a serving of brazen toddler with a side of emma stone

The other day I followed a weird spike in my blog traffic that landed me at GOMI on a forum where people were asked to link their favorite lesser known blogs. To my shock n' awe, someone had linked mine (*blush*). I followed the comment thread, and it garnered one response from someone who said something like, "I want to like this blog, but it's just another oversharing mom." (*blush again*)

It's SO TRUE though. My blog posts are rife with feelings caused by my children, stories featuring my children, pictures of my children. My sister Audrey of the Great State of Washington called me the other day to object to my blog desertion. And I know she mourns not the loss of content but of her niece/nephew photo fix. I simply told her, "I just don't really know what to write about right now." To which she advised, "Just write your thoughts."

My thoughts:

Emma Stone is my spirit animal.

Circa 2001 a young girl named Jessie stared at her 400 pound computer monitor, patiently sitting through the 12 minutes of cacophonous dial up that would eventually land her on AZ Lyrics, that she could repeatedly read chorus and verse to Blues Traveler's Hook until she could recite them without a hitch. I loved that song. And when Emma Stone got up there on the Jimmy Fallon stage I rapped transfixedly along with her. It just goes to show that sometimes following Buzz Feed LOL (on which I found above gem) isn't totally worthless. Even though most of their stuff is like, what Anime character are you? Well, the only Anime reference I even know is Pokemon. And only because Pokemon and pogs are the love language of my generation.

Jordan is simultaneously sage and sassy.

Case #1: I had a slight - read VERY SLIGHT - case of road rage the other day during which I berated my fellow driver to "come onnnnnn get overrrrrr." Backseat driver numero uno chimed her two year old cents in with a decided "Mom. Calm down. Don' be mad. Take a walk."

Um, ok.

Case #2: A few weeks ago, the totally old man car that I drive around suffered a slight case of vandalism. Overnight, the license plate was stripped from it's poor little old man bumper and the gas cap was mysteriously clipped off for some unfathomable reason. We had the car fully checked out to make sure nothing sinister was afoot, but I blame adolescence and the mostly empty bottle of pomegranate vodka I found under the car. Anyway, Sean replaced the gas cap with a locking one. It is super impossible to unlock it. Utterly. Post gas cap wrestle, I informed Sean as much. He explained the complicated and innumerable steps (...one step...) that must be utilized to prise away said cap, and I was indignant that he hadn't explained as much before. He said, rather quietly, "I guess I thought it was obvious." From the backseat (again) Jordan let the tension settle in before all too sarcastically claiming, "It's ozzious, Mom."

Go to your room Jordan.

Weston is weaning.

Which is nice because, freedom. But also not nice because breastfeeding has been my lone form of exercise. I've been eating just the same as I have the last 8 months but my muffin top reached Panera status in the last week. I guess it's time for that double jogger now. Because unlike Grace, I like to nurse my recovery (yes, pun intended, what do you think?) for about 8 months longer than she. Weston is 8 months and 5 days so once you crunch the numbers I think you should give her like a hundred clappy emojis.

Ok the kids have been sleeping a suspiciously long time now. I'm not complaining but I think I should check on their welfare. 

But to recap: I've had three whole blogthoughts in about a month's time. Oversharing mom FTW.

restaurants & babies & gambles & probabilities

Sean and I really like going on dates.

Sean and I have a two and half year old and a four month old.

Those statements seem fairly unrelated, and indeed, they certainly work against each other. It's usually pretty difficult for us to get a sitter because my eligible siblings are either working multiple jobs or have fled the state (AUDREY). An unsolvable conundrum, you say. Well. Sean and I are risk-takers. We're participators in parent roulette. We live on the edge and kill for the thrill. Ok, false again, but we realllly like our pale ales and buffalo wings and plush booths and dimly lit locales. Therefore, we take the kids.

