An ode to all of my daughter's awkward sleeping positions

There's something about a sleeping baby. Especially if said baby has the propensity to sometimes "raise a little hell" whilst awake. My little one oft times loves to nap with an entourage of stuffed animals... and always manages to sleep in interesting contortions. So, without further ado, I present some of my favorite nap time photos:

Also, this post-nap shot...

I mean... I totally love this kid.

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The one where I write about the Cocomotion

A lot of things (moving! holidays! weddings!) have been going on lately, some of which I may end up documenting at a later date. In the meantime, here is my ode to the one, the only, Cocomotion. Because most some days I need a little chocolate pick-me-up and a lot of warm beveragey goodness. 

[I mean, 7 degrees is on another level of coldness... especially when the only insulation in your roof is saw dust and you have no weather stripping on your front door. And yes, I guess saw dust is actually considered to be insulation in some delusional circles.]

Anyway, here is my step-by-step process of how to make "Cocomotion," which is called such because it is so highly superior to its "hot chocolate" counterparts that it deserves its own classification. 

Step One: Assemble your ingredients 

Skim milk (preferably from happy, non hormone-riddled cows) | Personalized mug (optional) | Cocomotion (duh) | High-quality cocoa powder | Nutella (mainly because it's awesome, and also because it's super fattening, thereby thoroughly delicious)

Step Two: Pour one (or more) mugful(s) of milk into the Cocomotion

"I'm extra frothy because I'm from a happy(ish) cow," said the milk.

Step Three: Add four tablespoons of cocoa powder/per mugful of milk to the Cocomotion

It's not a secret that I like my chocolate dark. Real dark.

Step Four: Add a heaping (and I do mean heaping) spoon of Nutella to the milk/cocoa powder mixture

 Happiness in a spoon. 

 Step Five: Push the "on" button and watch the Cocomotion in action

In a matter of minutes, it goes from swirly... 

to serious. 

Step Six: When the Cocomotion stops, pour contents into mug, and pause to admire the frothiness  

... which may or may not be amplified by a personalized mug. 

 Step Seven: Enjoy standing at your kitchen counter, accompanied by a fancy lunch

The remnants of last week's arugula in the original package, tossed in a delicate infusion of olive oil and balsamic  vinegar. Delicious and, I would argue, fancy.

Some things I know (right now)

1. The recent recurrence of my age-old insomnia issue is not awesome. Not awesome at all.

2. Magnum Minis are going to be the death of my waistline. And thighs. And other stuff that has the potential to become jiggly.

3. The reason I am not officially tied to either political party is because I don't feel like I fit into either party's "box." It's strangely liberating and frustrating all at once.

4. Speaking of the dreaded "p" word, why all the negativity and vitriol this election season? Can't we all (try) to get along? Or at the very least, "agree to disagree?" Think about it people: if I can be friends with Red Sox fans, anything is possible. (Please note the humor that has been injected to lighten the mood. Giggles regarding the aforementioned humor-injection are also appreciated.)

5. Motherhood has severely inhibited my vocabulary (not to mention my ability to pronounce said vocabulary). Unless it's Sesame Street's "word on the street," it's probably no longer in my purview. (Not that I let my child watch mind-numbing TV or anything...)

6. I really enjoy freelancing. And I'm really glad that I have been provided the opportunity to do so.

7. College doesn't seem that long ago. But it was.

8. It both terrifies and intrigues me that my daughter is exhibiting my stubborn streak. It's like she's one going on sixteen. Yeah.

9. Season 4 of "So You Think You Can Dance?" was the best season. Hands down. They probably should have just stopped at that point. But I'm kind of (sort of glad) they didn't.  

10. I am still convinced that the camper parked outside of my building is a moving meth lab (sans Walt and Jesse, I'm afraid). And I'm 99.9% sure that its tenant used our bushes for some bathroom time the other day. Which maybe means that I'm (almost) ready to move back to the 'burbs. Almost.  

