Olympus High School Class of 2000 Alumni Website

Playing “people” is Lyv’s first choice in toys.
Ah-Bee has People at her house- and that’s where Lyvia fell in love with them. She was overjoyed when I found some People at the DI for us to have! She plays with her People just about every morning. We have a house, furniture and families that she plays with for hours on end. She makes up names for them, sends some to work, makes lunch for a picnic, teaches the kids to go potty in the big potty, sends mail from their mailbox, puts the babies down for a nap and takes the kids swinging. When she play’s at Ah-Bee’s house, the family can even go on a car ride to swimming lessons in Bee’s People Jeep!
I love seeing her act out things that we’ve done as a family with her own little people! Going to swimming lessons and having game nights are favorite scenarios. But sometimes listening to her play is eye-opening! The other day the People Mom was telling the People Sister that she “had better stay in her bed for a nap or else no more playing with friends!” Hmmm…I wonder where she heard that?! But I loved coming upon her singing I Am A Child Of God to her Sister People when they were going to bed. (I’m glad good stuff is sinking in, too.)

Lyvia is a sweet girl and a wonderful big sister. We love her!

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people

We are soooo 20th century.

If we are not home- leave us a message. On our answering machine. Yeah- it’s not even voice mail, people! And no, I will not see your name on our Caller-ID, because we have no Caller-ID. I know, I know, “archaic” may be the word you’re looking for. I do have a cell phone that you are more than welcome to call. However, it really is for my convenience. I turn it on when I leave the house and usually switch it off when I get home. Feel free to call me- but be prepared to, what? oh yeah, leave a message.

I remember way back before you had to dial the area code when calling someone.

We get the newspaper on the weekends. That’s right. The actual newspaper delivered to our front porch. It’s wonderful.

Jason tucks in his polo shirts for work. He also matches his belt to his shoes. I haven’t checked in with Clinton Kelly lately, but is that still hip or not?

Using “Mr.” and “Mrs.” are still ingrained in me. If I am addressing someone I don’t know, I always use “Mrs.” or “ma’am”. Or “Sister Peterson” for those who are at our church. Lyvia has been taught this same thing and says frequently, “I think my Sisters at Nursery missed me this week!”

We were talking the other night with my sister (ten years my junior) and her boyfriend about people named Cameron (yeah- a whole other blog post). Jason mentioned Candace Cameron and the two college-bound students gave each other confused looks. “You know, DJ from Full House!” I prodded. “Oh yeah, that’s so old school,” they said.

My house is, what other people may classify as, “country”. I prefer “retro and homey”- but whatever floats your boat.

I say stuff like: Whatever floats your boat. And rad. And jive.

I am a Facebook slacker and Jason has no Facebook page. Apparently, the people who we want to stay in touch with are the people we chat with in real life. We also know nothing about twittering our tweets. (Come on, I blog, people! I can only keep up with so much social media!)

I just learned to text last year.

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I've said it before, and I'll say it again…

