Help Haiti Live is tonight!

 

For more information, visit HelpHaitiLive.com. 

 
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“She’ll lose her baby fat when she starts walking.”

Welcome to the first official week of Losing It: Not Just Our Sanity. Each week for the next 10 weeks, Jessie from Vanderbilt Wife, Ashleigh from Heart & Home and I will be sharing a peek (or in the case of this wordy ramble, an oversized bay window) into our weight loss journeys.

If you’d like to take the challenge to Lose It (#LosingIt10 on Twitter, by the way), write about your own journey, link to this site in your post, and share a link to your blog post in our weekly carnival. The bloggers who link up at least six out of the 10 weeks will be eligible for our prize package of a six-month subscription to The Six O'Clock Scramble (a meal planning service), a Weight Watchers pedometer and a gift card to Dick's Sporting Goods.

The winner will be the person who loses the largest percentage of his or her body weight during the 10 weeks.

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Apparently I was a chubby child. I say “apparently,” because for my entire life my family has teased me, from reminders of my grandma’s promise (see above title) to my parents thinking the trash bag commercial slogan was a perfect fit for my brother and me.

I’m talking about “Hefty, Hefty, Hefty! Wimpy, Wimpy, Wimpy!” I’ll let you guess which one was me, and no, they did not mean that I was strong.

And then there’s the Sears girls size: husky. Husky? Are you kidding me? Was there not a single compassionate woman on that panel?

Oh, my. The memories, they are so warm and fuzzy. Kind of like my gigantic, stretched out and faded yoga pants.

Honestly, my family isn’t nearly as mean as those overly sensitive adolescent stories may indicate. But still, I don’t remember ever not thinking I was fat.

I remember my mom telling me I had nice legs and thinking she was crazy.I remember towering over my tiny friend, Nichole, in a three-legged race and wondering if I’d crush her if we fell.I remember doing hundreds of crunches and lunges in my bedroom after I was supposed to go to bed.And I remember not being able to shop the popular mall store, 5-7-9, because I did not, in fact, wear a size 5, 7 or 9.

I remember being fat.

The funny thing is – and I suspect I’m not alone in this – that when I look back at pictures of myself, all I can do is cringe. Because really? That was “fat”?

Oh, to be “fat” again.

It appears that at some point, I actually did lose my baby fat. Unfortunately, even without the chubbiness of my early years, the curves were still there. Meanwhile, my friends – and, of course, the popular girls I so envied – were stick thin.

I was curvy before curvy was cool.

And so the self-image issues continued. Not that things like basketball uniforms helped. (Please, God, don’t ever make me put on a pair of those ridiculously tight shorts again.) But I wish I could have seen myself for what I really was. And I wish I would have learned then how to care for this body, curves and all.

But I didn’t.

So when I started dating Mark and eating out at restaurants, things like “portion control” and “salads with the dressing on the side” didn’t even cross my mind. And when I went to college and experienced the all-you-can-eat buffet? It didn’t occur to me not to eat scrambled eggs and hashbrowns every morning for breakfast.

Even when my clothes stopped fitting and I gained the Freshman 15 30, I didn’t change my eating habits. After all, who can resist sharing a bag of tortilla chips and jar of Tostitos cheese dip with her roommate? In one sitting? At midnight?

I did lose a bit of weight before my wedding, but it didn’t last. That weight returned so fast that I still have lingerie in my closet with the tags on it. Because it didn’t fit. And yes, I realize it’s silly to keep it in my closet for 10 years. Don’t start with me.

In the decade since I got married, I have gained 80 pounds. And just so you know, saying that out loud makes me want to climb in bed, hide under the covers and never come out again.

Except to eat. Because that always makes me feel better. [Insert sarcastic font here.]

In 2002 – yes, eight years ago – I joined Weight Watchers. I have been a member six times since then.

Thanks to Weight Watchers and countless magazine articles and infomercials, I’m not nearly as ignorant naïve as I was in high school and college. I KNOW how to make good food choices. I KNOW I need to exercise regularly. I KNOW what’s healthy and what’s not. I KNOW.

It’s just a matter of DOING IT. And that is something I have failed at, big time, every time.

Not this time, though. As we kick off Losing It, I’m saying, “Yes, Grandma, I will lose my baby fat!” I will lose it when I start walking. And kickboxing. And dancing. And eating vegetables. And measuring portions. And counting points.

