of poop and princesses.

Today I found myself being buried alive under a pile of children.

If there are moments in my life when I wonder how the hell I got here, this was one of them. 

Nora was up near my chest, bouncing up and down on my collarbone, Will was knocking the wind out of me as he marched on my stomach, and Owen was resting somewhere in between. 

Later, I found myself sitting on the hardwood floor in our dining room next to Nora's potty as she tried to go number two. One hand was being used to support Owen as he nursed, and the other was holding Nora's for moral support, per her request. Things got complicated when Nora started negotiating the conditions upon which she'd willingly take a poo and I had to find a way to meet her ridiculous terms less she hold that poop in forever and ever, amen. 

She wanted me to sit on her RIGHT SIDE and not her left (the horror!), she wanted William to NOT sit on his potty at the same time as her (and especially to not sit on his potty NEAR her), she wanted to watch Tangled (expect NO SCENES involving Mother Gothel, you've got to be joking), and she insisted that she must have a bowl of taco soup to eat while we waited, chips and guac on the side (you know). 

 

If there are moments in my life when I wonder how the hell I got here, this was one of them. 

My kids are really afraid of Mother Gothel, you should know. There's this scene at the beginning of the movie when Gothel breaks into the castle, steals Rapunzel, and leaves to go lock the stolen princess away in a tower (I think I just quoted that part word for word THAT'S how many times I've watched this movie) and Will absolutely cannot watch it without me nearby. He runs to hide behind me every single time; his tiny body pressed up against my back, his little arms around my neck, and his face buried in my long hair. Eventually, he'll peek out over my shoulder and ask the same thing each time, "what's haaaapppeening, Mommy?" And then we have to talk about Mother Gothel, and how Rapunzel isn't with her Mommy and Daddy anymore, but she'll be back with them soon, and yes, she's going to be okay, and Flynn Ryder will come soon and then she'll find them again. 

And there's this moment, each and every time it happens, that sort of takes my breath away and puts a lump in my throat. It's something about his little arms around my neck, and his little voice in my ear, and the knowledge that I'm the person who's going to protect him from her. I'm the one he trusts to keep him safe. It's that he finds comfort in the smell of my shampoo, and peace in the sound of my voice, and familiarity in my soft midsection when he lands there...

If there are moments in my life when I wonder how the hell I got so lucky, that is one of them. 

And Nora never pooped. You should know. 

the difference between you and me.

the other day i decided to be a hero and pick up some cupcakes on the way home from the pool. you know, from the sweet tooth fairy. for g, naturally. i picked red-velvet for me and salted caramel for him, plus a whole bunch of cake-bites for good measure. the whole car ride home those cake-bites taunted me from their little plastic cup holder thing and promised me a lifetime of happiness if i'd just take a bite. by the time we arrived home 10 minutes later, each one had been sampled and declared to be very delicious.

when g got home from work that night my red velvet was half way gone. and now riddle me this: how does one avoid eating a red velvet cupcake when a red velvet cupcake is staring you in the face, because i surely don't have a clue. i forced myself to save the other half for the next day and i must have walked past that cupcake 57 times in the next 12 hours examine it's moistness and sniff it's frosting and promise we'd be together soon.

the next morning, i ate it for breakfast.

meanwhile, g didn't touch his salted caramel. he barely batted an eye when i reminded him of it after dinner. "there is a cupcake waiting for you!!" i told him and he smiled his half smile and nodded his norwegian head and went and whipped himself up another gosh darn green smoothie.

and now this is where i wonder about that man of mine. i mean, what is wrong with him!? i felt seriously concerned about him all night. should i have taken his temperature??

the next day that salted caramel cupcake continued to taunt me from the kitchen table. there it was all chocolatey and caramely and salty and just waiting for someone to take a bite. but friends, i didn't touch it! i am so proud and partly horrified to tell you that cupcake sat on our counter for 2 days before my husband even bothered to crack open the case and give it a sniff. TWO STINKING DAYS!

finally, last night, i couldn't take it anymore. "eat your freaking cupcake!!!" i demanded! and so we put the baby to bed and settled in and he made his way to the kitchen, unwrapped the little beauty and brought her out to the living room on a white plate. "it's happening!!" i yelled, "wait! i am taking a picture!" and that was the part where he threatened to turn back and crush all my hopes and dreams if i made a big deal out of this (blogging doesn't count as making a big deal, just fyi).

g took the first bite and had virtually no reaction. i took the second and wanted to die. it was moist and creamy and rich, with a bed of caramel frosting on top and just the right amount of salt. it made my heart go pitter-patter. it made my mouth water. it made my life make sense.

i snuck one more bite before i returned it to him and then he polished it off, wiped his hands on his napkin and pushed play on the remote.

"well?!" i begged.
"it was good" he declared, "it was fine."

and now this is the moment where i really fell in love with that norwegian of mine. also, the moment where i realized i don't have a clue what goes on in that head of his. i mean, good and fine?! after two days of waiting? GOOD AND FINE.

i will never understand that boy i married. he who says no to dessert and cares deeply about the quality of the socks on his feet and LOVES TO MOW THE LAWN. he is such a mystery to me sometimes! i will love him 'til i die!

dear brown leather boots.

the time has come. i've been in denial for months, but it seems i can avoid it no longer. when i pulled you out of the closet the other day and saw your sole split from your body, leaving a gaping hole, i knew it was time to let you go.

i want to thank you for all the beautiful memories we've shared. we've been to california, washington dc, maryland, virginia, nevada and england together, to name just a few places. do you remember all those trips when people would tell me to pack "comfortable sneakers" (??!!) and i would nod and smile and go home and pack only you, my most comfortable and trusted little soul sisters.

i'm sorry you have to die. i'm sorry i wore you longer than i should have. i'm sorry for all the times i stepped in toby's poops out the front door, that must have been awful for you. i love you, you sexy little friends.

jess

ps. your replacements are more expensive than you were and they also aren't as comfortable, so there.