I suppose that most of us realize at different points along the way that we have become too old for some things.  One thing I am too old for is pretending.  My daughters ask me to play their pretend games with them sometimes and I find I struggle to imagine the dramatic stories I was able to come up with when I was little.  There is a genuine mental block there and it’s all I can do to come up with a reasonable pretend name.  So, I am too old to pretend.  That’s one.  Another thing I am too old for is the commercials that play in between Saturday morning cartoons.  When I was young, the loud man in the commercials seemed to be the fount of all wisdom and unquestioned authority as to what was fun and what I needed to tell my parents I wanted.  I caught a glimpse of a commercial this morning (maybe 5 seconds) and I couldn’t change the channel fast enough.  I was ready to toss the TV out the window.  But the only reaction my four year-old had was to say “Mom!  Those are the shoes I want!”  Grrrr.  Too old for kid-stuff commercials.  Finally, I really thought I was too old to do something so quintessentially childish as crashing my bike, but no.  I was on my way too work, pedaling merrily along, listening to my ipod when I hear a noise that sounds an awful lot like a flat bike tire.  I look down and sure enough, my front tire is flat.  Before I could even slow down, the bike is already out of control and falling over.  Even as I was falling I was thinking “Really?  Am I really wrecking on my bike?  Maybe I won’t get hurt.  I’m an adult after all.”  It’s at this point in my fall that I have instinctively put out my hands to catch myself and I land on the asphalt, my palms taking the brunt of the fall, the handlebars twisted around and digging hard into my lower right abdomen (as if that region hasn’t been through enough already).  I lost one of my shoes somewhere in the process and I find myself sitting on the hot asphalt, trying to figure out what in the h-e-double hockey sticks just happened!  I looked around, but of course nobody is out in their yard, (At noon.  On a Saturday.  In July.)  except for two teenagers who casually glanced in my direction when I fell then continued their conversation.  I picked my self up, rolled my injured bike off the road and walked to the closest house that looked friendly.  (Some houses just look friendly.  Some do not.  You know what I mean.)  I knocked on the door and a young girl came to the door.  I held up my bloody hands and said I just crashed on my bike and could I please use their phone?  I wanted to cry.  I felt like I was seven all over again and I just wanted to be home, not stranded, asking for help from strangers, I just wanted my mom (or in this case my husband) to come and get me and take me home.  Speaking of husbands, mine didn’t answer our phone, which I could have probably guessed because when I left home not ten minutes earlier, he was working outside.  So then, the lovely woman whose home I was in offered to take me home.  Her name was Mirabelle, and she was so kind.  She dropped me off and I limped into the yard.  I showed my hands to my husband who promptly put his arm around me and helped me inside.  Then I cried.  I think the sympathy from other people is what turns on the water-works for me, more than the actual event.  I felt so silly for crying, too.  I mean, what exactly was I sad about?  It hurt, but I knew I’d be fine.  Was I embarrassed?  A little, but not enough to cry.  Just enough to look sheepish.  No, I think it was the feeling of helplessness, of feeling lost and disoriented, much like a child would.  So, to end this cheery tale I’ll share a bicycle joke, rather appropriate for the day:  What’s the hardest thing about learning to ride a bike?  The road.

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I’ve been back in time, and it sucks.

I’m in a rut. A blogging rut.
I just don’t feel like blogging.

I’m sure it will pass soon, because it’s not like I don’t have a constant stream of things to talk about. I mean just the other day I cleaned out my refrigerator and found some strange, sticky yellow gunk on the back of the bottom shelf. It took a soaking and a ScotchBrite to scrub it off- but I’m proud to announce I have a clean fridge. See what I mean? Riveting, eh? Well, there is always Lyvia starting swim lessons. But other than her just being dang cute in her yellow swimsuit- there isn’t too much to elaborate on. She is in the pool, splashing and having a jolly time. Happiness is water at our house. Speaking of water- the littlest Jones girl absolutely LOVES the tub now. I try to bathe her often. Well, that sounded odd. I mean I just bathe her a normal amount that anyone would bathe a baby. Plus, I slather her red-hair-fair skin with shea butter lotion with sunblock after every tub. It smells good, like clean baby. Lyv usually wants to “help” dress Millie- so I let her choose an outfit out of the drawer. It’s usually pink. Exciting stuff. I was also considering sharing my thoughts on little girls t-shirts with sayings on them. Here it is: People, there is no need for shirts with sayings like, “Daddy’s Girl” or “Princess Attitude” on them. Are you trying to give your child a complex or something? I wince when anyone in elementary school wears a shirt with any sort of “tween-age” statement on it. Stop buying these shirts and then there will be no demand and therefore- they will cease to exist. Although, my sister Bailey does have a shirt that says “love a lefty” with an awesome picture of this kid trying to write with his arm twisted awkwardly- the way a lefty does. Oh, yeah-it makes more sense if you know she’s left-handed. See, now you appreciate the cleverness of the shirt. And she’s graduated. As of today. Woah. My little sister is leaving high school for good. Now off to SUU to conquer the world and learn to make Slurpee runs at 11:30 at night before an exam. Bay is an amazing sister and I can’t wait for all the adventures to come for her. I’m not sure she’d appreciate me blogging about her future.

