Amateur Realizations

I just need to get a few things out there:

1. I started "pinning" last week and already have a love-hate relationship. While I realize the value of the site, I also realize the time-suck/waste factor. It is almost as confusing as that one time in high school where I was really good friends with a boy but we weren't boyfriend-girlfriend, but it kind of felt like it, but he had a girlfriend. Oy vey.

2. My child recently parroted me saying "shoot" and "heck." She also already loves TV. How do I know? She constantly brings us the iPad to pull up the PBS Kids app, cries if we turn off before she was done watching (she lets us know by ungluing her eyes and walking away), and knows when to clap and cheer for certain Sesame Street shorts. She also wreaks havoc in church every Sunday and I don't do anything to stop it. For example, she stands/plays peek-a-boo at the podium while someone teaches, helps play the piano during a hymn, and rummages through various purses. This last Sunday, she somehow got a dollar bill and wouldn't loosen her grip for anything - not for toys, or treats, or any other distraction. Basically, I'm failing at decent parenting. I have a disruptive, cursing, media-obsessed, kleptomaniac daughter. My over-achieving self now sits in a corner and cries while my lazy self continues to lounge on the couch and not care. It is like when I was in high school and in band and worked relatively hard and thought it was really cool, but I'm now realizing that it really wasn't. Should I care about that?

3. While I'm no Shakespeare, I never thought I was a terrible writer. However, after my last post, we were bombarded by questions of our safety and well-being. My husband just stared blankly at the kind soul asking if I was okay at the church trunk-or-treat. People, it was a METAPHOR. My life FELT like a car accident. Obviously, I'm really terrible at writing because even my wisest, most-respected friend asked me on our last phone about if I was in a car accident. It is like that one time while teaching Sunday School where I tried to make a joke and nobody laughed or understood and it was really quiet and I got really warm and it was super awkward and uncomfortable. But I've always thought I was kind of funny?

4. I feel awful for Holly Petraeus. This isn't necessarily a realization, but rather recognition and awareness. I just feel terrible for this woman.


And for your viewing pleasure, a few cute photos of C that aren't on Facebook or Instagram because they were sent to my by my awesome baby sitters:



Raking leaves with YaYa while mom works in a cubicle




Playing at the park with Auntie while mom works in a cubicle

 Don't worry, working in a cubicle is super fun, too.

Amateur Identity

For some time now my thoughts have drifted around the idea of identity.  It started with my family, continued with this article on slavery in Mauritania, then again while visiting teaching earlier this year. About a year ago, pending motherhood consumed who I was and the effect it would have on my other identities - wife, friend, co-worker/employee, Sunday school teacher, family member in various capacities. Sometimes I feel like it finally seems as though those specific roles nestled into a comfortable place around my primary role as caretaker to my daughter. Other days, not so much.

Every now and then, I feel a little lost as to who I really am. I know I'm not exactly the same person I was 10 years ago... but doesn't she still reside in my basic persona? While obscure band t-shirts and canvas all-stars no longer crowd my closet, experiences of that age brought me to who I am now. I found parts of myself - hooking onto the liberal arts, establishing life-long friendships, and most importantly stopping in my tracks overcome with the love I felt from my Savior.

Now, those not-so-obscure-anymore bands remain on my iPhone, and I continue to find great strength in the women I met that year. When Corinne was just a few months old, I fed and rocked her to sleep every night. On one particular evening, my eyes rested on her peaceful, sleeping face and I siltenly plead for her to have friends like the ones I do - people who inspire her to be honest, hard-working, intelligent, well-rounded, happy, fun, active, and spiritual. People who she can always count on, no matter how much distance may separate them. I stared down at her for a long time, hoping that she could only be so lucky.

I know that I can work on instilling those same attributes as a parent, but I also I know how critical it is for her to have a good, solid group of friends. Thanks to such influences when I first arrived BYU, I stayed in Provo and realized my self-worth and testimony. During that time, I came to fully accept my identity as a child a of God who can receive innumerable blessings - like personal revelation and forgiveness.