*pardon my worst typos ever in this post. Mom brain. Swear.

the stye.

the past few days have been weird. WEIRD!

first of all, i have a stye in my right eye! and every time i think of the stye in my right eye i think of the poem by shel silverstein that has a line in it that kind of sounds like that and i start obsessively repeating the poem in my head, because i'm a freak and i still have it memorized.

i cannot go to school today! (said little peggy ann mckay).

did you read shel silverstein poems as a child? do you still have them all memorized? do you have any idea what i am talking about right now?! is there a stye in your right eye?!!!

the stye in my right eye appeared the very next day after i purchased new mascara and new eyeliner from the beauty aisle at target. new mascara and new eyeliner, you guys! the good stuff!

and then, the very next morning, i met my new friend, sir stye
and he had appeared overnight
(in my right eye).

and friends, do you know what you will find if you google "stye treatment" on the internet? you will find instructions to apply a warm compress 4x daily, plus some goopy stye stuff before bed, plus no eye makeup whatsoever for like 2 weeks, plus throw away any eye makeup you previously had because your eye makeup is now contaminated with the bacteria that gave you A STYE IN YOUR RIGHT EYE!

that means that my brand new mascara and my brand new eyeliner (only 1 day old those babies were!) now live in the trash. WEIRD!

i've never had a stye in my right eye before, but the husband, oh my, the husband gets them often. the husband is a blepharitis sufferer, you see, (BLEPHARITIS!) and they are prone to such nonsense. the husband is talking me through this process and offering support and treatment suggestions and by golly, we will get through it TOGETHER!

i've been 3 days now without any eye makeup and i'm still all out and about in the big, bad world pretending like i don't look 11 years old and asian. i've been to 2 restaurants, 1 girls night, 1 visiting teaching appointment and 1 puppy play-date completely eye makeup free and sporting my new friend, sir stye. (i have also been sporting red lipstick, though) (to compensate) (right!?) (i don't think it's working)...

 do you see the stye in my right eye?

contributing to all the weirdness of the past few days was the madness that was missoni for target twenty eleven. myself, my stye, my baby and my mother all ventured to target the day the collection was released (in the late, late afternoon mind you) to perhaps secure a zig zag throw for the foot of my bed only to discover that target had up and gone bonkers.

frantic shoppers everywhere! women giving each other the stink eye! people fighting to the death in the isles! 

"they crashed our servers at 12 am!" the frazzled target employee cried. "they've cleaned us out!!!" she muttered, as she timidly walked to the the lonesome rack to restock whatever pathetic merchandise was left as hungry women waited to eat it all up. the whole sight was really quite sad.

realizing there wasn't a throw in sight and not wanting to fist fight anyone to the death for anything else my mother and i made our way to the shoe aisle to happily find a few deliciously understated missoni heels waiting for us. we'd been eyeing the shoes for less than two seconds when the gaggle of crazy missoni-ites appeared behind us hungry and waiting to pounce.

"i have to have them!" one cried as she reached for the last size 7.5 standing, but she wasn't fast enough because before she knew what hit her, the puppies were in my cart and on their way to a new life with me as their mother.

"don't mess with me today!" i hollered back at her as i ran away, "i have a stye in my right eye!!!"

ps. i am laughing over the fact that i just posted a picture of myself doing a "kissy face" on my blog. obviously i have no shame.

about a bird.

today, i spent a lot of time watching the birds.

i wasn't bird watching. there were no binoculars or vests involved, but it was watching, none the less. it happened early this morning-the house quiet, the baby napping. i was sitting on the couch waiting for my husband to call when i heard a flutter from outside the window that vibrated the walls and sent the pups into a fury.

when i ventured outside to see what the buzz was about i saw it. the nest that previously housed one mama dove and two baby doves was now empty, but for the lone baby left behind. the bigger baby bird had finally done it, after weeks of puffing and fluttering and waiting for dinner it had left the nest and flown to a nearby bench. it sat, motionless, eyes blinking rapidly, until it spotted it's mother. she was up above, high in the trees and she was calling out for him.

it took him a minute or two two muster up all the courage his little heart could muster, but soon he flapped his little wings and flew to the railing-just a bit closer-and then finally to the branch his mother was occupying.

i watched in wonder as moments later the daddy dove (a bird we'd watched for weeks take shifts nest-sitting and worm-catching) flew from a nearby tree and joined them. the whole famdamily, almost complete.

the three of them sat there and watched the lonesome baby bird for what felt like hours. every time i checked, there they were-perched together on that branch-some of them calling, some of them yelling, all of them waiting.

despite the calling and the singing and the lecturing (perhaps) the littlest dove stayed put. i saw him flutter a bit, in the afternoon-he puffed up his chest and filled his lungs with air and courage, but then the moment left him and he fell quiet again.

i checked on him after dinner and found him there, still. the family that waited for him all morning now gone.

