Beginnings

Katie Conquers Texas, Part I

2012-01-26T15:31:00.001-06:00

When I served as a missionary in Portland, I had the privilege of meeting some wonderful people, a few of whom made lasting impressions on my life. One of my favorites is Katie. We've kept in touch over the years, but hadn't seen each other since my wedding day nearly four years ago.

Katie came and stayed with Jay and I in our one bedroom apartment. She was a great sport about sleeping on the floor (even though she was a little afraid our bookcases would fall and crush her in her sleep. Valid fear: we have a lot of books!).

She arrived Friday and we took her to a Spurs game. It was our first Spurs game, too; they played the Kings. To be honest, the only basketball team I dislike more than the Spurs is the Kings (though the Lakers are up there), so I cheered for Jimmer and a little for the Spurs since I have been a San Antonian for four years now and do have a little pride. (Kings won by two points. Boo Kings! Go Jimmer!)

On Saturday, we went out to breakfast at the Magnolia Pancake Haus (which turned out to be more like lunch since that place is so dang popular), and then walked off the decadence at the Alamo and Riverwalk.

Turns out pregnant Lindsay is a wuss, so any time Jay and Katie started going crazy with the cameras (did I mention Katie is a professional photographer?), I found a place to sit down. I believe I initially sat down in the picture below when Jay was preoccupied with shooting some Koi.

As we walked up the stairs from the Riverwalk to the Alamo, much to the amusement of our fellow stair-climbers, Katie kept saying, "I'm so excited! I can feel it's close! I'm so excited!"

Later that afternoon, we went to Mission San Jose to have a look around and to take some pictures. I feel blessed to have friends with talents--Katie took some great pictures of me and Jay and our burgeoning baby.

We had so much fun. Stay tuned for part two of our adventures...

Positive

2012-01-19T14:32:00.001-06:00

When I found out I was pregnant, I looked from the little blue cross on the pregnancy test to the instruction leaflet and back again at least three times. I don't know how many pregnancy and ovulation tests I've gone through in the past 18 months, but it's been a lot--well over 50. I started buying them in bulk to keep the cost down. And until that day, every test had been negative.

I called Jay into the bathroom and we both looked for a long moment at the blue "positive" sign. He smiled and held out his arms to me. We held each other and stood there in silence, both of us still staring numbly at the benign little plastic stick on the counter.

After the steps we've taken to conceive a baby, you would think that I would have laughed or cried or been overcome by a strong sense of... impending motherhood? Promised blessings realized? Gratitude? --but I didn't feel anything.

A couple hours later, I took two more pregnancy tests--all different brands--just to be sure. It didn't seem real. We lined up the three pregnancy tests--all positive--on the counter and stared at them for a long time.

I know there are many couples who struggle with infertility for much longer than a year and who have to undergo much more invasive procedures than I did. I didn't know how many steps up the infertility treatment ladder I would have to climb or how long we would wait or what would finally work. I do know that once I found out for sure that there was something "wrong" with me, that we wouldn't be able to conceive a baby without help, I felt like my body had failed me, like I wasn't whole. I cried myself to sleep every night for a week.

This is supposed to be easy! I told myself. This is supposed to be the most natural thing in the world! And as silly as it sounds, I was haunted by this thought: What if I had been born 50 years ago? 100 years ago? Would I ever have been able to conceive a child?

I would like to think I kept perspective those 15 months of negative tests, of monthly blood draws, of different and increasingly intrusive medications. I tried to stay practical, to keep faith, to avoid feelings of jealousy or hurt. Knowing that I was doing everything I could, that there was a plan, helped my analytical mind be at peace. Most of all, I cherished my time with Jay, those days of having him all to myself, enjoying our family of two. We do nearly everything together--the grocery shopping, cooking, cleaning, errands, outings, even reading. I know it can't always be like this, and I have treasured this time.

It is difficult to live in The Now, to enjoy what I have even while wishing for something more. Some days were worse than others. I have a propensity towards jealousy and spitefulness, and as the months crawled by and my lab results were less and less promising, I worried that I would begin to begrudge others their happiness. Mercifully, miraculously, I was blessed with the ability to separate my own challenges from the successes of others, to brush off oblivious but jarring insensitivity, to keep jealousy in check. It was a borrowed gift, but it also saved me from being hurt or offended when I was questioned or teased about our family planning. "Whenever they come" was my standard response, said with a smile and sometimes a wink.

I am not generally prone to tears, but one Fast Sunday, I lost it. There were two baby blessings in church that day, and during testimony meeting, both of the beautiful, radiant mothers stood and shared their thoughts and gratitude. I completely broke down. My face crumpled and I shook with almost-quiet sobs.

I wasn't jealous. I wasn't angry. I didn't resent these women or their families. I was afraid--terribly afraid that I wouldn't get that experience. That our family would never grow. That I would continue to wait interminably, indefinitely.

I know that I am lucky. I know that a year or 18 months is brief. I know that there are many women who--for whatever reason--will not get to experience childbirth or traditional motherhood. But I also know how it feels to face uncertainty, to walk a path without knowing when, if ever, the destination will be reached, to work towards a goal that may well be unattainable. It is scary. It is lonely. It is easy to feel judged or misunderstood.

I share this because, though I don't want to burden anyone with more information about my life than they want or need to know, I think it's important. I am almost ashamed to tell my story now, when I've already stepped into the warm circle of light at the end of the tunnel--the words feel empty and contrived when viewed through the lens of my gratitude. But I want others to know they are not alone, to do my small part to break the silence, to belatedly challenge the social taboos of infertility.

I want to spread hope, to show my gratitude, to share my story.

____________________________________________

I wrote this last June or July when I first found out I was pregnant. It's been sitting in my draft box ever since. I don't know what I was waiting for, exactly; I think I was just afraid to over-share. I stumbled on this quote today (from a blog I've never read) that made me feel like it was time:

"Sometimes we look out at our lives and it seems the garden is empty – plans dead as withered leaves, dreams laid waste. Could we rejoice in the season of waiting, believing that God who brought Jesus out of the black tomb and brings green shoots out of hard earth will bring new life out of all dark seasons too? Could we know that beauty is in this whole process, the waiting part too, not just the end result?" - Katie Davis, via here

It resonated with me, and I wanted to share my "waiting part" with you. God truly does give us beauty for ashes.

13 Minutes

2012-01-12T13:01:00.000-06:00

I have 13 minutes left in my lunch break, and I decided that I am going to write a blog post even though I'm OCD and ADHD and perfectionistic and still finishing my lunch of left over pot-stickers. I have missed writing--it is something I do for me, but I also agonize over it. You could say writing and I have a love-hate relationship.

I'm finally coming to realize I'm going to have a baby. The end of denial is a scary thing. It's even worse when it happens in a public place: I stood next to Jay in a store to register for "things I want," scanner in hand, looking at rows upon rows of bottles, sippy cups, pacifiers, and bouncers, and my calm, I-can-do-this facade came crashing down. How on earth could I raise a baby when I have no idea what bottles to buy or how many or what the heck a nursing pad is? I think I numbly scanned a bunch of plain white onesie packs, a couple of pacifiers, and then stood there staring blankly at pack and plays for at least 10 minutes. I laughed (but cried a little inside) at the irony of a registry--I decided that anyone kind enough to buy me a gift probably has a much better idea of what I need than I do.

I have less than two months left, and I'm trying to cram in all the things I should have done months ago that I didn't feel urgency about because of blissful denial. We're touring the hospital tonight, and I'm resolving to read a couple birth/baby books before the month is over. One way or another, though, it's going to happen. I won't be perfect and won't know what's going on (my control freak-iness is really pinging over that one), but it's going to be okay.

I'm so excited to be a mom.

Full Circle

2011-12-31T21:54:00.001-06:00

I love the cyclical nature of things: the rotation of night to day, of winter to spring, of one year to the next. I love the circle of life and the onward, incessant march of time. I am overcome when I think that it wasn't so long ago my mom was expecting me, her first child, and riding the same roller coaster of hopes and fears and dreams that I am right now. And it wasn't too too long ago that my grandmother was expecting my mom, her first child, and had worries and joys of her own. And it won't be too long (but don't let it be too soon!) before my first child, this baby girl inside of me, will be expecting her own child, and me, my mom, and my grandma will proudly move up a rung on the generational ladder.

This time of year especially, I find myself contemplating the "ever-circling years" and the slow-but-quickening transition of sunrise to sunset. Somewhat against my better judgment, I'm posting a recording of me and my sisters from last Christmas. It's a song called "A Long Time Ago," and the first verse talks about a mother, Mary, lying by the side of her new baby. The second verse is about the Savior's life, and the third verse returns to Mary, kneeling at the cross of her dying son.

The full-circle nature of that story--birth to perfect manhood to death--is, in itself, poignant and agonizing and bittersweet, but the fourth verse of the song draws a much wider circle around the event: centuries later, a mother kneels by the side of her small daughter in prayer and teaches her about the Savior.

I am, in turns, overwhelmed, inadequate, and in denial, but knowing I am linked to generations of amazing women--those who have gone before me and those who will come after, who have lived and who will live the same timeless experiences I am right now--strengthens me. I felt close to Mary this Christmas, with my baby and my discomfort growing by the day, and I feel close to this girl-child whose shape I have blindly felt through various sharp kicks and pokes. While I will never be a perfect mother, or even close, I pray that I will be enough.

Lisa on alto, Sara on soprano, Lindsay on second, Liz (friend) on piano. A Long Time Ago by Denise Orgill Ferguson, harmony parts by me. Lyrics can be found here. Bear in mind that this is in one take, that we're not professionals, and that it's not perfect--please listen kindly.

Winter

2011-12-19T22:53:00.000-06:00

We went caroling tonight with a group of people from our ward. It was 65 degrees outside. In the middle of December. Just because I don't know how to carol without them, I wore an unnecessary scarf and a light jacket. It was strange to sing Christmas songs on doorsteps without plumes of frosty breath or clenched mittened hands.

I'm not really complaining about the weather--it has been beautiful outside--but with less than a week left before Christmas, I find myself needing to hold on to the memory of snow. Here are some pictures of our Thanksgiving trip to Utah--we were able to spend a couple of days at my parents' cabin.

There were a few inches of snow on the ground, along with some decent drifts. It wasn't too cold--probably highs in the upper 30's--but the bite in the air was refreshing.

