Tuesday, June 25, 2013


Ok, this may come as a shock to some of you, but I'm not a very passionate person. I greatly admire anyone who is, but me, meh...

It takes a lot of time and energy to be passionate and lately, I haven't had much of either, but that's besides the point, my attention span is much to small to be passionate.

I love people who are passionate and utterly and completely committed to a cause or way of life. Well, as long as it's positive, there are some pretty passionate hateful people out there. You know, like the KKKK, Ku Klux Klan for Kats, if you watch Glee you get it (not that I watch Glee much, but that part cracked me up and so did the line about Dolphins being gay sharks...). I just can't for the life of me understand how people can put sooooo much energy into hating someone or a group of someones. If I don't like someone, I'm like "meh..." and I move on. I have too much going on to focus on no liking them.

Anyway, I have a friend who is passionately against Monsanto and GMO's (I know that sounds negative, but if you read about GMO's at all, you'll see why it's a good thing and why you can't eat anything anymore).  Anyway, I look at her and I'm like, "I don't think I could ever be that passionate about anything." Not only is she passionate about it, she lives it. She's unwavering and I think that's awesome.

There have been occasions where I have been moderately passionate about a topic, but here's what happens, I get really excited, tell everyone about it, try to convince everyone how great (insert idea, product, supplement, TV show here) is and then I sort of forget about it. Then inevitably someone asks me, "Hey how's (whatever it was) going?" and I'm like, crap.... "Who are you, my accountability partner?" Well, not really, I wouldn't actually say that, but that's what I'm thinking because no matter how great whatever it was is, I eventually get to the point of "meh."

That's terrible, I know, but "meh." I can't even get passionate about not being passionate. :)

to the moon and back,

Tuesday, June 11, 2013

My thighs touch

Life gets heavy (as my cousin-in-law states in her blog) and I feel it's been extra heavy lately, so I am here to lighten it up a bit, at least metaphorically, because I'm talking about thick thighs and technically, that, too, would be heavy...

Last night, I had planned on writing this blog but switched topics when our dinner out was derailed by an oblivious mom. So, even though you were probably hoping I forgot, I am going to take on this highly controversial topic because I am a giver. Guys (if there are any guys who read this), you can stop reading here. You won't understand and it will probably make you uncomfortable.

And now... without further ado here's what I think about my thighs touching...

I hate it, but probably not for the reason that you think. I don't need that gap between my thighs that uber skinny girls get to validate my existence. (If you have the "gap", yay for you, I ain't hatin') Also, I'm not saying that I am fat (10 or 20 lbs heavier than I'd like to be, yes, but fat, no). (Note: this post is riddled with sarcasm, it's who I am, people!)

Reasons why I hate that my thighs touch:

  1. It that means I can't actually wear running shorts to run. Why? Because A. my shorts creep up (yea, I know TMI, but you asked) and I'm constantly fighting a losing battle to keep them down and B. because running, with thighs that touch, with out some sort of chaffing cream or ointment (ugh, that word grosses me out) is super uncomfortable and jeopardizes future runs because of injury. So... it's yoga pants or running capri's for me.
  2. I can't wear my running shorts when biking. Why? See the answer to #1. Believe it or not it happens while biking too.
  3. I can't wear shorts any shorter than mid thigh, which is generally appropriate in most situations, however, when I go to the beach, shorter (not micro) shorts would be nice so I can get a little sun. Why can't I? See the answer to #1.
  4. Summer dresses are uncomfortable. Why? See the answer to #1B. That means that pantyhose (nasty invention) or some sort of spanx are in order to prevent chaffing and then, really, what's the point? Summer dresses are supposed to be cool, and all of those undergarments kill that idea.
  5. Corduroy pants are out of the question... Can we say "friction fire"? Ok, so there haven't been a lot of corduroy pants that I just couldn't live without, but I'd like the option in case I want to try to fit in with the preppy set of the 80's or the grunge crowd of the 90's.
That's all I can think of for now. I don't actually sit around all the time criticizing my thighs. All of the points above actually came about from a conversation with friends the other day. 