as i write this post, it's evening. the crickets are chirping, the stars are emerging and all the sky is the softest shade of blue. my mother sits out on the porch rocking and watching and worrying as she does. "let's feed him something?" she wonders. "who should we call?" she asks. she is an animal-lover through and through and watching this baby dove left behind makes her heart sputter and ache and hurt.

these days, my baby bird and i seem to be attached at the hip. she is in my arms, or at my side or in my lap or on my mind. i left her, the other night, for just an hour or two, and returned to tear-soaked eyes, a quivering lip and arms outstretched anxiously towards me. she does that now, reaches out for me and even though i want her to be content with others, even though i want to get away every now and then, it warms my heart and fills me to the brim to see her twist her body and reach defiantly towards her mama.

i don't know what will happen with that baby bird sitting out there in the darkness. maybe he will find himself starving and finally muster up the courage to leave that nest. maybe we will have to scoop his little body into a box and drive him towards someone who can take care of him now. maybe he will just sit there, quietly, and watch the wind blow for a while.

or maybe, that mama bird will return.

i just can't help but think that she will.

please enter the secret password before reading this post.

if you were to come to my house on any given afternoon it is very likely that you would find me doing one of the following things:

01. nursing my little blob of deliciousness.
02. eating some avocado while nursing my little blob of deliciousness.
03. sitting on the lawn while yelling at my dogs who are in the road.
04. sorting mail/throwing away little pieces of paper/blogging while throwing away little pieces of paper.
05. picking my husband's shoes up off the floor.
06. vacuuming up dead ants.

the end.

just kidding. what i really came here to talk about is item number 4: sorting mail/throwing away little pieces of paper/blogging while throwing away little pieces of paper. specifically the "little pieces of paper" part. because, well, LITTLE PIECES OF PAPER! they're everywhere! they're on the desk and on top of the fridge and on the nightstand and in his closet!?! they're in the pockets of his jeans when i wash them and once i found one in the garage.

little pieces of paper!!

do you know what i'm talking about? no? i'm going to take a picture and upload it just to demonstrate my point. that's how serious i am about this! you guys, i am DEAD SERIOUS!

hold, please.

and...there you are.

you see? little pieces of paper with meaningless numbers written on them are taking over my life! i mean, why?! and what?! and also, who?!

let's take this piece of paper, for example. on it we find 3 numbers, the first is crossed out and exceptionally long, so let's not worry about it. the second is 8917370639. the third; 12278499.

what are these numbers?! and why are they in my life? these are not telephone numbers or bank account numbers or passwords. they aren't linked to any of our accounts or work-related. and these numbers are not our lucky numbers (mine is 21!), so what then?! is my husband a spy? is this the secret code he uses to log into his secret spy website every day (if so i just blew his cover and whoops). does he have a secret life i don't know about? is this the number of illegitimate children he has fathered? the amount currently in his secret bank account? the number of days left until the bomb he has planted goes off!?

and what about the papers?! i mean, can i throw them away? the papers aren't filed (not important?) but they aren't in the garbage either (maybe important??). if i toss the papers will he come home in a panic one day muttering "917......where is that number?!?"

should i start a new file in the filing drawer and call it "G'S SPECIAL PLACE FOR HIS TOP-SECRET SPECIAL NUMBERS"??

you guys, WHAT DOES IT ALL MEAN?!

*UPDATE: spoke to g about this particular piece of paper and when questioned as to the significance of the numbers he claimed he has no idea what the numbers are, but has requested i not throw the paper away. he's a spy, right?! i think he's a spy.

tuesday's musings.

what does this picture have to do with this post. oh, nothing. but don't you love the lighting in it?!

today i decided to wear a maxi skirt and try really hard to be pleasant and martha stewart-ish. i vowed to scrub something, iron something and try hard to get an important errand run. i had a few in mind until i realized that i promised evie jane no car seat rides would be taken today (many, many car-seat rides were taken over the weekend) and my house is clean already, so what then?

since, i couldn't think of what to do and my baby was napping, i gave the dogs a bath. i used some really wonderful smelling shampoo and dry-heaved as i tried to pull the eye boogers off of their eye hairs (i cannot do it!). after we finished they ran around the house like maniacs until they were dry enough to pass out on the carpet. do you want to know if they look clean, friends? they do not. they still look filthy. they look homeless. they smell like poop. but, i bathed them and the tub is now grimy as a result and i feel confused.

i think evie must be growing a lot right now, because all girlfriend wants to do is sleep. sleeps for 12 hours at night, up for one hour, back down for 2 (sometimes 3), up for 1.5, down again for 2...by the time daddy gets home she's got a solid 16 hours under her belt and yet, still wants to be in bed by 8:30. she leads a nice little life, that one.

as for me, the hardest part about my life right now is that my sink smells bad. do you know what i mean? there are no dirty washcloths in the sink (not even any dirty dishes) and i have wiped and sprayed and spritz and still, it stinks. this is one of the worst things that can happen to a woman, don't you think? i keep walking in and out of the kitchen sniffing the smell and attempting to destroy it and i am making no progress. send help, would you?

my husband is going to china in a few weeks. he is getting an mba and he got into a really great school and yadi yadi yadda, he will be gone for 16 days. last night i couldn't sleep, but of course, he could, so i lay next to him in bed and wondered what in the world i will do while he is gone. a few years ago i took a trip to san francisico over my birthday without him and i was a miserable mess the entire time. i cried. i felt out of place. i muttered "if g was here..." a few too many times under my breath. by the end of my trip my parents proclaimed that i was not a pleasant person to be around when separated from him for an extended period of time and they would not be taking me away from him again. we were gone for 5 days.

and now he'll be gone for 16, so assume what you will. sometimes i just feel like he is the only person who consistently makes sense to me. who doesn't make me feel the need to grumble and scratch my head. who says the right things at the right times. who doesn't gross me out while eating dinner (and never licks his fingers, so help me!), who makes me feel like i make sense, who doesn't get really annoying after a while.

perhaps this is just the result of living together for almost five years or perhaps he is just a really nice person to be around (i think so) but i really really don't do well without him.

i mean, he always chews his food with his mouth closed. you know?

ps. someday, when i feel like writing again, i have two really great things to tell you about. one involves a dead rat and the other involves a stranger pounding on my door at 3:30am. get excited.

adventures in shopping.