I know that this identity is at my core, and will never change. While I may falter in my faith or understanding of this concept, it is an identity that will always be there, ready for me to accept.
When I first began writing this post, I had lines written describing former selves - the girl consumed by cryptic song lyrics and late-night (early morning?) parties... but once I began to recall that evening in the rocking chair, this post slowly morphed. While my past identities matter, they don't define me. Those identities slowly morphed, too.

At times I struggle, thinking I have no sense of self... I don't run marathons, letterpress, or sew. I grasp at the disappointment of not having an identity - I'm not a cool hipster, a super mom, or corporate success. Thus, I began exploring this dissatisfaction of self and began to write.

That night with Corinne proves that my current identity mainly focuses on my role as a mother to Corinne (possible in part by being wife to Scott, of course). But there is so much more to it! My persona as a mother stems from who I've become through my relationships with those around me, relationships that led to a grand turning point of my self-actualization. When I get down to it, I think that is all that really matters. The angst I've felt off and on for the past few months seems so futile - why feel bad that I'm not a crafter or a cook? That's not my identity. My hobbies (or lack thereof) do not define me (thankfully). Right now, I need to be at peace with letting my family - both earthly and heavenly - do is instead. I like to think I'm pretty good with that.

It Takes A Village

Be forewarned: this is yet another post mixed with bringing up baby. Shocker, right? But no baby pics. I post enough of those on Instagram. However, I do feel that having a child has made me more introspective than normal. And I promise, this ties into things other than how amazing my daughter is.

For the past couple of months I can't help but think about how I could never raise a child on my own. For example, a few months ago after a Sunday dinner at Scott's parents' home, the entire family participated in helping Corinne learn how to crawl on all fours. The poor gal was downward-dogging all over the place or inadvertently scooting backwards, and it was time to get her moving with purpose. We placed books under her hands, and my father-in-law pumped her legs, my sister-in-law stabilized her middle, all while I moved the books in sync with her legs.  That was all it took (three grown adults on the floor) - and the wee lass hasn't looked back since mastering her new skill of freedom.

Shortly thereafter, following yet another Sunday dinner, my mother-in-law worked on teaching Corinne to crawl up on something using a box like unto a mid-sized cardboard priority mailer. The very next day while getting ready for work, I turned to see my hard-working daughter sitting atop the landing at the bottom of our stairs (one step up from the main floor). Then this:

Corinne constantly surprises me with new tricks: clapping her hands, saying "uh oh," and playing peek-a-boo. While I know I do those things with her, I can't take the credit - it goes to everyone around her who influences the course of this growing human being's life.

And it isn't just those in close proximity. Many friends in far-away places also take part in the shaping of my daughter. Those who I've watched for years, raising their own the best they can, who impress me with their love, wit, and creativity. Who inspire me with a goal and a vision of a family.

There's also those who were in my own village as a child, who will probably never fully comprehend (or let alone even have an inkling of) the effect they had on my life and on what kind of person I am now. The youth leaders, the teachers, the parents of friends, the older kids; some of their parts consisted of short cameos, but their presence proved crucial nonetheless. Some still actively participate in the drama (Comedy? Romance? Tragedy? Depends on the act and scene, I suppose).

This reminds me of a question I brought while teaching a scripture study class at church yesterday - how has the testimony of another person affected your own testimony?

Did a person ever walk through your village and leave an abiding footprint?

One of my most vivid life-shaping experiences occurred my sophomore year at BYU. I've never been your ultra-conservative, ever-faithful, never-asking-questions kind of person. I want to know why I shouldn't go against the grain. I want to push the limit of my understanding and beliefs.

At that time, I wavered with my stance on abortion rights. My tent stood adamantly in the pro-choice camp (for many reasons, which may or may not be discussed another day). Yet, I questioned myself. I knew what my church preached and struggled to gain testimony of this pro-life concept.

