all, "Hey, I'm here to stay!" And I'm all, "No! Go away!" And it's all, "But you aren't making me go away. Nyah, nyah!" And I'm all, "Oh yeah? Well watch this!" It took me roughly 3.7 seconds to come up with the name I Challenge Me to a Duel because I'm my own worst enemy (aren't we all) and so I'm having to fight my own lazy nature in order to kick things into gear and get mysel

That's what I said as we laid back down to go to sleep at 1:20 in the morning. Sounds super sexy, right? Wrong. Lemme tell ya a story. Tuesday evening I was super tired. I hadn't slept well the previous few nights and, since dinner was done and Patrick said he'd handle the clean up, I went to bed at 8:30. It was glorious. I don't remember Patrick coming to bed. I don't remember anything until suddenly at 1 a.m. a loud banging, scratching noise woke me. Patrick woke up only moments after me. "What is that?!" "I have no idea." We both quickly jumped up and made our way down the hall. Perhaps it was a branch swinging into a window, we both thought. (I guess we had some idea, then.) Approaching the entrance to our daughter's room, the noise got louder. We stopped outside of the hall bathroom next to her room, listening intently. "It's coming from the vents. It's under the house!" The air vents in our new place

Yeah, you heard me. The Mayo Clinic's website spells it out nicely for us: De Quervain's tenosynovitis (dih-kwer-VAINS ten-oh-sine-oh-VIE-tis) is a painful condition affecting the tendons on the thumb side of your wrist. If you have de Quervain's tenosynovitis, it will probably hurt every time you turn your wrist, grasp anything or make a fist. Although the exact cause of de Quervain's tenosynovitis isn't known, any activity that relies on repetitive hand or wrist movement — such as working in the garden, playing golf or racket sports or lifting your baby — can make it worse. Well call this another Mommy Test Fail... what are we on, #6? I have suffered a physical injury as a direct result of being a baby-cuddler. I woke up one morning sometime in July with my left wrist, at the base of my thumb, hurting as if it had been badly bruised, but with no visible swelling or anything to indicate that Patrick secretly hit me with tiny hammers in my sleep. Afte