We kind of stumbled into a weekly tradition over the last couple of months. There is an indoor/outdoor mall down the street from us that has a favorite restaurant of ours. The food is tip top, the price is right, and they microbrew an excellent blond. After a drink and an appetizer to split, we hit up the indoor mall park. This part serves the double purpose of fulfilling the bribe for Jordan's good(tolerable) behavior during our date, and also satisfies the quotient of crazy for the week.

So this whole routine either works out swimmingly or fails epically. This can be chalked up, I believe, to the mystifying nature of the still-developing brain. In Jordan's case, for example: one date is smiles and kids' menu artwork and sugar packet assembly line across the table while Sean and I sip leisurely and snack heartily.



The following week is straight out of one of those ubiquitous Pinterest posts "Reasons my kids are crying." She's crying because we gave her a straw. She's crying because there isn't a yellow crayon. She's crying because Sean tried to play tic-tac-toe with her. She's crying because I blew on her food to cool it off. She's crying because cheek tear tracks are the new black. I don't know.

And the other fool

 

One week Weston's happy to play with the distinctly feminine mobile that hangs from his carseat handle. (It was originally Jordan's, and dangles carved pink hearts and little wooden dolls with flower-print dresses. Whatever, he's entertained.) Or I'll give him some gift card out of my wallet to hold and he'll like zone in and concentrate in such a manner that pulls his eyebrows together and narrows his lips into a tiny "o." But then! The next week I'm marathon nursing under my sweatshirt to prevent the agonized cries that can only be cause by parents trying to enjoy themselves. (Does any other nursing mother construct their day's outfit based on how easily their child can be concealed under their shirt? Oh good.) Or he'll require unbroken eye contact and saccharine, obnoxious smiles as I speak out of the side of my mouth to my husband.

 

Some dates, it's just Jordan acting out. Others, Weston is the date diva. Sometimes we hit gold and both are fantastic. Then there's that time where the house wins all: flailing toddler, whimpering infant, shamed parents with heads hung low, all slinking as inconspicuously as possible from the place. (Impossible to do with Jordan's signature back-arch, by the way. But we've perfected an exit strategy inasmuch as possible.)

 

I know, I know. We should "date" at home. Lots of people do it. Probably most people who have young kids. Sean and I are of the opinion, however, that kids shouldn't hinder the spousal relationship, they should enhance it. Ideally yes, we would be sneaking away for uninterrupted conversations in which we could give our full concentration to each other while the kids terrorized the paid help. On occasion, we do! But hey, you can't let life stop you from watering your marriage. If bringing the kids means fragmented sentences and carrot sticks dropped under the table and little hands grabbing bearded cheeks so that Dad can look ONLY AT JORDAN - but we still get a little piece of each other? so be it.

 

There's an inevitable eye-lock between Sean and I at some point during every one of these "dates" that translates clearly to "why do we do this?" We do it because it is, ultimately, a good time. It's something that takes us away from routine and it's something to look forward to in a humdrum week. It's little, but it's important. To me anyway. I did tell Sean that we are making a 2014 pact to get out for solo dates at least every other week, come hell or dual diaper bombs. Something of a new year's resolution, if you will. 

 

That doesn't necessarily mean that we'll stop our little tradition - we probably won't. We don't learn our lesson very easily.



of late

I haven't been able to write with any frequency, or really, think coherently with any frequency in the recent weeks. Coming up with topics for blog posts proves tricky, as I'm not sure how interested any of you would be in reading about the fog density enveloping my brain, which speaks to the bleariness of my days and my inclination to start an alcoholic beverage earlier and earlier every afternoon.

Nor did I think Jordan's hot-off-the-press hair feats merited a full post

even though I really can't say which strikes my fancy more: the fact that at two full years she managed to produce enough hair for the twin ponies; her flawless pronunciation of "pigtails" (anyone who's had the pleasure of hearing Jordan speak knows she has nearly unintelligible speech impediments that I almost hope she never loses, so dearly do I love them); or her exclamation, upon my fashioning her hair as such, that she wants to "show Deerdin" (="show Jordan" = "look in the mirror"). At any rate, she's come a long way.