It'd only been eight weeks since we'd been there, but the scenery had changed drastically. Compare this shot to the ones in this post--fall can change to winter overnight at 10,000 feet elevation. There wasn't a single red or gold leaf left on the trees.

We went on a hike in the snow. I almost died. Crazy high elevation + cold + hills + out of shape + pregnancy = a lumbering Lindsay.

Even though we won't be having a white Christmas this year, I'm excited at the prospect of celebrating in San Antonio.

Gifts

2011-12-18T21:57:00.000-06:00

Someone at church came up to me today after I'd sung in a musical number and said, "I wish I had your voice." I had to laugh a little bit because my talent is modest and if wishes are free, why not wish for something spectacular? (Julie Andrews, I wish I had your voice, circa 1964!)

But then I started thinking about how I take a lot for granted. How there are people who can't carry a tune or sing the tenor line when it strikes their fancy or play a fun intermediate piano piece with their intermediate piano skills or even experience the simple joy of spotting typos (a recent favorite was "[my son was] memorized by the show. Defiantly his first [ballet] experience." --My mirth was not malicious, I swear, but this totally put a smile on my face).

Something I cannot do that others take for granted is to move in a graceful or pleasant manner. I'm not talking all-out ballet here--even a simple sway, shoulder wiggle, or head bob to the beat completely eludes me. A couple days ago, I was doing dishes and rocking out to some Christmas music. I saw Jay out of the corner of my eye, and I turned to see him watching me, a huge grin on his face.

"I like watching you move," he said.

"Creepy," I said.

Seriously, in GRE terms, Lindsay is to dancing as tone deaf is to singing (Lindsay : dancing :: tone deaf : singing). That doesn't stop me from prancing around the living room every once in a while, though.

I also can't visualize things, design, manipulate shapes in my head, drive without getting lost, maintain things (a clean room, my toenails, etc.), or organize (in a concrete or abstract sense) to save my life.

It's easy to compare ourselves to others' areas of relative strength (why do we do that?), and it's hard to remember or even recognize the things we do effortlessly that may prove difficult for other people. I found myself grateful today for the diversity of gifts we all have and the way they can synergistically work together for the edification of all.

It is Safe to Say that This Will Not Be Me

2011-12-14T09:23:00.000-06:00

I had an appointment last week with my doctor. The appointment went well; my doctor took time to answer my questions, and based on measurements from the sonogram, Baby weighs 2 lbs 13 oz--she's in the 53rd percentile. Hooray for average! I was so pleased.

(Sidenote: I have decided those 3D ultrasounds are freaky. I am now going to have nightmares that my baby looks like the Joker. I'll stick with the fuzzy and two-dimensional silhouettes, thanks.)

Anyway, as we were leaving, I made my next appointment with the scheduler (I'm now going in every 2 weeks! How is it possible I'm in my third trimester already??). We started small-talking, and she was saying she didn't know what to get her 9-year old son for Christmas. Common enough dilemma, right?

But then she says, "He already has a Wii and an Xbox and I just got him an iPhone for passing his TAKS test. I would buy him games for his gaming systems, but he's only interested in his iPhone now. My boyfriend is going to get him an iTunes giftcard, but I really want him to have something big to unwrap on Christmas morning."

She proceeds to tell me that her son has been asking for a new iPhone with 4G capability, but I guess even she has her limits.

I tend to raise my eyebrows a bit when any kid under the age of 16 has a cell phone (some of my 6-year-old patients have them! Seriously?), but an iPhone? for a nine year old?? For "passing" Texas' minimum requirements to progress to the next grade? I'm all about praise and privileges and rewards, but... wow.

(I'm getting all my judgy-ness out of my system before I'm actually a parent. I'm already aware I'll be doing at least half the things I self-righteously condemn, plus more. Just let me live with my blissful ignorance for another couple months, okay?)

Thankful

2011-12-01T22:55:00.001-06:00

I started taking piano lessons from a talented friend last year. I am not much of a pianist, but I love music. I went to her house every couple weeks, played her beautiful piano, and then came home and practiced the best I could on my keyboard. I've had it for a long time, and it has served me well in my various apartment homes. I soon realized, though, that it wasn't adequate for what I needed--there is just too much difference between a piano and my sweet old keyboard.

So Jenny, my teacher, tells me (a couple of times, actually) about this sweet old piano teacher she once had who bore powerful testimony that if you ever need a piano, you just have to pray for one, and God will help you get one. I am a skeptic about many things, not excluding divinely delivered pianos, and so I smiled and rolled my eyes at the faith of her old piano teacher.

But I did want a piano. And over the next several months, as I felt my frustrations mounting about different things in my life, most notably my body's seeming inability to conceive a child, I occasionally flippantly tacked "Heavenly Father, if I can't have a baby, at least let me have a piano" on the end of my prayers.

I didn't think much of it or pursue my piano desire (where would we put it? how would we pay for it? would the neighbors lynch us?) until mid-June. One Sunday, snap--just like that--I decided I was getting a piano. I spent hours on Craigslist, looked at every piano listing, and made phone calls and sent texts and emails about pianos in my price range. Jay patiently drove me all over San Antonio so I could "test drive" piano after piano. Within four days, I had found the one. It was beautiful--a massive 70+ year old, solid, dark wood, ivory keyed upright. We bonded with the young LDS couple selling it and made arrangements to pick it up the next evening.

The next day, a few hours before picking up the piano, Jay and I were both home: Jay doing the dishes, me dinking around on my computer. I was suddenly seized by the urge to take a pregnancy test. I felt silly about it (I had gotten the too-familiar negative result just the day before), but 5 minutes later, I was staring at a tiny "positive" sign on the little stick on the counter.

Later that night, putting a hand on my beautiful new old piano and another hand on the new life growing inside me, I imagined I heard gentle laughter echoing from Heaven. I was awed--and humbled--and overcome with gratitude for my baby and my piano, both received on the same day.

There are some lessons I seem destined to learn over and over again, but I can say that I learned for myself (again) on June 23rd that God loves and is aware of His children.

Eleven on 11/11/11

2011-11-11T11:11:00.002-06:00

1. If I were a creative person--the type who enjoys hosting events, coming up with fun themes, and whipping up a bunch of festive paper fans and cutesy cake pops--I would totally have thrown an 11/11/11 party today. As it stands, I am lucky to have a centerpiece on my table (decorative gourds), and the thought of hosting a "real" party with an actual evite gives me palpitations.

2. Jay and I have been cleaning and organizing recently. To increase storage space, we bought some bed raisers at BB&B (from the clearance table!), and now our bed is about 10 inches higher. I've slept in taller beds (I swear my college beds were up to my chin), but with my awkward new inability to lift my legs higher than a few inches, vaulting into bed is no longer an option. I find myself doing a clumsy face plant followed by an effortful roll to get all my appendages on the bed. I jokingly told Jay that he needs to buy a stool for his short wife. That was last week. I'm pretty sure that in another week or so, it won't be a joke anymore.

3. I have a bad cold. Normally when I get sick, I tend to load up on any and all drugs that could possibly help me feel better. It's been a lesson in patience for me as I've put my fetus first and had to deal with feeling icky and only ingesting the occasional Ricola lozenge.

4. I think it's been a lesson in patience for Jay, as well: he has to deal with me asking him, "Am I allowed to take psuedoephedrine? No?! Okay, how about..." at least ten times a day.

5. In the first couple years after moving to Texas, I got sick a lot. I caught every bug going around, and I usually got five times sicker than the person I'd caught it from. Thankfully, my immune system appears to have bulked up a bit in the past couple years, and this is the first time I've been sick since my six week bout of bronchitis over a year ago.

6. Every time I go to the doctor, she tells me how much more weight I've put on. This last time she told me and then said "Wow." I think that doctors should not be allowed to say "wow" or "oops"--shouldn't they cover that in medical school? And it's not like my food intake has increased that drastically, but can I help it if all this baby wants to eat is Panera bagels and chocolate chip cookie dough?

7. The other day, in an uncharacteristic burst of creative energy, I made a snowman out of a couple of socks. Afterward, I set it on my bookshelf, looked at it with furrowed brow, and thought, "What was I thinking? Why did I just make that?"

8. I decided that being pregnant is great. Sure, there are things about it that stink (you can't take psuedoephedrine! Back pain! Outie belly button!), and sure, I've had it easier than most, but right now I am loving it.

9. When you are pregnant, you don't have to make excuses for yourself--other people do it for you. No joke--slip up on anything and people say, "that's okay--you're pregnant." It's fantastic. I don't even worry about the Panera employees getting to know my odd order by heart (asiago cheese bagel, not sliced, not toasted, no cream cheese. To go.) because people think "cravings" are endearing.

10. The weather here has been fantastic lately--mostly in the 70's during the day. I still have to turn on the AC in my car, but at home we turn it off and keep the windows open. These next few months, the hellish nightmare of summer will fade into a distant memory and I will think to myself, "Texas isn't so bad!"

11. For the past few years, I've thought it would be pretty dang cool to have a kid on 11/11/11. Since that is not going to happen, I will settle for publishing this post at 11:11. And then I will feel embarrassed for the rest of the day about what a numbers geek I am...

Confessions of a Slightly Crazed Pregnant Woman

2011-10-26T19:35:00.001-05:00

Contrary to the URL of this blog, I am not one of those women who's "in tune" with her body. I feel as though my spirit and flesh have a connection that is tenuous at best--I do my own thing, and my body troops along for the ride, usually a willing passenger and mostly compliant companion. I blame this somewhat weak connection between spirit and flesh for my poor proprioception, slow reflexes, lack of coordination, and complete disconnect concerning anything remotely kinesthetic, but I also feel I reap some benefits.

My body treats me well--I don't often get headaches, rarely get sick, have very minor allergies. I can take nearly any medication without side effect, eat just about anything, and put myself through abuses of long hikes I'm not in shape for without repercussion. My body took to pregnancy like a slightly bloated fish to water: initial exhaustion, a few minor bouts of nausea and general ickiness, some back pain, but, all in all, it's been a pleasant walk in the park.

