Some racing, some stopping

Well, yesterday was rainy.  I wish I could tell you that I was brave and resilient and came home and cleaned the bathroom and went to the gym.  Instead I am fragile.  You have to be gentle.  I complained ((a little)) and turned on itunes and made bread.  


Today was, in a word, better.  This morning, I took one look at weather.com  and said, "Today, I shall wear a skirt and take lots and lots of pictures."  


And by golly, I delivered.  


Today was the kind of day that made me enjoy my afternoon commute.  This does not happen very often to no one's fault but my own.  I need to make a more of an effort at that whole bloom-where-you're-planted thing.  A good car ride nonetheless. 

Who doesn't love lots of CD's and a new pack of string cheese!?!?!?!








Also, while I was driving, I accidentally swallowed an entire cheerio.  You'll be happy to know it was not as terrifying as I thought it was going to be whilst it was in the middle of happening.  Thank goodness.  

I have always been a sucker for skirts with pockets.  Yes, please.  

I have been daydreaming about 80 degree weather and this sweet face.  

This last pair reminds me of that old verse in Isaiah about getting beauty for ashes.  Cause you know, it's so true.  

Love, Love, Love, H. 

Sisters & Sinuses apparently don't mix.

"Remember when we would pick up aunt pat at the airport and buy candy buttons?  Call me if you have time.  I made a cave, and I miss you"  




Ack.  A text from Sweet Heather-Marie who is currently on her way to Bermuda.  I miss this face so much and am anxiously counting the days until her tanned return.  

Also, my grades are due and I seem to have acquired a sinus infection.  It will probably be 9 years until you hear from me again.  Okay, not really, but still.  


Complain, complain.  


Love, H.  

Having a bad day?

Here.  This will help. :)  On repeat mostly 24-7 for the past 2 days cause you know it's so true.  Love, H.  

Boys Don't Cry

Tonight I am going to make some sort of egg-potato-ham-fritata and not worry  try not to worry about the housework.  (((sigh))) Life is too short. Does anyone else have this problem? 


I just hit itunes "shuffle" and lo and behold, its The Cure.  


It's going to be okay, kids.  It's going to be okay. :)  


Apparently, Boys Don't Cry.  Neither do girls with messy houses.  


Love, H.  

No Sunlight

The other night, I drove with the sunroof open and sang a long to Deathcab's "No Sunlight" and appreciated the irony.  

I remember being 23 and DESPERATELY wanting out of the Midwest.  And then I turned 24, and God said, "Stay."  


Now, at 27 (and 11 months), I can say (with a little bit of shock and whole lot of sincerity) that I love living in Ohio because of nights exactly like this. 


Love, H. 

Swim until you can't see the land

I have discovered that I love prunes. Don't hate.  I put them in the same category as Clementines.  Fruit that doubles as dessert.  Look for them in the raisin aisle. They look like this.  

Your life will never be the same.

I have been quite a gym rat the past few days, and I.Love.It.  However, everything hurts.  And I do mean everything....so tonight, I swam laps in the pool and loved every minute of it.  No impact...just the water.  I got in, waist deep and actually sighed, "hmmmm....."  once my feet hit the bottom.  And then I actually started to swim...now, that is HARD work!

 My goggles fogged, as almost all goggles usually do (right?).

Life was blurry.

I have always loved water and am a decent swimmer.  When I was little, the stages of development in my family were as follows:

sit up. walk. run. swim.

 It came as second nature to us.  I never remember LEARNING to swim.  I just remember...swimming.  

However, tonight, I couldn't seem to keep my head IN the water.  Any semi-experienced swimmer will tell you that things go much smoother if you just dunk your head every once in a while.

But tonight, I was having a hard time remembering to breathe.  This is true in life as well, I suppose.

I still ache, but I feel good.  Tired.  But the good kind of tired.

Before the gym, we went to look at Guitars.  That's right, with a capital "G."

On the way there, Tim commented on my driving (twice!) and I pouted like a Big Fat Baby.  Then I saw him hold a BreedLove and he made The Face He Always Makes While Playing Acoustics.  He looks so relaxed.  Like he is thinking really hard, but not in a way that is 'work.' Do you know what I mean?  He looks calm.

Then I started wondering if that is the way he will look when he bottle feeds our babies and my heart softened and we did that

"I'm sorry."

"No, I'm sorry."

thing that couples sometimes do and everything was okay again.

