To Lighten the MOOD around here...

You know how google tries to be all omnipotent and predict what you're trying to type in its search engine before you actually type it? Well, today I started to type "is baltimore dangerous?" (since that's where we're headed for our internship this summer. HOLLA!) and just as I typed, "is ba..." into my search engine, my good friend, Google, suggested the following predictive searches:

Is Barry Manilow homosexual?

Is Barry Manilow married?

Is Barack Obama the antichrist?

Is bacterial pneumonia contagious?

Is baptism necessary for salvation?

I'm interested to know how the crap Barry Manilow ended up on this list twice? Really, people? Barry Manilow?!

I guess I have to acknowledge that our friend, Lincoln, could be partially responsible. He's a die hard Barry fan. We were recently chatting about going to Vegas together and the first thing that popped out of his mouth was, "We could catch a Barry Manilow concert!" My eyes immediately shifted to Sam who was already making the face I knew he would be. The face he only makes when someone suggests something truly preposterous:

Strangely, I get this face thrown in my direction more than any other... BUT, judging by this google search, Linc isn't alone in his jonesin' for a little Barry after all.

I did appreciate the Obama one. It's nice to know I'm in good company. Just kidding. But seriously.

Befuddling as this was, this amusing little list is not the primary purpose of this post. The real mind-blower that caught my attention came in the form of a little splash of self awareness called "my list of recent google searches," which conveniently appears below the most popular predictive searches list. It has never occurred to me to look at my recent searches... and mine was a shameful list indeed...

1. what is the male equivalent of mistress?

2. facts on farts

3. injuries at the stratosphere

4. ugly old couples

5. is all nudity edited out of "300" for TV?

6. Megan Fox's toe thumb

7. how much money do I have to make to afford a million dollar home?

8. easiest way to make yourself throwup

9. my husband isn't fun

10. top 10 hedge fund launches in 2009

11. calories in chocolate chip cookie

12. how is the HGTV dream home winner chosen?

I wish I could say that I share my laptop with a teenage boy. In fact, that was my first reaction as Sam looked over my shoulder, beholding this list--to look around all shifty eyed for someone to point the finger at. But alas, this list is mine, and mine alone. Aside from that "top 10 hedge fund" one... which was clearly an impostor named Sam.

As if this post wasn't self-indulgent enough, I feel the need to explain:

1. what is the male equivalent of mistress?

I have one. And wanted to know what to call him... turns out this is a topic of much debate and confusion. The general consensus is "a kept man." That'll do.

2. facts on farts

This search came as a result of an argument between Sam and I about what, indeed, causes his varying degrees of stink. Sorry, Sam. You couldn't have expected me to take the blame for this one. I'm dainty and petite. And have never farted.

3. injuries at the stratosphere

Important due diligence for upcoming Vegas trip

4. ugly old couples

are funny to look at

5. is all nudity edited out of "300" for TV?

We were contemplating watching this on TV and I was doing a "boobie" screen, of course.

6. Megan Fox's toe thumb

My hilarious cousin, Jill, recently wrote about this on her blog and I had to investigate. Google image this one. You'll be terrified and exhilarated all at once.

7. how much money do I have to make to afford a million dollar home?

Getting greedy on a student budget

8. easiest way to make yourself throwup

Don't be alarmed. This was simply necessary information I considered after single-handedly topping off a box if cherry cordials and feeling sick to my stomach--however, when I beheld the crazed bulimia society offering up their abusive and disturbing suggestions, I was turned off by the whole idea in general.

9. my husband isn't fun

After Sam didn't fill my attention quota for the night, I wanted to arm myself with some zingers to use during the fight I planned to pick with him.

10. top 10 hedge fund launches in 2009

Impostor

11. how many calories in chocolate chip cookie

See #8. Turns out I'm a comfort eater. Don't you judge me.

12. how is the HGTV dream home winner chosen?

So WHAT if I feel like it's my lucky year?!?! (Secretly I do)

And there you have it. Don't you feel much better now that I've put your minds at ease and explained myself? I know you do, and you're welcome.