And finally, Taylor, this one's for you...
to the moon and back,


Ok, so tonight I was going to blog about how my thighs touch (ridiculously obvious after our bike ride tonight), riveting stuff here, I know, but then we had a late dinner and we witnessed an utterly oblivious mom. Jon and I just sat there, speechless. (Quite frankly, I'm amazed that Jon didn't offer to teach her how to discipline her children. I can only imagine the amount of restraint he practiced.

It started when we were walking in, the mother of a teenager and 2 younger (maybe 7 & 2) girls was walking in before us. She looks down at the youngest and says "Ugh, where are your shoes? You can't go in without shoes." Ok, that's not bad. I see how that happens, especially with Moose's tendency to lose his flip flops.

After we order, we decide to sit outside (mainly because it was like a meat locker inside). The teenage daughter was already sitting outside with the two younger girls. The teenager was texting or facebooking or something, regardless, she was completely ignoring the girls who were playing in the bushes, pulling off limbs (not just leaves) and throwing them in the outside dining area.

Soon the mom made it out and put their food on the table. The youngest immediately grabbed her moms bowl of food and dumped it on the table. The teen never even looked up and the mom yelled at the little girl. The mom went back in and got more food and came back out. She sat down and started talking to the teenager. While she was talking, the youngest wast literally climbing up the pole of the big umbrella cover our 2 tables. The middle child was dipping her fingers in her sour cream and was painting her whole side of the table. The youngest sits down and starts crumpling up napkins and throwing them across the area.

The mom kept talking to the teenager, never even looked at the little ones. The middle child asked the mom a question about 5 times and the mom never even acknowledged that she was talking. The middle one then said "I just don't know why you can't answer me." The youngest came back to the umbrella pole and continued climbing. Then the middle child walked to their car and the youngest followed. This time the teenager yelled for her to stop (she didn't) then chased after her, brought her back, tossed her on the moms lap and said "Here's your flippin' kid".

At this point, the mom was doing something on her phone and refused to look up for anything. The youngest was bouncing from table to table, trying to follow her sister back into the restaurant. Once or twice the mom called her name and asked her to stop without looking up from her phone. At one point the youngest was walking back to the outdoor dining area from their truck by herself while her mom was still on her phone at the table. No one was watching her at this point. Then she sat back down and started breaking up her chips and throwing them on the floor while the 7 year old was flinging her food with her fork.

We were completely in shock. I mean, I totally understand being overwhelmed and frustrated, but this woman didn't seem like that at all, she was just oblivious. Whatever was on her phone was more important that even the safety of her kids. Maybe I'm just a helicopter mom because I don't take my eye off of Moose when we are out and he certainly isn't allowed to go anywhere without us out in public.

I know, that there are two sides to every story, maybe she was having a bad day, maybe she was texting about something very important (I doubt it though, because a couple times she mentioned the "drama" she was dealing with from earlier), but for the sake of those around you who have also paid to eat out, please keep an eye on your children and try (or at least pretend) to keep them under control.

I'm sorry if I sound unreasonable and/or judgmental, but you just had to see it to grasp the ridiculousness of it.

to the moon and back,

Saturday, June 8, 2013

Getting Dolled Up

I don't really remember playing dress up much when I was little, which isn't surprising because I don't remember much of growing up. At least not on my own, anyway. When some one says "Hey remember when we use to play band in your living room and you played the laundry basket drums with books for cymbals?" I'm like, "Oh, yea, I totally forgot about that!" But heaven forbid I have to recall something on my own.

Anyway, back to dressing up...

I may not (or lets face it, may have) played dress up much as a child, but now I love to dress up. There is nothing better than an amazing pair of heels with a fierce dress, or a cute pair of boots with a dark colored skinny jean and a trendy top, ahhh if only I was rich with an unending wardrobe.

I like feeling girly and I like feeling pretty. Who doesn't? When I look good and am dressed up, my day seems to go better. I can take on the world with a sass that is just unrivaled. Look at me all looking good and stuff, oh yea.

