five things I can't seem to add to my baby registry

1. An epidural. Seriously, people. Scoff ye not at legally administered narcotics. It's what made Aidan's birth go from agonizing, rip-roarin' pain to blissfully blissed-out blissdom.

2. A celebrity trainer. So that after I give birth, I can whip myself into gorgeous Hollywood shape and sculpt my impossibly long, million-dollar-insured legs into works of art, just in time to make the premiere of my action movie starring Hugh Jackman.

3. Impossibly long, million-dollar-insured legs. Also, Hugh Jackman. (Just kidding, Jason.)

4. The climate of Denver. You know, in exchange for the climate of Orlando. Because I think the people who live in Denver would, like, totally appreciate tropical sauna heat when they try to hit the slopes.

5. A guaranteed, uninterrupted nap every day at 2pm.

oh hai internets! still pregnint.

Yeah. So things lately have been a little, well, BUSY. So busy that the little chubbs growing in my uterus had to chill out and take a backseat to the drama that is my life for just a little while.

So last week, when I finally slowed myself down enough to notice that this life inside of me was, in fact, KICKING me and turning somersaults inside my belly like a mini Cirque du Soleil acrobat, I was a wee bit surprised. Hey! I'm pregnant! Whee! I'm going to have another baby!

Here's my newest son in his Lucha Libre mask:



And a blob that I was told is his footprint:



Also? Further proof that I am turning my house into a testoster-home:



No belly shots yet, partly because I don't like taking pictures of myself and partly because there really isn't a belly to shoot, so to speak. I didn't exactly start out this pregnancy as a skinny mini - in fact, I weighed more than I have in a long, long time, and as a result, I came into this looking rather large around the middle. But, like last time, I've lost weight instead of gained weight as the weeks have progressed, thanks to some wild nausea, exhaustion, and an intolerance to a lot of the (fattening) foods I normally love. But, I'm still quite overweight. And even though my face is thinning out, I still don't look pregnant thanks to the existing padding and a tendency to carry my children very high, right underneath the, er, girls.

So, I'm pretty sure everyone's convinced that I am not actually pregnant, but instead have some wild mental illness where I make up phantom pregnancies. Next thing you know, I'll be standing at hospital triage, rocking a stuffed baby doll back and forth and drooling into a cup.

But seriously.

We are so excited to meet this baby, no matter what the shape of my body or the state of life outside of the crib. Due date is March 21, though I'm somehow doubting I'll make it that far since Aidan came a couple weeks early. No, we have no names picked out yet, and yes, we are thrilled that we are having another boy, though I did have someone recently try to "console" me that I wasn't having a girl. Maybe I should console them.

Can't wait to meet you, baby boy. Love you.

where I've been

The past six weeks have been one hell of a roller coaster for me. And, holy mother-of-pearl, I'm ready to step off this crazy ride for at least a little while.

Many of you know I took a new job a couple months back, a position change within the organization that I was mightily excited about. Mightily. And for good reason: everyone who worked there really liked it there, it was very interesting, a whole new world from what I was used to, and I love to flex my brain and take on a challenge. Plus, the promise of no weekend or holiday shifts was wonderfully appealing.

Right before I started, I found out I was pregnant. And then the cautionary statements started pouring in: people warned me that yes, it was a whole new world, and maybe not something I wanted to do while dealing with my ever-changing hormonal state. They cautioned me against transferring at such a uneven time in my life.

I didn't really heed their warning. It was only a couple of people, and everyone else was psyched for me, including my future coworkers and manager.

And then, I slowly descended into a nightmare. It was awful. The new job was certainly interesting, kept me on my toes, and there were learning opportunities at every turn. Unfortunately, it was too, too much. My brain felt like mush. I couldn't remember all the critical information I needed to have ready at a moment's notice. I moved slowly, and I was called out on it, repeatedly. I got asked, "You have a toddler at home... don't you need to move fast with him?" and I suddenly felt like a horrible mother AND a lousy employee. Nobody seemed pleased with how I was performing at work, and I felt the panic creeping into my body, along with a sense of failure that left me crippled, paralyzed. I dreaded work every day. I felt like the worst nurse to ever have graduated nursing school. I couldn't understand why my brain and my body just. wouldn't. cooperate.

In short, I sucked. I have never failed so miserably at anything like this in my life. It was absolutely, totally humiliating.

Two weeks ago, my manager and I had a meeting, and instead of being terrified, I was just over it all. I walked in there and told her, "This is not working out."