I will lose it.

How are you going to lose it?

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I’ll edit this later today with my percentage weight loss. I weigh in at my weekly Weight Watchers meeting over lunch, and I’m going by their scale. (Because you cannot tell me my doctor’s scale was right on Wednesday. I refuse to believe it.)

UPDATE: I did not lose. And no, I don't want to talk about it. But next week WILL be better!

How did you do? Link up below – and remember, use the permalink to your post, not the link to your blog.



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Things I Love: Gummy Vitamins

"Read your Bible and take your vitamins."

That's how my mom would end every note, every e-mail she sent when I was in college. I can't say I followed her directions every day. But the reminders didn't hurt.

And honestly, they're reminders I give myself today, when I still struggle to get up early enough to read my Bible and huge horse-pill vitamins still make me gag.

But wait! That's where that pretty picture up above comes in.

I was discussing my aversion to vitamins with my co-workers one day, explaining how I can only stand them when I take them with juice but I don't drink juice so I'm left to choke them down with water and that just doesn't work. (I know. Okay? I know.) I said, "Too bad they don't make gummy vitamins for grown-ups."

You know what I found out? They do! So I bought a bottle of gummy vitamins for this grown-up. And I haven't missed a day of vitamin-taking since.

Sadly, it's more than I can say for my Bible-reading. (Don't worry, Mom, I'm working on it. That's why I bought my One Year Bible!)

Do you take a multi-vitamin? Or drink juice in the morning?

This post will be linked to Things I Love Thursday.

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Losing my touch

I thought today would be a good time to talk celebrity lookalikes. So I consulted my handy list and started Googling.

But you know I found? The actors I thought looked so much alike? Um, didn't. Yeah. Not so much. A few examples for you:

 Tiffany Hines (Bones) and Tessa Thompson (Veronica Mars)

 

  

Ellen Pompeo (Grey's Anatomy) and Jordan Ladd (some Hallmark or Lifetime movie)

  

Bryan Greenberg (October Road) and Jon Foster (Accidentally on Purpose)
Okay - you see it in these guys, right? They look a lot alike!

  

Kara Dioguardi (American Idol) and Demi Lovato (Disney shows)
Smitty gave me this one. And she's right. But I had a hard time finding good photos to prove it.

  

Kristoffer Polaha (Life Unexpected - which I'm really enjoying, by the way) and Scott Foley (Felicity)
I know. They look nothing alike. But I swear, in my head, they're the same guy.

  

David Boreanaz (Bones) and Eddie McClintock (I have no idea. Guest star in lots of shows?)

So, there you have it. I am no longer queen of the celebrity lookalikes. Not that you ever called me the queen of celebrity lookalikes. I might have called myself that. But you didn't. I know that. 

Can you help me out? Have you spotted any good lookalikes lately? (Other than Lea Michele and Idina Menzel, because that is WAY too easy.)

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(in)courage: Can Your Shampoo Do This?

When I was 15, life was tough. The boy I liked didn’t like me. And the boy who liked me wouldn’t leave me alone. My basketball coach didn’t care if I had asthma (or short, chubby legs). My friends and I were accused of being a clique. And my mom was always on my case for something.

Life was tough, I’m telling you.

Looking back, of course, I can’t quite summon the angst and anxiety of that freshman girl. It’s not that what I worried about wasn’t important; it was. But those things carry a different importance this far down the road. For example, it’s hard to remember just how desperate young, unrequited love can feel after being married for 10 years.

What I can recall, however, is the rock bottom feeling of being completely overwhelmed with life. Partly because the feeling was so strong then that even 16 years isn’t enough time to completely dull its pain.

Partly because in the deepest, most insecure part of my heart, I’m still 15.

To read the rest of my article, please visit (in)courage.

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Whiplash

Friday will be Annalyn's last day with her babysitter, and on Monday, she'll start full-time daycare.I'm really excited for her. And sad. And nervous. And feeling a little bit like I've got whiplash.

Emotional whiplash.

Every time I think about it, I feel differently. I know we've made the right choice and that this is best for Annalyn and for our family.

But she's been going to this babysitter for two years. Two years! For two years, it's been her second home. Her second family.

And even though she's going to learn so much and make new friends and get consistent physical therapy at her new daycare, I know she'll miss her friends. We both will.