I often wish that I lived in an era where it was appropriate to leave my house dressed to the nines just to go grocery shopping. I would have been that 50's housewife in my a-line skirt and apron. Super sexist, ultra un-feminist, ehh, so what. It is what it is, or rather, I am what I am.

With all of that being said, I am not naive enough to think that if I actually lived in the above described era, that I wouldn't get tired of dressing up all the time and want to live in an era where it's perfectly acceptable to leave the house in yoga pants. I also know for a fact that I am just too lazy to dress up and do my hair and make-up, and shave, and blah blah blah.... Every.Stinkin.Day.

Do you see my quandary? I need to be fancy and cute and girly, but my want for an extra 15 30 40 minutes of sleep far out weighs that need.

to the moon and back,

Wednesday, June 5, 2013


In between my morning job and cleaning job this afternoon, I got a call from my mom. "Jen, I'm in the ER with your dad, can you come get Moose from me, he's getting kid of restless." Umm... excuse me? ER?

Now, a little background on my mom. She's a rock in situations like this, real even keeled. Me, not so much (I don't do well in emergencies). Anyway, mom gets through these situations and is super strong, then when they are over, she takes her moment to break down.

Me "Why is dad in the ER?"
Mom "He was lightheaded at work and having problems remembering things and he kept zoning out. It might be mini strokes."
Me "Ok, I'll be there right away. Is he ok?"
Mom "He seems to be, they are running tests."

So, I rearranged my day and headed to the hospital. My dad is going to give me a heart attack, this isn't his first emergency.

I called Jon on my way there, I was a mess on the phone. I couldn't stop crying. I was praying, crying, texting, praying, crying, facebooking. Not my safest trip somewhere, but I needed prayers for my dad.

I got to the hospital, made my way to his room, rushed in and gave him the biggest hug and just lost it.

They had already done an EKG and blood work. They still planned on doing at least a cat scan. He was also hooked up to an IV with fluids because of mild dehydration. They weren't sure what had happened, but they mentioned mini strokes. My dad was hoping it was just anxiety from dealing with the end of the year inventory at the school. Mom said that he was very disoriented when she got to the hospital, but by the time I got there he was much more lucid.

After the cat scan they decided to do an MRI. The doctor also ordered a sonogram to look at his carotid arteries and an echocardiogram.

And so we waited... and waited... and waited. The nurse came in at 3:30 and asked if the doctor had talked to us. We said no. She replied "Oh, well he was supposed to, but I think he's gone for the day now." What? Really? I mean I guess it wasn't life threatening, because I assume he would have come in, but really, who knows.

My dads friends, Tom & Sandra, came by to pray with him and I can't tell you how much that meant.

The nurse informed us that they were going to keep my dad over night for observations and to get those other 2 tests done. My dad wasn't thrilled, but we didn't give him a choice. She also told us that they were having a neurologist do a consult.

They moved my dad up to a room and the neurologist came in and did a few memory tests and a few physical tests (for strokes). He passed both tests. (I even had a hard time with the memory one!) The Dr said that it could have been a mini stroke which would have effected his memory and made him light headed and spacey; however, he's know more after reading the MRI.

So now we wait... and wait... and wait for answers. I pray with all my heart that it's something minor that can easily be fixed.

I know that I'll never be ready to lose him, but I'm really not ready, yet. He's still so young and has many, many, many more years left.

So, for now, I leave you with this poem I wrote for him for his birthday years ago:

Dad you’ll never realize
The times I cherished being with you
It was late night plays, weekend matinees
And Chinese lunches, too
It was baseball games
Those many nights
Arena football
And hockey fights
It was actions, cuts and strike the sets
It was props and wardrobes , too
It was Dracula and the Pajama Game
And just spending time with you
It’s the way you’ve always loved me
Whether I deserved it or not
You make me feel so grateful
That I thank God for what I’ve got
I hope you have a great day
Celebrating your birth
I hope that at least one person
Tells you how much your worth

to the moon and back,