Thank you, Google, for always trying to read my mind. And for storing my guilty pleasures in your search list to remind me of how ridiculous I am. And for asking me just now if I meant "ass burgers" when I tried to google and learn more about Aspergers Syndrome. You're the best.

I'll end with a few unrelated pictures for your viewing pleasure:

I'm obsessed with this wink attempt

Pull up a chair and stay a while...

These past few months have been full of extremes. I have been finding myself high as a kite one day, and in a vegetative, puffy eyed coma the next, with each new development feeling like either a slap in the face, or a nice, firm tushy squeeze.

I was relating one of the lows to a friend of mine the other day and he said, and I quote, "Wow. I read your blog and think your life is so amazing, but then I talk to you and it turns out you have the world's worst life."

Hold on there, tiger.

In the grand scheme of things, I am pretty sure my life is better than that of at least 82% of the general population. The exception being people who are skinny without trying. And all of the Disney princesses. Who, come to think of it, are also definitely skinny without trying. Dirty wenches.

I'm also fairly certain that the things I write about on this blog don't sound that amazing. I mean, Sam misspelling my name on my Valentine's Day card is pretty amazing, I guess.

At any rate, his comment made me feel like I haven't been documenting the important things properly. It's so much easier to write about things that don't matter all that much. I personally find it exhausting to write about trials or difficult things I go through. It requires far too much introspection and gloom to put bad things into good words. I'd much rather hang out with a story that's funny or amusing.

On the opposite end of the spectrum, publicly gushing about the great things doesn't come easily to me, either. For some reason, I feel a little embarrassed and a lot braggy whenever I do. So instead, I sit here keeping a blog that's full of mediocrity and triviality.

I guess what I'm trying to gear you all up for is a rather lengthy record of some of the more significant, but less amusing things we've been going through as of late. I figure I can knock a lot of it out in this here post so I can git back ta writin' 'bout them funner things I like ta write about.

So here's my schizophrenic documentary of gloom and glee:

Dealing with my brother's death has been looming in the background of all of the craziness that has been 2010, and is still a major work in progress. This seems obvious enough, it's only been three months, but you'd be surprised how quickly people expect you to get over it and on with things. I was talking to a friend in my ward who just lost her newborn baby after 3 months of violent seizures and illness. She expressed that everyone has been commenting about how strong she's been, and how well she's handling things. And then she mentioned that she's obviously not going to walk around in public sobbing her eyes out all day long, and how she's actually not feeling strong or handling things well at all.

I wish I didn't relate to this, but I completely do. And it's not that I expect anything from anyone really, but when people ask me to do things or expect much from me, my first reaction is to still think, "But my brother just died!" like that's some sort of excuse they should have taken into consideration.

"Hey Vanessa, would you like to speak in church this Sunday?"

Yeah, remember my brother just died? Prolly not.

"Hey baby, do you feel like making tacos for dinner tonight?"

Need I remind you my brother just died!?

The worst part about it is that I'm realizing the lasting effects of his passing are more subconscious than anything. I have my breakdown moments where I think of him and bawl and go through all my pictures, hoping upon hope that I'll somehow magically find a new one I haven't already looked at a hundred times.... but more often than not, it manifests itself in my lack of motivation or interest in things that used to come so easily to me. Getting in the shower each day may as well be a marathon. And I certainly find it much easier and guilt free to take long naps in the middle of the day. My husband learned long ago that if the bed wasn't made when he got home, it was a day I wasn't to be screwed with. I can't remember the last time I made the bed.

On a different note, remember how I was feeling like I was in a constant skate-stomping-spazz-attack with all of this summer internship recruiting shiz Sam's been going through? Well, after the low point of that post, he pretty much made the recruiting world his b-word and the good news started flowing in like the salmon of Capistrano (name that movie). The culminating point came two weeks ago when he was offered an internship with his top choice firm.

I swear, sometimes I feel so overwhelmed and puffed up with pride in regards to my smarty-pants, uber-talented little lover that I have no choice but to get violent. I can say without hesitation that his internship offer brought with it more relief and gratitude than any bit of news in all my 24 years. In fact, I felt so humbled and unworthy of such good fortune that I actually told Sam that I felt our blessings were too rich and that something terrible had to be lurking around the corner. Turns out I'm so smart I can see into the future!