She said, "I know."

And I began the search for a new position. I had 30 days to get one within the organization before I would be officially sacked, but I didn't think it would be that difficult. There's a nurse shortage, right? I applied to a bunch of positions that looked interesting.

Nothing.

A week later, I applied to more.

Nothing.

The third week, I started to get worried. It takes a while for managers to do the whole interview/hiring process, and I was running out of time. I started applying to anything I felt remotely qualified for, even if it was not something I was totally jazzed about.

Nothing.

I'll admit, I have always had a hard time trusting God when things get really, really rough. Like when I'm pregnant, hormonal, and facing the loss of paycheck and benefits, especially after the brouhaha my body put me through after I gave birth to Aidan. I've stopped doubting that he WILL provide for me, but I doubt HOW He will provide, and whether it will be provision according to my terms (which aren't always the best). And it's a huge weakness of mine, this lack of faith, this tendency to want to turn God into my own personal vending machine, even after all this time and countless examples of how God not only comes through for me, but does so in spectacular, mind-blowing ways that I can hardly conceive with my limited human imagination. Still, dark roads really scare me. And this one terrified the crap out of me.

Thankfully, God's constancy and abundance is not reliant on our - or my - mustard seed-sized faith.

It wasn't quite the eleventh hour - maybe more like the ninth or tenth - and several things happened. I was running out of options: it seemed like every floor had already filled their positions, promised them to other people, or were not going to interview candidates for several more weeks yet. A friend reminded me about an old manager of mine, the very first one to ever hire me out of nursing school, one of the best I ever worked with, and that she was now nursing operations manager on a surgical oncology floor. When I went to go find her to ask if she possibly needed any RNs (and roundly expecting a "no" like I'd received from pretty much everyone else), I ran into said manager in the elevator. I told her my situation, that I would really love to work for her, and braced myself for a polite refusal.

What I got was a huge smile and that she would hire me "in a heartbeat" and that she was desperate for experienced nurses like me. There were some major transitions going on in her department, a higher acuity of patients was being sent there (the same acuity I'm used to, but new for the existing staff), and would I like to help mentor the staff? And she took me on a tour of the floor, introduced me to the staff, and offered me a job, just like that.

Immediately, I felt two months' worth of tension leave my body, just like that. I was so relaxed, I might have peed my pants right there. (I didn't, thankfully.)

I start Monday. I'm stoked. I'll still have rough days, difficult patients, frustrating coworkers, and everything in between. I'll still wonder occasionally what drug I ingested to make me want to go into nursing. But I'm excited for new possibilities and for new experiences that will stretch me and grow me and challenge me not only professionally but personally.

And I'm also really, really grateful that I have a paycheck and uninterrupted benefits to boot.

we are Grace volunteers

We have served since the church began. We also just began serving this week. We are seasoned Grace members. We are brand new to the church, and not just Grace.

We have hundreds of collective gifts, talents, and abilities that we bring to Grace every week, every Sunday. We are carpenters, musicians, teachers, cooks, caregivers, greeters, chaperones, chauffeurs, shoulders to cry on, ears to listen, hands to hold, and arms outstretched.

We sacrifice a Sunday morning of sleeping in. We get to the church at 5:30 in the morning and leave sometime around 2pm, maybe later. We get sweaty. Sometimes, we get minor injuries. We have responsibilities. We have others who are counting on us.

We have met countless friends who make us laugh as we serve alongside each other. We have met future spouses serving alongside each other. We have found lifelong friends and partners in the journey, people who have deepened our faith and stretched us beyond our comfort zone to become more of the people God intended us to be. We have found ourselves intending to be of service to others and found that we were the ones being served in love.

We have successfully handled crises. We have repaired faulty equipment. We have eaten a LOT of pizza, BBQ, and donuts. We have spent the wee hours of the morning doing activities we thought we last did in kindergarten. We have made last-minute runs to Krispy Kreme and prayed for a "Hot Donuts Now" sign. We have rehearsed every chord many times over, and spent much of our week getting a certain "lick" just right. We have been on our knees in prayer in preparation for a few hours on Sunday morning.

We have sometimes felt unsuccessful, unworthy, unprepared for the challenge ahead of us. We have made mistakes. We have felt overwhelmed. We have wondered what we were thinking when we signed up. We have watched the power go out, a chord progression go horribly wrong, a box of cookies smash to the ground, a piece of vital equipment malfunction, a computer refuse to cooperate, and watched as our circumstances did not go as we had hoped or planned. We have felt small. We have sometimes wondered if what we did each and every week made any sort of difference.