An Ex Playlist

I don't know about you, but I tend to associate certain events, periods, people, etc. in my life with certain music. For instance, Maps is always going to be that song that I played driving through my Provo neighborhood during that last summer of college with my windows rolled down whilst singing at the top of my lungs. And anything by Regina Spektor (among many other things) is going to take me back to when I was dating and falling in love with the Gregory.

To add humor to my nostalgia, I thought it would be an interesting exercise to comb through my (short) list of exes (not to mention a few guys I sincerely thought about dating then decided against it, along with some ex-crushes, so it's not five songs long) and create a playlist of sorts. All parties have been given a pseudonym to protect the innocent. (Or the not-so-innocent. Ahem.)

And may I just add that some of these are thoroughly embarrassing... so no judging, mmk pumpkins?

Here we go...

Lead Singer: Faith - Limp Bizkit
Aqua Di Gio: Stellar - Incubus 
Captain of the Football Team: I Wanna Be With You - Mandy Moore
The Bad Boy: It's Over Now - 112
The Cheater: Fake Plastic Trees - Radiohead [See also: In Da Club - 50 Cent]
The Outdoorsman: Like a Stone - Audioslave
Mr. Iteration: Can U Handle It? - Usher [See also: Naughty Girl - Beyonce]
The Deadbeat: Sweetness - Jimmy Eat World
This Guy: Run It - Chris Brown
The Jogging Hipster: Dear John - Ryan Adams and the Cardinals (featuring Norah Jones) [See also: Ring of Fire - Johnny Cash]
This Guy: 7 Days - Craig David [See also: Craig David, and more Craig David]
The Mentor: Too Young - Junior Boys

[Post Script: A lot of these are pretty darn ironic if you think about it. Just saying...]

The one where I keel over in exhaustion

You. Guys.

I am nearing the point where I know I will (figuratively) hit the wall. (I say figuratively, since I literally hit some wall or another every 1.45 days on average. Literally.) There's only so much a person can take on at once before said person (again, figuratively) explodes. (Luckily, I do not literally explode every 1.45 days on average. Because that seems like it would be quite painful. Not to mention messy.)

I am the type of person that thinks she can take on an inordinate amount of tasks and do them all perfectly and on time. Regretfully, this is not the case. As much as I hate to admit it, it's just not physically possible.

The sad part? There are so many more things I'd like to be able to do. So many more things on my to-do list that haven't even been thought about. And yet there's a part of me that knows that this time won't last forever. In fact, it will fly by. So as close as I am to that wall, I am grateful for this day, for this phase of my life.

Because, all craziness aside, it's a pretty great phase.

I am one lucky human, let me tell you what.

Holy balls...

today had its way with me. And not in a good way.

Let's just say it was an cannoli, eclair AND hot chocolate kind of day. 

Yeesh.

Reticent vegetarianism, the holidays and why I spelled my child's name with an "f" and not a "ph"

Time seems to be passing at an accelerated rate these days. Which, in my mind, is pretty bat sh*t crazy. Which shouldn't be confused with ape sh*t crazy, because, let's be honest, that's soooo 2007.

Anyway.

Did you know that BYU-Idaho just banned skinny jeans? I. mean. really. This is one small step toward totalitarianism, one giant leap to ridiculousness. And is also bat sh*t crazy. Or maybe ape sh*t crazy since it took them so long to ban something that has been on-trend for at least two years.

I digress.

Some monumental changes are afoot. First off, I, after reading this book, have decided to become a vegetarian. Well almost. Let's just say I'm a flexitarian for the time being, with the aspiration to one day achieve vegetarianism. Unless salami is involved. Or bacon. Kidding. (Kind of.)

A couple of holidays have also transpired since last I wrote, and since I have a kid now, I guess I need to be making a bigger deal about them. Though Halloween has always been a fav of mine. Let's just say my child was a darling little witch, and that the included photos were actually taken on Thanksgiving because I didn't get a decent photo on the actual day. But hey, better late than never, right?