This last week I sadly began to have a miscarriage just days after finding out I was pregnant. People often trivialize miscarriages because they happen so frequently, but those who have suffered through them know the heaviness and turmoil they bring, both emotionally and physically. This one has been especially taxing on me because it is my fourth.

I don't talk about my miscarriages often because I can't handle the insensitive, jack-ass comments people make about them being commonplace. I don't care how common they are. I don't care how many people have had them. The bottom line is I have had FOUR. That's four perfect little Leahs I have imagined holding in my arms. Four perfect little dreams I have felt slip through my fingertips.

The plus side to these losses is the immense gratitude I feel for my stinky Turkey Sub. Leah gets the worst of it in the form of hugs and kisses that are a little too hard and tight and frequent. I often feel claustrophobic for her... but that doesn't stop me from pinning her down one last time and smashing her face with kisses until she shouts out and tries to take a swing at me. Sorry, Leah. Blame it on your little brothers and sisters who keep head-faking your mother.

And there you have it. My tushy squeezes and face slaps all wrapped up in a pretty little package. I always get a little stumped when I try to wrap up a post like this. Part of me just wants to say, "welp, see ya later!" without any concluding remarks at all. But I will say I'm pleased that Heavenly Father trusts and loves me enough to lob some pretty tough trials in my direction while simultaneously blessing me beyond description. And inside, I know that's exactly how this life is supposed to be.

Thanks for reading.

Oh, and here's a little clip Sam recorded on his phone when he told me he got his internship offer. If you listen closely, you'll hear me say, "I threw up this morning" at the very end. I had, indeed, been throwing up... my announcing it was simply my plea to not be judgy when I realized it was a clip that other people might be seeing. And now I'm sharing it with you. Enjoy!

Afternoon Delight...

I heard some mystery slurping (always cause for alarm when you're a mom) coming from our little dining room area a few minutes ago, and was thrilled to discover The Sub pouring juice on the table and doing this:

(Please excuse my over-enthused-Ursula-the-sea-witch-mom-chuckling)

The face at 38 seconds is the real clencher.

What a lush. I yub her.

My Valentine....

This is the card Sam gave me for Valentine's Day:

Look! He even added little hearts! And an extra "N" to my name! So stinkin' cute!

Strike TWO.

Read strike one here.

1,460 Days and Counting...

Sam and I had only been dating a couple months when we broke up for the first time. We were both prideful and stupid (mostly Sam) and couldn't quite get on the same page.

I remember, after each date, specifically thinking, "Ok, that's the last time I'm gonna go out with him. That was for sure the last time." And I'd puff up my chest and announce to my friends that I wasn't going to hang out with Sam Palmer anymore. And then he'd call me. And my eyes would glaze over and I'd go all "I will kill Frank Drebin" and walk to his apartment.

But finally, I stuck to my guns and we decided to just be friends.

Our "friendship" lasted about three weeks. During those weeks my high school sweetheart-turned-missionary returned home, and I also met and became involved with another young man. I felt serious about the potential of both relationships, and had convinced myself that Sam wasn't the one for me.

In an awkward happenstance, on the evening of Sunday, April 17th, 2005 both my missionary and the new boy I was dating ended up at my apartment at the same time. Missionary arrived first and I didn't know what the crap to do when, shortly after, there was a knock at the door and New Boy bounded in. I soiled my drawers on the spot. And contemplated a fake seizure.

Neither of them really knew who the other was, so I played it cool and introduced them and we spent the next hour or so in a weird sort of suspicious, confused conversation limbo... with me acting like both of them were just buddies of mine so we could technically all be hanging out together. At one point I even pretended to fall asleep.

Maybe if I sit REALLY still, they won't see me. Like T-Rex.

It was a little after 10:00PM when I got a text from Sam asking if we could talk. Ummm, SOLD. Our interactions up to this point hadn't been exactly cordial... and Sam was "Mr. Cool" so him reaching out in this way was a big deal.

So, I left.

And New Boy and Missionary stayed in my apartment. By themselves.