Really, I've just had these fleeting ideas that halfway form into something about which to write (<--- fear of dangling prepositions for $500, Alex). Welcome, therefore, to the half-empty caverns of my mind:

• When Weston is ramping up for a feeding in the middle of the night, he sounds like an impending car crash. Squealing brakes and screeching tires and lots of drama to boot. It takes him a few minutes and some jerky T-Rex arm manipulations before he goes for the kill (that newborn wail - ah! so effective and so tragic) so I know I have a few minutes to prepare the midnight feeding before all hell breaks lose.

• I've been on a Jimmy Fallon bender. My bestie Meg insisted I YouTube "#hashtag" (and we know how I feel about those) ft. J-Timber

which led to the "more suggestions" column underneath and the discovery of this diamond:

and may I just say: Stephen Merchant is tall in stature, twerkability and hilarity. And well, Joseph Gordon-Levitt boasts the lead in a top five fave:

so ya know, he has my heart forevs.

• Another meaningless tidbit: I'm tired a lot lately. Stinging eyes tired. I've tried to convince myself to sleep when the kids do but I find myself trying to catch up on the Kilimanjaro of tasks to be completed while I have a spare sec. Somehow somehow I still think it's a good idea to log on to Pinterest every stinkin' night as soon as I body check the mattress. Whhhyyyy? So stupid. Close your eyes Jessie.

• I am completely, but I daresay not irrationally, fearful of blogging about anything that my children are doing that aid my day - make it easier, you know. This is because I have burned by the jinx. You put something out there like, hey guess what my kid's doing? And then. THEN. They don't do it anymore. Suffice it to say that Weston doesn't only cry a lot, nor does Jordan only pull out every single book from her library or find the toy with the most pieces to strew about the apartment and under furniture never to be found again. But I'm not telling you what those little perks are, because then they shall be no more. Superstitious wench that I am.

• Weston has made it his short life's mission to conquer every uncovered square inch of my body + my entire pajama wardrobe (extensive, let me tell you) with one body fluid or another. The traditional spit-up route, the somewhat unpredictable urine tack (you've been burned by that one, haven't you Wes? Right in your own eye...) and his specialty: the way of the poop. He tends to pull out all the stops (ew) during his nighttime feedings and changings and I find myself making frequent costume switches or sheet strippings at 2 in the a.m.

feigned shame. I don't buy.

• The completion of this post spans several feedings and a couple Gossip Girl eps. I know. I've sunk so low. But GG is mindless enough that I don't have to pay much attention should Weston choose to funnel spit-up down my third shirt of the day, plus it doesn't require the appendages that Pinterest does. Sub-par tv it is. No apologies.

So, how's your day?

mythbusters

Today I'm here to debunk and to validate some long-standing, traditional myths. Some of these may seem more obvious than others, but people are gullible. I'm just here to help clear things up.

1//

It's a nice story, but I'm pretty sure the Loch Ness monster is the product of some Scottish guys stumbling out of a pub, glancing over to the Loch, and witnessing a peacock taking an evening dip. Maybe it was chomping savagely on a catfish. They agreed it had to be a prehistoric monster, rumor got around, and all the sudden anonymous tips and sightings were being wired in to the local paper. Classic snowball syndrome. The facts and evidence are shaky, but the fan base is hardcore and pretty much awesome. Plus, they've got Napoleon in their camp

2//

Honestly I think my dad and uncle may have started this legend when they went on their surfing trip around the world in the '70s. They grew out their beards and luscious 'fros, didn't apply sunscreen, looked positively wild, and were tramping through jungles and forests looking for undiscovered surf spots. They looked eerily similar to the above. Some poor Chilean probably spotted them and freaked out and BAM. Sasquatch is born.

