18 10 / 2013

T: So milk comes from boobs, but on a cow does it still come from boobs?
Z: Cows do NOT have boobs.
T: Then where does the milk come from?
Z: Udders.
T: No way farmers call ‘em that! Mrs. Steffy, didn’t you say cows have boobs?
Me: I can promise you I have never said that in my life.

11 10 / 2013

Me: congrats! Your prize for a job well done on your work is eating lunch with me tomorrow!!

7 yr old: what’s my other option?

07 10 / 2013

My parents came to visit this weekend. The last time I saw them was our wedding day June 1st. So… It’s been a little bit. Enough time to make a gainfully-employed, married, grown woman start saying “I miss my mom and dad” to people who just did not ask, thank you very much.

We looked through the glass windows at the Liberty Bell (shutdown!), ate mac and cheese pancakes, walked through the park and watched a ton of episodes of The Voice. I ask you, dear friends, who can get enough of CeeLo? I certainly can not.

I live in a cool city, I have a cool job, I have an immensely cool man that I live with. There are trade offs for all this stuff and living far from family is one of them. I hate that. But thank goodness for guest bedrooms, cheap airfare, and a little time off to spend time with family.

01 9 / 2013

In the next installment of Weekend By Myself, I just got out of bed for a slice of cheese. Because I can.  And there was no one here to say, “Cheese at midnight? Hm.” 

HA HA HA.

31 8 / 2013

When Tyler’s gone for a day or two I go straight back into pre-married mode. And by pre-married mode I mean eating chocolate animal crackers and pickles with a coke for dinner, and watching 30 Rock on my laptop in bed before falling asleep to the sound of Tracy Jordan’s ridiculousness. Can’t help it.

Marriage changes everything and nothing.

02 8 / 2013

"

Overheard in the elevator:

"That choir from Nashville was incredible. I mean, do kids born in the south just have natural rhythm and talent like that?"

"

18 7 / 2013

You’ll never find it on a registry, but the best wedding present we received was a rubber chicken.
And let me back up and say that I opened it at a bachelorette/lingerie/party-with-my-friends-where-we-played-no weird-games-or-anything-thank-goodness. My friends are awesome so I opened gifts of place settings, and then underwear, and then fancy Anthropologie napkins, and towels, and then…. a small rubber chicken. 
I do not want to steal this story, this awesomeness, from my dear friend Caley, so I recommend you get the full version, the lineage of the chicken you might say, from her. Here’s the gist, though: Caley and her husband hide a rubber chicken for each other to find. It’s been going on for the entirety of their marriage and it’s just kind of something fun they do. But here’s the part that she just casually threw out there… sometimes you find the chicken when you need it most.
You guys. This is a magical freaking chicken. THE CHICKEN KNOWS ALL. 
We’ve hid it for each other a few times. I put it in Tyler’s suit coat pocket before our wedding. It’s been folded into socks and tucked in the bottom of bags. But I’m going full honest here, last night was not our/my best. I don’t really know how it started, but I know that at some point in the evening I walked a little too loudly (resembling the stomp of a thirteen year old girl) to the bedroom, closed the door and watched New Girl alone because that seemed like a better option than talking it out. Four episodes later I got ready for bed…super hot newlywed sweatpants and an old college t-shirt I stole a long time ago from my husband. 
AND THE CHICKEN DROPPED OUT OF THE SHIRT. It’s the instant trump card. It trumps any resentment or hangups or ego that you have and makes you shrug it off and get over yourself. I walked into the living room, hugged Tyler and said, “I found the chicken.”
My friend was right, sometimes that crazy awesome rubber chicken just falls out of a crappy XL Weezer t-shirt when you need it most. Thank you, Caley.

You’ll never find it on a registry, but the best wedding present we received was a rubber chicken.

And let me back up and say that I opened it at a bachelorette/lingerie/party-with-my-friends-where-we-played-no weird-games-or-anything-thank-goodness. My friends are awesome so I opened gifts of place settings, and then underwear, and then fancy Anthropologie napkins, and towels, and then…. a small rubber chicken. 

I do not want to steal this story, this awesomeness, from my dear friend Caley, so I recommend you get the full version, the lineage of the chicken you might say, from her. Here’s the gist, though: Caley and her husband hide a rubber chicken for each other to find. It’s been going on for the entirety of their marriage and it’s just kind of something fun they do. But here’s the part that she just casually threw out there… sometimes you find the chicken when you need it most.

You guys. This is a magical freaking chicken. THE CHICKEN KNOWS ALL. 