One nondescript Sunday, hymns were sung, bread and water were partaken, and talks were given. The overall theme was that of tithes and offerings. Half-listening, thinking "I already pay my ten percent," I was blind-sided by one girl's closing testimony. She spoke of sacrifice. More importantly, she testified of the critical and gut-wrenching sacrifice of her birth mother's choice to let another family raise and adopt her. Her mother could have decided to terminate - it wasn't convenient to be pregnant or have a child; but terminate she did not. She made the most selfless decision from what seemingly began as quite a selfish one. Thanks to her mother's sacrifice, she grew up in a loving and faithful home, and ended up receiving an education at BYU. She felt unending gratitude to this woman and the choice to not only let her live, but live with another family.

Tears stung my eyes and I knew. I knew without question what I believed. Someone in my village quickly crossed my path, but left me with a life-changing impression. That day I chose to promote life; and just like when Corinne learned how to crawl, I haven't looked back.

I pray that I can bring up my daughter in a good village - one filled with laughter, confidence, stability, and affection. One that lends itself to random people coming in and shaping her to do good things. I'm grateful for the sea of faces I see when I think about the village that raised me; and the one that I continue to surround myself with today. But when I really think about it... I feel as though I never really left one and went to another; rather, my village just keeps on getting bigger and better.

Amateur Ultrasound

On a Sunday afternoon in March, we* (*this is the collective we, meaning not just Scott and myself, rather the F A M I L Y - MIL, FIL, BIL, SIL - as a whole) discussed the logistics of the next day's big show.

"So, if it's a boy, we'll go to Five Guys... and if it is a girl, we'll go to... hmm... Q'doba." Burgers for a boy or chips and salsa for a girl? I can't say no to either, so I was good to go. This mode of information via surprise also ensured that no one had to make dinner on Monday, so we* were all for it.

Both Scott and I planned our work days to leave early and make it to the imaging center for their latest appointment. I'm pretty sure I drank 438290 ounces of water just to make sure my body was ready for picture day (oh, the vanity of wanting to constantly over achieve).

And then we waited.

And we waited some more.

For the love, this is getting a little anti-climatic already.

We finally met sweet Bonnie, our ultrasound technician, and I attempted to lie down (hey, lady - I've drank the weight of a baby elephant today and used the bathroom once this morning) and she told me to use the restroom and let out a little. "Count to two and stop," she said.

COUNT TO TWO?!

I take her offer of little relief and miraculously stopped the waterfall after two counts. This may be TMI, but it is my blog, so whatever. Let's just say that I'm also over achieving on my Kegel exercises.

I got back down on the table and what does she first point out? Nope, not a baby, but the giant black blob of my bladder. Holy guacamole, that thing was taking up any millimeter of free space. I think it was the size of Rhode Island. She took the proper measurements and then told me I was free to go relieve myself fully and come back for the second act. Woohoo!

So I get all goo-ed back up again and we start. Bonnie likes her clients (I say clients and not patients, you'll see why) to feel relaxed and comfy - dimmed lights, a soft playlist, a pink flamingo theme, electric candles. I kid you not, I felt like I should have gotten a massage. However, the room did not lend to your typical Hollywood set-up of husband and wife holding hands, watching the undecipherable screen. Scott sat on the other side of Bonnie and I craned my neck sideways to see the images. It was either that or my feet for a view. Oh well.

She shows us the feet, the spine, takes measurements, and comments on how busy the fetus is - it was cramped up all day to make way for my super-sized bladder and was ready to stretch out. I get it. I'd do somersaults, too, if I was stuffed in an amniotic-fluid box for hours.