3//

If Jordan can understand complex sentences like "As soon as you finish your carrots, you can have a popsicle." or "If you bring me your shoes, we can go see Aunt Anna." without any gesticulations or helpful indicators, she can certainly comprehend "Jordan, pick up your books." The whole cocking the head to the side in feigned confusion is not working.

4//

This is NO MYTH. I have hardcore pregnancy brain. A cop-out, you say? Then let me offer evidence:

a) I've been married nearly three years. The other day while filling out a form I signed my maiden name. I haven't done that since my second week of marriage.

b) I've been making smoothies for Jordan and I almost every morning. I wash and assemble the blender each evening for easy smoothie composition the next day. The other day I started the blender and lovely hues of blackberry-Greek yogurt-purples started spilling out the bottom. Because I didn't twist the parts together.

c) Sean reminded me to call my dad on his birthday. (I promise I would've remembered eventually, Dad.)

d) I couldn't remember if I'd paid Jordan's babysitter, started freaking out, and almost double paid them. Good thing they're honest.

e) I forgot my last doctor's appointment and had to reschedule. But seriously, what doctor's office doesn't call the day before to confirm the appointment? ESPECIALLY a pre-natal appointment? They have to know these women are losing it.

f) I walked up to the front of my office after having just hung up with my mom moments before. The receptionist, who is friendly with all of the staff's spouses and families since she often takes their calls, says "Jess, your mom was cracking me up when I was talking to her just now." and I said "Oh, you talked to my mom?" Uh yeah Jess, she transfers the calls. The receptionist's eyes bugged out of her head. We're talking this was two minutes after I got off the phone and I already forgot I talked to my mom.

g) My good friend had a baby yesterday morning. When I went to drop off something at my parents', I told my brother about it. I met my brother for lunch two hours later and asked, "Oh did you hear Katie had her baby?"

h) I'm operating on muscle memory at work. I go to deliver files to wherever, and find myself in the kitchen without having dropped anything off. Gives you a good idea as to how often I visit the kitchen.

SO. I think I've made my case. I mean, I really hope this is pregnancy brain. I'm done here in about a month, and would really like my sense of I-kinda-know-what-the-flip-I'm-doing back. Conversations are fuzzy and actions are forgotten within minutes and it's more than a little disconcerting. I rely on my work calendar for absolutely everything, because even if I were to put things in my phone, I'd just clear the alarm and forget about it 17 seconds later. At least with my work calendar I have to physically stare at a reminder all day.

Tell me this too shall pass? Please?

home stretch

I've been having a hard time getting myself to sit still long enough to write. Or write something of any substance anyway. Not that I really write substantial posts...I can't honestly say that the workings featured here are prone to the philosophical, can you?

It's this whole being pregnant thing. I'm not due until August 23, so I'm definitely not in the "waiting game" stage, but it's starting to feel like it. I'm restless and antsy and always want to do something without quite knowing what that something is. As far as blogging is concerned, it used to be something I set my alarm for a little earlier so that I could think in peace before Sean and Jordan arose. Now, due to nightly bathroom trips and the toss-toss-toss from side to side all night, I let my body wake me up when it's ready. Therefore, I'm currently holed up in the corner of the couch trying to make myself as inconspicuous as possible (a feat of epic proportions) while Jordan is cozying up asking me to "rea" to her, and Sean coaxes her from the kitchen to help him make "eddies" (eggies) so Mom can finish her bloggy stuff. (I really need to pen an updated word list. Some of the things coming from Jordan's mouth these days are pretty awesome.)

Not much of a point to this post. I do have a couple sitting in my drafts that have something similar to a direction to them, but like I said with the antsy and restless, I can't sit down long enough to finish them. Or start them, really. Instead here's some just-woke-up, still-in-my-jams, haven't-bothered-with-the-make-up-things, please-ignore-the-toddler-handprints-to-the-bottom-left, if-I-make-this-black-and-white-will-it-pass-for-artistic?, I'm-the-worst-blogger/photographer-ever evidence of 33 weeks along.