I still get a pit in my stomach when I think of it. But I secretly look up to my single self for being so fabulously beyotchy and bad-A in the name of love.

When I got to Sam's apartment, we fought and cried and laughed and confessed the love. He explained all the I'vebeenafraidyou'dhurtmeI'mscaredoflove adorable reasons he had been acting like such a putz. Which, of course, is manspeak for, "you made me jealous, so I've come to pee on you and mark my territory."And I got all giggly and forgave him instantly.

And we never looked back. And I knew we would be together forever. Because in the company of two men I cared deeply for, one word from Sam sent me running. And we've been running together ever since. From the law.

We were married in the Mount Timpanogos temple 4 years ago today.

Now for the real point.

Sam is the best man I have ever known. He is tender and brilliant and funny. He is the keeper of my secrets and defender of my weaknesses. He is my best friend, the lover of my soul, and the absolute man of my dreams.

Then:

(Actual photo from that fateful morning. I'd been up all night. Don't be judgy)

We made it official:

4 years into it:

Ok, ok, really:

To come:

Happy 4 years, my love.

**Whatever happened to "New Boy" and "Missionary"? Well, in a startling conclusion to this story, when I returned home 4 hours later they were both still in my apartment... spooning on the couch... Just kidding. But they WERE still there. Snoozing away. Ouch. I'm happy to say they are now both happily married.

F.R.I.E.N.D.S.

I'm about to lose my mind. I somehow changed a setting on my camera and I don't know what I did and now all of my pictures end up looking like this:

Mark, Sam, Scott, Lincoln, Carina, Matt, Mimi and Stephanie

*not pictured: Amber, Eryn, Sherrie, Moi and 9 munchkins.

BUT I took a total of three pictures of our Superbowl party last night and this was the best one of the bunch. SO for documentation sake, it's stayin'. Just look at all those gentlemen, sitting on the floor so the wives can have the comfy seats. So sweet.

Oh, and I'm posting this one simply because I like the magic moment that's about to happen between Matt and Mimi. The make out sesh got a little awkward, guys.

Happy Birthday today, Meemers!

I don't have much to say about the night except that it was excellent and I love love love(!) the little family we've formed out here in the ghetto. I've discovered the only thing that really dictates whether or not I like living somewhere is the caliber of friends I make. And these people are the reason I love myself some Chi-ca-ga!

Oh, and whenever you don't drink alcohol and still get someone to throw up purely from treats and excitement, I'd say you threw yourself a good party.

GO SAINTS!

*Seating disclaimer: the wives were all chatting in the other room for a good part of the game, hence the seating arrangement. Our boys really are gentlemen. Sometimes.

Marbles. I've lost my marbles.

Me:

Minus the curlers, apron, and rolling pin. Because there's been no baking and certainly no hairstyling in my house lately. Oh, also add a few pounds. And wipe the lipstick off too.... Turns out I've got nothing on this lady.

I've been a complete psycho wife lately. And I can't really say why. I think most of my general sourness is coming from the lack of fun I've been able to have over these past couple months. Right now Sam is so stressed out (he had 19 FIRST round interviews last week and is just scratching the surface of this forsaken process) that he has had not ONE MINUTE of extra time. Oh, and not ONE SMIDGE of personality left over to toss my eager-waiting-for-your-scraps-desperate-little-wife way. More than anything, I think being at the mercy of all these business school/company beyotches has left me feeling a little out of control.

When I was in 4th grade, my friends and I were enjoying one of many outings to Starlite Skating, a roller skating rink in my home town. Starlite Skating was THE place to be in elementary school... except it was the most delapitated, mangey skating rink imaginable. Complete with old, broken furniture and old record players stored under sheets at one end of the rink. Anyway, we all squealed and high-fived when the skating rink DJ (how can I land m'sef that job) announced it was time for a "girls only" skate. The girls only skate brought me great pleasure... second only to the "snowball" skate where boys lined up on one side of the rink and skated over to take the hand of the girl they wanted to skate with until they were told to switch partners... For some reason, I always thought I looked extra desirable under the illumination of that snowball disco ball.