Sometimes my body is a bad influence on me, though--like when I crave cookie dough and Jay, who is wearing his newly gained paternity like it's a tailored suit, walks into the kitchen and catches me with spoon in hand, guilt and sugar-drunk smile on my face. Did you know pregnant women are not supposed to eat raw eggs? Jay does. I have told him several times that I am willing to sacrifice cold cuts, roller coasters, and litterbox clean up on the altar of maternity, but not cookie dough--I just can't. To assuage my guilt, though, I finally looked it up online. Turns out that while cold cuts can carry bacteria that poison the baby across the placenta, raw eggs just carry a risk of salmonella, which, while no fun at all, will only make me sick while baby happily bumps around in her water world. (Okay, it's not smart, but it's a risk I am willing to take.)

Another side effect of being detached from my body is that I haven't felt much of a connection with the little dancing teddy graham inside of me. Yes, my shape is definitely changing (my coworkers see fit to remind me of this daily), but every time I go to the doctor and see that funny little black and white silhouette or hear her whooshing heartbeat, I'm pleasantly surprised all over again: there's still a baby in there! Jay thinks I'm crazy and paranoid, and he's probably right: pregnancy isn't a condition that comes and goes, but I tend to feel mounting disbelief between doctor appointments that I'm still pregnant.

I always thought it was funny that pregnant women could confuse baby nudges for gas and vice versa--after all, a baby and gas bubbles are two very different things. Let me tell you though, folks, it's a true story--one of my coworkers swears she could feel her baby move starting at 10 weeks; I didn't feel anything until at least week 19. I finally had one day a couple weeks ago where I was sure it was the baby I was feeling and not just my digestive processes--she bumped around inside me like a little pinball for a couple hours.

I had a hormotional day last week where I started freaking out because I hadn't felt the baby move in a week or so. I almost called the doctor's office and asked if I could please come in just so I could hear my baby's heartbeat, but I thought better of it. When I got home that night, I lay on my stomach on the hard floor (with Jay practically screaming "child abuse" and threatening to turn me over to CPS) until I felt enough protesting nudges that I could 90% convince myself that, yep, there's still a baby in there. (And before you say I should have called the doctor, she was moving the whole time but I just didn't concentrate hard enough to feel her--my body and I are out of touch, remember?)

I may have done it again the next night, too--not because I had nearly lost it at work several times like I had the day before (cringe), but because I (sadistically?) liked the feeling of my baby's nudges as she was pushed into me. This time, Jay just rolled his eyes a little and then came over, knelt next to me on the floor, and put his hands under my stomach. We stayed that way for several minutes, sharing our daughter's little quickening movements together.

A Preview...

2011-10-15T17:10:00.000-05:00

...of what our baby will look like:

And here's baby "JayLin" all grown up:

(Freaked out a little? So are we.)

She'll make her debut in late winter 2012.

Home for Fall

2011-10-13T09:13:00.000-05:00

My parched, withered, fall-craving soul was revived a couple weeks ago: Jay and I flew to St. George for General Conference weekend. Every time we go home, I always promise myself I'm going to be more active and help out more. Every time we go home, I veg and eat. Seriously--that's all I do. It's disgusting and wonderful: I gained about 4 pounds in 4 days.

Jay, on the other hand, was very active this trip (at least for four hours and thirty-nine minutes of it)--he ran The Marathon.

We waited for him around mile marker 24 and cheered as he ran up to us. Having this freakishly tall, grinning, sweaty guy beeline straight for me was pretty exhilarating.

We hurried and drove to the end of the route, arriving just a couple minutes before Jay passed through. I cheered when they announced his name over the loudspeaker as he crossed the balloon-arched finish line.

Jay had injured his knees during training and wasn't able to get in the long runs he'd planned. He wasn't in as good of shape as he wanted to be, but he was still determined to run the race. He felt great until his knees started hurting around mile 11. It was a painful final 15 miles, but he made it.

After the race, my brother Steve helped stretch Jay's cramping legs while I provided shade. Looking at these pictures, you can almost feel the burn.

I thought he was crazy for sticking it out, but I was proud, too. Jay does hard things. He's an example to me.

We got to watch conference as a family up at my parents' cabin. Here's the menfolk all dressed up for the Priesthood session:

The weather was perfect and the colors were unbelievable. Here are some shots from the cabin's porch:

Autumn is by far my favorite season, and I have not experienced one in the three years I've lived in Texas. I die a little each year as October rolls by with no change in weather or foliage. And I sigh when, in February, the brown, long-dead leaves gradually stop clinging to their branches, leaving the sleeping trees half naked and patchy.

This one (below) was taken through an upstairs window. Gorgeous! I couldn't stop staring at these two trees the whole weekend.

We took a couple of panoramic shots from the porch. Jay's knees never did recover quite enough to tramp around in the woods, but we soaked it all in: the nippy fresh air, the occasional rains, the gorgeous colors, and the crisp scent of autumn.

Every time we go visit Utah it is hard to leave, but this time was particularly difficult. I thought Jay might have to drag me onto the airplane. San Antonio is slowly cooling off--we're finally out of the 90's most days! I'm naively hoping we'll have a couple of "sweater weather" days by next month...

Blessed

2011-08-29T09:44:00.000-05:00

I am not a grateful person by nature. You know how when you're asked to give a talk or lesson in church it's usually on a principle that you need to work on? Starting in my middle teens and extending through my junior year of university, I believe I was asked to give at least five talks on gratitude. Ouch. The last talk assignment was actually gratitude and humility. Double ouch. More often than not, I feel like God has to give me a good smack over the head with a spiritual 2x4 before I "get it."

Though I haven't given a talk on gratitude for a while, it's a subject that has remained on the edges of my thoughts. It is still a principle I struggle with--it's such a reflex to devote all attention to this moment's petty trial--but I have tried to be more grateful. Looking at my life--past, present, and future--through the lens of gratitude turns my heart softer, my countenance brighter, my thoughts happier. I am more pleasant. I am more content. I am closer to God.

Today, sitting in church, I was overwhelmed by gratitude. It didn't stem from the speakers (though they were great), it didn't stem from any big change (though there have been some); it sprung from some internal well I don't often draw deeply from. And because I was grateful, not just for any one thing but for my life in general, I was transcendently happy, content, and at peace.

I was still floating when I went to Relief Society, filled with a strong sense that life is good. Our instructor asked us each to think of a trial we're going through. I'll be darned, but I couldn't think of one for at least a minute or two. My life is not challenge-free, but in those couple of hours, my pesky trials were so dwarfed by blessings! happiness! contentment! that they ceased to merit any attention.

When I finally did "remember" the main thorn in my side, I was shocked I'd forgotten it. Hadn't I cried and lost sleep over this thing? Wasn't it my main cause of stress? But just like that, it was no longer on my radar. Insignificant. A non-issue.

I'm still not grateful by nature. But I am grateful for the reminder that happiness comes from within, that trials are rarely as significant as they seem, and that, holy moly, I am sure blessed.

And he who receiveth all things with thankfulness shall be made glorious; and the things of this earth shall be added unto him, even an hundred fold, yea, more. - D&C 78:19

Seasonal Affective Disorder

2011-08-16T23:16:00.001-05:00

I am so done with summer. I am craving fall with every pore of my sweat-soaked body. It has been miserably, unbearably hot for months upon months upon months with no rain and no reprieve.

Yesterday, my friend and I walked into Hobby Lobby. Big mistake. I almost cried when I saw the rows of craft tables piled high with ornamental gourds, wreaths of fall leaves, and pumpkins of varying sizes and motifs. Not to mention the towering display of fake Christmas trees and aisle after aisle of ornaments and Christmas-y crafts. The whole store smelled of cinnamon and spice and crisp, wonderful autumn. It was nearly more than I could handle when we walked out the doors and the heat and stink of sizzling asphalt punched us in the face. Hobby Lobby, how could you be so cruel?

All I want is a little of this:

Or even this:

Or a cold snap. Or a hurricane. Or pretty much anything other than day after day of cloudless sunny skies, 103 degrees, and 60+ percent humidity.

I checked the weather forecast this morning and saw that there is a one percent chance of rain tomorrow.

I got pretty excited.

I may be getting desperate.

Or maybe not--is anyone else out there dressing in sweaters and mittens and standing in front of a full-blast air conditioner while drinking hot chocolate and humming Christmas carols?

Anyone?

Grammar Geek Tutorial: Definitely

2011-08-02T10:39:00.000-05:00

Want to appear more credible, professional, and/or grammar geeky when you write? I'm going to sporadically post a few common, but glaring, typos I see every day--and how to fix them.

Let's talk about the word "definite" for a minute. It means absolute. Positive. Assured. Decided.

And so, when people want to put emphasis on something, they use one of those words:
"We'll definitely be there."
"He is absolutely, positively the best."
"I am decidedly yours."

Definitely is a popular word these days. It's taken the place of totally from the 90's. It pops up daily in blog posts, emails, and Facebook status updates.

Sadly, it's embarrassingly rare to find it correctly spelled.

Most frequent is the addition of an A, as in definately. This is a typical, run-of-the-mill typo. "Definately" is not actually a word. Remember that there's definitely no A in definite. Or you could think of it as "Nate" is never definite, so he definitely does not belong in defiNATEly. I'll stop beating this horse now.

Also common is a twist on this misspelling: defiantly. This one always makes me smile. Defiant means rebellious, intentionally contemptuous, hostile, openly resistant.
So posting on your friend's Facebook wall something like, "I'll defiantly be at your party Saturday" actually means that you'll be there, all right, but you'll be there in hostile opposition to whatever's being celebrated.

Which is kinda funny.

Or maybe just to a grammar geek like me.

Anyway, to sum up:
- Definite definitely does not have an A in it
- Definitely don't write defiantly (unless, of course, you're feeling a bit hostile and rebellious--in which case, go right ahead)

Disclaimer: I don't have a major or a minor in English, grammar, or editing. Nor have I taken a grammar or editing course in college, elementary school, or online. I make errors all the time; there are probably even some in this post. I just like giving unsolicited and occasionally hypocritical advice.

Beach Trip

2011-07-20T21:35:00.002-05:00

A couple weekends ago, we went to Corpus Christi to visit our friends. We ate some great food, talked for hours, played a bunch of games, and went to the beach. We had an absolutely lovely time.

Unfortunately, we didn't get many pictures; I've been somewhat lazy with the camera lately. Here are a couple Jay and I took on a Sunday afternoon stroll along the beach.

Jay may or may not be obsessed with taking pictures of birds.

Thanks, Kevin and Ashley--we had a great time!