Philosophical workings, indeed.

chopped

Let's say the baby made me do it. Or perhaps the current and impending heat. I could also say Natalie made me do it when she pinned this little number (originally from Vanilla Style Sheet)

The reason doesn't truly matter I guess; the point is, I went and chopped my hair off.

If you don't know me personally, you don't know what a big deal this is for me. My hair takes decades to grow. Like mother, like daughter, I suppose. The last time I got any more than a trim was the year 2008, just before my mom and I took off on an excursion to Italy. I didn't really like it, and I don't think Sean had much a taste for it either. (He's a really bad liar when it comes to point blank questions like "do you like my hair?" *octaves higher than normal voice*: "uhhh, yeah!!") I think my head looked like a mushroom and I kind of felt like a pageboy from the Renaissance era. Witness:

It's kind of pulled back in this photo, but you can see behind my left ear how short it actually was. Also, 2008 was a chubby year for me.

It was with caution that I showed my Pinspiration to my hairdresser of five or six years. She's great. We chat about our toddlers - born only a week apart - and about how very very little hair I have (the diameter of my ponytail is like 1/4 inch...no joke. you should see my pathetic wispy attempts at a sock bun). I informed her that I was to skittish to go above-shoulder length, and she suggested an a-line cut where it would be slightly shorter in the back with longer pieces up front. But not too dramatic. 

Without further ado...

I think Sean was being sincere when he said it looked cute. But he's also probably afraid of my hormones so he might have upped his p-p-poker face skills. At any rate, I feel at peace with it, which is a big deal considering I think about 5-6 inches came off. It's significantly lighter and I have high hopes for increased managability. I'm completely hair handicapped so my fingers and toes are crossed that this will be easy to style.

I'm still basking in the blow-dried glow of just having my hair styled at a salon and am reluctant to wash it myself to see if I can handle the pressure of a new 'do. Time will tell.

....this post is brought to you by the Archives of Vapid and Self-Important....

Have a lovely Friday.

it's gonna be me

Every once in awhile, just to break up the tedium of a bedtime routine, I check the Instagram popular page from the comfort of my flannel sheets. I don't know why I do it, since the popular page is fraught and overrun with skanky selfies of girls with devastatingly low self esteem trying their best to disguise themselves as girls with devastatingly high self esteem; paparazzi shots of celebrities with captions that someone somewhere dreamed up in an effort to pass himself off as the celebrity himself, when it's really just another fanpage; or those stupid Instacomics where some ignorant user breaks the photo up into four tiles and tries to say something witty and accompanies their efforts with exaggerated, obnoxious facial expressions. (Yikes, that was a little harsh. Pregnant much, Jess?)

Sometimes, just sometimes, there's a goldie in there. I guess that's why I keep comin' back. I meant to post this as one of my favorites yesterday, because it would have been most appropriate on the first of May, but I forgot, as I am wont to do.

Anyone who remembers that song (or that music video? holy hilarious. Do bands still do choreographed dances in their videos? They should.) will remember that that's exactly how JT pronounces the word "me." So well played, @lancebass. Which, you know, could very well not be the real Lance Bass, but I hope it is. Makes me ponder upon the deepest mysteries of the universe like, when someone's career has taken a turn for the, um - more serious I guess? or less laughable? - as JT's has, does he still keep those embarrassing connections around, like a former boybandmate?

Well, that one actually made me laugh out loud, which media almost never makes me do. Usually the only ones that boast as much are

 Roger Sterling

and Lucille Bluth

on their respective shows. (Can't believe Kate got to be within 50 yards of Jessica Walter. Bet she could smell the vodka from there.)