And every week, we have watched the amazing, transformative power and love of God work wonders through each and every one of us. We have watched God not only be unlimited by our circumstances, but watched Him creatively and beautifully make situations into miracles. We have watched countless lives come to Christ. We have seen marriages saved, families brought together, friendships strengthened, faith restored. We have fed the hungry and clothed the naked. We have welcomed the lost, the broken, the scared, the sick, the needy. We have been the lost, the broken, the scared, the sick, the needy.

And whether we place Bibles on chairs, unwrap and plug in cords, spend hours editing video, hand out donuts, offer a warm smile, wipe baby bottoms, crunch the church budget numbers, spend hours on our knees in prayer, rehearse a skit for GraceKids, practice the worship music, or pick up the trash left behind, everything - EVERYTHING - we do makes a difference. Everything we do is part of being the hands and feet of God, of being the light in a very dark, scary world, of being a place where someone who has turned their heart off to God so long ago considers that maybe, just maybe, this could be a safe place to open their heart up again. Everything we do helps someone take their next step toward Christ. Everything we do is an act of worship for our Savior and God.

Come worship with us. Be a part of Grace volunteers.

maybe I should end my sentences with prepositions

Jason and I went for Chinese food together with our friend Casey the other night: we were all faced with a short time between the end of work and the beginning of after-work work that meant we wouldn't be home for several hours, and I convinced my husband that this was an EXCELLENT opportunity for Chinese food (admittedly NOT his favorite, but he does love me). And while most of the conversation was about Casey and Jason's meeting that evening, Casey turns to me at one point and says, "Angela has been reading parts of your blog out loud to me. You're a really good writer."

At this point, my careful etiquette training allows me to graciously accept the comment without doing That Thing I Do - you know, where I start to flagellate myself and instantly morph into Low Self-Esteem Person and dismiss the nice compliment with something like, "Heh, I'm not that great, you should go read Dooce to read something great."

And then he hits me with the zinger: "You should really do something with that."

Damn these compliments that make me stretch beyond my comfort zone...

I don't know what to say to that, mostly because I think that if I was more focused, more determined, less tired, less distracted... that yes, I SHOULD do something with it. Really I would, except for all that life stuff that gets in the way. You know, eating and sleeping and the day job and the toddler and the Cheerios all over the floor and the groceries and ooh, the sale at Target.

I really do like writing. I hesitate to say love; I love my family, I love to sing, I love to sleep in on Saturdays. These things I prefer almost above anything else. But write? Well, I like it. I like the compliments I get when I write something particularly well. I like being able to move people, or make people laugh, or at least make them think with the words that I write. But even writing this entry took almost a week, and the idea of making writing more than just a passing gig makes me nervous. Life gives me a lot of fantastic material from which I could craft all sorts of tales, but really, at the end of most days when I actually get a moment to catch my breath and think about writing, all I can think to write is either "SLEEPSLEEPSLEEPSLEEP!" or start bitching about something that irritated me, something that probably would point fingers and out the other person and generally NOT be a good idea. And hey, who wants to read a blog about things that piss you off? (Although I gotta say, Twittering about it is a freakin' fantastic idea, as evidenced by this dude.)

But then I start thinking, dude, what if I could write well enough and often enough to make a living off of it? You know, be a full-time writer and everything that goes with it, like the flexible hours and the creative stimulus and the cute little writing-only cottage I would keep in some gorgeous seaside locale? Yessss! I have found The Solution. Because hey, I like nursing and working in the hospital alright, but anything that promises that I DON'T have to rise before the sun is pretty enticing. I could work from home, or the beach, or Starbucks, or wherever. I could spend more time with Aidan. I wouldn't have to be obsessed with customer service. I could be self-aware. I could be one of those highly annoying people who proclaim with a satisfactory tone, "Yes, I am extremely lucky to get paid to do what I love." THAT COULD BE ME.

It could be me, I guess, if I were more passionate about the idea. As all three of my readers know, it's hard enough for me to crank out a post every other week, let alone on a regular basis. If I were more consistent, it could be me, really. But most days, I still just entertain my fantasy that I will randomly run into Warren Buffett or Bill Gates or (even better) Steve Jobs, who will think me the most stunning, witty, most beautiful creature ever he beheld on this earth, and lo, I will not leave my equally handsome/witty/stunning husband for him, but he would still be so moved by me that he would give me half his fortune, JUST BECAUSE I AM THAT AWESOME.