Anyway, the "girls only" skate was particularly invigorating because all the boys would have to leave the floor and hold their hands out for you to slap as you skated by. It was expected that you emphasize the smack of the hand of the boy you wished to seduce for the evening (locking in the first skate of the snowball) and that night I had set my sights on a boy just over a foot shorter than me, named *Taylor.

I remember it in slow motion... sailing around the curve of the rink past the furniture storage as I approached the line of boys. Hair blowing. The sound of my baggy jeans flapping behind me. I zoned in on Taylor's hand stretched out to me and envisioned the smooth, sexy slap I was going to give it. I wiped my sweaty palms on my jeans and practiced a post-slap wink, just to seal the deal. And then I went for it. And I winked. And instead of slapping, he squeezed my hand for a split second. And it disrupted the flow of my skating. And I lost my balance. And I proceeded to do the try-not-to-biff-arms-flailing-skates-stomping-spaz-out for 15 seconds straight.

Why even try to recover, Vanessa? Why not take a graceful spill and be done with it? Why not turn your fall into an EXTREMELY cool shoot-the-duck skate move? No no, your right, that spastic, near fall, skate stomp recover attempt was better.

And that's exactly how I've been feeling lately. Like I'm in a constant, near-fall, roller skating spaz attack.

My mom always tells me I have to "enjoy the process, not just the arrival." Thanks, mom. I'll remember that. In the mean time, **send some cash, attention, motivation, and happy drugs my way. Thanks.

*Taylor became one of my best friends and his family moved to Utah when we were in 6th grade. We lost touch for 10 years--later reconnecting when I discovered his family lives behind my in-laws in Alpine. During our first conversation as adults, much to my delight, he recounted our little skating incident.

**Mom, I fully recognize I live a charmed life and in no way need to be reminded of how much worse off some people are than me. Merely feeling stinky, and getting over it as I write. No need to alert the troops.

P.S. Is there anything hotter than roller skating?

A rare picture taken of Sam and me the night Leah was conceived:

Just for SLEs

*Serious Leah Enthusiasts

This morning I woke up all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.

"Ok, sweetie. What's today's gameplan?"

"Well, what do you want to do?"

"First I want to go to the gym."

"Ok, go now and we'll do something fun after."

Then I looked out the window and noticed the Chicago skyline was missing:

I did get into my workout clothes. And under a blanket. And into my big recliner chair.

I figure what I really need to accomplish on this dismal, foggy, frigid morning is a little Turkey Sub documentation. She does brighten my day, after all.

Paparazzi stealthily approaches T.S. enjoying favorite show:

T.S. attempts ignoring Paparazzi in hopes Paparazzi will go away:

Paparazzo is undeterred. T.S. flashes Paparazzi "money shot" to placate Paparazzi:

T.S. bares razor-sharp teeth in attempt to intimidate Paparazzi:

Paparazzi heckles T.S. T.S. gets up to regulate on Paparazzi:

T.S. takes sweet time due to general belly size and lack of coordination skills. Paparazzi points and laughs:

Paparazzi stops laughing and vainly attempts to back away to make peace with T.S:

Last image captured on Paparazzi's camera. Paparazzi never seen alive again:

What in the world would I do without this little munchkin?

For those of you who haven't seen her in action, let it be known that I filmed her for 15 minutes straight. You are the lucky recipient of one and a quarter:

P.S. Directly after this video was taken, Sam was feeling a little huffy because Leah was trying to play with him while he was doing homework. Not being one to stand for this type of behavior, I said,

"She's just craving some male attention! She's gonna have to go looking for it on the streets!"

I know how to get what I want.

Random musing, compliments of moi

If you've ever been one to interrupt someone with, "whoa, whoa. TMI!" you and I were probably not meant to be friends. The way I see it, there's no such thing as "too much information." If someone shares something with me, even if it makes me cringe a little (very hard to do), I figure she just needed to get it off her chest, or at least felt close enough with me to share. So I take it as a compliment. And I'm usually thrilled. Because that means it's no holds barred as to what I'm allowed to share.