Oh and then when searching Roger Sterling images I found THIS

so someone clearly shares my problems and affinity for drunken comedians. Who are you, Roger-Lucille fanatic? Let's be friends.

odds & ends

So I'm not planning on giving you one of those "day in the life" posts because, honestly, you won't care. It's not riveting. But I'm not fully committed to penning one of my "favorites" updates on Jordan either because I haven't appropriately composed her newsworthy quirks or recent escapades in my scarecrow brain. Let's call this a glimpse, then, into a few of the things that have been occupying Jordo and I lately. Be sure to keep your hands and arms inside the ride at all times. Danger.

can't even focus in on all this exciting

My Jo-friend and I have fallen victim to what I think they call "routine," in the vernacular. With the exception of the occasional days when she wants to read and chatter and caterwaul amiably in her crib until 9 o'clock in the morning and let her vapid mother blog until her heart's content, Jordan and I start our day around 8 with a gnarly diaper, a power struggle to leave the binky in the crib because "You're a big girl now! You don't need it when you're not sleeping! You're so big. I'm so proud of you...." and a baba (milk for her, chocolate milk for me) to alleviate the stress of going binkiless.

Yesterday morning found us jamming to some fun. and The Naked and the Famous right after breakfast. We were enjoying our tunes so much, they accompanied us to the shower via our Cube. I haven't been waking up early enough/have lazed about too long making blog rounds/have sat around gorging half cantaloupes at a time in the morning of late, and that has cost me my solo showers. I don't really mind having her with me, but Jordan has always inquisitive eyes and occasionally inquisitive hands and I'm just learning to cope with the awkward.

We inevitably take too long doing nothing more often than something and are in a mad rush by 9:30. It's important that Goldilocks sample everyone's toothbrush, you see.

Papa Bear's tastes unused. We'll have to lecture him about oral hygiene.

You like Jordan's accessories, do you? Ever since I neglected to put away my outfit from Saturday immediately, Jordan discovered and is unable to function properly without at least one strand of "beezsh." She needs them upon waking, while breakfeasting, for rollin' in the Yaris, in the meantimes and in betweentimes. Beezsh all day erryday.

We have to be going by 5 to 10, because our new routine involves taking 5+ minutes to get to the car parked one minute's walk away in the carport. Before we can even think about commencing on this journey, you have to ask yourself one critical question: do we have the 4 b's?

baby in the right, blanky in the left, binky in the mouth, beads about the neck

Woo, ok. We're gonna be fine then. This is Jordan's shtick - I just tell her to get her things to go bye bye while I finish up disguising myself as an awake and alert functioning person, and she stands by the door with her essentials in tow. Every piece is crucial too. We're working on the dispensability of the binky but we're down to sleep and car rides.

Jordan waits dutifully at the top step while I lock up, then casually hands me her cargo and grabs my semi-free hand that she might descend the stairs "independently." We count the fifteen steps Jordan chimes in on my "dooo," "free" and "eigh" count. Working on it.

At the bottom, we have to pause so Jordan can select her walking rock. She discards when we get to the car (there's a little pebble pile in our carport) but it's needed for our ambling expedition. Seriously. This kid.

wait, this rock is better.

daily detour to the complex's gazebo to stand in the center and look around aimlessly

Eventually we get here

 and always here

and sometimes here

That kinda was like a day in the life huh? Well all that happens after that is I drop Jordan at her sitter's and she waves me off nonchalantly as she joins her posse of buddies (all of whom chant "Jorda! Jorda! Jorda's here!!" so I guess I can see why she doesn't need me...), I get in the car with pangs of working mom guilt stabbing my heart over and over, and then I go punch in from 11-5.