Because the writing gig seems so much MORE unrealistic than that.

Good grief.

So, baby steps are the best start, I guess. I promise nothing, but I am going to try and make a more regular appearance on this blog. You know, writing actual blog posts and not just filling space with borrowed lists and memes all the time. All those funny and/or interesting things I encounter during the day? I'm going to try and keep better track of them, and maybe, just maybe, something might flourish out of them. I'm aiming to get these creative juices flowing a little more, and then I'll entertain the idea of "doing something with it".

But if you see me laughing over filet mignon with the CEO of Apple, all bets are off, dude.

where I was one year ago

Almost thirteen months ago, I gave birth to Aidan. About three to four days after that, I descended into hell. I didn't just visit, either. I staked a plot of land and made camp there for several months.

I don't think that I was ever fully prepared to handle post-partum depression the way it came to me. Before it happened, PPD was the three-minute clip of Kirstie Alley being rather comical in her tears while holding a crying baby and watching an overly sentimental FTD commercial. PPD was the rough couple of weeks everyone - and I mean EVERYONE - told me to expect after giving birth. PPD was like extended PMS, or so I thought. I was prepared to buy a bunch of Haagen-Daaz and Kleenex and weather the storm for a couple of weeks, max.

No one warned me, save the occasional magazine or doctor-sponsored leaflet, that it might be longer than that, that it would instead be months and months and MONTHS of clawing my way back from hell, only to find most days that I was going backward or in circles. I never thought I would gaze at my baby boy, possibly the world's most well-behaved infant, and wish he'd never been born to me, but rather to someone else much more qualified and put together. I had no idea that postpartum depression can present itself as the most blinding, agonizing, paralyzing sort of anxiety possible, where you are seriously counting how much cash you have to live off of if you run away solo to Canada because you cannot DEAL with the possibility of your son being made fun of in school - school that he won't even attend for a good five years yet. Where you beg your God to have someone either arrest you and lock you up or else put you away permanently in a mental institution because you just cannot DEAL anymore.

I had no idea any of that was coming. And even when it happened, I had no idea it would stay resident with me for months and months afterward, not just a couple of weeks. It's a kind of grieving that I can hardly understand myself: no one died, and actually, I had just been blessed with Aidan (again, the World's Easiest Baby). I understood that I would probably mourn the loss of a carefree lifestyle and relative freedom in my schedule, but this was like the atomic bomb had dropped: grief obliterated everything. Shouldn't I have just done my requisite two weeks of boo-hooing and then gotten back to life as usual?

I can hardly read the blog entries I made in the days and weeks following Aidan's birth, because it is painful to revisit those times. It's even more painful to read the entries, the lighter-hearted, jovial ones, that I made a little later, because I was trying really hard to look normal and back to myself again. Because no one wants to deal with someone who should have gotten over it already, right? That's what I thought. Very, very few people knew how hard each day was for me, even after the work scrubs came back on, the routine started to even out, and I was expected to take my role as a functioning member of society again. Even my husband, who is possibly the most understanding man in the world, once referred to my maternity leave once as "vacation", and I nearly lost it right there.

It's been a long, hard road back, one that I have a difficult time explaining to those who have not been through it or were lucky enough to only experience the garden-variety baby blues themselves. Even now, I wonder if I am back to the "old" me, the girl I was before the cloud settled over my head and distorted my view of the world. I still remember how DARK everything was, how I spent those first few weeks laying on the couch sobbing, unable to move or do anything to take care of my son, how I spent the following months operating like I was doing "so much better" but struggled constantly to find peace and rest from the anxiety, even with medication. I don't know that I will ever be the same.

What I do feel now, though, is gratitude. Gratitude for making it through, for a sweet now-toddler who appears unscathed from my experience and fills my life with joy, for being able to actually feel that joy and not be consumed with worry and dread instead.