I feel this back and forth about almost every decision I make regarding Annalyn. Should we potty train now or later? Use Pull-Ups or only big-girl panties? Call the doctor about her runny nose or wait it out? Move her to a twin bed or keep her in her crib as long as possible?

Even when I know (KNOW!) the right answer, my heart still wavers. And it's been like this from the beginning. You know what I'm talking about, right? Bottle or breastfeed? Disposable or cloth diapers? Stay at home or work?

Sometimes - like, for me, the working question - we don't really have an option. But when we do? Ugh. Being a mom, being the grown up - it's hard!

Have you struggled with any big decisions lately (parenting-related or not)?

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Help Haiti LIVE

Edited to add: The LA show has been cancelled, per Shaun Groves. And the Nashville show is almost sold out. So get your tickets now - or plan on logging on from home! (Thanks for the update, Jessie!)

A few weeks may have passed, but Compassion International hasn’t forgotten about Haiti. Not even close.

One month following the 7.1 earthquake that struck Haiti, an all-star cast of musicians is gathering for “Help Haiti Live,” a two-city ticketed concert event taking place on February 27 to benefit Compassion’s Haiti disaster relief fund. The concerts will be ticketed and also streamed live at HelpHaitiLive.com.

Check out this list of performers:

• Alison Krauss & Union Station (featuring Jerry Douglas)
• Amy Grant
• Big Kenny
• Mat Kearney
• Jars of Clay
• Rebecca St. James
• NEEDTOBREATHE
• Brandon Heath

Cool, right? These musicians and a to-be-announced special headliner will participate in two concert events, live from Los Angeles at the historic Wiltern Theater and at Nashville’s famed Ryman Auditorium. All talent and production fees have been donated, along with streaming services (Livestream.com), allowing proceeds to go toward Compassion’s disaster relief fund.

Tickets for each event will range in price from $25-75 and can be purchased at Ticketmaster.com and all Ticketmaster locations. And if you don't happen to be in LA or Nashville this weekend, you can watch the whole thing online for free. (Or for a donation. Your choice.)

All net proceeds from Help Haiti Live will go to Compassion International’s Haiti disaster relief fund. All money raised in response to the Haiti earthquake will be used immediately to re-equip Compassion’s local support structure and to provide for the immediate needs of Compassion-assisted children and families.

Compassion has been meeting the physical and spiritual needs of Haitians for more than forty years and will continue to serve them in this time of extreme need. Already Compassion International has supplied more than 15,000 families with clean water, food, blankets, temporary shelter, medical supplies and counseling. Donations will lay bricks, feed, educate, clothe, heal and rebuild Haiti for many months to come in Jesus’ name.

So, what are YOU doing this Saturday night?

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Hear No Evil - winner!

Random.org picked #31 - Jenn Calling Home - to win a copy of Matthew Paul Turner's Hear No Evil.

Congratulations, Jenn! E-mail me your address, and I'll ship it to you.

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Losing It

On Monday, I said this on Twitter: “My mom said my brother's lost a bunch of weight. So I'm back on the healthy wagon today. Is that bad?”

According to my friends on Twitter, that is not bad motivation at all. As a matter of fact, two of my friends suggested we put our bloggy powers to work and start a weight loss competition.

I’m kidding. We don’t have special bloggy powers.

We are, however, holding a weight loss competition.

For the next 10 weeks, Jessie from Vanderbilt Wife, Ashleigh from Heart & Home and I are going to be making healthy choices and talking about it. And then we’re going to tell you if we’ve lost weight and how much. Kind of.

I can’t be more specific than that, because we’re each going about weight loss differently. For example, Ashleigh and Jessie are big believers in whole foods. On the other hand, I’m a fan of food that comes from a can or my freezer and gets cooked in the microwave.

But no matter how we differ in food choices, exercise plans or calorie/point/carb counts, we’re all aiming for the same thing: healthy, lasting weight loss.

And we’d like you to join us. Every Friday for the next 10 weeks, we're going to host a carnival called Losing It (and Not Just Our Sanity). I’ll tell you if I met my goals for the week and what percentage of my body weight I lost.

(Sorry, friends. I only share my actual weight with my Weight Watchers leader. And . . . strangely enough, I pay for that privilege . . .)

If you join us, you could not only lose weight, but you could GAIN a prize! Anyone who links up at least six of the ten weeks will be eligible to win a six-month subscription to The Six O'Clock Scramble (a meal planning service), a Weight Watchers pedometer, and a gift card to Dick's Sporting Goods.