After busting out some sweet break dancing moves and hearing the heart beat, the kid also decided to wave to us - a wave that looked like a one-fingered salute, that is (yep, that's ours, no doubt about it). Finally, it settled into child's pose (that's my little yogini!):

Unfortunately, the umbilical cord went right down the middle of the body, blocking ANY view of the gender determining factor. At first the little one moved too much for a view (and not just for us to know the gender - we also couldn't get a decent profile shot with all the movement and hand-waving near the face) and now it wouldn't budge after its dance party.

Awesome.

And totally my spiteful (independent?) child. Of course. Let the payback begin, mom and dad.

Sensing the verge of a huge emotional let down (me, broken hearted by disappointment that my expectations were not met?), Bonnie said she would keep our study open until tomorrow afternoon and that we could just pop in at the same time and we try again.

Gotta love Bonnie.

So we go back again, sans full bladder (whew!) the next day. We get all ready to go for the much anticipated to-be-continued and guess what our yoga master zenned out to that Tuesday? The butterfly:

See where the heels are? Well, you guessed it again - strike two.

Ugh.

Bonnie came to the rescue again, and told me to just give her a call directly to her "office" and pop in when we both had a break. I found a good time to stop by two weeks later (Scott gave up at this point and I don't blame him), and Bonnie's sure she found a winning shot. I had her seal it up in an envelope and took it home on my way to an evening work function.

By this time, no one really knew when we would find out (if ever). It wasn't on anyone's radar anymore, and I was to the point where being surprised was much more appealing than defeat.

On my way back from the work thing, Scott and I decided the best thing to do was pick up some take out for the collective we* (plans were already in place for us to eat over there that night, anyway).

I arrived at the compound (my in-laws home), with everyone hustling and bustling around: on the phone, on the computer, in the kitchen, in their room, studying, doing homework, etc. I placed the take out on the table and we all sat down (finally!) to pray. FIL asks me to say it.

Not one to be shy, mince words, or be patient, I found a way to thank my Heavenly Father for a successful ultrasound that day during the dinner prayer. Scott kicked me under the table and I could feel my MIL's mouth drop a bit. After quickly wrapping up the prayer, emotions ensued after saying "amen."

"I had no idea it was today!" "I can't believe you did that in a prayer." "Ok, I can't remember, what does this food mean again? I'm so lost!"



And so I sat with a foolish grin on my face and dug into some nachos.

Amateur Announcements

By now, I'm sure you've given up on me. First there's my sporadic posting, then you probably think I'm losing my ability to read, seeing as how I haven't reviewed a single book since October.

Well, I've been reading. To be sure, a lot of e-mails (does that count?), and I dutifully scour every month of Real Simple from cover-to-cover (thanks, Aunt Christy!). But I've slowly been making my way through this little gem since January:

No need to adjust your screen, folks. What you see is true - if all goes well, we plan on becoming a set of amateur parents come August.

Sometimes, I still can't believe it myself. Then I try to put on a pair of jeans and I'm quickly reminded of my dear, sweet, growing fetus.

We discovered the news the morning of Christmas Eve - could you really ask for a better gift? If you can, don't answer that; because I'm positive there's nothing more exciting, heart-warming, and fulfilling than those two lines (or plus sign or digital "pregnant," whichever the case may be). Of course, I had to buy two (or three) of each test and take one every other day to reconfirm. Me, worrisome? Never.

Needless to say, we are pretty excited and definitely nervous. Is anyone ever really ready for this step? Here goes nothing, I suppose.

So with all of the baby-prep reading and recent wearing of hand-me-down maternity clothes (thanks, Amanda!), we needed something more to complete our transition from a family of two to a family of three:

Thanks to Realtor Paul, the most awesome guy around, for the pic after our final walk-through, just before closing.

We now live the American dream (paying a mortgage) and are VERY amateur home owners. So, for what it is worth, I totally read a lot in February (we closed on the 28th), considering how much I signed my life away to Wells Fargo and made sure to insure our most recent pricey acquisition.

Another very exciting, however very nerve-wracking event for the books, my friends.