But, lucky for her- I don’t really feel like blogging.

It’s this rut I’m in.

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oh, nothing.

As many of you know, I was back in the motherland for a very great day in my life as well as the life of my family. My dear mother, also known as Sweet Jean, was called to serve as the first counselor in the General Primary Presidency. There isn’t a better person for this calling. I have yet to find anyone more caring, selfish, charitable, loving, or tenderhearted anywhere. Not only is she all of these things but she is able to transmit love to all she comes in contact with. A prime example of this was when she and my dad and little brother came to pick me up from my church mission in Brazil. Mom obviously didn’t know Portuguese and they didn’t speak English but the people there flocked to her side and didn’t want to leave. There was a young woman in particular that just kept saying that she didn’t want my mom to leave. That is the amazing gift she has. This weekend was filled with many tears and not a lot of sleep as anyone who knows the S clan won’t be surprised to hear. Yet, as I left to go home at the end of a crazy weekend, I couldn’t help but reflect on what a tender weekend I had had with my family and how the Lord has been so mindful of my parents for the people of goodness and sacrifice that they are. Truly a wonderful weekend.

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April Blessings

My little brother, Randy, turned 18 today. It’s actually impossible for me to explain how weird that is. I suppose all big sisters are somewhat protective of their little brothers, but the age difference between Randy and I means that I spent the first five or so years of his life convinced that everything and everyone else in the world was going to harm him. Unfortunately, this made me a very annoying big sister…although I did save his butt on more than one occasion. Now, the country has decided that he’s old enough to protect himself, while I’m still inclined to double check his plate to make sure all of the morsels are adequately cut into bite-sized pieces. Le sigh. I guess I’ve been overruled by time.

Turning 18…it’s one of those things that you wait your whole life for, but which is inevitably something of a let down, isn’t it? I mean, it’s not like turning 21, which (if you’re lucky) is an event that you can’t remember the day after, so you have to assume it was fantastic. Turning 18 is just this massive build up and then…nothing. At least, that’s what it was for me.

When I turned 18, I did something that was unusual, but very in-character if you know me at all. I took all the people that were important in my life and told them that I’d be celebrating with someone else. My family thought I was with my friends, my friends thought I was with my family, etc. Then I packed a bag, got in my Jeep, and drove out of state to spend the night in a nothing town where I didn’t know a soul. I had forty dollars in birthday money from my grandmother, but this was the kind of place where that could buy you a hotel room and then some, so I wasn’t worried about getting stranded. What I was worried about, however, was the entire rest of my life.

When I turned 18, I was halfway through my first year of college and I had little to no direction for the first time in my life. I was on the south side of a nasty relationship and all of my other relationships seemed to be rapidly changing (or, in some cases, deteriorating before my eyes) and it was safe to say that I had never felt less like an adult than I did on that birthday. So, as a gift, I let myself run away from everyone I knew and I turned 18 in the middle of nowhere with only my own thoughts for company…or at least that was the plan…

When I turned 18, I spent the night in the company of a man from Wyoming who had run off to this nothing city for reasons very similar to my own. He bought me dinner and we walked around and talked and I even bummed a cigarette, which is the first (and nearly the last) time I’d ever smoked one. Because of the near anonymity, I think we told each other things that you wouldn’t normally tell even your closest friends. I don’t know why, actually. It was just something of a conversational free space.

The day after I turned 18, this person found me in the cafe, bought me french toast, and officially became the first person in my life to ask me to do something crazy just because we could. I said no, got into my car, and drove back to my life. The weird thing is, it was the perfect time to be crazy. I had no responsibilities and no real reasons not to just flip my life upside down. So why did I say no?