I'm grateful for my friends and family who understood somehow that I was in basic survival mode for those many months, who weren't offended when it was just impossible for me to pick up the phone and return a phone call (and even now with my hatred of all dialing machinery), who never called me selfish or mean or greedy for refusing, then accepting help when it was offered to me and I was completely unable to reciprocate any of it or give sufficient thanks to them, who sat with me when I was scared and freaked out for what appeared to be no reason at all and they just patiently LISTENED and prayed with me. I don't recall ever hearing anyone tell me to "buck up" and deal with it, though I remember telling myself that on more than one occasion. I should probably have a lot less friends than I have now, but again, with powers and qualities I myself do not possess, so many people demonstrated true friendship to me: giving without expecting anything in return, loving on me when I was completely, totally undeserving of it. And no one was more so loving on me than my husband, who had the courage not only to stand by my side when I was horrible but intervene on my behalf and get help for me, even when I was choking on my own tears, saying I was "fine".

Jason and I want to have more children. Between the miscarriages and the postpartum depression I experienced, the idea of that terrifies me, even though I still want it. I'm afraid of finding myself back in the pit again, of being afraid of mothering my newest blessing, of losing those who carried me through such dark times because twice? Well, twice is just too much to ask. Or at least it feels that way, anyway. I warned you I might not be back to normal.

But more than anything, this year has been about trust. When the rug gets pulled out from under you, and everything you clung to for security - namely, your own self - is taken away, you have no choice but to rely wholly and completely on Abba Father. I won't say there weren't days and nights where I shook not only my fist but a certain finger at Him, asking "why me?", and begging for relief that never seemed to show up (it did, I just didn't recognize it). Each day, I recognized even the smallest little moments of joy as coming from Him, even if I also tended to blame Him for every insult and injury, too. When I sing now that my God is mighty to save, hoo boy, do I ever feel that, because I see those months now and realize I had no strength of my own, not a bit. And I cannot give the credit to my awesome family and friends, because dealing with someone with the kind of PPD I had requires more strength than the average human is capable of - I know God was at work in them, too. It was hellish that my own body had to revolt against me in that way, but God, no. He will never let me drown. He will not let me perish. And he has worked some amazing miracles out of those dark circumstances, miracles that would have never happened had I not gone through what I did. He IS mighty to save, friends.

A thousand times I've failed
Still your mercy remains
Should I stumble again
I'm caught in your grace
Everlasting, your light will shine
When all else fades...

polka dot man

Aidan had his one year checkup last week... he's such a big boy! 32 inches long, 26 pounds (and if you've held him recently, you can totally believe that one). He's definitely growing big and strong!

While we were collecting these impressive stats at the doctor's office, Aidan was also the lucky recipient of FOUR shots. I had to hold down his arms, which was truly heartbreaking: he gave me this completely betrayed look and started to cry even before the needles hit his chubby thighs, and I felt like I was instantly signed up for the Worst Mother of the Year Award. (Thankfully, he was giggling and making fart sounds with his mouth just a few minutes later while I was still wiping my eyes...)

As you can see, he's one happy little dude:



However, a couple days ago, I wake up to find my little munchkin looking like this:







Yup. Reaction to one of his vaccines. I freaked out momentarily - I mean, they do tell you a rash can happen, it's no big deal, blah blah blah, and I fully believe that, but there's something irrational that happens in the brain when it's YOUR child. I mean, it's just strange to wake up and find your kid is a walking polka-dot factory, right?

Anyway, the doctor confirmed that yeah, this was totally normal, and yeah, it would go away in a few days, and no, it wasn't contagious. He wasn't feverish. He wasn't fussy. In fact, he was his usual sweet little self, except that his skin was a minefield. And we took his non-contagious self to church this morning, and the rash was already hugely better than yesterday, and the best part? I didn't meet a single soul bent on lecturing me about the dangers of vaccines and how Aidan would surely be autistic by next week. Because I totally respect parents who choose to take the alternate path, but if you have to lecture me about my traditional, all-hail-modern-medicine path... I just might have to BEAT YOU. So, um, don't leave me a comment saying as much, or I will find you.

(Thankfully, those people don't seem to exist in my little world.)

But as much as Aidan will probably regret me posting these pictures when he's older, I wanted to show freaking out parents out there whose kids also got an MMR vaccine just what it can look like... and that it's okay. As I type this, Aidan's spots are hardly noticeable anymore, and yesterday, he looked like a walking allergic reaction. And the first thing I did when I saw him, besides saying "what the..." was to immediately Google "MMR vaccine reaction", "polka dot child", "insane tropical disease". Okay, so the latter two searches weren't as helpful, but there were only two or three pictures of kids with MMR vaccine reactions, and they didn't look like Aidan that much. Well, enough to let me know what I was dealing with, at least, but I'm adding Little Man to the mix to help allay some fears out there. I will say that if your kid has a fever, is listless, or the spots don't blanch, meaning that when you press on them they don't go white and then immediately back to red... or you have ANY question, call your pediatrician or nurse practitioner. Don't rely solely on a Google search!