And just in case we want to paint one of our three bedrooms (come on over, visitors!) for our new arrival, I got in some decent practice last weekend with our basement and dining room (sneak peek of more to come, I promise):

Basement before and after:

Dining room before and after:

What says home ownership more than a few self-painted rooms? Maybe a little water from a recent rain storm in the basement, right? Got that covered, too. Thankfully, it wasn't a lot and all we need to do is fix the gutter. Insert a light (but not heavy, mind you - not there, yet) sigh of relief here.

As you can see, it has been a pretty crazy new year thus far for us - Scott started a new job on Jan 31st, We bought a house on February 28th, and we hope to find out the gender of our wee one March 28th. Add to that a couple of new church callings for us both and you've got yourself some fairly decent reasons for me not updating you all.

I know... excuses, excuses, right? But aren't they pretty decent ones?

Anyway, thanks for bearing with me if you're still checking up on us every once in a while. We sure do love you guys.

Amateur Insight

Today I realized that I am my own woman. I am me... the me now. Sure, I'm made of the me's of my past, but I can be whomever I want right now.

This oddly came from a random bout of wasting time on Facebook (I know, you never do that, right?). I had been thinking about reviewing my friends list to trim down to those who I actually consider a friend and would want to know about their life and realized that a fair number of my "friends" had (gasp!) de-friended me. What the what?! I mean, seriously, what did I do to them? Weren't we so close back in the day? Didn't they come to my high school graduation? Vacation together? Wedding? So what, we hadn't actually spoken in a few years. Big deal! I still want to hear that you're happy with your new girlfriend/fiancée/dog/job/house/child. Wouldn't you be happy to hear about mine?

Obviously not.

So, like anybody else with insecurity issues, I felt a tad down... as if I wasn't worthy to show up in a measly news feed. I guess you felt so compelled by our lack of friendship to keep your good news from me? Awesome.

Then I got a grip (a few hours later).

Who cares? Who cares about stinking Facebook? We have bigger fish to fry - like world hunger, the national budget, and an energy crisis.

Well, maybe you care, if you're still reading this, that is.

Anyway.

Looking at my "friends" list (yes, I use quotations there for a reason), I realized that I have great friends now. I look at the pictures on my desk and see my husband's cousins from Christmas. I remembered that I have many, MANY family members with whom I need to build a relationship. I have a job with great co-workers, a church family, and a handful of die-hards from grade school and college. There are friends from the places I've lived: Chesapeake, Seattle, Yorktown, Provo, and now Maryland. And these people are now all over the place! I love these dear friends. I also love my family. Who needs a list of over 300 "friends" to tell me that I have people in my life that I love and they love me too? Who needs a list to tell them that yes, they grew up - they had pals, they did stuff, and it was fun for the most part. Who needs a list to define them?

And then I decided. Not me. I do NOT need a list! And suddenly, just like that, the bad feelings of lowliness lifted. I can be whomever I want. I don't have to be who I was 5, 10, or 15 years ago (although 15 years ago I was the ripe old age of 11). I don't have to have a label (although, as unfortunate it as it is, I do believe we are still generally labeled in our life... the artsy one, the family man, the liberal, the religious one, etc.), and even better, I do not have to have a label from my past.

Of course, we all have things we would change... but I'm grateful for my experiences. I'm grateful for the friendships I developed over the years, for the times and seasons in which I REALLY needed them. They truly were my friends. And at this time in my life, I'm grateful for where I'm headed now - a strange feeling of being a little child in adult's world, doing adult things (like wasting time of Facebook worrying about a friend list).

Looking at my life now, I have a wide array of amazing things to focus on... an incredible husband, a large family on both sides, great jobs for the both of us, membership in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints (and the responsibilities that come with it), and many others that would make for an incredibly long post.