Probably for the same reason that I can’t even remember this person’s name…I guess I figured out on the first day of adulthood that suddenly being old enough to do things you’ve never done before doesn’t really mean anything at all when you don’t know what you’re doing. And that, my friends, is pretty much the story of my life.

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Turning 18

I’ll start first with Riley standing. After months of battling with insurance we finally got it approved. In the end it was kind of a good thing that it wasn’t approved at first because the original stander we order would have been too small by the time we got it so when it was denied we were able submit for a bigger one. At first he lasted about 15 minutes, and then 30 min and then on Tuesday he was in there for 45 min. while watching Seseme Street. That’s the one thing we’ve learned about Riley and his therapies is that if you distract him with something he likes he doesn’t notice he’s actually working at something.

The next update is last Saturday we took Riley to the zoo. Riley was more interested in the people and kids around him than looking at the actual animals. I think the animal he was most interested in looking at were the giraffes only because they were right there with out any glass to peer through

We also got a chance to experience a rare siting of a peacock showing off it's feathers.  The zoo keeper said that they usually never just randomly show off their feathers.

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Updates Galore

So I’ve had some lovely comments about posting more food recipes and green smoothie recipes. And since you asked so kindly, I am posting one of my favorite smoothies as of late. You can call this Mango Madness or the Immune Booster Smoothie, whichever sounds more fun for you

add 1-2 cups water

Oh I have a good post about yogurt, the good the bad and the ugly. But it’s not quite ready yet, so in the mean time PAY ATTENTION TO LABELS. 2 big things to look out for: High Fructose Corn Syrup and anything with Hydrogenated Oils. I guarantee the yogurt you are eating has one of them listed. What’s the big deal you say? To put it simply, regularly including these products in your diet has the potential to promote obesity — which, in turn, promotes conditions such as type 2 diabetes, high blood pressure and coronary artery disease. Hmmm not to fun if you ask me! In the mean time avoid those two big mama’s (high fructose corn syrup and hydrogenated oils). You’ll be quick to notice how hard they are to avoid! Then you’ll start looking to the organic foods and notice they (the two big mama’s) have vanished. Anyways, back to the recipe…

add your (high fructose corn syrup – FREE) yogurt to the blender

I am not a chef! This is just how I like to slice and dice my mangos.

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You Asked For More!

So I’ve had some lovely comments about posting more food recipes and green smoothie recipes. And since you asked so kindly, I am posting one of my favorite smoothies as of late. You can call this Mango Madness or the Immune Booster Smoothie, whichever sounds more fun for you

add 1-2 cups water

Oh I have a good post about yogurt, the good the bad and the ugly. But it’s not quite ready yet, so in the mean time PAY ATTENTION TO LABELS. 2 big things to look out for: High Fructose Corn Syrup and anything with Hydrogenated Oils. I guarantee the yogurt you are eating has one of them listed. What’s the big deal you say? To put it simply, regularly including these products in your diet has the potential to promote obesity — which, in turn, promotes conditions such as type 2 diabetes, high blood pressure and coronary artery disease. Hmmm not to fun if you ask me! In the mean time avoid those two big mama’s (high fructose corn syrup and hydrogenated oils). You’ll be quick to notice how hard they are to avoid! Then you’ll start looking to the organic foods and notice they (the two big mama’s) have vanished. Anyways, back to the recipe…

add your (high fructose corn syrup – FREE) yogurt to the blender

I am not a chef! This is just how I like to slice and dice my mangos.

Read more here:
Immune Booster Smoothie

It happened. I did a craft. ALL. BY. MYSELF. This is a day to celebrate. For sure. I’m all about other people being crafty and talented and me being all, “oh, I like that. I’ll buy that from you.” I don’t know, I just feel like I can spend my time doing other things. You know, things like watching reality tv or getting a pedicure. Really important things, of course.