Is she posing for this one? I'd like to think so.

Thanksgiving also happened, turkey-less this year. (But, to be honest, I have never really cared for turkey that much anyway. I'm more of a sweet potato/stuffing/pecan pie girl myself.) It was held at my parentals home, and was quite the event. Thankfully, my sister captured this pic, because I am terrible and didn't break out my camera. Or iPhone.

Sporting Missoni for Target, because she can.

Since we're on the subject of Italian designers (you know, because of the caption above?) I guess this would be the appropriate time to discuss the spelling of my daughter's name. It's S-o-f-i-a. Not S-o-p-h-i-a. The reasons for this are simple really. We (meaning the husb and I) decided to give her the Italian spelling of the name that we decided suited her best. I've loved this name since high school, probably because at the time it seemed both classic and unique (re: Bella). In my mind's eye back then, I thought I would have two little dark-haired girls and name them Bella and Sofia. I realize that in recent years there has been a resurgence of popularity with this name, but honestly it was a perfect fit. And you can't beat an alliterative name. (Coming from someone with a formerly alliterative name, I can assure you it's amazeballs. Which should not be confused with "amazenuts" because that's just crass.)

And now I leave you. Because there's some mushroom risotto leftovers with my name on it. With a side of bacon. Kidding. (For reals this time.)

What typically happens when someone tries to take my picture (especially these days)...

Lovely, isn't it?

I should be a part-time model or something. 

Since I should probably get a post in before January concludes...

Well kids, things have been a little crazytown this past month. In both good and terrible ways. And when I think about the fact that I haven't even blogged about the amazeballs Brandon Flowers concert that transpired on November 17, I get a little panicked. My hope is that I can provide some posts of a more substantial nature soon, but I'm not making any promises. Until then, here's a "Happy Friday" quote from me to you:

"If you don't know where you are going,
you'll end up some place else."
 
Yogi Berra

True, yes?

And, for good measure, here's a pretty picture to enjoy (taken by my fav, Kenna, because, let's be honest, I'm not that good of a photographer):

The tale of the pilfered pen

This week, I spent some time working at a conference for my work. (The details of which are not necessarily pertinent to this story.)

Anyway, our booth was quite busy, and a woman walked up to me and asked if she could borrow the double-ended Sharpie (don't you just love those?) that my team was using. Thinking she was participating in the activity that was currently underway at our booth, I assented. To my mounting dismay, she replied, "I'll bring it back in five minutes."

With that, she disappeared.

After an HOUR and a HALF, my coworker was walking to another booth and saw our culprit (who immediately left her booth and failed to meet my compatriot's stare). My coworker then went to the vacated booth, and saw this:

just sitting out in plain sight, mocking us. (Seriously, she was literally two booths over from us the whole time and had just left our Sharpie abandoned at her booth, an hour and twenty-five minutes after she said she'd bring it back.)

So we decided to initiate a little reconnaissance/recovery mission. It went a little something like this:

 
And that's how we got our Sharpie back.

The End.

Um, so ok... I realize this is bordering on the ridiculous.

I have become a sporadic blogger. There are worse things to become, to be sure, but it's still an insult to my former 5-post-per-week self. Because one day I think it would be meaningful (to me) to have said posts compiled into a volume or two. To be put on the shelf with all of my high school and college journals (there are seven or so). To know what I was thinking when, to remember the context in which I was thinking it. To date, I have four incomplete posts sitting in my inbox. Just germs of ideas, but there nonetheless. Waiting to be deleted or finished. It changes from day to day.