We’ve hid it for each other a few times. I put it in Tyler’s suit coat pocket before our wedding. It’s been folded into socks and tucked in the bottom of bags. But I’m going full honest here, last night was not our/my best. I don’t really know how it started, but I know that at some point in the evening I walked a little too loudly (resembling the stomp of a thirteen year old girl) to the bedroom, closed the door and watched New Girl alone because that seemed like a better option than talking it out. Four episodes later I got ready for bed…super hot newlywed sweatpants and an old college t-shirt I stole a long time ago from my husband. 

AND THE CHICKEN DROPPED OUT OF THE SHIRT. It’s the instant trump card. It trumps any resentment or hangups or ego that you have and makes you shrug it off and get over yourself. I walked into the living room, hugged Tyler and said, “I found the chicken.”

My friend was right, sometimes that crazy awesome rubber chicken just falls out of a crappy XL Weezer t-shirt when you need it most. Thank you, Caley.

26 6 / 2013

What I’m Reading
Lean In by Sheryl Sandberg
This was one of those books that I would have never picked up on my own, except that it was being talked about and talked about and written about and posted about. 
As an elementary school teacher, I wasn’t really sure that there would be anything relatable for me in here. (Business meetings! Shareholders! Tech startups!) Sandberg turns out to be quite relatable. She cried at work. Her kids had lice. She’s checked email on her phone in the bathroom. You know, the norm. While, yes, she cried in front of Mark Zuckerberg and her kids had lice on the Google plane, she acknowledges her privilege throughout her writing. 
There are so many good things from her that I’d like to share, but I won’t. Just know that if you’re interested and you’ve been on the fence: I recommend you go for it. If it doesn’t sound like your thing, then it probably won’t be.
PS. So much nonfiction in my life. I don’t even know what’s going on with myself these days. Any other nonfiction I need to check in on?

What I’m Reading

Lean In by Sheryl Sandberg

This was one of those books that I would have never picked up on my own, except that it was being talked about and talked about and written about and posted about. 

As an elementary school teacher, I wasn’t really sure that there would be anything relatable for me in here. (Business meetings! Shareholders! Tech startups!) Sandberg turns out to be quite relatable. She cried at work. Her kids had lice. She’s checked email on her phone in the bathroom. You know, the norm. While, yes, she cried in front of Mark Zuckerberg and her kids had lice on the Google plane, she acknowledges her privilege throughout her writing. 

There are so many good things from her that I’d like to share, but I won’t. Just know that if you’re interested and you’ve been on the fence: I recommend you go for it. If it doesn’t sound like your thing, then it probably won’t be.

PS. So much nonfiction in my life. I don’t even know what’s going on with myself these days. Any other nonfiction I need to check in on?

25 6 / 2013

Yesterday, for the heck of it, I went to IKEA, bought a cinnamon roll for $1,  walked around just looking at everything. I put all kinds of stuff in a bag and talked myself out of every single one of those items and left empty-handed. (whatup, adulthood?)
Sam and I used to do the same exact thing back in Tampa in our less-affluent days of grad school. A trip to IKEA for a cinnamon roll was a perfectly affordable means of entertainment. I do and don’t miss those days. I definitely do miss that girl.

Yesterday, for the heck of it, I went to IKEA, bought a cinnamon roll for $1,  walked around just looking at everything. I put all kinds of stuff in a bag and talked myself out of every single one of those items and left empty-handed. (whatup, adulthood?)

Sam and I used to do the same exact thing back in Tampa in our less-affluent days of grad school. A trip to IKEA for a cinnamon roll was a perfectly affordable means of entertainment. I do and don’t miss those days. I definitely do miss that girl.

24 6 / 2013

If you were to stand behind Tyler and me in the grocery store, or hear one end of a phone conversation between us there is a good chance you will hear one of us say, “Yeah, well, Pangea.” It’s our mantra these days.

Pangea was the name of the one single supercontinent millions of years ago that slowly (soooooo slowly over those millions of years) broke apart into the seven continents. I’m not going to argue with you about the timeline and if dinosaurs were in the Bible or not and I’m not going there about how this was just a theory and never really happened. But the point is, it took millions of years for Pangea to get to what our earth looks like today. 

So when I haven’t figured out yet that I need to specifically ask for help when I want it…when Tyler is learning that I’d rather not be reminded to use my turn signal… when one of us ends up in the parking lot of our neighborhood grocery store eating Ben and Jerry’s in the car because sometimes an apartment in the city just feels too dang small: Pangea.

With every bite of that delicious ice cream, I told myself Pangea.