Memory Lane

2011-07-17T14:36:00.001-05:00

I have had some really neat opportunities in my life. Some of my adventures I have undertaken alone, like my mission, and some I've shared with various family and friends. An experience that has changed me forever was living with my sister, Sara, (and 40 other people) in London for two months on a BYU study abroad.

I fell head over heels in love--it was like no other place I've ever been. I always thought I hated history until I started learning about Britain's fascinating, and often blood-curdling, past. I couldn't get enough. We saw several plays (Les Mis seriously changed my life. Twice.), splurged on waffles, hiked and rode the tube all over the city, spent hours upon hours in museums, and went running in Hyde Park several times a week. We visited so many castles and ruins I can't keep them straight, visited Stonehenge, saw (all of) Ian McKellen (ick) as King Lear in Stratford-upon-Avon, rode bikes on the Isle of Wight, toured Westminster Abbey and the Houses of Parliament, hiked Arthur's Seat in Scotland and walked for miles on Hadrian's Wall.

We visited St. Michan's Church in Dublin and saw the organ Handel is said to have played his Messiah on...and we also went to the crypt under the church and saw some naturally mummified remains. If you choose, you are allowed to touch the hand of the Crusader. One of our professors professed that if you touched the Crusader's hand, you'd be married in a year.

I touched his cold, leathery hand.

I got married almost exactly one year later.

Coincidence? Or did I really only stand a chance at marriage with the blessing of a 500 year old corpse?

I've been thinking about Europe a lot lately--for the past three years, I've wanted to move there so badly that I sometimes feel feverish. I know it's crazy, especially since dentistry isn't exactly an easy profession to relocate with, but I've got the itch.

My family--every blessed one of them except for me--is in Europe right now. Lisa is on some senior trip tour choir thing, and the rest of my fam (including my sister's new husband) is traipsing around the UK. I'm certainly not mad that they've gone, and I've known for a year this was coming, but the first couple days they were gone were rough. I've been homesick in general the past month or two anyway--every once in awhile it hits me that I can't just go home and visit whenever I feel like it--but this is somehow even harder.

Anyway, I've gone through all my photos several times since they left; it has been a fun walk down memory lane. For purely selfish and sentimental reasons, I am going to post a plethora of photos documenting some of my adventures.

Navigating the tube. How many blondes does it take to read a map?

London Bridge is falling down

Before our six-mile bike ride from Osborne House on the Isle of Wight. In the rain. With no shoulder.

Why, yes; I believe we are whiter than the Cliffs of Dover.

Fountains Abbey--one of the most beautiful, awe-inspiring places I've ever been. See the white speck in the lower left hand corner? That's me.

Hiking on Hadrian's Wall.

A brief stop in Wales. We bought fruit at a little shop and marveled at the signs written in Welsh.

At the National Maritime Museum in Greenwich, straddling the Prime Meridian. (Incidentally, I have much more appreciation for this museum now that I've read Longitude.)

On the top of Arthur's Seat, Edinburgh.

The stones and henge at Avebury. Short, squatty stone, tall skinny stone (woman, man). We didn't get it either--ask our humanities professor.

Stonehenge.

The Roman baths at Bath.

At the Jane Austen museum in Bath

Hampton Court--one of my favorite castles.

Sara and I at the beginning of our grueling nine-mile hike around Kent.

I call this picture "Time Flies"

We saw as many plays as we could afford. This was on Sara's birthday, and we sat front row center--it was amazing.

Glendalogh, Ireland--another of the most beautiful places I've ever been.

Inheritance

2011-06-22T22:43:00.001-05:00

I have my dad's eyes. They are a dark mix of green and gray and blue and tend to change color depending on my mood or what I'm wearing. Growing up, I didn't like my eyes--I would sometimes comment that they were the color of the bottom of an algae-infested pond. I like them now; I like that they are different, that they aren't your typical brown or blue. I'm the only one of my siblings who got them. Shortly before my grandma's death, I remember looking into her eyes and seeing my own. My grandma passed them to my dad who passed them to me.

Who I am is largely made up of traits from my dad. We are cut from the same mold, he and I. I think it would scare him sometimes when he looked at me and saw so many of his own strengths and weaknesses. Looking back, I can see how he tried to protect me and prevent me from making his mistakes. I think he still does.

We had a few rocky years where it felt like the house just wasn't big enough for both of us, but even then, I remember times where we talked for hours, just him and me. Sometimes I felt like we actually got along best when there was no one else around. Mostly he talked, and I listened. I've always loved listening to my dad--he somehow blends stories and wisdom and anecdotes and advice into one seamless narrative. He's not really a talker by nature, but if you can get him going, it's worth listening to. I respect my dad's advice and opinions more than almost anyone else's. Maybe I'm naive, but I still think he knows everything.

Dad grew up in a tiny town and learned at an early age the value of hard work as he went out with his dad, my cowboy grandpa, to tend cows and mend fences and who knows what else. I love this early part of his life and the way it shaped him into the man he is now. I remember the times he let me "help" with his projects: as a little girl, I brought him tall glasses of ice water as he dug out a deep, deep fruit cellar by hand for my grandparents. I sat with him on the plywood for hours in our "attic" while he installed a staircase ladder. I "helped" chase calves into the chute to be branded and vaccinated.

When I went to Portland, OR for a year and a half to serve a mission for my church, my contact with my family was limited to letters, emails, and two phone calls per year. Every week, I got a long, newsy email from my mom, a letter from Grandma that came every Wednesday like clockwork, and more often than not, a handful of letters from my dad. I remember checking the mail once and finding three letters from Dad that had all arrived on the same day. Each letter was handwritten, concise, and usually contained something random (a dollar bill, a cartoon, one of his famous doodles, a pamphlet from a place he'd gone...). He wrote about his death hikes, his thoughts, his experiences, the people he knew. Reading those letters was like meeting my dad for the first time, seeing the world through his eyes. Sometimes I would share pieces of them with my companions, and they began to look forward to his letters almost as much as I did.

My dad isn't a letter writer by nature, but he wrote to me prolifically, with almost a sense of urgency, because he somehow knew that I needed him. Maybe he needed me, too. I felt like every letter built an ever-widening bridge of understanding and trust between us.

And once again, I find myself living over a thousand miles from home and family. Dad doesn't write me letters anymore, but sometimes I can catch him on the phone, and we talk for a couple hours.

He would rather eat rocks than talk on the phone, but he talks to me.

I think he knows I still need him.

Just a Comma?

2011-06-14T23:10:00.001-05:00

Let's eat Grandpa!

Let's eat, Grandpa!

Correct punctuation saves lives.

{From here, shared with me by Katie}

Check it Out

2011-06-12T22:28:00.000-05:00

I guest posted over at Segullah today.

(Props to you if you remember the original essay this post was based on.)

The Segullah blog always has well-written and thought-provoking content--I'm honored to have the chance to contribute.

The Twilight and Little Mermaid Complex

2011-06-11T22:43:00.002-05:00

Disney's The Little Mermaid came out in theatres when I was 6, and I thought it was the most amazing movie ever. While I waited for what felt like eons for it to be released on video, I insisted my parents rent a cheap, depressing, anime movie (also called The Little Mermaid) over and over again. Sure, it wasn't the same (or close), but it killed my craving just a little bit (those of you who read The Tales of Beedle the Bard to get a weak Harry Potter fix know what I'm talking about). You can picture my joy when the real thing finally came out on video and I could watch it frame by frame, over and over again, to my heart's content.

Imagine my surprise when I found out, years later, that my mom really doesn't like The Little Mermaid. I had always known of her distaste for Bambi--something about absentee dads and sexism and honoring bad role models--but seriously, who could dislike red haired, mellifluous Ariel? Or Sebastian, Flounder and Scuttle, the best sidekicks a girl could ask for? Or the dreamy Prince Eric with his luscious dark hair and light blue eyes?

If I look at Ariel through my mother's eyes, though, I can see why she subtly tried to discourage me from choosing Ariel as a role model. It's been awhile since I last watched The Little Mermaid, but here is a plot summary: Ariel misses a huge, public family event, embarrassing her father, because she is out doing something dangerous. King Triton is (rightfully) angry at his daughter's irresponsility, but Ariel throws a childish tantrum and shouts, "I'm 16 years old. I'm not a child anymore!" She becomes obsessed with a boy who is strictly off-limits, not only because her dad doesn't approve, but also because he's a completely different species. To be with this boy she's never met, with no regard for how her family might feel if she left them forever, she sells her soul to the devil, tries to get a boy she hardly knows to kiss her, and then, when she can't pay up on her bargain with the sea witch, her dad intervenes and saves her. To top the whole thing off, Ariel's senselessness is rewarded when her dad basically says she was right all along; she changes species and gets married at a ridiculously young age. And they lived happily ever after.

I remember what it was like to be a teenager; I remember the new emotions, the pervasive mentality that "no one else has ever felt this way before." Love was new and all-encompassing, and when breakups inevitably happened it felt like the world was ending, that no one would ever love us again, that no relationship could ever possibly be as good as the one we lost. Almost to our own surprise, though, we somehow moved on, had other loves, other relationships, and realized, when looking back, that those first relationships were clumsy at best, dysfunctional at worst, and that we were so grateful we had moved on to bigger and better things.

I know many literary snobs, like me, who are embarrassed to admit their guilty pleasure reads. I read the Twilight series, and despite a bunch of things that drove me crazy about it, I enjoyed it--it was fluffy and fun. The only thing I couldn't get over, in book two especially, was the complete dysfunction that is the Edward/Bella relationship. Everything they said and did was so lacking in perspective and dripping with teen angst that I just wanted to slap some sense into them. Here, in Kelly Clarkson's eloquent song lyrics, is a great typification of many teen relationships, Edward and Bella's included: "Being with you is so dysfunctional/I really shouldn't miss you, but I can't let you go/Cause we belong together now, yeah/Forever united here somehow, yeah/You got a piece of me/And honestly/My life would suck without you." Touching, right?