I've been making a lot of runs back and forth to the Gateway over the past few weeks in order to update my wardrobe and welcome summer (Summer! Welcome! May I pour you a glass of lemonade?!). And it's been a bit daunting in some ways, since I can't figure out my sizes now that I'm a Mama (you, too?). I mean, I had a baby. And now I'm nursing that baby. And my boobs are, well, let's just not go there. Things are different these days...I mean I thought I was a medium, but now I guess I'm a small except sometimes I'm a large??

And then I bought these shoes. These beautiful, perfect shoes that proceeded to fall apart in front of my adoring eyes 48 hours after I purchased them and boy, was that a buzz-kill. "Don't wimp out on me, shoes!!" I pleaded, but they simply couldn't keep it together and now they are dead and I am wondering what in the world $39 can buy a person these days, because apparently, not a pair of shoes that can survive dinner and a movie with a few steps in between. Whatever.

The same day I purchased those sad shoes, I also happened to experience a Christmas miracle, so perhaps let's discuss that! You see, once upon a time I owned this pair of jeans that I loved more than any girl has ever loved a pair of jeans before. And they were tight (but not too tight) and dark (but not too dark) and they made my husband slap my butt when I walked past. Which is important, don't you think? When one finds a pair of jeans like these jeans, one wears them into oblivion and loves them eternally. Am I right?

Which is what I did. And which is why, when they died, I tried to immediately re-purchase them only to find out that they had been discontinued! Forever! And I really questioned life in that moment.

Flash forward an entire year and I am browsing Urban Outfitters for a new pair of jeans, when into my hands falls the exact pair I had once owned over a year ago. I didn't believe it at first, it seemed too good to be true, but alas, there they were. MY pair of dark denim beauties! And there was only one pair remaining! One pair that had been haphazardly shoved under a pile of full-priced denim threads and forgotten, or perhaps hidden?- who knows. All I knew was that this moment was meant to be. Everything was there, the denim-dark, the tightness-just right, only one factor remained-the size. So, I closed my eyes tight and braced myself for the worst-only to peak at the label slowly and find that they were, in fact, MY SIZE!!

Your astonished at this point, I know, but it gets better, because moments later I would discover that these jeans, these beautiful, perfect jeans were also listed for 50% off. Yes, that's right. No more than $20, my sweethearts were. And it was in that moment that I cried real tears (No, I didn't. That was a lie. Can we still be friends?)

Obviously, I bought them. And obviously, I'm wearing them. And obviously, my husband was just as thrilled when I called him with the news. "A Christmas Miracle!" he proclaimed! Or maybe it was, "Jess, quit spending my money"-I'm fuzzy on the details-all I know is he certainly did slap my butt that night when I put them on.

I am Jessica and I have faith that me and my jeans can be together forever. Amen.

swaddle me.

Tonight is one of those nights where I am so exhausted I have no idea why I am sitting here at the computer when I could be swimming in my silky soft sheets and enjoying my ice-cold pillow instead. I don't know. Sometimes I make bad decisions.

Except I'm here because I'm tired. And I feel like talking about that. Because, well, how do the rest of you Mothers do it? And I mean, seriously. You know you Mothers whose babies continue to wake up in the middle of the night well into their first year of life. Yes, you Mothers! You Mothers are amazing! Also, you Mothers who have more than one child! And how do you do that, really!? Do you down a few bottles of 5 hour energy each morning? Do you eat nothing but caffeinated foods all day long (dark chocolate and diet coke, perhaps? I think that's wise). I mean what in the world wide web do I have to be complaining about, anyway.

Except, being a Mother is exhausting. Especially when I consider that I'm responsible for teaching her to talk, to walk, to roll over, to sit, to stand, to sing, to read, to chew, to swallow, to say her prayers, to say thank you, to not feed her cheerios to the dogs, to know how to throw a decent punch (because I do!), to like tomatoes and to never ever talk to strangers. I also plan on teaching her how to forge signatures and memorize song lyrics, but maybe that's just me.

And then there's the tummy time. Darn that tummy time! I never remember the tummy time. I think today's session was only Ev's 3rd in her life and needless to say, girlfriend doesn't perform as expected on the tummy. Usually I just watch her try to suckle and nurse the blanket her face is shoved up against for a few minutes and then call it good (but don't you fret, because her head is round and she can totally hold it up all by herself, the rockstar). Anyways, somewhere in between the diapers, the baths, nursing, more nursing and the tummy time, boy am I wiped out.

Also, have we discussed the weather!? Today we went for a walk in the crisp May air (you know, the crisp MAY AIR, no big deal) and Evie wore her full-body snow suit in order to stay warm. And I thought to myself, "Self, why is my baby wearing a full-body fleece snow suit in MAY!?" Something about that just makes me question everything I once believed about the world. Because May is for the ice cream man and swing-sets. Full-body snow suits should be burned as a celebratory act on March 1st and should never re-surface until December. I mean, AM I RIGHT?!