This is my general rule of thumb. Well, except for one TMI intervention my sister, Meradith, and I had to have with our other sister, Bethany, who, in what can only be described as a fit of turrets, would describe in great detail the presents she would find in her little boy's diaper. It was always the same. We'd be chatting on the phone, she'd mention he was stank, and in a matter of seconds I'd hear, "OH.MY.GOSH....." and the description would begin. The size, amount, color, and texture. And exactly where it was encased. After several appalled discussions about our sister's rank tendency, Meradith and I had to draw the line and threaten her with an impeachment from the sister's club. "Bethany, we need to talk to you about something that has been detrimental to our sisterhood. What you do with this information is up to you, but you have been warned of the consequences." She was exasperated and yelled, "WHAAAAT!? You witches!" We really can't blame her, after three girls, she finally had a boy and just didn't know quite how to handle the surprises that awaited her during each diaper unveiling. Poor little lamb. You may think this story itself is too much information, but if so, again, we probably shouldn't be friends. Oh, and sorry for outing you so publicly, Bethany. You really have come such a long way in regard to your poo fascination.

Those of you who know me well already know this about me. Which means I probably know more than I should about your husband. Or your menstrual cycle. Or whatever. Because, honestly, the things we probably shouldn't talk about are usually the things we really want to talk about.

You probably think this is all some grand build-up to me spewing a bunch of "too much information" on this blog. But no. I don't have anything spicy to share at the moment. I was simply eavesdropping on two ladies chatting in the mailroom today and one of them cut the other off with a snappy, "Whoa! TMI!" and it annoyed me so badly, especially because I could see how stupid it made the girl feel, that I've been stewing about it ever since. And I nearly B-slapped that lady for making her friend feel embarrassed.

I guess I have one little thing I could share before I go, that, if you're a real prude, I guess could be considered TMI. But you'll probably just think it's funny. Leah, who is a late talker, had the greenest poop I've ever seen this morning! Just kidding. Totally kidding. What I wanted to tell you is she's decided that her favorite word, nay, the ONLY word she says with any amount of regularity is the word our family uses for her little girl parts. She says it all day long, dancing around and pointing to the front of her diaper. I'm delighted. Next we're gonna really work with her on the F word.

Moral of the story: if you need a safe place to say something inappropriate, I won't be judgy. Oh, and don't hang out with people who make you feel stupid for things you want to share. Oh, and share more of your juicy secrets with me.

Hair Affair

I'm cutting my hair tomorrow. It's longer than it's ever been in my life... and sometimes I get all big headed about it, like when my sister says I have "mermaid hair." But it's driving me insane.

I've been going for this:

But due to my overall lacking in other areas... as well as my general approach (or lack thereof) to getting ready these days, I've been startlingly more in line with this:

'Cept without all that shine.

Side note--I actually saw Camryn Manheim at Fisherman's Warf in San Francisco when I was in high school. I snuck up and touched the back of her jacket and then told everybody I talked to her.

So anyway, the hair's gotta go. I'm not sure what I want to do yet. Today I was fantasizing about this transformation:

Holy smokes that new blonde hair is so smokin' I can hardly contain myself. But again, I'd probably end up closer to this:

(Demi + Bruce = the most unfortunate combo ever)

SOOO I'm at a loss. And feeling frumpalicious. And may just end up getting a perm.

So Long 2009

You're probably getting sick of me talking about how weird and sad and blah blah blah I feel. So I'm going to try to make this my last weird and sad and blah blah blah post for a while. But mostly just if I don't feel that way for a while. Otherwise there will probably be a few more of these kinds of posts coming your way. But I really do think this will be my last one for now. Maybe.

**Insert: This post didn't end up being that weird and sad and blah blah blah after all so don't you worry.

This holiday season has been weird. Obviously unlike any other I've experienced in my 24 years. Tomorrow we are driving away from Idaho and leaving brings with it some strange feelings. It's not quite bittersweet. I guess bitterrelief would be more appropriate. I am relieved to be headed home, relieved to be kicking 2009 to the curb, and relieved to get back to some semblance of my life before I came here. But it's almost like leaving puts an end to the time we've been able to mourn together... like I'm saying, "Ok Jesse, I'm going home and moving on now." Part of me never wants to move on. Part of me wants to wallow forever.