Really, Ariel and Bella are the same character: with no thought or regard for anyone but themselves, they pursued relationships that were dysfunctional at best, self-destructive at worst with men who were bad for them. While they aren't commonly espoused in books/media geared toward young women, here are some things I hope to teach my future daughter and offer as advice to young Bellas and Ariels everywhere:

There comes a point when a girl should just cut her losses and move on--there are plenty of fish (or mermen) in the sea.
Breaking up is hard, and it's perfectly normal to be sad about it for awhile. But if you become a walking zombie for six months, you need to get some serious perspective and maybe a handful of Prozac.
If your parents have legitimate concerns about the guy you're dating, you should listen--they may be able to see things you're blind to (like that he has legs and you don't). Unless they're crazy (and sometimes even then), they really do have your best interests at heart.
Parents also tend to have more perspective than you do--learn from their wisdom.
There is no such thing as a "one and only." I promise.
If you're thinking about breaking up but don't want to end the relationship because you're afraid you'll never find anything as good, stop worrying. Ten to one you'll find something not only just as good, but even better.
Before you make any crazy decisions, stop and think about how they will affect those who love you.
Just because Ariel and Bella appeared to be "right all along" at the end of their stories, don't be fooled: real life isn't so forgiving.
And finally, if you fall in love with someone from a different, predatory species, you should probably reconsider your options.

In Other News...

2011-06-02T22:36:00.000-05:00

Jay turned the big 3-0 last week. True story. He's now officially in his fourth decade, and I'm officially going to avoid birthdays from now on. I've decided I wouldn't mind just staying in my late twenties forever.

Jay's actual birthday was the week before graduation, but we waited and celebrated with our parents. My dad made Jay a wonderful strawberry pie, and since we only had one 24-pack of candles, I put in one for each decade.

We went on a hike with our families in beautiful, rugged Friedrich Park. Texas parks are mostly wild and wooded; there is no abundance of manicured lawns or playing fields like there is in Utah. I love the parks here, though; I love the trails and the wildlife. They help me to not miss mountains as much.

The hike was fun, but the morning was so muggy that you could have cut the air with a knife and served it up with some biscuits. We've had a very dry spring here, and it tried to storm that weekend, but the most moisture the clouds managed to produce was a suffocating blanket of humidity.

I grew up in St. George, UT, which is a pretty hot place, but as the locals will tell you, it's a "dry heat." That didn't mean much to me growing up--I figured hot was hot--but my first Texas summer quickly changed my mind. Every time I ventured outside I felt like I was drowning, suffocated by the thick, heavy air. I've grown more accustomed to it these past three summers, but I still forget every winter just how icky and sticky summer can be.

Taking a breather: my parents, Jay's parents

In other news, it was our third anniversary on Tuesday. It's strange; even though I've only been married for 11% of my life, it feels like much longer. I can't imagine my life without Jay. He brings out the best in me, and I love him for it.

Milestone

2011-05-25T22:50:00.000-05:00

There are some days I tend to think will never come, and Sunday was one of those. But even though it felt it took like forever (and at the same time, no time at all), come it did. And without further ado, may I introduce...

Dr. Jay, DDS!

Getting hooded by his (short) faculty. Can you tell he's squatting?

Getting his empty diploma cannister.

Dr. Jay with his proud parents and little brothers.

Jay with my parents. Can you tell he's squatting? (Are you sensing this may be a theme in Jay's life?)

We were blessed to have both sets of parents come celebrate with us. We had a fun-filled weekend and ate way too much amazing food (thanks, Mom and Dad!). We were sad to see them go.

I am so proud of Jay. He has worked so hard and has gone through a lot to get to this point. He will be a fantastic dentist.

I'm married to a dentist. How weird is that?

Congratulations, Jay--you are awesome.

15 on the 15th

2011-04-15T16:57:00.000-05:00

I just realized today is April 15th. Tax day.
I'm sure I'll eventually feel a thrill of dread when I look at the calendar and see that the middle of April is fast approaching, but it hasn't happened yet.
This is probably because

Jay does our taxes
He gets them done early
We get a hefty check back from those cheerful folks at the IRS.

Growing up, beginning-mid April was always a stressful time for my parents. Every April 15th, I swear my mom tried to get to the post office as close to midnight as possible.
I secretly think she just liked the party.
At least, hanging out at the post office at midnight with a bunch of other people always sounded like a party to me. I'm not sure if it's actually a party at all because I've never been (see #3). I'd like to go someday, though. I like parties.
I feel like I haven't posted many updates lately. The biggest is that Jay is graduating next month--holy moly, where does the time go? It's crazy, but good. Crazy good.
The second biggest piece of news is that Jay was accepted into the residency program at his school. He'll work/train there for an additional year (getting paid this time) and learn new skills like placing dental implants and managing more complex cases.
This means we are staying in San Antonio for at least another year, which is awesome. We have great friends here, we love our ward, I have a fantastic job, and we don't have to scramble to find a place to move and a job for Jay. It's been super low-stress.
And when I say it's awesome, I mean it! Well, I 90% mean it. Ten percent of me would have liked change! adventure! excitement! ...but that's just my inner crazy coming out. Because when it comes right down to it, I'm not a fan of change. In fact, change gives me indigestion and a serious case of the crankies.
On that note, you should probably avoid me at all costs this time next year. I don't deal well with uncertainties or making big decisions. I will be a mess. You have been warned.
I am torn between loving spring and dreading summer. The weather has been lovely, but in another couple weeks it will be ridiculous. Texas summers are just ridiculous. That's the only way I can say it without using the word "hell."
I recently got a raise at work, which is pretty awesome. Actually, super awesome. Though I still can't shake the feeling I'm being overpaid. I wonder if I'll ever get used to having a "real" job.
The other day at work, one of my nursing home clients studied my face intently and said, "You have the most beautiful forehead." I thanked her, trying to keep a straight face, and she replied, "It's probably because you have such a nicely shaped head."
Which leads me to wonder, dear friends, why none of you have ever commented on my stunning forehead or head shape before. Never suppress a generous thought.

April Fool

2011-04-01T21:41:00.000-05:00

At first, when I looked in the pan, I thought Jay was pranking me--Siamese twin yolks? I didn't believe it.

After closer inspection, though, it was clear that the "yolk" was on both of us.

Cluck cluck.

Curly Hair: The Real Story

2011-03-25T10:30:00.000-05:00

I have long felt defined--at least partially--by my hair. There; I've admitted it. It's not so much a vanity, I think, as it is that I'm subtly conscious of it all the time. Not in a wow-my-hair-is-awesome way, but in an it's-always-there way. (I am feeling increasingly sheepish as I write this because I realize that I am sounding increasingly ridiculous, but I think ridiculous is okay sometimes, so I'm giving myself permission to continue.)

Here is how my self-view changes depending on what my hair is doing:

Curly hair: I'm "fun and disorganized" Lindsay (the "disorganized" factor increases as the frizziness escalates. If I weren't lazy, I would make a line graph to awe you with my mathematical prowess).
Straight hair: I'm "sleek and put together" Lindsay. It's weird, but I really do dress better and I'm more outgoing when my hair is straight.
Ponytail: I'm "sloppy and homebound" Lindsay--I realized recently that I am subconsciously more likely to opt to stay home if my hair is pulled back.

Once upon a time, I used to have my hair straight an average of four out of seven days every week, but now I'm split pretty much fifty/fifty between curly and ponytail. Partially because marriage really did make me low-maintenance--sorry, Jay--but it is kinda his fault because he honestly likes me best with curly hair and no makeup (what a keeper!). So I guess I'll just claim that it's not laziness, but love, that motivates my thrown-together appearance every day...

Since I've been married, though, I've learned to like myself better with curly hair; I think it's a mark of maturity that I'm increasingly happy with the "natural" me. So, just in case you've ever wondered, here's the good and the bad of living with curls.

Pros:

I'm not going to lie: it's a 5-minutes-or-less hairdo: run a brush through it straight out of the shower, put in a little gel, and let it air dry. A major perk for total low-maintenance girls like me.
Most days, I have pretty good second-day (or even third-day) hair--just spray in a little water, smooth, scrunch, and I'm good to go.
It's a novelty--I get comments on it all the time and am often referred to as "the blonde girl with curly hair." Also, people recognize me from behind from far away. (Not sure that those are really pros, but oh well)
Makes for fun up-dos
Jay likes it
I don't often invest the time (1-2 hours), but when I want to, I can wear it straight. It can be fun to have options
Humidity and some rain only make it curlier

Cons:

Humidity and rain make it curlier
I can't run my fingers through it
I can't brush it when I want
Clothes shopping is a nightmare--after trying on about three shirts, I have a halo of frizz. Doesn't matter if I'm wearing my hair down or in a ponytail--the frizz is unavoidable.
Going swimming/to the lake/to a waterpark is also a nightmare: as my hair dries, it looks like I've been electrocuted. Pulling it back doesn't help because--you guessed it--halo of frizz! Halo of frizz!
I will be dependent on gel for the rest of my life

Elise

2011-03-22T18:33:00.000-05:00

I got to meet Elise last weekend.

She is small and soft and perfect.

Elise is my "close enough" niece.

Her mom is my "close enough" sister, so I get to be Auntie Lindsay. I've found that the definition of family isn't strictly biological.

Kiyomi and Alex brought her here to have her blessed. Because even though they don't have any relatives in San Antonio, they have lots of family here.

Yes, Kiyomi did make Elise's blessing dress. Yes, she is ridiculously talented.

Elise and I have the same middle name. How cool is that?

Most of my friends have kids, and there's always something neat about seeing them as moms.

There is something about motherhood that brings out the best in them.

It's exquisite.

Welcome, Elise.

Thanks to Kiyomi for providing the beautiful model, and thanks to Jenny for lending me her backdrops!

I am way, way behind on posting photos, but I'm going to work hard to get caught up. Stay tuned!

Why I Won't Buy Jay an iPhone

2011-03-16T20:22:00.001-05:00

Here, in order, are the various ways that Jay's previous cell phones have met an untimely end:

Jay rolling down a hill (it was a singles' ward activity--need I say more?) + generously proportioned girl rolling over him = broken phone
Dropped phone from a second floor balcony
Wrecked bike + phone in pocket = broken phone (and roadrash)
Ran phone through the washing machine
Diving for a frisbee + phone in pocket = phone snapped in half
Stolen

Number six happened today. Along with the phone, the thief took Jay's wallet and my GPS. Besides feeling incredibly violated (they went on a shopping spree at HEB with our credit card! This creep-o, thanks to Jay's driver's license and my GPS, knows where we live!), I'm also feeling incredibly grateful:

Jay's car wasn't damaged or broken or stolen (he accidentally left it unlocked)
Jay's social security card wasn't in his wallet
None of our checkbooks were in the car
Though purchases were made on the credit cards, they were minimal (around $500). While I know (and am thankful) we wouldn't be liable for those purchases, I'm glad our banks aren't losing a lot of money because of us
Jay had the smarts to cancel the cards immediately--within an hour of everything being stolen
There was no cash in our car or in Jay's wallet

I miss my GPS already, and it will be a pain to replace Jay's card "collection" (library card, driver's license, costco card, etc.), but it could have been a lot worse.