In my case, the more I've needed to write for work, the less I feel inclined to write here. Not because I have less to say, but because I feel a bit drained. I see my words on the screen and feel they are too self-serving, insignificant to throw out into the void of the interwebs. I wonder why I feel the need to have an electronic log of my random thoughts or events in my life. I wonder whose eyes are reading what I write. I love reading some blogs, mind you, and think that they can be a very useful tool, but there are times when I wonder why we're all so apt to elucidate these moments of our lives for everyone to see. Have we all become exhibitionists? Maybe. But I think sometimes it's just easier to write it down than to speak it. By in large, we've become a generation more comfortable with sharing our feelings with strangers than talking with people face to face. It's just interesting to think about is all.

These past few months there have been a lot of things I've wanted to blog about. Everything from politics to puke (not mine, thankfully) and beyond. Perhaps I can pick up the strands of my thoughts and begin again. If I feel the same joy and satisfaction as I once did, that is. Until then...

As it stands right now...

I am fully immersed in my job. Which means I am not fully immersed in my blog. Oh that I had the time to write more than a few lines. I hope you all will beg my pardon as I try to "do it all" so to speak. But since "doing it all" also involves trying to work out, write a book, finish the book I'm reading and start cooking dinner, I might not have a snowball's change in hell.

I guess we'll see. But in the mean time, please accept my humble mea culpa.

On an entirely different note, does anyone have an ibuprofen? Preferably the size of a hockey puck? No? Well, I thought I'd at least ask.

Inception, Mad Men, and why I need a vacation

Inception. All I can say is wow. Great cast. Great effects. Great plot. Great film. I like that Christopher Nolan kept the plot shrouded in mystery and that the previews were not overly-revealing. I tend to figure out the plots of movies, and thankfully this one (for the most part) kept me guessing. It's safe to say that the husb and I will be seeing it again. And soon. (And who else was pleased to see Joseph Gordon-Levitt in a more adult roll? Because until I saw this movie he was still the arm waving kid in Angels in the Outfield, 500 Days of Summer, notwithstanding.)

Mad Men. Okay, in all seriousness, we are trying to figure out why it took us so long to start watching this show. I mean, it's genius. Sheer genius. The dialogue is sharp, the acting is brilliant, the costuming is a-maz-ing. I don't think I've been this enthralled in a TV show since... well... ever, maybe. (Because I don't think Buffy the Vampire Slayer counts.) Husb and I have watched three seasons in three weeks and cannot wait for the premiere of season 4. (And I'm pretty sure I want all of Betty Draper's clothes... and maybe Greg wants Don Draper's hair... I'm just saying.)

Why I need a vacation. Because I think it's mean to make people work in the summer. Seriously, we should all take the summer off. Just kidding. (Or am I?) In all seriousness, I just think it would be nice to have a bit of a respite since work has been super busy. (But let's be honest, busy feels oh so good most of the time.) Which is why I am irrationally excited for our forthcoming vacation to Newport. (Though I wouldn't mind going to Cabo again. Thus the picture above.)

Happy Monday, everyone.

I'll be back...

Between this...

and this...

and this...

I've been just a little bit (or a lot bit) busy. I'll be back soon, I promise.

It has been decided...

that I (along with my Pierre Hardys) would rather be outside right about now. Because inside is overrated.

I'm just saying...

If I had more hours in the day...

Today is National Grammar Day

Here's to a day devoid of the ambiguities of who v. whom and affect v. effect. Happy writing!

Source of image: unknown

An ode to NyQuil

I typically don't take medicine.

Perhaps it's the way I am wired, but I characteristically have to take copious amounts of OTC stuff for it to work. (This mostly refers to ibuprofen and acetaminophen... and why would I risk damaging my liver I ask you?)

Thus yesterday was a veritable sinus hell. It was one of those "oh hey, it feels like my sinuses are being attacked by a jack hammer" days, with the accompanying sore throat, achy muscles and plugged ears. Not the best combo when you have to go to a client meeting.

After I got home, I laid around like a slug for the rest of the evening, moving slightly to accommodate eating and bathroom trips. It was pretty pathetic. So right before bed, I decided to bite the bullet and down some NyQuil.