And now, back to parenting. Never a dull moment, is there?

introducing the friday fifty-eight: random musings

Thanks to Aaron Karo at Ruminations for these gems. I'm still laughing over #8...

1. I wish Google Maps had an “Avoid Ghetto” routing option.
2. More often than not, when someone is telling me a story all I can think about is that I can’t wait for them to finish so that I can tell my own story that’s not only better, but also more directly involves me.
3. Nothing sucks more than that moment during an argument when you realize you’re wrong.
4. I don’t understand the purpose of the line, “I don’t need to drink to have fun.” Great, no one does. But why start a fire with flint and sticks when they’ve invented the lighter?
5. Have you ever been walking down the street and realized that you’re going in the complete opposite direction of where you are supposed to be going? But instead of just turning a 180 and walking back in the direction from which you came, you have to first do something like check your watch or phone or make a grand arm gesture and mutter to yourself to ensure that no one in the surrounding area thinks you’re crazy by randomly switching directions on the sidewalk.
6. That’s enough, Nickelback.
7. I totally take back all those times I didn’t want to nap when I was younger.
8. The letters T and G are very close to each other on a keyboard. This recently became all too apparent to me and consequently I will never be ending a work email with the phrase “Regards” again.
9. Do you remember when you were a kid, playing Nintendo and it wouldn’t work? You take the cartridge out, blow in it and that would magically fix the problem. Every kid in America did that, but how did we all know how to fix the problem? There was no internet or message boards or FAQ’s. We just figured it out. Today’s kids are soft.
10. There is a great need for sarcasm font.
11. Sometimes, I’ll watch a movie that I watched when I was younger and suddenly realize I had no idea what the hell was going on when I first saw it.
12. I think everyone has a movie that they love so much, it actually becomes stressful to watch it with other people. I’ll end up wasting 90 minutes shiftily glancing around to confirm that everyone’s laughing at the right parts, then making sure I laugh just a little bit harder (and a millisecond earlier) to prove that I’m still the only one who really, really gets it.
13. How the hell are you supposed to fold a fitted sheet?
14. I would rather try to carry 10 plastic grocery bags in each hand than take 2 trips to bring my groceries in.
15. I think part of a best friend’s job should be to immediately clear your computer history if you die.
16. The only time I look forward to a red light is when I’m trying to finish a text.
17. A recent study has shown that playing beer pong contributes to the spread of mono and the flu. Yeah, if you suck at it.
18. Was learning cursive really necessary?
19. Lol has gone from meaning, “laugh out loud” to “I have nothing else to say”.
20. I have a hard time deciphering the fine line between boredom and hunger.
21. Answering the same letter three times or more in a row on a Scantron test is absolutely petrifying.
22. Whenever someone says “I’m not book smart, but I’m street smart”, all I hear is “I’m not real smart, but I’m imaginary smart”.
23. How many times is it appropriate to say “What?” before you just nod and smile because you still didn’t hear what they said?
24. Every time I have to spell a word over the phone using ‘as in’ examples, I will undoubtedly draw a blank and sound like a complete idiot. Today I had to spell my boss’s last name to an attorney and said “Yes that’s G as in…(10 second lapse)..ummm…Goonies”
25. What would happen if I hired two private investigators to follow each other?
26. While driving yesterday I saw a banana peel in the road and instinctively swerved to avoid it…thanks Mario Kart.
27. MapQuest really needs to start their directions on #5. Pretty sure I know how to get out of my neighborhood.
28. Obituaries would be a lot more interesting if they told you how the person died.
29. I find it hard to believe there are actually people who get in the shower first and THEN turn on the water.
30. Shirts get dirty. Underwear gets dirty. Pants? Pants never get dirty, and you can wear them forever.
31. I can’t remember the last time I wasn’t at least kind of tired.
32. Bad decisions make good stories.
33. Whenever I’m Facebook stalking someone and I find out that their profile is public I feel like a kid on Christmas morning who just got the Red Ryder BB gun that I always wanted. 546 pictures? Don’t mind if I do!
34. If Carmen San Diego and Waldo ever got together, their offspring would probably just be completely invisible.
35. Why is it that during an ice-breaker, when the whole room has to go around and say their name and where they are from, I get so incredibly nervous? Like I know my name, I know where I’m from, this shouldn’t be a problem….
36. You never know when it will strike, but there comes a moment at work when you’ve made up your mind that you just aren’t doing anything productive for the rest of the day.
37. Can we all just agree to ignore whatever comes after DVDs? I don’t want to have to restart my collection.
38. There’s no worse feeling than that millisecond you’re sure you are going to die after leaning your chair back a little too far.
39. I’m always slightly terrified when I exit out of Word and it asks me if I want to save any changes to my ten page research paper that I swear I did not make any changes to.
40. “Do not machine wash or tumble dry” means I will never wash this ever.
41. I hate being the one with the remote in a room full of people watching TV. There’s so much pressure. ‘I love this show, but will they judge me if I keep it on? I bet everyone is wishing we weren’t watching this. It’s only a matter of time before they all get up and leave the room. Will we still be friends after this?’
42. I hate when I just miss a call by the last ring (Hello? Hello? Aghh!), but when I immediately call back, it rings nine times and goes to voicemail. What’d you do after I didn’t answer? Drop the phone and run away?
43. I hate leaving my house confident and looking good and then not seeing anyone of importance the entire day. What a waste.
44. When I meet a new girl, I’m terrified of mentioning something she hasn’t already told me but that I have learned from some light internet stalking.
45. I like all of the music in my iTunes, except when it’s on shuffle, then I like about one in every fifteen songs in my iTunes.
46. Why is a school zone 20 mph? That seems like the optimal cruising speed for pedophiles…
47. As a driver I hate pedestrians, and as a pedestrian I hate drivers, but no matter what the mode of transportation, I always hate cyclists.
48. Sometimes I’ll look down at my watch 3 consecutive times and still not know what time it is.
49. It should probably be called Unplanned Parenthood.
50. I keep some people’s phone numbers in my phone just so I know not to answer when they call.
51. Even if I knew your social security number, I wouldn’t know what do to with it.
52. Even under ideal conditions people have trouble locating their car keys in a pocket, and Pinning the Tail on the Donkey – but I’d bet my ass everyone can find and push the Snooze button from 3 feet away, in about 1.7 seconds, eyes closed, first time every time…
53. My 4-year old son asked me in the car the other day “Dad what would happen if you ran over a ninja?” How the hell do I respond to that?
54. It really pisses me off when I want to read a story on CNN.com and the link takes me to a video instead of text.
55. I wonder if cops ever get pissed off at the fact that everyone they drive behind obeys the speed limit.
56. I think the freezer deserves a light as well.
57. I disagree with Kay Jewelers. I would bet on any given Friday or Saturday night more kisses begin with Miller Lites than Kay.
58. The other night I ordered takeout, and when I looked in the bag, saw they had included four sets of plastic silverware. In other words, someone at the restaurant packed my order, took a second to think about it, and then estimate d that there must be at least four people eating to require such a large amount of food. Too bad I was eating by myself.