I feel better now that we've talked about these things. Tomorrow I'm going to follow the token advice everyone gives when one has a baby and "sleep when my baby sleeps". I plan on 3 (maybe 2?! I don't know, we're still figuring that out) afternoon naps and a morning snooze session while watching Baby Einstein. Oh and then I'll be dozing off for 30 minute power naps at least 3 times tomorrow night before I'm swaddled and in my footy pajams by 9pm.

It's going to be a good day.

*If you made it to the end of this ramble, I have a prize for you, because guess what!? It just occurred to me that I have been swaddled before in my life (post diapers) and you can find a picture of that here. You're welcome.

my thoughts about infertility. and trials. and other things.

Can I tell you that I really debated sharing that letter I wrote yesterday. I have a private blog that only Greg and I can see, where I usually publish letters and personal thoughts and I almost wrote that letter there instead. I didn't want to seem like I was trying to say, "My life is perfect, my baby is perfect, my husband is perfect and this isn't even hard" because I hate when I get that vibe from other blogs I read and I don't think that helps any of us.

Sure, I've had some success with Evie by following the advice of my friends, sisters-in-law, cousins and Mom (not to mention  Babywise!!) but a lot of it is just her and we struggle in other areas. For a long time I was really frustrated because Evie loved to sleep more than she liked to do almost anything else. She would fall asleep after 3 minutes of nursing and refuse to eat any more. And then she would get dehydrated and become even more tired and we would wind up at the Doctor's office (again) for the 3rd time in 3 weeks. I agree with my cousin, when she said it is hard to always know what the right thing is to do. There have been times when my instincts told me one thing and a nurse told me another and I haven't known who to listen to. I am slowing learning the answer to that question (instincts!) and trying to trust that I really do know what is best for her.

It's not always easy, but I really do love being a Mom. I love it despite the spit-up (or in Evie's case, the projectile vomit that sticks to my hair like glue), the nighttime fussiness, and the constant exhaustion (yes, I still manage to be tired, which is pathetic and I have no right). I love it despite the fact that babies cry. I try to remember that I spent a lot of time before Evie was born wishing for her to be healthy, for her to be well, for her to have mature lungs that would allow her to cry and fuss like a baby should. I spent many nights praying for a baby who could cry and I try to be happy and grateful and remember that when my prayers are being answered and she is wailing.

Rewind even further and I try to remember that I spent lots of nights praying for a baby, period. I am one of the many many women who struggled to get pregnant, and although I didn't feel comfortable writing about it at the time (at least not here), I am realizing how important it is to talk about that. For some, getting pregnant is a simple task. You ask for a baby, you receive a baby, end of story. I asked for a baby and I received humility, patience and increased faith to endure the trial of not having a baby, instead.

I learned so many things on my journey to motherhood and it wasn't always an easy road. There were times when I felt forgotten and alone and then so many others when I felt strengthened and supported by so many who traveled that road along with me. If I learned anything from the experience (besides patience and faith and more patience and more faith!) it is that the Lord gives us experiences that are difficult, in part, so that we can help others when they find themselves in similar situations. When I wanted a baby and couldn't have one, nothing made me feel better like the advice of someone who had been there or who was going through the same thing, so I hope that I can be that for someone else now that I am on the other side looking back.

I don't really know where I am going with this post, but I have just been thinking about all of this a lot lately. All of us have our own personal struggles and times where we feel like our lives aren't heading in the direction we feel they should go. We also have those moments where we realize that we are exactly where we should be. I think our trials are a blessing for so many reasons, but especially because they serve as a reminder to be happy and grateful and present in our lives when we finally come out the other side and feel good again. They serve as a reminder to appreciate those moments of peace and contentment before our next growing experience begins. 

I don't have it all figured out, but I do know that this is my moment of peace and contentment after wanting a baby for so long and then wanting a healthy, full-term baby for so long. I am savoring every minute of it, regardless of the fact that it can be hard. I am remembering that this is what I prayed for all those nights and I am trying to appreciate the fact that now I am struggling with other aspects of my life, but I am no longer struggling with that. So no, my life is not perfect, nor is my baby perfect and my marriage can always be improved, but I am still grateful for all of it because it is mine.

20 percent hard, 80 percent wonderful.

i am currently wearing my pajamas and it's 4:30pm. i have been sitting at this blasted desk writing paper after paper since i woke up this morning and i basically haven't moved since.

well, actually, that's a lie. i did leave around lunch time to bring g a pbj and get a hug. for the past few months, i have been faithfully making him his lunch, and since he works up the street i purposefully "forget" to make the sandwich the night before every single day, so i can drive it up to him at noon instead. the truth is, my days are better when i get to steal him away for a whole 15 minutes while he eats his sandwich and i ramble/chat/vent/complain and laugh with him in the car. sometimes the temptation to put my foot on the gas and kidnap him is far more than i can bear.

but of course, he is far too sly to be kidnapped and duty calls, so when the clock strikes 12:15 he goes back to work and i go back to studying and life continues.