Learning to be married is a s u p e r  s l o w process not unlike the breaking apart of the continents over millions of years. And I heard this from Ira Glass in a This American Life episode (#457) that I loved a whole whole lot. It’s long, but worth a quick scan:

Because I think, actually, one of the things that’s a comfort in marriage is that there isn’t a door at seven years. And so if something is messed up in the short-term, there’s a comfort of knowing, well, we made this commitment. And so we’re just going to work this out. And even if tonight we’re not getting along or there’s something between us that doesn’t feel right, you have the comfort of knowing, we’ve got time. We’re going to figure this out. And that makes it so much easier. 

21 6 / 2013

Making friends as an adult is weird. It almost feels like dating. You see someone somewhere, they look normal, maybe they have some obvious similarities to you or a mutual friend. You think about maybe trying to find a non-awkward way to introduce yourself.

 It’s sounds weird, I know. But friends of mine have admitted to seeing the process in a similar way. One of the things Faith and I actually bonded over in LR was this whole friend-making-as-an-adult process and how awkward/challenging it could be.

I need to make friends here. I’m good at making small-talk but that might just be a southern thing. I haven’t had good results with it here yet. But, how many people make good friends in the salad dressing aisle? Light dressings are for pansies, am I right, potential new friend? Clearly people do not like to be bothered when salad-dressing shopping. I’ve been to yoga regularly several blocks from our apartment (thanks, groupon!) but when a girl looks at another girl in class and says, “You were wearing that same outfit the last time I saw you,” I know that this studio might not be my jam. Probably not even that neighborhood.

It’ll happen. I need to get out more, for sure, but I’m not worried about it so much his time around.

21 6 / 2013

T: They have less options for food on that street.

Me: You mean fewer?

T: Did I not use that correctly?

Me: Fewer is for things that are quantifiable, less for things that are not.

T: Oh good grief.

Me: For example, you have less patience with me now that I’ve annoyingly brought this up….

T: EXACTLY.

20 6 / 2013

I did not do a ton of wedding-y things when we got married. I bought a short white dress, I hired a photographer, I made a reservation at a restaurant. On a whim one Friday I thought it might be kind of fun to hold some flowers. I found a picture of something I liked and said to the sweet lady in a local shop, “I like funky and organic and I like this picture, but if you have some fun stuff lying around and you want to throw it in? Do it.” 

She did a fabulous job.

taken the day after…still looking pretty decent.

For the detail oriented, she used peonies, ranunculus, stock, succulents, some spiky things that kept poking Tyler the whole time, and some fun velvety leaf that I don’t know the name for (ideas?). 

What impressed me most was that it held up through a thunderstorm as well as being laid down on rocks because I couldn’t hold an umbrella, my shoes, jump over a puddle and hold that thing at the same time. I think I dropped it once, as well. A succulent or two lost a few petals. Not bad.

Flowers die. But succulents can be rooted! Huzzah! So I consulted twitter and the internet and found that succulents can be rooted by basically pulling off a few base leaves, letting it “callous” and then plopping it on some dirt and back off. 

I did all those things except for the last part… I don’t back off well. I potted three of them and so far they have all rooted very nicely. Know how I know they rooted nicely? Because I didn’t back off. I keep lifting them up to see that yes, those pinky-white roots are still there and shooting out all over the place. 

I’m crossing my fingers for these little guys. They make me happy.

19 6 / 2013

When I drove away from Tampa for the last time, I bawled. Ugly cried. I cried for several miles out of town because I had become so attached to that place and I felt like I had worked so hard to make it feel like home.

The transition to Arkansas was easier; I got comfortable faster. I knew what to expect when I moved there and didn’t spend so much time wondering when will I make solid friendships? At what point will I be able to navigate this city without yelling at my gps? when will I find the places that are My Places? I didn’t get all weepy when I drove away. Maybe I didn’t have to work so hard in Little Rock. I think I also had a lot more that I was driving towards this time.

So this transition to Philly should be a piece of cake, right? “HA!” said the universe! Because the universe don’t play, ya’ll. The universe is all “this is going to be not just a transition but a TRANSITION with the caps lock on and everything.’ 

It’s not enough just to move. I got married, moved, and gained a roommate with whom I have an invested and committed relationship (a whole different animal than having a friend/acquaintance roommate.) So, yes. I’m tired of circling blocks to find the post office. I’m saying things to Siri I’m not proud of. I’m searching online for gender neutral decorative pillows. I’m balancing the part of my brain that’s longing for my job to start with the part of my brain that says, take a nap, crazy person, that’s what a summer is for.

Speaking of naps. It’s on my schedule tomorrow. 

18 6 / 2013

Every host should have a sweet dog named Libra to greet you every morning.
By the way, how great is that shade of blue on the door?

Every host should have a sweet dog named Libra to greet you every morning.

By the way, how great is that shade of blue on the door?