These are the things that define me (for now, at least). I am a wife, daughter, sister, cousin, niece, granddaughter, visiting teacher, analyst, and friend to many (both on and offline, for that matter). And I can try really hard to be the best I can in those roles... which is time consuming enough without crazy internet distractions. Most importantly, I know that I am a daughter of a Heavenly Father who loves me, and I love Him. And I can always be better at showing that love.

Amateur Lumberjack

Living with the in-laws means catching up on all of the family traditions I missed out on not being associated with the family before marriage and living on the East Coast. One of the many include finding the best tree ever to cut down for Christmas. Their favorite tree farm is a bit of a drive, but totally worth it. Check out this all- natural eye candy:

baby trees... one day we'll have one of those!

Racing to find the best one

Found it! Can you see Julie's feet behind me? Yes, she's cutting it down while we pose. Just call us efficient.

Hopefully next year we will have to get one of our own...

The most handsome lumberjack around

Views of the tree farm:

Amateur Thanksgiving

After almost 5 years of marriage, I've realized my in-laws catch phrase for all events is "go big or go home." No guests outside of the family coming? Doesn't matter. We deserve a party. Bring out the pickle tray! More appetizers, the better! Multiple candy dish displays, pies, dips, decor galore... and that doesn't even brush the surface. Thanksgiving at Scott's grandmother's house is no exception. Usually we have all of the extended family, but this year, it was just us and g-rents. Yet, it didn't stop us from having enough food and party like everyone was there.

First, we start off singing a barrage of Thanksgiving hymns:

MIL at the organ

Everyone "singing"

 Then we follow up with passing around a basket full of individual names on paper slips - we each pick one and say something for which we are grateful about that person:

Mema writes the names, and usually writes her nicknames for us all.

Then we finally dig in:

Orange Jello = crucial to Thanksgiving. Its mutilation is inevitable. 

And we finish up with some gaming and some napping:

Trivial Pursuit circa 1972. The entertainment section was just that - entertaining, to say the least.

We party so hard, not even the kids can keep up.

Now think back... what was your favorite part of Thanksgiving? Mine is a solid six-way tie of the above.

Amateur Sister II

November 2010; Annapolis, MD. 

I like to call us the alpha and the omega. We are the beginning and the end of our family.

Is it lame that I got teary-eyed watching my not-so-little, youngest brother rock the house at his last band competition of the season? 

My baby brother is growing up. I moved out when he was six years old, and that is how I will always remember him - as the kid who loved to hang out in a box on Christmas (remember that? It got very sweaty and very smelly very quickly). The kid I took to the pool every day the summer we moved. The kid whom I chased around the house. Now he's the kid that goes to homecoming dances, busts out sweet skateboarding tricks, and totes around an instrument the size of a small refrigerator. 

Seriously, where have I been? When did this happen? Where is that little kid? I suppose while I was busy getting a degree, husband, and job, he decided to grow up. I couldn't be more happy with the person he's decided to become so far. The picture below is from his baptism. I'm was so proud of him then and still feel that same pride when I think of him passing the sacrament on Sundays. Keep it up, Hunt-stud. Before you know it, you'll be going off to college and serving a mission. I can't wait! 

January 2004; Yorktown, VA

Amateur Patriot

Before I left for Utah, I celebrated our nation's freedom and democracy down where the Revolutionary War was won. With my freedom, I first chose a round a golf.

Then went canoeing with the whole family plus one cousin. And by canoeing I mean racing to each end of the reservoir, resting, and racing back. My family competitive? Never.

Then we walked around Yorktown and threw a frisbee. We are all-American, all the way.

The next day, we went back and waited for some fireworks with our dear friends and family. And by waiting I mean playing cards. Competitively.

Then came the big show! Ooooooh. Ahhhhh.

Following the big show, came the big wait, sitting in a big truck bed, while in the big parking lot.

Good times had by all.

Amateur Vacationer

So what have I done since eating an astronomical amount of food last month? Not much. 