yesterday while basking in grandmotherly wisdom with my mom & christy i said to my grandma pansey, "life is so hard sometimes" and she said "life is so hard. and it is so wonderful." i think that sums things up quite nicely, don't you? between trying to figure out law school, trying to decide where to move, hoping we will find an apartment, trying to figure out how we will pay for it all, getting ready to leave a great job, wrapping up finals, figuring out insurance, preparing for 22 credits, dreading 22 credits, crying anytime someone tells us they don't want us to go, praying we make all the right decisions, hoping we will survive, hoping we choose the right place, hoping to start a family and dealing with family stresses that is how i feel right now.

life is so hard. and so wonderful.

been awake since 5.

this morning i felt like zooey deschanel in failure to launch.
you know?...that scene where she's so sick of the bird chirping outside her window that she finally shoots it with a bb gun? (aka: the only funny scene in the movie)

there are birds nests in the trees outside our window and they wake up with the sun and chirp like they're trying to get a hold of someone across the valley.

if i wasn't such an animal lover, those sweet little birds would be in trouble.

because i like this keyboard.

this is my 450th post! how in the world i have found that much blogging inspiration from this little life i lead is a complete mystery to me.

i'm currently sitting in the library killing time until my next class starts. i live approximately 3 minutes from the university and could easily drive home and kill the hour on my couch, instead, but i am far too lazy to walk all the way across campus to my car, drive home, and come back in 55 minutes (yes, i leave my house for class 5 minutes before class starts...suckas!) just to park all the way across campus and walk back. seriously. too. much. effort.

last night, i was mean to my sweet husband & have spent the entire day feeling bad about it. do you ever hate being a girl? if it wasn't for me, greg & i would never fight. and i mean, never. that man has no complaints in the world and never, ever gets mad. especially not at me. he lets 99.9% of the stupid things i do and say slide off his back and the 1% that he actually cares about is only the result of me doing something remarkably horrible and pathetic (like dropping the lid to our calphalon skillet-husband was mad). i don't know if it's just my personality or if this is universal to all girls, but i feel like i start all of our fights. and then, when it's over, all i can think about is what an idiot i am and what a saint he is for putting up with me (and even responding to and validating my crazy feelings! saint).

anyways, this makes it seem like we fight all the time. we don't. but, tonight i owe that man a huge "blah blah blah...i'm an idiot, but i love you. blah blah, i agree, girls are crazy" and i'm not really looking forward to it.

in other news, i am currently typing on a mac, which is perhaps why i am rambling on about nothing even though i can't think of a single worthwhile thing to say. i love the way these mac keyboards barely make a sound when you type on them. magical! since, g ran over my ipod with his car 2 years ago and i don't own a phone that can access the internet (i'm so deprived!) do you think i could ask for a mac for my birthday?

on another completely un-related note, recently, i've re-discovered spider solitaire (spider solitaire used to be a big deal in my life) and have managed to waste 80% of all homework time addicted to the game. i live to see those fireworks explode! i've easily mastered level medium, but am struggling like mad through level hard. has anyone out there ever won on level hard? because i don't think it's possible? four suits, people!? four!

dear g, i'm sorry i'm such a girl. i love you more than i love the exploding fireworks after winning a game of spider solitaire.

the end.

ps. it was so hard to come up for a title to this post! other ideas included: "i'm lame", "dear g, i'm lame" and "even lamer than spider solitaire". brilliant, no?

dear life.

(i've noticed a couple of friends writing letters to their life lately & thought it was a fun idea. and since another friend pointed out that i am constantly putting "dear" in front of everything i say, i thought i'd give it a try. here's my letter to life)

dear bare minerals makeup: i don't know how i ever lived without you. and now, the thought of using anything but you makes me ill. thank you.

dear j bub: i only tell you this because i love you, but your rolls are out of control. you might want to start incorporating some cardio in your poop-eating routine, my love.

dear linguistics professor: thanks for reminding me that i am in COLLEGE now and no studying + no effort will not always equal an A.

dear linguistics professor: i take it back. i was completely satisfied with my slacker ways and you've ruined everything. thanks for nothing.

dear computer at work: watch it. i may or may not throw you through the window one of these days if you keep freezing on me all the time.

dear snuggie, cocoamotion and gossip girl: thanks for keeping me company while g studies his life away. you are almost as comforting as his arm around me. almost.

dear gjo: you looked really cute in your pinstripe dress shirt and REAL zip-up yesterday. i am jealous of everyone who gets to hang out with you from 7am - 6pm each day.

dear lsat exam: please go easy on him! you have no idea how you have consumed our lives for the past 4 months.

dear trial: i am finally feeling grateful for you. really, i am.

dear christmas ornaments in the garage: only 2 more days and we'll be together again! get ready to shine!

dear life: i love you.

time.

I'm up late tonight.

I love staying up late. There is something so magical about being awake when every one else is sleeping. You feel like the time you have is completely selfish & private. Completely yours. I just finished watching Bride Wars for the second time and I bawled at the end, just like I did the first time I saw it. I cried the same way I cry when I watch Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants (yes, I just admitted that). I cry because I love my friends. Because I am lucky to have them. Because no matter how much I let them down, or how many times I forget to call back, they still love me when I do. Because I miss them, even though they are near.

It's funny the way time changes things. You swear that you will always be that close, that you will always get together once a week and always make the time. But then life happens and suddenly you're an adult and some days you can barely remember to brush your teeth.

My goal for 2009 is the same one I had in 2008. I just want to

Slow.
Down.

I've always moved too fast. I love to accomplish, to get things done, to make things happen. I am in a hurry 99% of the time and anyone who knows me will tell you that I am always running late. Time slips by quickly and most days, every minute of tomorrow is already packed with plans before today even ends. I can't help but feel like all I really want is more time.