****

Ok if you made it this far I have to tell you something else. I really should just wait to make it it's own post - and I'm going to do that too - but I'm all hopped up on my ideas, and then I did title this one "odds and ends" so there's my disclaimer. I'm nesting something fierce. I'm nesting like a psychotic mother bird. Wait, you know that bird in the first Shrek that tries to hit the high note while singing with Fiona, and eventually just explodes?

hey look, I'm pregnant and feeling pretty good

 ok...now I'm nesting nesting NESTING

where I am now

Anyway, I've more or less reconciled myself to the horrid couch (although a bad day's impulse consolation buy is about as imminent as my belly button popping all the way out) so I'm turning my nesttentions to the horrid patio. Summer is coming, and I want to be out there. But it is a war zone right now friends. I took my "before" pictures yesterday (I'm not showing you that embarrassment until it's fully revamped) and I'm composing an expenses proposal list for Sean. For you, I'm working on a mood board so that you can be apart of this exciting vagabondage. (<----- I thesaurus'ed "journey" cuz I've used it in a cliche fashion already in this post, and this one was the coolest substitute. FYI)

I'll be sharing that sometime soon. I realize this is likely the perfect opportunity to really acquaint myself with Pinterest, because this is exactly what Pinterest is useful for. Thus far, I log in like once a month, "like" a whole bunch of crap, nearly never repin, and never pin anything original. Least. Pinteresting. Person......Ever.

So be on the look out for a Better Homes & Gardens worthy before/after segment coming to your neighborhood mom blog. 

You are officially up to date on my whole life.

psych

My sister has been taking a psychology class this semester, and she's running her psych tests on Sean and I like we're her minion lab-rats. They're actually kinda fun, and I thought I'd share one with you guys so you can play them on your significant others.

Ok, you have to pretend ALL of the below things are happening simultaneously:

the baby is crying
the phone is ringing
someone is knocking on the door
the laundry was left outside in the rain
the faucet is running

In what order would you take care of these tasks?

No cheating. Don't look at what each task stands for. Answer first, it's fun.

You're going to try and cheat.

Don't

look.

Here, I'll give you a visual of the kind of dingus psychiatrist I'd probably be.

Dr. Tobias Funke

the never-nude

Alright, that's sufficient, now I'll give you your results. Each task represents something in your life, and the task you put first means the most to you, and so on until the last.

The baby represents family

The phone represents your job

The person at the door represents friendships

The laundry represents intimacy

The faucet represents money

I take issue with the laundry representing intimacy. Do guys really ever care about the laundry? Not usually. But do guys care about sex? I think they do... So why would the two be correlated? Don't know.

I thought my results were pretty on par with how things rank in my life. I think a couple of Sean's were transposed. He put the job second and, while he does stress out about his job sometimes, once he clocks out, he's out. Then he put the laundry last and I made my most offended face.

MY results

Baby/family

Laundry/intimacy

Door/friendships

Faucet/money

Phone/job

SEAN's results

Baby/family

Phone/job

Faucet/money

Door/friendships

Laundry/intimacy

Clearly I'm the better spouse and person.

Audrey's having great fun using us as her guinea pigs. She's done like four or five tests on us, and sometimes she'll smirk at an answer and say "Interesting...interesting." Sometimes she'll raise her eyebrows and slowly say "Alright..." Then she gives us the results and Sean and I usually laugh at what it's supposed to "mean" for our relationship. Human observation is great fun, I bet psychologists are endlessly fascinated by their jobs. 

However I don't think I'd put much stock in the little tests. But they're entertaining.

Report back with any dirt on your men.

fives

I have been a little hard up for blog material lately. Perhaps life has been a little...samey, recently. Or it could be that growing a baby blocks my creativity glands. Understandable, I think, since my body is being sufficiently creative, in the literal sense.

Then a bunch of my * favorite * blogs started doing this Five Favorites with Moxie Wife and I thought, I want in. I can always name a bunch of favorite things.

(@ Jamie - wink.)

And then THEN, Grace tagged me for Five Things which has been floatin' around the 'gram, but I haven't heard of it before now because...I don't know things. But it was fateful and perfect. I'm doing a post about fives, making a post about ten total. (<----- I went to college.)

First, I'm gonna Moxie.

1 - Daughter

This is my favorite daughter. We don't know what we're expecting yet, so I can still say that. However, I will say that I keep on (accidentally) referring to this in utero baby as "he" or "him." So Jordan may be my favorite daughter for awhile?