More than anything I'm sad to be leaving my mom and dad and their home; this little sanctuary I've been snuggled into for the past month. Idaho Falls is such a wintery wasteland (don’t get huffy Idaho, you know I love you) and even though I've been tended to far more than I've been tending over these past few weeks, I keep visualizing my parents here all alone, shivering in the cold... with nothing to eat. For some reason, in my head my leaving translates into the heat not working and the food supply getting cut off. A slightly inflated view of my own importance, but whatever, that's how I see it. And it makes my eyes get all stingy and my throat get lumpy.

What I'm trying to say is that I don't know how to feel about all of this. SO I'm just letting it all jump around in my head and in my heart and now out my fingertips onto this blog post. And you're the lucky beneficiaries.

What I do know for certain is that I've gained 9lbs since I've been here... which definitely tips the scales (pun intended) towards the "bitter" side of this holiday season.

With that said, ahem.

Highlights and Lowlights of December 2009:

Highlights:

• Being with my family for more time than expected (especially Abe and Tiff and Co. who we left in Erie after Thanksgiving and expected not to see again until summer)
• Watching Leah and Lucy love love love and hate hate hate each other
• The gluttony that resulted in 9lb gain
• Going to Heise hot springs and mingling with true blue Idaho White Trash—the most fantastic and lovable of all the white trash variety
• Magical night alone with Sam in Salt Lake
• My dad laughing so hard telling me about his favorite "American's Funniest Video" that Sam thought something terrible had happened and flew (literally flew, like Superman) down the stairs in a panic to check on us (this could also be listed in the lowlight section due to Sam's genuine feelings of terror and subsequent "thought something happened to you" funk)
• Catching my dad kicked back in his leather recliner with not one, not two, but THREE boxes of assorted chocolates
• Pomegranate salad with whip cream. Holy shiz.
• Getting together with the Bischoffs for dinner in Utah—a little reminder of the splendor waiting for us at home in Chicago

Lowlights:

• Finally mustering up the motivation to shower and get ready only to find favorite jeans cutting off circulation due to 9lb gain
• Leah being sick and therefore a needy sleeper (she snores like an obese man, and rubs me up and down all night)
• Smelling like sulfur after Heise hot springs for three days, regardless of showering frequency
• That whole funeral thing (which in and of itself could be a whole list of mostly lows, and a few highs, so I’ll leave it at that)
• My mom getting her second hip replaced (also a highlight due to the interesting and awesome turn our conversations have been taking as soon as her pain meds start kicking in)
• Sam spending literally every extra second on evil school and interview preparations
• Waking up in the middle of the night to find my little niece, Lucy, huddled in the corner of her crib, whimpering away, surrounded by throw-up. Most heartbreaking.thing.ever.
• Not being able to visit Bethany and her family in Arizona as originally planned
• Having to leave

Hmmm… I will no doubt have more to add as I remove myself further from this experience. And in an attempt to keep things light, I’m glossing over some of the real significance of this season. I hope that’s obvious. But there you have it. If you’re lucky I just might share my list of New Year’s resolutions!

A few pictures to illustrate:

You'd think this picture was posed for a "hip replacement and you" brochure, but no. I simply stumbled upon her catching up on some helpful literature. She's a good girl.

Grammy's house is full of interesting nooks and crannies. The best part was sending Lucy down the hill behind my parent's house in that little plastic bowl. She loved it.

Leah loves planting her sizable tush anywhere and everywhere she sees fit. And she seems to think she fits in Lucy's lap quite well.

Lucy begs to differ.

Poppa and the Turkey Sub and a little squishing

Plotting something evil...

Loving...

And hating...

I love this picture simply because of Lucy's serene face in the background, admiring her cousin's handy work as she bludgeons her mother...

These two frolicked in the snow for about 3 seconds before....

Taking a spill and demanding to be taken inside.

Leah only loved her first encounter with the snow a little bit...

You can probably tell by the lame captions I am leaving that I've lost my blogging motivation and am distracted by the task of packing up a month's worth of pig sty in the bedroom we've been staying in. SO, I'll stop now.

See you in Chicago!