I think I may be in love with NyQuil a little bit. (Don't worry husb, I love you much, MUCH more.)

I can't remember the last time I had a decent night's sleep. To be honest, it was probably the last time I was sick and took some NyQuil.

It's incredible.

I awoke this morning feeling infinitely better, if only because I logged more than four hours of blissful, uninterrupted slumber.

So thrilled was I, that I decided to take some more medicine with my breakfast, an Aleve D. And my sinuses practically danced with delight. Today I have actually been able to focus and do my work. While I'm not 100% better, I feel 100% better than yesterday.

So thank you, dear NyQuil, for providing me with your medicinal and slumber-ifical goodness. I just might take advantage of you again tonight. Perhaps.

[P.S. Don't worry, I'm not addicted to NyQuil. I think at some point I very well could be, which is why tonight (if I end up deciding to take some more) will be the last night I take it. The lure of continuous, pleasant slumber would be too much if I kept taking it throughout the duration of my illness. Which duration is hopefully brief. This is also why I have never taken any pills to help me sleep. I think I would like them too much. Hehee.]

February, you are a dirty, dirty temptress

I know I am one of many when I say that I often get swept away in the doldrums of January-- the bleak, cold and mostly dreary weather that seems to seep into my bones and brain and leaves me practically pleading for a sunny beach. Any sunny beach.

Let's be honest... January can be miserable.

But isn't February a bit worse?

Let me explain a bit. I think most people expect January to be kind of crappy. If you live in the Beehive State you can expect some smogerific smog, with its subsequent hazy and toxic presence clouding even the sunniest of dispositions. You also get a lot of cold weather without the beauty of snow. (Granted, I don't even enjoy snow all that much... but if it's cold it should at least look pretty outside, no?) So you finally get through January, and in comes February, with its false signs of Spring. It gets warm enough so you keep your coat in the car... you start hearing the birds chirping... and the air begins to dampen with the fresh scent of Spring...

and then it SNOWS. A. LOT.

Then the snow subsides and temperature teases you into thinking that this time, it is truly almost Spring.

Then it snows again. A. LOT.

March comes and is typically more Winter than Spring, and this propensity creeps into April as well. With nary a temperature as pleasant as was present in February.

Which is why I think that February is a dirty, dirty temptress.
(It's making me crave Spring.)

Random thoughts whilst brushing my teeth

I believe I have decided that Emma is my favorite Jane Austen novel.

Though I think the Masterpiece Classic version was great... I think I still prefer the Gwyneth version.

UFC fights are way too bloody to be sanitary.

Why are football players so enthusiastic about small plays? Do they shoot up testosterone prior to every game? I mean, really. Glad you tackled that guy. But we're 30 seconds into the first quarter. Get excited when you stop someone from scoring a winning touchdown or when you have an incredible interception or something.

I guess Austin Collie isn't as righteous as he thought. I mean, otherwise the Colts totes would have won. Right? (NOT.)

Why did I dream about getting purple crayon on my wedding dress? Was this my subconscious telling me I should not let my Sunbeams color in class?

Why is it that I am having the worst acne of my life at 25? I mean, really.

That being said, why am I not an esthetician? I could get paid to pick people's zits. Incredible that I did not think of this before.

Ultra conservatives are bugging me more than flaming liberals lately. I hope I'm not becoming a "Godless Democrat." Bwah ha ha.

Why is it that every time I am stressed I crave something terrible for me?

I don't like the way fillings feel. There should be ridges instead of smoothness. Oh yeah, and sensitivity sucks. I already have sensitive teeth. I didn't need a filling to make it worse.

I. HATE. CAVITIES. (Glad I only had one. Knock on wood.)

I wonder how long it will take me to fall asleep tonight. I'm guessing two hours. [Just fyi: It did take about two hours.]

It's amazing how many thoughts shoot through my head in the space of 1-2 minutes. I'm random.