2 - Breakfast (currently)

Call it a craving. Jordan and I have had pancakes 3 times since Saturday. This morning will make 4. I've been using this recipe and it's perfect. I just add cinnamon. (Honorary Favorites: cinnamon.)

3 - Show (currently)

Hands down. Sean and I are addicted. We burned through the first two seasons and now have to wait until the summer with the commoners for it to come back.

4 - Song (currently)...it's a toss up

Stubborn Love - The Lumineers

Madness - Muse

(Honorary Favorites: Matt Bellamy)

5 - This whole Design*Sponge post

Someday I will I will have a guestroom like this. Look at that wall. I'm in love.

Thanks Hallie!

Now to Grace's F-I-V-E things!

1 - A year ago I didn't even know what a blog was, really. I'd heard the term thrown around like, "oh, she has a blog." or "Dad's reading that football blog again." My friend Meg told me I have to read Camp Patton so I was like, ok.... I'll try it.... Boom. I was opened up to the world of blogging. From CP to link-hop after link-hop after link-hop, I was introduced to the world of blogging. Six months later I started my own. Grace is a gateway drug. Careful of that one.

2 - I'm fifteen weeks today. Fifteen weeks is legit, yo.

3 - I know zero things about cars. The other day I told Sean I saw a sporty little Subaru that looked like a cross between a Mustang and a Porsche, and I think he almost served me divorce papers. However, I work in truck insurance, so I can rattle off the first 6-8 digits of the VIN of just about any tractor or trailer made in the last ten years (they mostly all start the same.) Freightliner: 1FUJBBCK. Volvo: 4V4NC9TG. Kenworth: 1XKWDB9. Useful, right?

4 - I love physical humor. It's probably my favorite. My sister just told me a story about how the other night she went over to a neighbor's to borrow something, and the neighbor didn't have their porch light on so as she was walking up, she tripped on a step and full on whacked her head on the front door. She popped up really fast and started knocking, hoping the head-thump would just blend in. I couldn't speak a sentence for like 2 minutes, I was laughing so hard. I'm laughing right now, recounting it.

Jordan must have her mother's sense of humor, because we were both over visiting a friend (Meg, incidentally) the other night, and Jordan was horsing around on the couch and fell off the side all willy-nilly. She landed on carpet, and she falls all the time so I knew this one was ok, so like the good mother I am I started laughing at her. I'm sorry! She looks really funny when she tumbles. Arms and legs and huge belly flailing about. But she started giggling right along with me. I think Meg was a little shocked at my insensitivity.

5 - I didn't know UGGs weren't cool in 2013. I went to a concert with my sister Audrey last Friday night and everyone was wearing these types:

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It was kind of a hipster crowd and I deffffinitely looked out of place. And my boots were radiating the year 2002. Amidst floral print short shorts with ripped tights underneath, medieval cloaks, high HIGH waisted jeans (right-under-the-boobs high), and Chloe Sevigny (no kidding, she was there. I told you it was a hipster crowd), I was a time warp. Everyone likes a time warp right? Anyway, I shall not relinquish my UGGs. These come with me to the grave. 

By the by, we saw Body/Head, and I didn't really get them. (I hadn't heard of them before, I was simply escorting Audrey.) They were...weird.

Thank you, thank you Grace, for the tag. I'm supposed to tag five others now, which will be tricky because I don't personally know (read: internetly know) too many other bloggers that I didn't just tag for something else (and I don't want to come off as clingy, you guys.) 

Here goes, I'm tagging: Dwija and Chalayn and Camille and Kelly and Jenny and only about two or three of those people have even heard of me so I am being the profound stalker right now in tagging people that don't e-know me.

But it was fun! Big thanks to Hallie and Grace. (I don't think Hallie knows me either...I seriously need to work on my creeper tendencies.)