I want more time to catch up with my friends, to call my Grandma and let her talk for an hour, to play fetch with my dogs, to be with my husband. I miss him all day and then, when I'm with him, I always feel like it rushes past me. I talked about all of this with my parents the other day. I sat in their kitchen, with my hands on the cool counter top and cried just like I've done so many times before. The only difference being that now I had a husband standing behind me.

I wish there was more time in life for the ones we love. More time to read and take walks and bake a 5 tiered chocolate cake if you feel like it. Maybe it's just the phase of my life that I'm in, but right now, I dream about afternoon walks and weekends that aren't over in 10 minutes. I dream of slowing down, of freezing everything for a minute. I keep wishing the days, weeks, months & years wouldn't pass me by before I ever really got the chance to enjoy them.

I decided to take the day off tomorrow. I couldn't quite get over the fact that today was Thursday when I was so sure, so POSITIVE my week was nearly over. Call me dramatic, but sometimes one more day of work feels like climbing the tallest mountain. Sometimes it feels impossible. So, when I saw a stack of vacation days at my disposal, I decided to grab one and run with it.

I know that a big part of life is learning how to work. I know that we need to forget about ourselves and be wrapped up in the needs of others. We need to learn to be selfless and self-sacrificing and solid. But, I also believe that everyone deserves their day. Everyone deserves their quiet moment, their private evening spent watching chick flicks and looking at the moon, simply because that's what makes you happy.

I'm starting to believe that if you need more time, you just might have to stop the clock and demand it. There will always be work, there will always be laundry, my house will always be messy because my dogs will always bring treasures in through the dog door while I'm gone. There will always be a to-do list on my fridge the size of Texas and I will probably always crave more time with my husband. None of that is ever going to change.

The only thing I have the power to change is me.
If I want more time, I have to take it.

And I do.

(congratulations if you made it to the end of this post. longest one thus far? i think so.)

hello.

I love blogging. I really, really do. But, I seriously don't have time for it these days. It used to be that I would blog after I got home from work. After all, it was usually already dark outside & sometimes it was snowing and there was no need to do anything besides watch TV, veg out & blog.

But now.

Now I get home and it's beautiful outside. And I want to go for a walk, or to the park, or to a café and eat dinner on the patio. At the very least, I want to sit on the grass or on my porch and watch the sun set and smell the blossoms.

So, I apologize for the lack of posts & the boring nature of my blog. And I understand if you don't stop by anymore. But hey, while I've got you here..how about a funny story?

The other night, G & I attended family dinner at my parents house. My sweet Grandma, Pansey Valaine, was there, too. Oh, how I love my cute little Grandma. Anyways, G & I had been teasing each other all night about who was stronger (we tend to do this...compete like siblings). We couldn't agree on who would win in a smack-down, so after dinner, we cleared out the living room & decided to settle the dispute once and for all. It was a good fight, but unfortunately for me, G was the unanimous winner.

After we were done fighting/wrestling my Grandma chimed in with this gem of a comment, "If Jess & Greg had been fighting like that at home, it would have led to heavy sex."

Ummmm. Yah.

I don't know what to type. I didn't know what to say, either. My favorite part was that she included the word, "heavy"...not just REGULAR sex, but heavy sex. She's a firecracker, that one and I love that I can always count on her to say something completely random and slightly embarrassing. She went on to say other things, too. Things that I will not type here on the blog because they make me blush.

Anyways, besides fielding sex comments from my Grandma, here's a little list of what we've been up to lately.

1. G is working on his admissions essays for his Business School applications and he hates it. He would like everyone to know that writing is his "least favorite thing to do in the WORLD!!!" Now do you believe me that I married my polar opposite?

2. We went shooting on Saturday. G was in Heaven. I was slightly terrified and REALLY uncomfortable. Luckily, we both came out alive (I am dead serious) and although my ears rang for 2 days afterwords, I would MAYBE do it again.

3. G is applying for a new job at Goldman. Which could mean happy changes for our little family if he gets it. We'll see.

4. I start school again this summer, which means we will both be students again come Fall. Unfortunately this means more nights away from each other, rather than LIVING THE DREAM. I'm not looking forward to any of it.

5. Our pups are still alive. And sometimes, I even love them. Sometimes. (jk)

Besides that, it's been more of the same. Hopefully I'll think of something semi interesting to blog about in the near future.

Until then, Stay classy, bloggers....

And thanks for stopping by.

But mostly, stay classy.

i'm supposed to be writing a talk right now.

g is sitting in the chair next to me, working diligently on preparing his talk for sacrament meeting (and if any of my family or friends are reading this, don't ask me when we are speaking...trust me, you won't be missing anything). every now & then he asks me a question about the format and the topics and i nod and agree and say something about "starting with a joke" and "ending with a testimony" and continue typing away. i'm writing my talk, too, you see....i am, i am.

toby magoo & mr. j bubba olsen are wrestling on the floor beside me. in case you are thinking to yourself, "wow! i wasn't even sure if she had dogs anymore, she NEVER mentions them!" i know i don't & i'm sorry...and yes, they are still alive despite several attempts i made to KILL THEM a few days ago when they brought solid poops in through the dog door (again) and scattered them in my living room.