Anyway, I did my craft. And guess what, it actually was easy. The hardest part was hanging the damn things on my wall. And before you ask, of course there were a few cuss words spoken while attempting to hang them on my wall, but I was all by myself so I am pretty sure the cuss words don’t count. At least that is what I tell myself. It helps me sleep at night. And it makes my mom feel better, too. She always tells me it’s not very lady like to cuss.

Man, she never misses an opportunity to parent. Even when I am 27. Well done, Mom. Well done.

As promised, I took step-by-step pictures of the event. Correction, EPIC event. I mean, I had to prove somehow that I made these myself.

tools needed: fabric, canvas board, staple gun, adhesive spray, pencil and scissors

I used the pencil to mark on the back of the fabric where I wanted to lay the board. I then sprayed the board with adhesive spray and placed the board on the fabric. Then I stretched and pressed out the any air bubbles on the front of the board. I then cut the fabric so I could wrap it easily over the edges of the board. Then I folded over the edges and used the staple gun to secure it down.

And voila! Finished piece.

I did 6 boards to complete the look. I can’t look at them too closely or I’ll see all the imperfections. But for my first craft performed all by myself, I think I did a pretty good job.

I’ll now watch an extra episode of Millionaire Matchmaker to make up for lost time.

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The craft was fun, but I still like reality tv better.

The weirdest thing about this experience is that nobody can tell you what you’re supposed to be feeling. Everyone handles it differently, it seems. Some people don’t even consider it a loss…they just take it as a sign from the universe that their time hasn’t come yet. Other people go through long periods of mourning and treat each loss no differently than you would treat the loss of a beloved family member.

I think we’re more towards the beginning of the scale. In fact, one of the things that I’ve vaguely been struggling with is that everyone assumes it’s more tragic than it really is. I can tell, because nobody wants to bring up babies anymore. At my age, everyone and their cousin is getting pregnant left and right, because we’re right in the middle of that whole family-building chapter of our lives. You would think, I guess, that it would be hard for me to hear about all of these pregnancies and hold all these cute, squirmy kids, but if anything it’s sort of the opposite. Some people might react to a loss like this by wanting to just shut their eyes whenever they see a pregnant woman, but I want to run up and invite her to lunch so I can hear all about everything.

Fact: I am freaking baby crazy right now.

Unfortunately, I can tell that it makes people uncomfortable when I talk about it. I don’t think anyone wants to bring it up because they don’t want me to feel sad and when they do talk about pregnancy, it’s mostly stories about people who have had miscarriages. I’m interested in that as well, since it might help us on our journey, but in the end I really just want to talk strollers and hiccups and potty training. Boring stories about how hard it’s been to put them down at night? Yes, please!

It’s an ironic reality (yes, I’m using “ironic” wrong, but you know what I mean) that by talking about wanting a baby and not being able to carry one, I’ve been outed from conversations about babies all together. People are now more likely to tell baby stories to friends who aren’t the least bit interested in babies and couldn’t care less (*cough*Janean*cough*) than they are to tell me anything.

I just found out that a friend of mine is expecting her first…and she’s about seven months along. I don’t know if she was hoping I wouldn’t notice until I also had a baby, at which point she’d whip him out from behind her back and go, “Surprise! I have a toddler!” When I called her out on it, she admitted that she found out she was pregnant right around the time we started talking about this whole thing and she just didn’t want to bring it up. I can appreciate it and I love her to death for that kindness, but I did have to point out how misguided it is. She’s not having our baby. Nobody is. So I can’t really be jealous of her or anyone else, because the thing we really want is our baby.

The thing I don’t blog about and the thing I don’t talk about is also the thing that people aren’t talking to me about. No good. While I appreciate sensitivity and help, I’m really hoping to just make this a part of my life that isn’t tragic or uncomfortable or secret. It’ll help us out a lot and ultimately, we’ll do better when we do make it through a pregnancy if we’ve had good practice at staying positive. So that’s the plan.