Fasten your seatbelts ladies and gents, it's gonna be a bumpy ride...

This is gonna be one of those posts. You know the ones you write late at night and aren't sure if you're actually going to publish? And you wait to reread the next morning and realize you sound completely crazy. Or unstable. Or judgmental. Or whatever. At least more so than you care to let people know about? And then you're completely relieved that you had the soundness of mind to keep yourself from pressing "publish" the night before whilst in the midst of your (in this case) emotional purging? Do you know what I'm talking about? Well, this is gonna be one of those...

I'm feeling sad tonight. I don't know what happened. I was laying upstairs putting Leah to bed and it's like I suddenly became keenly aware, for the first time, of what has happened over the last couple of weeks.

I've been congratulating myself for how strong I've been through all of this... how amazingly well I've been handling it all, and I've been so thankful for feelings of peace and hope for the future. But tonight it feels like all of that has just been some subliminal protection... like my brain built a fortress around my heart, keeping reality at bay until my heart had time to ready the troops. But I don't feel like my troops are ready.

I guess I don't really have anything else to say about it. Just that I'm sad. And I miss Jesse. And I wish I knew what he was thinking and feeling right now. I kiiinda think he may be a smidge happy I'm feeling sad tonight, cause I'm pretty sure he hasn't felt like I've been giving him quite enough attention. And even though he has much more important things to think about, I secretly hope he does feel that way. Because it makes me feel good to think that maybe he's thinking about me.

Maybe I'll try to cheer myself up by telling you about my weekend with Sam in Salt Lake with no Turkey Sub. It was magical. And I even have some pictures to share.

Don't hate me for the abrupt change of subject. Sometimes I like to pack as much as I possibly can into one blog post in the spazziest way possible. And I really do think it will lift my spirits. So here I go.

Sam left Idaho immediately following Jesse's funeral and flew back to Chicago to take his finals. After that, he flew to Boston for 3 days to make the rounds at a few companies of interest, and then on to LA to do the same. The whole time I was in Idaho Falls with my parents and Leah, missing my husband somethin' fierce! SOOO, I planned a little weekend getaway for his arrival.

We left Leah for the night with Mera and Jason. Officially the first time I've left her overnight with anyone. I spent the night clutching a pillow and crying out her name. False. It was a little bit more like skipping through the streets, head thrown back in maniacal laughter, shouting, "I'm Free! I'm FREEEEEEE!!!"

We drove up to SLC, but not without first giving a crazy a ride to the Provo library. You'd think all of our time in San Fran would have hardened us to the hobo variety. But no. We are super loving and compassionate. And she said, "pretty please."

We officially started out our weekend together by renting "Star Trek" in our hotel room. We still had a couple of hours until anything we had planned started and there's nothing more relaxing and lazy than watching a movie mid day. It was glorious.

We ventured off to temple square once it got dark and elbowed our way through the crowds

(good grief) to try to get a few pictures. I was quite dismayed with how grumpy everyone was about taking pictures... so most of ours ended up being self-portraits like these:

This little gem was tickling the ivories in the JSB all night.

After about 15 minutes of being annoyed with the people at temple square, we made our way to the Melting Pot for a little fondue extravaganza. So excellent. And we closed the place down, what about bob-ing after each bite.

When we walked back to our hotel there was, as with any nice hotel on a Saturday night in SLC, a bride and groom arriving. We ended up in the elevator with them and Sam generously offered a few pointers for the wedding night. He's so thoughtful. And they really appreciated it....

Just kidding. In all actuality there were crickets chirping the entire elevator ride... especially since the only luggage they had with them was a huge basket full of whip cream...and cheese whiz.

The next morning we headed over to the Grand America for their legendary brunch. Seriously, I've never seen so much food in my life. I highly recommend it if you're feeling a little fancy and a lotta hungry.

Sadly, this is the only picture I took:

There was simply too much gluttony going on to be bothered with picture taking. And I think we must have each had about 10 plates.

After brunch we drove home to the loving arms of our little Turkey Sub. It was a much needed break, and an even much-er needed diversion. So thanks for reading about it.

Yes, I'm feeling better already.