I have come to the conclusion that Good Photography is maybe 20% skill, 10% good equipment, and 70% Opportunity.  The Fine Art of Being at the Right Place at the Right Time.

Time will tell.


Love, H. 

Now I find I've changed my mind and opened up the doors.

There is lots to say but not the means to say it.  I feel like, ever since I got sick last week, things are still fuzzy.  I hope it gets better.  


When I was at my miserable-est (that's right.)  I decided that while I was sick, I was going to learn something.  Anything.  And I did.  


Sometimes, you have to ask for help.  I am terrible at this.  Asking for help is hard, as is delegating.  You have to admit that you are a tad bit helpless and that you simply can't do it on your own.  It is incredibly humbling and my pride is often heavier than a piano.  It is hard to move aside.  


With that being said, my mom came over and cleaned my house.  I sat on the couch and watched Dress My Nest while covered up with a blanket. She chatted away happily from the other room, and when she left, my bathroom sparkled, and I cried.  Tim was working like a dog. I was SICK as a dog. I was grateful for the help...and honestly still am.   


But the lesson was, unfortunately, short-lived. 


Last night, I came home and puttered around in the kitchen.  I gave Beezus some seeds and went back to the kitchen. After a few minutes, I noticed that he hadn't climbed out of his little hole to eat (and he always climbs out of his little hole).  


I took a closer look, and there he was, stiff and cold and 'sleeping' in his little nest.  


Beezus was dead.  


I cried my head off while Tim loudly played guitar in the other room.  I had no clue what to do with a dead mouse.  The crummy thing about being an adult is that when your pets die, there is no one there to flush/bury/dispose of them for you.  You have to be brave.  You have to do it yourself, and from my experience, you are a little worse off for it.  


I went through 1,000 different scenarios in my head, trying to find the most respectful/least traumatic way to 'bury' him without actually having to BURY him at 10:30 at night.  I decided to dump him, shavings and all, in a small gift bag and place him in the trash.  I worried that if I sat him outside, something would 'get him' which in hindsight, seems a bit silly.  I closed the trash can lid, and in a shaky voice, mustered the words, "I love ya' Beez."  and went inside.  I'm sure the neighbors think I'm crazy. 


Later, I had a conversation with Tim about it, and he said things like, "I could have helped you.  You have to tell me these things.  I could have been there."  


And I realized that when we DON'T let ourselves ask for help, we rob other people of the chance to be Jesus.  We rob them of the opportunity to bring us love and joy and comfort.  


I don't end up protecting myself.  I end up hurting even more in the long run.  


Yipes.  Good lessons are hard.  


So, this is Beezus.  He was a super fantastic guy who loved running and baked cheetos and dog food and had a crooked tail.  He taught me how to say the word, "Help," and I have to believe he is somewhere warm and happy and good surrounded by sunflower seeds and no cats.  

In other news, my car hit 100,000 miles, and I happened to look down EXACTLY as it happened.  Boo for technology as I accidentally took a "video" instead of a picture on my phone.  Rats-Rats-double rats. By the time I got it figured out, 100,001 miles didn't seem quite as picture-worthy.  


On the rest of the way to work, I thought about those 100,000 miles and had to smile.  Here's to 100,000 more.  


Well, per usual, you've been excellent readers.  As promised, here is a sight I spied in Kroger the other day.  A chicken bone on top of a danish.  It was one of those sights that is equally disturbing as it is intriguing.  Who would do such a thing?  And we wonder why we have super-bugs like MRSA and H1N1.  Gross double Gross-Gross.  

Feeling better and better everyday, even as we speak. :)   


Love, H. 

I always fall in love with an open door.

I will tell you a few quick things.  


Last week I got sicker than a dog. More sick than I have ever been before.  (hence the severe lack of posts)


I am better now.  


Tonight, I ate Mexican Food with people I will probably know and love for forever.  


Afterwards, Tim & I wandered around Kroger and talked about our dream houses using the aisles and pop cans as props.  Tim's included a tower and a spiral staircase.  Mine included a tree-lined driveway, window seat, and a downstairs laundry room cause I'm practical like that. :) 


During this adventure, I also saw something I have never seen before in my entire life, and it really grossed me out.  I took a picture.  If you stick around and promise to be good, I will show it to you later.  


I think I look a little like the 1940's and a lot like my mom in this picture.  


I am listening to the hum of the fish tank and daydreaming about planting zinnias in the front yard.  Red to match the door.  


Love, H.