Proud future owners of awesome cuteness.

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The Things I Don’t Blog About – Part Three

You know, I believe there are definitely things that you shouldn’t talk about in polite conversation. In fact, unless you are insulated by many, many cocktails and surrounded by very close friends, you shouldn’t talk about them in any conversation. For me, that list includes unpleasant bodily functions, secret racist/homophobic/classist/misogynistic thoughts, and graphic details of your sex life. One of my least favorite things in the world is the phrase, “I really shouldn’t be telling you this..,” because whatever comes next is usually in those three categories listed above.

But there are other things that don’t get talked about. For people my age, this usually includes marital problems or professional frustrations. For example, I have friends who are having a hard time in their marriage or who aren’t getting the job or promotion they feel they deserve…but we don’t talk about that stuff. It’s always there underneath the surface, but I certainly don’t feel right bringing it up. Is that a good thing? I don’t know. Sometimes I wonder if I’m supposed to be bringing it up so the person has an outlet to talk about, but then I think it might be pretentious for me to assume they want to share those things with me or anyone else, for that matter.

The funny thing is, I don’t usually have that kind of stuff. Sure, I have things that are personal, but I’m one of those open book people who doesn’t keep a whole lot under lock. Part of that is luck – I haven’t had that many things in my life that were too painful or embarrassing to share. Sure, I have my moments of uncertainty and insecurity and disappointment, but I’ve always found that sharing them takes the edge off for me. That’s why I adore my friends so much. Those listening ears make everything better.

But there’s been this thing. And it’s just been here with me and Kyle, lurking in the background. We haven’t talked to many people about it and we haven’t even talked about it with each other more often than we had to. We finally had one of those things…those rotten things that go on in your life that you don’t want to talk about or acknowledge or share. This is a new thing for us and it’s been…well, just plain rotten.

Unfortunately, this thing also doesn’t seem to be taking care of itself and going away, so I’m starting to realize that we’re going to have to acknowledge it at some point. It is my hope that this thing, like so many other things, will be easier for us to wrap our brains around if we start bringing it out in the open and letting it just be there. So, to let it be there, I’m going to bring it here, on this most public of forums. Today, I’m just that brave.

Long story short: We want a baby and have been trying. It’s not going well.

You didn’t see it, but there was a long pause after I typed that last sentence. What else should I say? I don’t want to drag out the whole story, but I also don’t want to cheat and leave it there. What kind of details am I supposed to bring up? Is it ok that I’m talking about this? Is this a personal story that we’re supposed to keep in house? Will it make any difference that I’m writing this out at all?

Since we got married, we’ve had four miscarriages. Each time we confirmed the pregnancy with the doctor, we bought little things like books and articles of clothing and each time it went away, I packed those things up and took them downstairs. We’ve tucked money away since before we got married so that we had a fund that was just for Baby Morgan. I didn’t look for work when we moved because we figured I’d just have to go on maternity leave anyway, but now, under doctor instructions to stop trying, it looks like we’ll need a new plan. The thought of working and using the baby fund to buy a new car isn’t a tragedy, per se, but it’s sort of aching in a very strange way…like disappointment in very slow motion.

We haven’t given up hope by any stretch of the imagine, since we’re both so young, but every now and then I feel like we just look at each other with total surprise…I don’t know when this will become our normal. I have absolutely no idea how to fit this chapter into our story.