j bubba is currently losing the wrestling match, which i'm sure has something to do with the fact that he can't keep up anymore. lately, g & i have been quite concerned about the weight of a certain mr. j bubba olsen and although we've tried to be positive, the real low point came when he tried to jump on our bed one night & failed after 10 straight attempts. now, j bubba is pretty much a portrait of "the little engine that could" in that he will try again and again and again until he succeeds. he fell flat on his face multiple times when he was a puppy before he ever made it to the bed. and once he finally landed on top, i'm pretty sure he shook his little paw at the sky & said "TAKE THAT!!".

needless to say, we were a proud mother & father.

so it's understandable that watching him finally give up and realize he could no longer catapult his rolly, polly body into the air and onto our bed, was a real rough moment for the whole family. i think g made have shed a tear or two.

i really can't tell you when he went from being slender to being a chub, but suddenly he was breathing heavily and not even attempting to jump on the bed & though i tried not to see it, even i, HIS MOTHER, couldn't ignore the rolls that were accumulating on his sides. we finally took him to the vet and as the scale tipped to a whopping 8 pounds i knew we had a problem. it was then, that the vet firmly sat me down and informed me that 8 pounds for a dog his size, was "moderately overweight and something to be concerned about".

now he weighs 14.

i don't know what to do with my little man. i assure you, i'm not one of those crazies that feeds my dogs hot dogs & bacon smothered in butter every night. the pups stick to a strict diet of healthy, organic dog food (seriously, the stuff's good. the petco salesman maybe told us it was 'even good enough for humans', so g & i maybe tasted it when we got home, just to be sure.) g has even tried to take him running a few times & we are a park-lovin', walk-takin' family. i'm convinced he must be sneaking out at night and smuggling girl-scout cookies from the pantry, because i rarely see him eat. closet eater, maybe? is he hiding out in the middle of the night, consuming all his calories while he cries into the tub of ice cream he's working on?

g is looking at me funny now & wondering how i am just typing this talk without any research, so i suppose i better

s l o w
d o w n
m y
t y p i n g . . .

more looks, more suspicion.

i'm out. (like shout!).

let's be honest.

i totally love (and use) my snuggie.
and g laughs the whole time.
seriously, what's so funny?

migraine city.

That's where I've been lately.

And it sucks.

Any time I don't get a restful, full night of sleep, I wake up with a dreaded migraine. Usually the migraine lasts all day, and you can find me with my head down, rubbing my temples & asking to JUST DIE ALREADY! around 3 pm. Seriously, migraines are the worst.

I've always been somewhat of an insomniac, but lately I've taken things to a whole new level. I can't sleep...haven't been able to for the past week & a half. I don't know what's going on with me, but I toss and turn (seriously, good thing G is a deep, deep sleeper) 100 times until I finally find a position that is somewhat comfortable for the next 5 minutes until I need to turn again. It's torture.

As a bonus to the fact that I can't find a comfortable position, my brain decided to make it even more impossible for me to sleep, so it never shuts up. I think about everything; my life, my job, school, books I've read, quotes I've heard, things I need to do, things I want to remember, things I want to write about, song lyrics, poems, things I'm worried about, conversations I've had, the fact that I'm not asleep yet, etc, etc, etc. My brain is like one of those creepy self-help CD's G has on his I-POD (Tony Robbins anyone?). The words just keep coming and coming and coming and coming & I can't find the pause button.

Well, last night I'd finally had enough and decided to just go ahead and take a benadryl in an effort to knock myself out & finally get some much needed rest. I took a pill at 8 pm, hoping to be out at 8:30, but things didn't exactly work out that way. Somehow, I found myself standing in the hallway, head down, starting at the floor around 9pm. I have no idea how I got from the couch to the hallway, because I have no recollection of standing or walking, but all of the sudden, there I was, standing in the dark, staring at the floor. I then vaguely remember ending up in the bathroom (head down) for a solid 5 minutes until I somehow finally made it to bed where I collapsed in my clothes, completely sideways on the bed, until G finally came & turned me around. Speaking of G, where was he when I was standing at random places in our house, swaying slowly & running into walls? I have no idea. My guess is that he was sitting on the couch laughing uncontrollably (which is exactly what I would do in his position). Before I took the pill, I made G promise to carry me to bed if I fell asleep on the couch (for this exact reason) but he obviously failed to uphold his pinky promise.

And if you are wondering if I finally got a solid 8 hours of restful sleep, my answer to you is NO. I was out for maybe 3 hours and then I was up again. Up in the middle of the night, tossing and turning some more and now thinking about the fact that I had taken a benadryl that wouldn't wear off for a solid 24 hours (I'm a light weight when it comes to those suckers) and would be drowsy & dead the next day for nothing. And I am.

So please friends, this is my cry for help. I am extremely sleep deprived (and slightly drugged) right now & can't be held accountable for my actions. If you find me standing on your porch, or in a public restroom, or in the street...head down, eyes closed, please be a friend and help. I know it will be tempting to just sit back and watch (much like my husband chooses to do) but I really don't want to end up asleep in a hallway somewhere.

Thank you & goodnight.

conference weekend.

spinach quiche bubbling in the oven. snow drizzling slowly down. a pup on each lap, socks on my feet. pajamas all day & we don't care.

time with the family. time to relax. time to bake and i'm reminded, i love it.

words pour down & lift me up. i want to be better, know more, compare less.
i want to be grateful.
i want to to be kind.
i want to not get so irritated with that person at work who smacks her gum all day long and asks me how to double click.

i should just show her, with a smile & not grumble about it.
click, click
it's not so hard

i want to be a better version of myself.
i'm going to try to be.
and that, folks, is why i love my church.