The winner? The person who loses the biggest percentage of body weight!

What do you say? Are you ready to make some healthier choices over the next 10 weeks? I know I am! Here are my goals:

• Drink 10-12 cups of water a day.
• Stick to my weekly allowance of points (Weight Watchers).
• Exercise three times a week.
• Lose 20 pounds during our competition.

Who’s in?



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Book Review & Giveaway: Hear No Evil

A couple weeks ago, I flew to Nashville. (I may have mentioned it a time or 12 . . . you know . . . for that conference? Yeah.)

While I love traveling and was excited to go to Blissdom, I was not excited to get on a plane. I just don’t enjoy flying. (And that was before the whole Southwest/fat people/PR disaster thing that has me completely paranoid about my next flight.)

However, this time was different. I arrived at the airport with more than enough time to spare (I was not about to relive my missed flight from August!), and settled into my seat at the gate. From there I moved into my very own row on the plane, and after collecting my two bags, I parked it near a window for about an hour.

And the whole time, I was reading. And possibly looking a little weird, because more than once, I found myself laughing out loud.

It’s not unusual for me to lose myself and all track of time in a good book. But it is unusual for me to be so caught up that FLYING doesn’t even phase me.

The book? Hear No Evil by Matthew Paul Turner.

A month or so ago, I read his memoir about growing up in a fundamental Christian home, Churched. It was good, but not quite as funny as I’d expected. (It was more eye-opening than anything, because honestly, I had no idea churches like the one he described still exist outside of movies and TV shows poking fun at Christians.)

Hear No Evil, on the other hand, did not disappoint in the humor department. If you’ve read Matthew Paul Turner’s blog (Side note: Can I call him Matt? Does he really go by the full name? What if I shorten it to MPT? I just don’t know…), you know he leans toward the sarcastic side of funny.

And if you read this blog, you know that’s my kind of funny.

Hear No Evil tells the story of MPT’s journey in the world of Christian music. From a teenager whose mom forbids him to buy an Amy Grant tape to a journalist interviewing Amy Grant herself, this story is funny yet touching, relatable yet surprising, an easy read yet somewhat thought-provoking.

Here’s the summary, but keep reading for the giveaway part:

A collection of wise, compelling, and often uproariously funny essays built around the experience of music as a transformational element in a moment of truth, Hear No Evil mines Matthew Paul Turner’s humorous memories of his evangelical youth and invites readers to groove along on his journey.

From attending forbidden contemporary Christian concerts to moving to “Music City” Nashville, Hear No Evil chronicles Turner’s “life soundtrack” which morphs seamlessly into the stories of people, places, and experiences that have taught the music-editor-turned-author some new things about God, forced him out of his comfort zone, and introduced him to a fresh view of grace along the way.

If you’ve ever had the opening bars of a song transport you back in time or remind you of a pivotal spiritual moment, Matthew Paul Turner’s honest—and frequently hilarious—musings will strike a chord. Straightforward and amusing, Hear No Evil is an exploration of a life of faith lived to a personal soundtrack.

I’M GIVING AWAY ONE COPY OF THIS BOOK. Leave a comment for a chance to win. Leave a separate comment if you subscribe to this blog for a second chance to win. And leave a separate comment if you follow me on Twitter for a third chance to win. And leave yet another separate comment if you’ve joined my Facebook page for a fourth chance to win. I'll draw a name (a.k.a. use Random.org) on Sunday.

That’s a lot of chances. I’m just sayin’.

Does your life have a soundtrack? Tell us in the comments (all the many, many comments) what song – or songs! – would be on your soundtrack o’life.

Disclosure: This book was provided for review by the WaterBrook Multnomah Publishing Group.

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Wordless Wednesday: Blissful Gadgets

 
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Just like Mom used to make

Mark's mom was an amazing cook. And for every special occasion, she made a special apple cake for her youngest son (her baby, if you will).

I tried to make it once. I had her recipe, and I followed it to a T. I thought it turned out pretty well, but Mark made the unfortunate choice to say, "It's pretty good, but it doesn't taste like Mom's."

Or something like that. This was several years ago, but you get the point, I'm sure.

(I don't hold it against him. He's also said that I make better lasagna than she ever did, and that was even before I tried out the Pioneer Woman's recipe.)