On a more light-hearted note, here is a poem Jay wrote a couple years ago as a tribute to his former phones.

Three Reasons to Love March 14

2011-03-14T21:19:00.000-05:00

It's this guy's birthday:

It's Pi Day! (Even though I haven't made a pi pie yet... maybe later this week)

It's my half-birthday--I'm on the downhill slope now...

Happy March 14th!

Valentine's Day

2011-02-16T22:44:00.000-06:00

On our menu:

Slow-cooked baby back ribs finished on the BBQ
Steamed asparagus
Homemade caramelized onion and herb dinner rolls (from this great cookbook)
Homemade cream soda
Long grain and wild rice
Fresh strawberries and raspberries

Complete with china, goblets, formal tablecloth and place mat settings. It was a scrumptious, sumptuous feast. And, after all, nothing says romance quite like barbecue sauce.

For me: a dozen red roses

For him: a Valentine poem (it's been a long time in coming--he writes me poems every Valentine's day)

For us: Adobe Photoshop and Lightroom

(I am soooo excited. Expect some fun photos once I figure out how to use them...)

Snow Day

2011-02-04T20:26:00.000-06:00

One inch of snow equals

No work

No school

A lazy morning

It doesn't happen often,

but I love when Texas freezes over.

Grammar Geek Tutorial: lie/lay/laid

2011-01-24T23:38:00.000-06:00

I had a couple of requests for an explanation of lay/laid/lie. Just in case there are any other closet grammar freaks or geeks out there, here you go.

Disclaimer: I don't formally know much about grammar--I just have a pretty good (read: not perfect) instinct for it. This also means I don't know the names for things (participles, perfect tense, etc.). Please feel free to leave any input.

In this instance, we're dealing with two different concepts: the act of putting an object down and the act of reclining.

Lay: To set down an object

Present tense: Lay the cookies on the table.
Past tense: Yesterday, I laid the cookies on the table.

Lie: To rest or recline

Present tense: I think I'll eat a cookie and go lie down.
Past tense: I lay down yesterday after eating five cookies. (*note: the past tense is not "laid." To help yourself remember, think of "laid an egg": eggs are not laid by people)
Crazy past tense: I had lain down to recover from a stomachache, just as I have lain in the past. (But let's be honest--who talks like that?)

So, to sum up, the past tense of lay is laid: used when talking about objects. The past tense of lie is lay: used when talking about reclining. The tricky thing about these forms, obviously, is the dual use of lay.

Try thinking of it this way: lay is an action word, lie is a resting word (e.g. "lying around"). Or, to rephrase, once you lay (put) something down, it lies (rests/reclines) there.

Need something else to chew on? "Laid," often mistakenly substituted for "lay," is also frequently misspelled "layed." "Layed" is not actually a word.

Practice if you care, don't fret if you don't--99% of people won't even notice.

Questions You Need Answered

2011-01-21T09:00:00.000-06:00

Awhile back, my friend Beth "tagged" me in one of those blog things. I'm not feeling particularly clever today, but felt like I should post something, and I like Beth's questions, so... here you go.

1) Do you have a favorite number?
I should, considering how nerdy I am about numbers (I inherited that from my mom). I like even numbers. It's alternated between 4, 6, 8, and 14. I just can't commit.

2) Did you have a childhood comfort object, like a blankie or teddy bear? Tell us about it.
A blankie (made by my paternal grandma) and a stuffed polar bear named Snuffles. I loved them dearly. I used to rub the blankie "fuzzies" on my lips while I fell asleep and give Snuffles haircuts around his eyes so he could see better.

3) Did you ever wish your parents had named you something other than the name you have?
I never really thought about my name until recently. My mom and I were talking the other day about how it's an 80's "fad name" and that in another 40 years "Lindsay" will be synonymous with "old woman" (much like Doris and Ethel are today). If I had to pick a name for myself, I'm not sure what it would be--probably something traditional and feminine. I like my name. Besides, I'm sorta named after Lindsay Wagner, the Bionic Woman. Cool, right?

4) Did you ever wish you could become a fictional character in a book or movie? Who?
Oh, did I ever. All the time. As a young woman, I would have chosen Anne Shirley in a heartbeat--her life just seemed so beautiful. Or maybe Jo March (though she ended up marrying that old ugly professor. Ick.). Or Elizabeth Bennett.

5) Did you ever wish you could date/marry a fictional character from a book or movie? Who?
Mr. Darcy in the A&E P&P makes me swoon. I liked Laurie in Little Women. Jonas in The Giver. Casper in the movie Casper (the last 2 minutes of the movie where he's a "real boy." My cousins and I used to rewind that and watch it several times because we thought he was so dreamy. If you needed any more proof that I'm a dork, well, there it is).

6) What is the air-speed velocity of an unladen camel?
Egyptian or European?

7) To how many places have you memorized pi?
3.141592. My mom is a numbers nerd. I can go to 6; I know she's got it to at least 10.

8) What, in your opinion, is the most foul smell known to humankind?
It's a toss-up. Poop. Our sink if we haven't run the disposal in awhile. Fermented things. Beer (which I suppose falls under the previous category). Cigarette/cigar/marijuana smoke (in order of ascending nastiness).

This is the part where I'm supposed to "tag" a few more people and come up with my own questions, but I can't bring myself to single anyone out because I have some kind of undiagnosed social anxiety issues. But if you want to answer Beth's questions, please do, and then link up back here!

MLK

2011-01-18T11:07:00.000-06:00

Today, I honor Dr. King, who did just as much for whites as he did for blacks.

Because I don't want my children growing up in a world where there is

segregation and racism, either.

A Vent.

2011-01-17T00:07:00.000-06:00

There are some things that make me cranky.

(Maybe more than some things.)

Seems like it wasn't too long ago that I would ride the waves of my passionate opinions until they crashed me into the shore. And, okay, maybe I still do sometimes. But not like I used to. (Really! I've mellowed!) I'm working to bridle my passions, and I think I'm much more chill than I used to be.

But this whole Arizona shooting thing has had me seething. First, can I just say what a horrible, devastating, senseless tragedy it is. My heart aches for the families of those who were injured or killed.

Second, the gunman was completely, dangerously insane; a man who had no real agenda or cause he was advocating. He was clearly his own agent and clearly crazy.

So why, in a time when this country should be wrapping its arms around this grieving community, these injured individuals, these suffering families, are politicians and the media so consumed with a completely petty and baseless blame game? Is nothing sacred anymore? Do they not realize that the entire country is sitting back and looking on in disgust as they shamelessly use someone else's tragedy to further their own empty political agendas?

As far as I can tell, Jared Loughner had no political affiliation. He was a registered independent. He was did not identify with either conservative or liberal views.

So what's with the personal attacks? We're expected to believe that somehow an obscure two year old campaign graphic is to blame for this heinous crime? That the word "target" or a crosshairs icon pushed this guy over the edge? Why were these claims not immediately dismissed and called out for what they were: a cheap trick, slanderous mudslinging, completely baseless, outrageous, utterly ridiculous?

I'm disgusted. It should never have been given air time. And politicians need a lesson in tact. There is a time and place for lobbying. This is not it.

Remembered.

2010-12-17T13:51:00.000-06:00

{I wrote the bulk of this post about my grandma and her funeral right after the fact, but I never posted it because I felt like it was incomplete. I've done my best to finish it, but I still feel like it doesn't do her justice. I decided it was a greater injustice to not honor her at all, so here is my attempt.}

Grandma was sick for a long time. Not sick sick--not something with a name like pneumonia or cancer--but sick in the sense that her small body was no longer an adequate vehicle for her great spirit. Her decline was gradual but steady. These past couple decades, she fought for a fraction of the productivity she had previously enjoyed; tasks took many times longer than they used to. She lost the use of one shoulder. Then another. Her back began to give out. Osteoporosis, gout, compression fractures, fatigue and pain slowed her down. But still she cared for Grandpa, still she cooked delicious meals, and still she painstakingly made beautiful quilts for her growing posterity. But then her vision began to deteriorate from macular degeneration. Then her pain made even a trip to the bathroom a monumental task. Then she lost Grandpa. And it was too much. There came a day when she could no longer get out of bed, she could no longer handle the pain, she could no longer rely on her mind, which had always been so keen.

{A very small sampling of Grandma's talents and gifts}

I have had several caring people ask me if her death was expected. It is a difficult question to answer. My mother often says she has never seen someone with such an indomitable will to live. I have said "goodbye" to my Grandma many times when her health was poor and she'd not been expected to make it. Each time, though, she would rally and make a modestly miraculous recovery. I said goodbye to Grandma this past May. Just as I had in February. And December. And the May before that. And over six years ago before I left on my mission. As of a few weeks ago, I firmly believed I would get to "say goodbye" again this December.

While I selfishly wish I could have had that opportunity to hold her hand again, to sing to her, to kiss her cheek and tell her I love her, I know that this course was the merciful one.

As I looked at her in her casket, dressed elegantly in gauzy white, I reflected on the blessing it is to know that she is free now. I touched her right shoulder, the one that has been a source of such pain and frustration to her for over ten years. And I smiled through my tears.

{My family.}

My dad conducted the funeral services and shared a few thoughts at the end. "Imagine Mom and Dad," he said, "walking hand in hand and talking... and actually being able to hear each other." And that's where I see them: someplace green with plenty of flowers for Grandma to tend and an oven for her to bake in. I imagine she's back to taking care of Grandpa, and I'm sure they're quietly serving those around them, just as they've always done. I am humbled when I think of the legacy they have left me.

{The view from the Georgetown cemetery}

Just before they closed the casket, the family took a few minutes to say their final goodbyes. I was standing quietly in the far back corner. I watched as the families of the oldest siblings filed up to take their turn. They leaned on each other, held onto each other, cried into each others' shoulders. It was a painful moment, and I looked away. The room was full-to-bursting with family. Right in my line of sight, between me and the casket, was my cousin and her beautiful baby girl. Lyla laughed and grinned and stretched up on spindly legs, her back arching proudly, tiny arms flailing. She cooed and babbled happily.