We don’t know how to talk about this with other people. We don’t know how to talk about it to each other. And, I suppose we don’t even know if we’re supposed to talk about it. Nobody else is talking about it, which means lots of people are just going on like they didn’t just hit a major speedbump. Is that what we should be doing? I don’t know. It’s not the worst idea, really. Just keep swimming…

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The Things I Don’t Blog About – Part Two

I’m writing a lot these days. I now have three fairly large blogs that I try to keep up with. I’m still working as a freelance writer and I have a combination of little and large projects that are keeping me occupied. When I can, I exchange witty emails with my oldest of friends, to make up for the severe lack of luncheons and movie nights that have become geographically impossible. And then there’s the rest…emails from readers that turn into long exchanges, scribbling in the journals that have slowly started to take over our room, notes that hang on the wall and threaten eternal fatness if I don’t get myself to the gym…everywhere I turn there’s just words and words and words. And I’m writing them.

But what about the things that don’t get written? A friend complained recently that I never write about her on the blog and I pointed out that I very rarely receive good returns when I write about real people outside of my husband and myself. Even with good intentions, my large mouth has repeatedly gotten me into trouble, so I no longer write about my social circle. (I also enjoy irking this friend, which is why I’m referring to her as “friend” and not by her name. Oh, she’s going to be fur-i-0us!)

I also don’t write about my work very much because it just feels like I should be keeping it separate. It’s true that I’m not working in a scary, executive job where it would serve me well to have a professional image that resembles a 24/7 paper-pushing cyborg with no emotions or personal life. Still, I’m not sure that the people I work for would want to give thousands of dollars to the freelancer that eats pork uterus and didn’t even have a decent first kiss! My thin, little professional bubble needs to remain in tact…at least a little.

But there’s other stuff as well. Stuff that doesn’t come out because I do know how public this writing is. They aren’t terrible secrets or embarrassing overshares…they’re just things that are private because they are mine…or in many cases, ours. Kyle has nearly no control over these online windows into our life and although he’s a saint about it, I can’t trade cheaply in the things that are intimate to our us-ness. It just wouldn’t be fair.

I’ve been struggling a little, though, with feeling dishonest. I get so many letters from people who feel like they know me, but as a friend recently pointed out, I’m not really what I appear to be in these little essays. I’m not particularly kind, not particularly interesting, and not particularly good company. Or, perhaps, you do see me and it’s the familiar bitchiness and total loss of control scattered throughout my existence that’s actually appealing.

I don’t know…but what I do know is this: it is easier for me to do this than it is for me to do anything else and it helps me to do this, even though I’m sure it seems narcissistic and petty to keep a blog only about this little life. So, it’s hard when I can’t write about the things that are here below the surface and, in a way, I do so want you to know what’s really here. Perhaps it is the validation, but I mostly think that when I’m honest I’m also holding myself accountable for things. It sort of keeps me from burying my head in the sand and missing my life.

Is it possible, safe, or even sane to be more open on a personal blog without crossing into the land of “Why in God’s name would she ever put that on the Internet?” I don’t know…

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The Things I Don’t Blog About – Part One

Remember the days when blogs were new and it was so fun to write new posts and look at other people’s blogs? Well those days have TOTALLY PASSED for me! Maybe I need a baby or something to make it fun again. Marshal doesn’t like it when I say things like that because babies are not for our entertainment. He says we shouldn’t “let the tail wag the dog.” Duh, I know! Babies aren’t for fun, they are best used as an excuse to leave Relief Society when it turns to a sob fest.

Speaking of Relief Society and church – I’m being totally serious now – I love our ward. I used to feel a little disconnected from it (probably because I worked on Sundays), but now I’m a huge fan. Marsh and I signed up for a special class called “Marriage and Family Relations.” The class is held in the Relief Society room so the chairs are way soft and I have full access to the thermostat. I guess you could say the class is very cozy, what a bonus. We’ve only been to one class so far but it’s great! We’re going to learn tons of fun stuff like communicating, growing spiritually, kama sutra, just checking to see if people actually read!!!

I think all blog posts should have a picture…so here you go. We got a few shots of the river while it was still sort of green. Happy St. Patty’s Day!

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Our blog needs CPR

I was strongly leaning toward doing a Gung Hay Fat Choy post for the Chinese New Year, but even though I’m not spending the day with my husband, I suppose it would be a little lame for me to pretend that Valentine’s Day isn’t happening.