five reasons I love my husband, in no particular order

1. Because even after five years together, we still laugh like dorks over the goofiest things, like when I ask dumb obvious-answer questions and he uses his pants as a napkin.

2. Because he loves me enough to encourage me to be a better, healthier, happier version of myself, which includes him sacrificing money each month so a overly-caffeinated trainer named Eddie can yell cliché phrases like "FEEL THE BURN" and "NO PAIN, NO GAIN" into my ear while I gasp and struggle and pant and actively pray for the sweet, immediate release of death.

3. Because he lets me sleep in on the days we're off together so I can catch up on my rest while he takes care of our son.

4. Because he still surprises me with how well he knows me - at times even better than I know myself - and still loves me, despite knowing all those aspects of me.

5. Because he loves God WAY more than he loves me... and in turn, his love for me is that much more extraordinary.

I love you, Jason. You are my best friend, my soul mate, my fellow dork for life. Every day with you is a gift.

five random questions I would like to ask of all readers

1. If you couldn't do what you are doing now, what other career would you pick?

2. What is your best creation in the kitchen, and may I have the recipe?

3. What was your favorite toy as a kid?

4. What is your desert island CD? Book? (Note: all desert islands come equipped with Bibles, so pick something else.)

5. If there was a children's book made about your life, what would the title be?

Leave me your answers in the comments section below. Go.