I felt a ray of joy cut through the haze of loss as I watched her and smiled, seeing my aunts, uncles, and cousins pay their last respects at the casket behind the happy baby. It was a circle of life moment--somewhat cliche, I know--but intensely personal, surrounded as I was by a circle of family. Grandma had given all of us life, brought us all together. She lived for us, but even though she is now gone, she lives in us.

My sisters and I sang the closing song during the service:

When I leave this frail existence,

When I lay this mortal by,

Father, Mother, may I meet you

In your royal courts on high?

Then, at length, when I've completed

All you sent me forth to do,

With your mutual approbation

Let me come and dwell with you.

I miss you, Grandma. Give Grandpa a hug for me. See you later.

Hallelujah

2010-12-03T09:14:00.000-06:00

And here, ladies and gentlemen, is one of the reasons I haven't been posting lately.

Has preparation for this thing been somewhat life-consuming?

Yes.

Will it be worth it?

I already know my answer, but to come up with your own, you'll have to see for yourself.

Please come.

There are sure to be a few moments when we sound like what we are: a bunch of amateurs with varying skill levels who love to make music.

But there will also be moments that are transcendent. I guarantee it.

{Oh, and if you're like me and most appreciate classical music in easily digestible portions rather than five-course meals,

the concert will run 90 minutes or less.}

Family Resemblance

2010-11-15T23:00:00.001-06:00

"You don't look like sisters."

We get that a lot.

But if you listen to us share inside jokes, quote movies, sing together or heckle each other, you'll say we sound like sisters.

And maybe we do look a little like sisters, after all...

Free at Last

2010-11-11T00:26:00.000-06:00

In Loving Memory of

Mary Ann Cassidy Middleton Ott

May 29, 1917 - November 8, 2010

Oh, what a day in heaven it must have been--

Wallace got to hold his Mary again.

May I Suggest... Fashion

2010-11-06T09:16:00.000-05:00

Yes, I gave some fashion advice. Please, try to contain your snickering. For a bit of amusement, click here.

Trick or Treat?

2010-11-01T00:02:00.000-05:00

Happy Halloween!

Isn't it ironic that when you have time to blog, you're not doing much that's "blog-worthy," but when you're doing tons of fun stuff you'd love to write about, there's no time to blog? Or maybe that's just me...

Anyway, I'll be back soon...

May I Suggest... Entertainment

2010-10-21T23:03:00.002-05:00

Check out a few of my favorite books, games, and internet devices here.

Ten on 10/10/10

2010-10-19T22:42:00.000-05:00

I really did write this on 10/10/10--I just didn't post it. Things have been a bit hectic on my end. How about yours?

1. Fasting + teaching nursery = death

I'll admit it: I wasn't excited about being asked to "teach" nursery at church (the 18 month - 3 year olds). The first month or so was rough. It's not that the kids are bad--I'm just bad with kids. Anyway. The past couple months, though, things have gotten better. I think I've hit my nursery "groove"--Jay and I and the kids are pretty comfortable with each other now. For the most part, I enjoy my two hours a week of watching 7-10 little people run around.

2. Except on Fast Sunday. Me: starving, exhausted, cranky. Kids: HYPER. I swear, when I had to pass out goldfish crackers at snack time, I almost keeled over. I held them under my nose and inhaled their cheesy scent. More than once. Jay and I basically gave the tykes free reign and did everything we could to sit limply on our butts the whole two hours.

3. I lay down yesterday and read a book all morning while Jay cleaned the house. I felt guilty, but loved it at the same time. I love my husband. And reading. But I love my husband more.

4. I've been working on irregular past tense verbs with one of my clients at work, and I had a breakthrough of my own--I finally got the lie/lay lay/laid forms down. I think.

5. Grammar freak that I am, I'm quite excited about this accomplishment.

6. I'm also excited because my 5 year old client has them down, too.

7. Which means that the two of us now belong to the 1% of English-speakers who know (or care) about the difference between lie and lay.

8. I'm still in denial that it's October. I am dreading the end of daylight savings time--I hate when it starts getting dark at 5:30.

9. Jay is sitting next to me, eating a bowl of Kix. There's no milk in the bowl, but he's still using a spoon. Odd.

10. Jay and I got a new phone plan two weeks ago--we switched to T-Mobile because I was getting booted off my family's plan and T-Mobile was cheapest. We both got nice touch-screen phones for free. But then I started freaking out that I would have to ration talking time with my family (turns out I use lots of cell phone minutes), so we went back to Costco on the last possible day and canceled our plan. We signed up with Verizon, so now I can yak to my fam whenever and for however long I want. And I am at peace.

May I Suggest... Kitchen

2010-10-12T00:22:00.000-05:00

Check out my kitchen picks from last Friday here.

I didn't include a link in my submission, but if I could pick a new baking stone, it would be this one.

Bruschetta

2010-10-06T18:44:00.000-05:00

This is a recipe Jay and I have made many times over the past year or so--it's a new favorite. I thought I'd share since it's not something you see all the time. We call it "broo-SHET-uh," but I think the technical Italian pronunciation is "broo-SKET-uh." Bruschetta is technically an appetizer, but we love it so much we eat it as a meal. It's light and refreshing; perfect for an easy summer dinner.

This recipe is very forgiving--the amounts are not exact. Feel free to alter quantities according to your tastes.

Ingredients

6 to 8 roma tomatoes
1/2 cup fresh basil leaves (I use more since we grow our own and have it on hand)
1-2 cloves garlic, minced
1/2 cup sun dried tomatoes packed in oil
1 t kosher salt
freshly ground black pepper, to taste
balsamic vinegar, to taste (I like just a dash; Jay likes around 2 tablespoons)
fresh mozzarella cheese, thinly sliced
artisan bread, sliced and toasted (we usually use baguettes, but the pictured rosemary olive oil loaf was great, too)

Jay and I recently invested in a food processor, but we used to just dice everything by hand. Both ways make great bruschetta; hand dicing results in a chunkier consistency, while the food processor gives it more of a thick salsa-like texture.

Note: For best results, it's important to use fresh basil leaves and fresh mozzarella--the texture of aged mozzarella is completely different. If you want to substitute cheeses, try sprinkling grated parmesan or romano over the top of the bruschetta.

If using a food processor, add the basil, sundried tomatoes and minced garlic. Pulse several times until chopped (you want the dried tomatoes small or their flavor gets overwhelming), then add the tomatoes, salt, pepper and balsamic vinegar. Pulse until tomatoes are small chunks (I pulsed one too many times on this batch--we usually like it a bit chunkier). Taste and adjust seasonings as needed.

If cutting by hand, cut up sundried tomatoes finely (I find that either kitchen shears or a large, sharp knife works best). Dice roma tomatoes and mince garlic. Cut basil into small pieces. Stir together and add salt, pepper and balsamic vinegar.

Layer mozzarella cheese on toasted bread slices and spoon bruschetta over the top.

Enjoy.

May I Suggest...

2010-10-04T20:18:00.000-05:00

Hannah was nice enough to let me participate in her "May I Suggest" series. While it may be difficult to believe that I have any offerings in the beauty department, I had a fun time thinking through my products and selecting some favorites. Check it out here.

I'll be participating for the rest of the month. I highly recommend looking around Hannah's site--she is incredibly creative and talented, particularly in areas I'm entirely deficient. You ever meet someone who makes you a little sick with envy but is so down-to-earth you can't really hold it against them? Yeah, Hannah is like that.

Anyway, check it out--the other ladies participating actually have some beauty sense, so you might even see a suggestion worth taking...

Where's Lucy? Take III

2010-09-30T08:36:00.000-05:00

Either Lucy's embracing her inner shoe diva, or she has a penchant for small spaces.

Or both.

Writing Wednesday: Adventures in Speech Pathology

2010-09-28T22:00:00.000-05:00

Some days, I really, really like being a speech pathologist. Some days, well, I don't.

But one of the great things about my job and the populations I work with is that there's always something to laugh about. Take, for example, a recent conversation I had with one of our patients at the skilled nursing facility (euphemism for "nursing home with a rehab wing full of people who should probably be admitted to a nursing home").

I walked into the room of two elderly Hispanic women who are on our caseload, both for dysphagia (euphemism for "swallowing") issues. Both women were seated in reclining chairs next to their beds. One of the women ("Sister") was talking in Spanish at the top of her voice. After I caught a few familiar words, I realized she was praying. Loudly. And once she finished in Spanish, she started in English.

I didn't want to interrupt her prayer, but I also needed to get their therapy done, so I began talking to her roommate ("afghan lady") who, by the way, was staring fixedly at the muted tv and appeared utterly unfazed by Sister's booming supplications. Loudly, I began asking her if she recalled any safe swallowing strategies.

"Take small bites," she said. At least, what I thought she said--she spoke softly and I was lip-reading. Sister was still going strong.

"Can you remember any more?" I asked afghan lady.

With hardly a break in stride, in the same volume and manner in which she'd been praying, Sister said, "You must take small bites and small sips, and then God will help you swallow!"

Her eyes were still closed in the attitude of prayer, and I grabbed her hand. "Yes," I said. "Very good. Small bites and small sips."

Her hand clasped mine, vice-like. "Yes, Sister. And God will help us! He will always help us!"

---------------------------------------------------------------------

I smiled as I walked out of that room a few minutes later, Sister's loud blessing following me down the hall.

Close Up

2010-09-26T22:43:00.001-05:00

I love little things. Close ups. Details. I love the minuscule flecks of dirt on Jay's fingertips, and I love that he has a tiny snail shell on each finger.

Looking at this picture, you have no idea that Jay is wearing a suit. That his sister and her family were standing a few feet away. That we were walking around the temple grounds. That it was a beautiful, sunny, hot hot July day. It doesn't tell you that Elizabeth was zonked out, that we were in the middle of taking pictures of her and Andrea and David, that after we were done, we went to Great Harvest and bought a loaf of honey whole wheat bread.

Most of the time, the things we see make up only a tiny snippet of a whole reality. From looking at another person, you don't know their history. You don't know how their morning was or what's important to them or what their favorite candy bar is.

But even though, in the grand scheme of things, all we see through the wavy glass of imperfect understanding are the equivalent of closeups, detail without the whole picture, there is beauty to be found when we take the time to look for it.

This is Likely Only Funny to Me. Sorry About That.