For the rest of my trip, I did a few things, like hike the Y with these lovely people:

And celebrate this girl's 23rd birthday (which included more food, most importantly gelato):

And go to Seven Peaks water part:

And best of all, hold this little guy as much as possible:

So what did you do on your summer vacation?

Amateur Update

I know I should blog about a few things:
- 4th of July weekend
- The rest of my Utah trip

And by a few things I really mean 2. However, I have about 349 photos to browse through of my new little nephew, first. Priorities, people.

Hopefully this will be done by Saturday. If not, add the "American Idol Live" concert to that list.

Yep, I'm that cool.

Home

I made it. I'm back in good ol' Provo. And let me tell you folks, it feels good.

Upon descent into SLC, I woke up just in time to realize I knew exactly where we were: right over Utah Lake, passing by Y mountain. It was like a subconscious pull, letting me know I was home.

I feel quite fortunate to have quite a few places to call home - Virginia, where I spent most of my childhood; Maryland, with my husband and in-laws; and Utah, where I went to college and lived for the first few years of marriage.

Utah is where I met what I call my "eternal friends." These are people I'm sure that will continue to be a presence not only in this life, but definitely the next. While a few of these friends live in far away places now (like Washington State, Kansas, Indiana, San Francisco, and China), we still have a few very dear friends in Utah. These are the people that make Utah feel like home. I truly believe that home is where the heart is, and my heart is with these people in their various places. How lucky am I to be so blessed with these amazing friendships?

As US Airways flight 457 flew over Utah Valley toward SLC airport, I immediately thought of Brigham Young's quote, "This is the place." For me, right now, this IS the place. This is my place, reuniting with friends and family. I love this place, and these feelings. To be honest, I even kind of teared up a bit while looking outside my window. Have you ever felt that way about a certain place? I can't be the only one.

I'm realizing that most of my travels are either for work, or to go see friends or family. Since we've been married, Scott and I have yet to take a vacation with just the two of us to a random destination. But you know what? I'm okay with that. Actually, I'm more than okay with that. I like the feelings of being at home.

Amateur Eater

For most who know me moderately well, they know I adore food. Free cookies in the conference room? I'm there. New restaurant? Let's try it. To be sure, I could eat all day.

With my pending trip back to the sisterland (Virginia will forever remain the motherland), I plan to focus my days around good food and good friends. This includes the following (but is certainly not limited to):
- Red Iguana in SLC; can you say mole?
- Pizzeria 712 in Orem; whatever is seasonal. Which actually means everything on the menu. Yum.
- Spicy Thai in Provo; chicken satay, Angkor Curry, Pad Thai. No worries, I'll go and probably share with a friend. Probably being the key word.
- Bombay House in Provo; naan. More naan. All the naan you can eat. Chicken tikka.
- La dolce Vita in Provo; Ana's Spinach Ravioli or Penne Alla Pesto. I can smell the bread now...
- Sp^rk in Provo; pommes frites, apple martini. Not a real one, duh. This is happy valley, people. Dry as a bone, just the way I like it.
- Nicolitalia Pizzeria in Provo; Strada di Roma and Mahgarita pizza. Again, I'm sharing, friends. Definitely sharing this time.
- The Tree Room, Sundance; If there is time. I know this should take a higher priority, but I only have a week, and this place is pricey. Sadly, I make no promises with this one.
- Communal, and this cupcake place somewhere around University Parkway and Freedom. Both new, both highly recommended from the friend with whom I will eat most of this food.

Man oh man, I haven't even eaten yet and I'm about to burst at the seams (with excitement, of course!). Plus, all of this includes a sweet reunion with my blood family and my non-blood family, AND the blessing of my brand spanking new nephew. Who could ask for more? No one. Absolutely no one, I tell you!

Of course, my goal was to lose five pounds in anticipation of this fine food fest of 2010. Alas, I've only come to GAIN a solid five since Memorial Day.

