Category Archives: other nuggets

Fun with Photo Booth

Ok, well, I’m pretty sure no one will think these are nearly as funny as we thought they were, but I figured I’d share anyway.

Julia and Spencer had come over for dinner a couple of Saturdays ago and when Julia & Rylee were done making my hair pretty, we had fun with the photo booth application on my MacBook. We were just about in tears.

Of course Spencer & Andy were looking at us like we were crazy, but hey, maybe that’s what almost 27 years of friendship will do to you. :)

I love how Rylee is doing pretty much everything Julia is. Someone love their Auntie much?

On Memories

Today my grandma would be 89 years old. The impact that this woman has had on my life is immeasurable. There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t think of her.

We recently had a family dinner out at my house and while I was going to write a post about that night, thinking about it brought back so many memories of my childhood I couldn’t ever completely collect my thoughts about that night in particular. I kept going back to those family dinner nights spent at my grandma’s house. So, since I’ve been thinking about them so much lately, I decided that to celebrate Grandma’s birthday, I’d write a post about some of my favorite memories.

My grandma’s house was the one my dad and is brother and sisters grew up in. My grandma and grandad moved in when my dad was about a year old. That house is rich with memories.

Every so often, we’d get together as a family over at Grandma’s house. And the way I remember it, it pretty much always went the same.

We’d walk in the side door (we never used the front door), the smell of fresh baked apple pie filling the air. Grandma would greet us at the top of the steps, half apron tied around her waist. She would place both of her hands on each of my cheeks, half smile and make a little “tsk” noise, followed by a big hug. Hugs for everyone (we’re a huggy type of family).

We’d gather around the dinner table, hold hands, say blessing and eat dinner soon after our arrival. While the main course would always vary, it seems like we always had green bean casserole. And by we, I mean not me. I’ve never liked that stuff. (No joke, up until about 6 years ago, I always thought it was some weird, nasty secret family recipe. Imagine my surprise when I saw the recipe on the side of a French’s Onion can. {For shame.})

The apple pie that filled the air as we arrived would be our dessert every time. Well, that and a scoop or two of Umpqua Vanilla ice cream. And, like clockwork, every single time as it was being served Grandma would always “warn” us that she wasn’t sure how it turned out and that she didn’t think it was going to be that great. I don’t ever remember having a bad piece of pie in that house.

The laughter that resonated through that dining room will be forever engrained in my head and my heart. There was always laughter. Many times to the point of tears. The more of my dad’s siblings that were gathered, the more laughter there was. They would reminisce about childhood. Tell stories about the Johnsons…the crazy neighbors that ran over their kid not once, but twice.

thud-thud-“IS THAT YOU HEROLD!?…GET OUT FROM UNDER THAT CAR!!!” -thud-thud-

If it got really crazy, my normally very reserved dad would even do his impressions.

After dinner and dessert were finished, we’d retreat to the living room. Or, if it was a nice summer evening, we’d be out on the deck. If there was a particular event we were celebrating, (or if my sister had a new boyfriend over) there’d always be a trip down the hallway, permanent market in hand, to the last closet. On the wall inside the closet, we’d write the date and whatever occasion it was we were celebrating. I’m not even sure how that tradition got started, but that closet holds years of memories for our family…history even.

Eventually, I’d get “cold” just so I could snuggle into one of Grandma’s sweaters that hung in the first hall closet.

The evening would wind to a close. More hugs would be shared. Goodbyes would be said. I’d sleepily settle into my seat in the car. As we pulled out of Grandma’s driveway, she’d always be standing in the window, with a smile on her face, waving goodbye.

*************

What about you? What are some of your favorite memories of your grandparents?

Some things I will never understand

Tuesday night, I had the worst dream I have had in a very, very long time. It shook me to the core and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it.

The setting was pretty much present time, not too far in the future. I was pregnant with baby #2. I had just got home from picking Rylee up and we were getting ready to get dinner started. Andy had just called to let me know he was on his way home from work. A typical weeknight evening. Then it happened…

I received a phone call from someone telling me that Andy had been in an accident and that he didn’t make it. My heart sank. The tears started instantly. The rest of the dream was me making the same phone call over and over again to all of our family and close friends to tell them the news. With every call I made the tears kept streaming and the crying grew louder.

In my dream, I just remember thinking why…how…I just didn’t understand…

I know exactly what my subconscious was doing. Earlier on Tuesday I learned about a friend of a friend who lost his battle with cancer. I’d never even met this man, or his family, but my heart broke. My heart broke for his wife. My heart broke for his 3 young children. My heart broke for their family. My heart broke for their friends. I couldn’t begin to imagine what the wife is going through. And I just couldn’t stop thinking about it. Why did this have to happen to him? Someone so young? Someone with such young children? I just didn’t understand.