2010-09-23T21:13:00.000-05:00

We went into a speaker store last weekend. The salesguys swarmed like piranhas. One of them insisted on demoing some of their products for us.

When trying to explain to us the differences between the two sound systems he'd just shown us, salesguy Tim exhibited some word-retrieval difficulties. "The first one we listened to is more, uh, detailed," he said. "You can hear all the glass tinkling and all of the individual explosion sounds in that Die Hard clip. The second one has a fuller sound. But this one, the first one, it's kinda more, well, clearer or--you know, you can hear all the little sounds, so it's more... um..."

Being a helpful person (and a speech pathologist), I reached into my lexicon and pulled out a favorite, well-used adjective.

"Crisp?" I offered.

"Yeah, yeah!" he said. "Exactly! The sound of the first one is way more crispy."

So we had to listen to him say "crispier sound" at least ten times in the remainder of his fifteen-minute demo. I was looking at sound systems, but all I could think of were potato chips and Kentucky Fried Chicken. Crunch.

Thank heaven I didn't give in to my urge and suggest that the second system had a "warm" sound quality--who knows what that would have turned into?

Labor Day Reunion 2010: Sunday

2010-09-20T23:00:00.000-05:00

Sunday was a slightly more relaxing day. Most people got to sleep in awhile and then come over to our place for breakfast crepes. We went to church, ate dinner, and then just hung out.

I'm not exactly sure how it happened, but one of Elizabeth's bows ended up on Jeremy, and I feel almost bad posting these pictures, but his father, Erik, is very secure in his son's masculine manliness, so I'm not going to worry that these pictures will give the kid (or his parents) a complex.

There has been a dearth of Jeremy pictures in my previous posts. While I never did get the chance to do a photo shoot, we did get a few pictures.

Jeremy does this flailing thing with his arms--they're constantly in motion. He looks a little like like he's conducting an orchestra. An orchestra that never stops.

Mostly, though, he's just a really cute kid.

Why is Elizabeth in a chicken suit? Your guess is as good as mine. Seriously--I was just sitting there and then I turned around and there she was. In a chicken suit. Bawk bawk.

That evening, we went on a family Sunday walk. You may recognize this park as the place we went with Amy and Erik on Friday.

I miss taking Sunday walks. My family used to go out walking--sometimes biking--on Sundays. I loved it.

Andrea and David (and now Toby and Elizabeth) go on walks together every Sunday. We visited them once a couple weeks before Elizabeth was born and joined them on their family walk. Andrea was great with child, but she walked two miles. I was impressed.

Lindsay and Tyler and their cute girls. Word on the street is she's having a BOY, so we're excited to welcome nephew #2 in a few months.

Jay can do a "one-handed" chin up. Impressive, no? Check out Gracie and Olivia's guns. Work it, girls!

Me and Jay. I really, really love this guy. Even if he is about six inches too tall. It just goes to show, nobody's perfect. Not even Jay.

How does it feel to be six inches tall of perfection, baby?

Looks like Olivia doesn't mind that Jay's imperfect.

Speaking of perfect, check out these babies.

Like I mentioned earlier, this was the first time that the whole clan has been together since our wedding nearly two and a half years ago. The love was tangible, to say the least.

And there they are. All seven. From youngest to oldest. You can see how the older siblings have rebelled against the family tradition of wearing dress clothes all day Sunday. For shame.

There were some crazy and hectic times, but we loved having the whole fam visit us in San Antonio. We're not sure how we lucked out to be the ones everyone came to visit, but we hope they'll all come back soon. And often.

Especially when we move out of a one-bedroom apartment and into a house.

In Case You Wanted to Know...

2010-09-18T23:17:00.000-05:00

Whoever invented "skinny" jeans hates curvy women.

I never want to hear the term "jeggings" again.

I, for one, will be wearing flared pants until I'm eighty.

That is all.

Labor Day Reunion 2010: Saturday

2010-09-13T06:00:00.001-05:00

Saturday, we went to Six Flags.

It was a day full of sunscreen and roller coasters, heat and fun and family. And I realize I'm easily distracted, but doesn't Jay have amazing cheekbones?

The kidlets did pretty well, considering what a long day it was. My three nieces--aren't they sweet?

I love this picture of Andrea and Elizabeth. The babies spent most of the day dozing in the heat.

Looks like Olivia, too, caught a nap or two.

The grandparents were a great help with the kids, especially the babies.

Uncles Josh and Newt were indispensable as well--I've never met young adolescent boys so good with children and happy to help out. The older nieces adore them.

Gracie and Olivia had a blast. Lindsay, being pregnant, could not go on rides--a major bummer, but Linds put her game face on and got to watch her cute girls discover the joys of roller coasters and water parks.

This was by far my least "efficient" trip to an amusement park--whenever I've gone before, it's always been about fitting in the most rides and maximizing riding time. This time, with seventeen (and a half) people to keep track of and arrange rendezvous with, two babies who needed feeding every hour or two, and a 50+ year age spread and varied interests, it wasn't possible to pack in the rides.

Really, though, that ended up being just fine. We got to spend a little bit of time with everyone, frequently switching up groups based on babies' feeding schedules and peoples' activity desires.

And let me just say, how did we ever live without cell phones? Even with them, we had our share of miscommunications, but we always managed to find each other in the end.

I've always loved roller coasters and thrill rides, but I think I'm starting to get old: the park itself was just so loud and big and busy and hot. I felt like I had an amusement park hangover after just three hours.

But, you know, despite the screaming neck and shoulder muscles, the bruises from jolting rides, the excessive noise and ridiculous prices, I really had a good time.

There's just something about being with family.

Lest We Forget

2010-09-11T23:00:00.002-05:00

Spencer W. Kimball once said that the most important word in the dictionary may well be "remember."

To me, remembrance is more than just knowing something happened--it is retaining the memory of our feelings and the lessons we learned. I think back to my frame of mind nine years ago, and I recall being filled with horror at the ugliness of terrorism, gratitude for living in this amazing country, and fierce pride to be an American.

But memories fade. Recollections grow dim. Feelings, once strong, slowly lose their poignancy.

Today, though, I remember 9/11. I remember that day, and the following days of uncertainty and fear and prayer. And I remember my resolution to never, ever forget.

God of our fathers, known of old--

Lord of our far-flung battle line

Beneath whose awful hand we hold

Dominion over palm and pine--

Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,

Lest we forget - lest we forget!

The tumult and the shouting dies;

The captains and the kings depart:

Still stands Thine ancient sacrifice,

An humble and a contrite heart.

Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,

Lest we forget - lest we forget!

Far-called, our navies melt away;
On dune and headland sinks the fire:
Lo, all our pomp of yesterday
Is one with Nineveh and Tyre!
Judge of the Nations, spare us yet,
Lest we forget - lest we forget!

- Rudyard Kipling

Just to Clarify...

2010-09-09T22:05:00.000-05:00

I've had a couple people ask, so I thought I'd just nip this rumor in the bud:

There is a fetus, and it does belong to a Lindsay, but not to this one. Er, that is, not to me. What I'm trying to say is, I'm not expecting. Preggo. In the family way. Insert your favorite euphemism here.

But I'm sure my sister-in-law appreciates the congratulations.

Labor Day Reunion 2010: Friday Night

2010-09-08T22:34:00.000-05:00

Jay's family came to visit us in San Antonio this weekend. There were seventeen and a half of us: two parents/grandparents, the seven siblings, four spouses, four kiddos, and a fetus. Oh, and Lucy and Toby (Andrea's dog). It was hectic and exhausting and so, so fun. This is the first time the whole family's been together since our wedding over two years ago. Since I have about a million pictures to post, I decided to break this up into three installments.

On Friday afternoon, I picked up Amy and Erik from the airport and got to meet Jeremy, my first and only nephew. Jay was still in Loredo, so we hung out for a few hours until he got home. Later that night, the five of us went for a walk in a nearby park.

Amy and Erik are in great shape--from both running and strength training (they're currently in the middle of another round of P90X)--so as we passed several fitness stations along the trail, we stopped and tried them out. Note that I'm using "we" very loosely. Hey, someone had to take the pictures.

Here's Jay. Impressed by his chin-up? I sure was.

I'm also impressed by his face. Mmmm.

And speaking of impressive, here's Erik doing some kind of one-armed sideways plank push-up. I had no idea how many different kinds of push-ups there were until I met Erik.

Amy and Jay on the push-up bar. Check out Amy's triceps. And calves. Yeah, she's pretty much my idol.

Erik did 15 pull-ups, making them look easy as pie. He then scooted his way down the parallel bars so quickly I didn't get a picture. Jay shuffled forward on his hands a little ways before admitting defeat, and Amy pedaled in place--I guess it's harder than it looks. I have to guess since I was too busy being the photographer to try it for myself. Hey, it's an important job.

Here's Jeremy. He is a beautiful, sweet baby. Sorry his face is out of focus so you can't fully appreciate his cuteness in this picture, but Jay and I just bought our first non-kit lens, and I've been having a lot of fun with the 1.8 aperture setting.

I love this "watering station"--now that is one stop shopping!

In other news, later that night, Lucy met her first dog.

Toby belongs to Andrea and David. He's a Yorkie and not much bigger than Lucy.

We enjoyed their games of "tag" all weekend.

Stay tuned! There's more to come...

Separation Anxiety. ...Minus the Anxiety.

2010-08-30T18:47:00.001-05:00

I miss Jay.

He was gone all last week.

He's gone all this week.

And as much fun as the weekend was

(absence makes the heart grow fonder and all of that),

it wasn't enough time.

I feel off-kilter,

like a part of me's missing.

I don't eat right.

I don't sleep well.

I don't take care of myself.

Baby, come home!

Stupid dental school.

OLLU: A Photo Essay

2010-08-20T16:07:00.000-05:00

I recently posted an essay in which I attempted to paint an evocative picture of my graduate school. A couple weeks before I graduated, I walked around campus with my camera in an attempt to visually capture the atmosphere. There were several things I meant to shoot but didn't (like the building I "lived" in), and a few things I didn't plan on shooting but ended up liking. The library, pictured above, is one of my favorites.

Moye and the corridor into the quad

Quad and bookstore

The "Lake" and the ducks.

The back of the convent and a sampling of statues

Hibiscus and Amaryllis. Love them both.

The construction on not-quite-burned-down Main. Love the "fallout shelter" sign--wonder how long that's been there?

Scrolls and Gothic arches