Hey, I said I really like food, remember?

No Longer an Amateur?

Thanks, everyone, for such great feedback on the last post. It amazes me that so many people go through the same thing, and thankfully no worse for the wear. My mind wanders to the oft quoted and debated saying of "I never said it would be easy, I only said it would be worth it."

Checking out the scene upon arrival. So much to do, eat, and see!

So a couple of weekends ago I attended Springfest with my MIL and her mother (henceforth known as "Mema," pronounced "ME-MAW"). This was both easy and worth it (most of the time). We had a great time eating food you shouldn't eat all in one day: cream of crab soup, sweet potato and regular butterfly fries, sloppy joes, funnel cakes, fried veggies, crepes stuffed with whipped cream and strawberries, Fisher's caramel popcorn, and pizza. Yes, that was all consumed in less than 24 hours. Is there such a thing as shameful pride? If so, I think I just had it.

    Clockwise from upper left: butterfly fries, cream of crab soup, sloppy joe, funnel cake

In order to burn all of those evil but necessary calories, we found ourselves dancing with the AARP group to the tunes of a Rod Stewart impersonator (aka "Sir Rod") and a "rock and roll" band (aka "Ricky K. and the Allnighters). Please note, the quotations marks are intentional and critical to describing the aforementioned band.

  

  Clockwise from upper left: Sir Rod surrounded by adoring fans, an awesome little old guy dancing with a tall young lady, Ricky K. with my MIL and a guy with sweet dance moves, and my favorite dancing couple of the day (that guy looked like that all day. I promise).

We also perused endless aisles of crafts, where you can't take photos because crafters are ubiquitously fearful of other crafters cramping their style. But hey, I get it. When you find your niche, it should be yours and yours alone; especially if you can talk the early bird group into paying this month's social security check on it... or guilt their well-intentioned children/grandchildren into purchasing the latest and greatest personalized/hand carved/homemade floor mat/bird house/holistic remedy.

Just a glimpse into one of the craft tents. I'm so sneaky!

At the end of one craft aisle was a cowboy hat salesman. He was everything you'd imagine a cowboy hat salesman to be - unassuming, genuinely nice, kind of handsome, and definitely donning a cowboy hat himself. He even wore a plain Midway, UT sweatshirt (not from there, but clever marketing, I say). This guy knew what he was doing. He placed a tall rack of awesome looking red hats on the outer corner of his booth. We started trying them on, followed by purple ones, and then my MIL places a denim blue suede hat on my head. The heavens open, angels sing, and I feel complete. This hat was made for me. It fits me like my freckles. Up to this point, I've been trying on hats willy-nilly and completely unawares. Glancing at the tiny sticker tag inside, my heart drops, realizing that my freckles are free and this hat is nowhere near that price.

With many reassurances (what can I wear this with? Everything. Can I wear it when I'm forty? If you're still cool.) from both Mema and my MIL (to be sure, cowboy hat salesman watched, but there was something quite laissez-faire about him), and complete financial support from my ever-loving MIL (thanks again!), I now own the hat. THE hat, ladies and gents.

Post-purchase photo-op with the cowboy hat salesman, in his booth, along side my MIL. 

This hat changed my life. People approached me at the fest asking if I was a professional photographer (nope, just an amateur) or professional country line dancer (I country line danced once to "Elmira" for an elementary school production. Does that count?). Needless to say, I was on top of the world.

The next day, while sporting my newfound fashion statement/identity at Home Depot, the checkout guy thought I was on the hit television reality series, Survivor. Sersiouly.

I'm telling you, I can be anything in this. This is just what an amateur in everything needs for a little self esteem booster! I only wish to I could wear it while running or practicing yoga and not look utterly crazy. I could be  an award-winning marathoner! Or maybe a 500+ hour certified yoga teacher! Or a total nut job!

I prefer to simply ignore the latter, myself.

Any way, what would you want to be in you cowboy hat?