After I had that dream, I wanted nothing more than to curl up next to Andy. For him to wrap his arms around me…however a little toddler had snuck into our bed in the middle of the night and lay in the way from that happening. I slept horribly the rest of the night. When Andy finally rolled out of bed the next morning, I stopped him in the bathroom and made him wrap his arms around me. I didn’t want him to ever let me go. As we stood there, I couldn’t stop thinking about that dream. And I couldn’t stop thinking about this man’s wife and children. And I couldn’t help the tears that started to roll down my cheeks when I realized that my nightmare was just that…a bad dream but this is now this woman’s reality. She will never be able to have her husband’s reassuring arms wrapped around her again.

There are some things I will never understand…

Here’s to a new week!

Well, I forgot to weigh myself at the gym last Friday, so I have no “weight update”. What I do have is an “I ate well all week and I worked out really hard on Tuesday could hardly walk for the next two, rocked it at the gym on Friday then ate like crap all weekend” update.

The week went great. I ate well, drank lots of water, less coffee. Took a new class on Tuesday that totally kicked my butt in the best way possible. It was a good kind of hurt that I experienced for the nest 2 days, not the “I feel like I just gave birth” kind of hurt that the spin class had me feeling. But, after that, I seriously could hardly walk, so the new plan is to to my own work out on Monday, Power class on Tuesday, then cardio and Centergy class on Friday.

I thought I was eating pretty well through the weekend until I logged into myfitnesspal on Saturday night to log my calories for the day and I about fainted when I saw just how many calories made up the Oriental Chicken Salad from Applebee’s. Ho-ly crap people, having that many calories in a SALAD should be illegal…and I only ate half of it. (I shared the other half with the lovely Miss Julia) I’m not kidding, my eyes bugged out of my head when I typed in “.5” of the 1 salad serving and it came back that I had consumed 635 calories. Six-hundred-and-thrty-five. On a half of a salad. That means if I would have eaten the entire thing, that would have been the only thing I could have eaten all day.

Add that to the fact that Rylee and I had an ice cream treat after our hot dog and french fry dinner (for the win…not) and you’ve got a recipe for holy-crap-I need to do some yoga and run around the house for 15 minutes to burn some of this crap off. And yes, that’s what I did. I ran laps in my living room…Ry thought it was hilarious. Oh, and now that I think of it, when I was at my brother’s competition on Saturday I walked up and down the stairs like 6 times because Ry had to “go potty”…only she was kidding. That should count for something, right?

At least Sunday it was nice enough outside that we spent nearly the entire afternoon exploring and digging and chasing. I drank lots of water. Then I ended the weekend with a healthy dinner of roasted chicken, a small portion of mashed red potatoes and lite Ceasar salad. Oh yea…and another bowl of ice cream. FAIL.

So yea…here’s to a new week!

Let’s Talk About Modesty

Or lack there of perhaps?

No worries, I’m not here to judge. If you run around naked, that’s your gig. This is merely my observations regarding the subject.

As I’ve been to the gym more frequently, I’ve been thinking more and more about it.

What makes someone modest? Or not?

In no way do I consider myself an ultra-conservative modest person. When in the ladies locker room at the gym, I don’t feel the need to use one of the changing stalls to change in and out of my workout clothes/prep for my shower, but at the same time, I don’t go walking around the locker room completely free-ballin’ sans towel. {And yes, I know women can’t “free ball” but you know what I mean}

I haven’t always been this way. Before I had Rylee I was super modest. I was a member at a different gym just after Andy and I were married and I always remember thinking how I couldn’t believe all these women just walked around buck-ass nekked like it was nothing. Most of the time I wouldn’t even change at the gym. And if I did, I most definitely would not shower.

Andy and I would have long conversations about it too. He thought I was dumb for even caring. “The women aren’t there to stare at your boobies, you know.” But I just couldn’t shake it. It made me super squeamish. Even talking about it did.

He never had any problem changing or showering at the gym. Or even sitting in the steam room with nothing but a towel on. {I still can’t work myself up to do that.} He grew up going to the gym, so it was no big thing. He was taught it was no big deal and he could be comfortable in his own skin.

I’m sure that’s where it all stems from. I wasn’t raised in an environment where I even knew what “not modest” was. I remember in the 6th grade being terrified because we had to {GASP!} dress down for PE.

Here’s where this all comes together…I need to foster an attitude of comfort and freedom and pride for who she is for my daughter. I don’t want Rylee to have to wait until she bears a child to be comfortable in her own skin. I don’t want Rylee to ever be embarrassed or shy or whatever about something as trivial as having to change her clothes in front of people. {When appropriate, of course. I for sure don’t want a streaker on my hands.}

Although, even if she does go and join some nudist colony someday, I’m sure I’ll love her just the same.