Hence, the V-Day post:

Valentine’s Day has a pretty bad reputation. Most people either hate it because it’s cheesy/commercial/forced/predictable/alienating/expensive/etc. or they love it and wait for it with baited breath, only to be inevitably disappointed when it doesn’t end of that romantic. Sure, a bunch of people manage to pull of perfectly amazing Valentine’s day date nights or they lose themselves in the holiday parties of their children, laden with pink paper garlands and chalky candy hearts. But most are just glad when it’s over.

I’m one of those people that loves Valentines Day, but more for the mail and the movie marathons than for the date night. I’ve never had a particularly great date on Valentine’s Day and I can clearly remember two really, really bad dates that took place on February 14th. The only thing worse than cautiously venturing out to a crowded restaurant on the most “romantic” night of the year is getting blindsided in a crowded restaurant when someone you’re not interested in pulls out either a soul-baring declaration of love or an engagement ring. (And yes, it happened. Twice. And it was baaaaaaaad.)

Of course, I’m safe from that kind of thing now. The chances of awkward relationship talks blossoming out of V-day dropped pretty dramatically when I tied the knot with Mr. Morgan. Now, my Valentines Days stretch out to the horizon, full of quiet dinners and Hallmark cards and the good type of nothing special. Nice, no? Yes, but I suppose it will be a little while before I stop mourning the lack of future declarations of love from soulmates who run towards me out of the ran after walking out on their six-figure jobs because they just can’t live without me. What can I say? I was ruined by All My Children and Lifetime television.

I was pretty addicted to romantic drama in my youth. My absolute favorites were the movies where one of the lovers died at the end. This is in stark contrast to my geek-gets-the-girl loving husband. In fact, we seem to be made up of pretty different romantic stuff. Take, for example, the top ten lists that our high school selves would have picked as the most romantic stuff in the world:

Happy Valentines Day, Everyone!
(but especially Kyle because I luuuuuv him)

Read more here:
Isn’t It Romantic?

Today has just been one of those days when you feel like you are running around without your head! And on top of that the house is a disaster, messes everywhere, nothing is going as planned, the car is on empty, I have yet to shower, I feel like we will be jobless and poor forever, I have no desire to accomplish anything and all I want to do is eat comfort food and crawl back in bed! Please tell me I’m not the only one who has these kind of days! Before Tim left, he lifted my chin and says, “Cheer up Charlie!” If only it was that easy. Sigh… Thank goodness for blogs and people who like to listen to other people complain… I think I am beginning to feel a little bit better now that I’ve let it all out.

Read more here:
Today

Remember when I promised to have my Alt Design Summit post by the day before yesterday? C’mon, you didn’t think I was serious, did you? I’m officially running on Carly time these days, which means everything is about a week late. It’s one of the perks of being my own boss.

Photo from alt design summit on Flickr

I do have lots of loveliness to share…probably more than I should even put into a post. So, to make things pretty and easy, I’m just going to do a quick run down of the awesome people I rubbed elbows with and the top ten things I learned during the conference.

Awesome People Who Were There (not a complete list at all, but these come to mind):

DJ Earworm (I’m a little obsessed now, I have to admit!)
Photo from alt design summit on Flickr

• Heather Armstrong of Dooce
• Jean Aw of NotCot
• Grace Bonney of Design*Sponge
• Maxwell Gillingham-Ryan of Apartment Therapy

Photo from alt design summit on Flickr

• Allison Czarnecki of Petit Elefant
• Jaime Derringer of Design Milk
• Karey Mackin of Mackin Ink
• Joy Deangdeelert Cho of Oh Joy!
• Stephanie Brubaker of Stephmodo
• Sheila Bernus Dowd of Lookiloos
• Chelsea Fuss of Frolic
• Vané Broussard of Brookyln Bride