A few years ago, I went to my first Tastefully Simple party. It was on that night that I discovered the solution to all our apple cake problems.

Nana's Apple Cake Mix literally takes two minutes to fix. And it tastes WAY better than I remember a certain mother-in-law's homemade from scratch cake! (Okay, that might not be true. But since I've given up baking for REAL, it's what I'm telling myself.)

I'd planned to make the cake for Mark's birthday, but that didn't happen. I did, however, manage to throw it together for Valentine's Day. Annnnnnd it was delicious. (Annnnnd it's already gone!)

Have you ever tried to make a family recipe - and failed?

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I'm here to make friends.

In my first “real” job, I had a difficult manager. She micromanaged my coworkers and me, she took credit for our work and she loved reminding us often that her husband was an attorney.

She said it so often that a few times, we played our own version of buzzword bingo during staff meetings.

Because I was young and still had a healthy dose of know-it-all in my system, her intensity and management style didn’t sit well with me. Once, during a meeting with our boss, we practically shouted at each other over whether or not “agreeance” is actually a word.

(It’s not. Like I said. She insisted on looking it up in the dictionary, and just proved that I was right.)

Looking back, I realize that I was part of the problem. Ugh. That’s so hard to admit. But it’s true. And while I still don’t think I’d enjoy working under her, I will tell you that she taught me a lot in the two and a half years we worked together.

One thing I learned is that for me, work is a lot more enjoyable when I can be friends with my colleagues.

After being hurt by a co-worker/friend several years ago, I went into my next job carefully. I smiled, I was polite, a good team player, but I didn’t reach out to anyone. Not for several months. But eventually my outgoing tendencies (also known as “I like to talk. A lot.”) got the best of me, and I found myself becoming close to several co-workers, some of whom I’m still close to despite us all having moved on to different companies.

The same thing happened at my current job. For the first year and a half, I was stuck at a corner desk – not to be confused with a corner office, which it was not – where I was basically told to sit down and shut up. But about seven months ago, I moved into a space with my manager and two other women.

It has made the biggest difference in my work life! I feel like a PERSON again. We brainstorm ideas, we vent about difficult situations, and we debate the best contestant on American Idol. Though my workload and job description didn’t change, a different physical location allowed me to connect with my coworkers and enjoy my days so much more.

So when I saw a video a couple weeks ago on Rachelle Gardner’s blog, I had to laugh. The video is a compilation of reality show contestants claiming that they’re not on the show to make friends.

Guess what phrase my old manager said even more often than, “Well, you know my husband is an attorney”? Yep, that’s right. She told us soooo many times, “I’m not here to make friends.”

And she didn’t.

But I’m glad I did. Besides, as Rachelle put it, “'I'm not here to make friends’ is a common attempt to justify being a total jerk.”

So true. And now that I think about it, it’s true for so many situations: work, church, blogging.

I've made so many good friends - most of my best friends, really - in places I never expected. In a Sunday school class with people who seemed so different than us. By blogging about the random things that run through my head on any given day. At a job that I never really wanted.

Unexpected friendships are kind of a double blessing, and I'm so thankful for mine.

Here’s the video if you haven’t seen it. (Warning: I don’t think this is necessarily rated PG. It is a montage of reality show clips, after all.)



Have you ever made a friend in an unexpected place?

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Saturday Review: Harry Connick, Jr.

As I mentioned on Facebook, I do realize that I could not possibly look more awkward in this picture. But the fact remains: I am standing just feet away from Harry Connick, Jr. And I have a picture to prove it!

When I heard through the grapevine that our “surprise guest” would be Harry Connick, Jr., I was beyond excited. I have loved him since my days in high school jazz band, and I could not believe he would be performing for me.

You know, me and 500 of my closest blogging friends.

But I’m not to that part yet.

Let’s start at the beginning, shall we? (After all, I tried to keep this simple on Facebook, saying only that I shook his hand. And you people went crazy! And demanded answers! Details! Dirt! Okay, maybe not exactly crazy. But still. I’m pretty sure you want to know more.)

Originally, Harry was scheduled to perform on Saturday night after the final sessions and keynote. But then the New Orleans Saints got in the Superbowl, so Harry had to move our little shindig back a day. To make room for his Superbowl party. Or something.

Whatever the fancy celebrity reason for rescheduling, I’m glad. I was so wiped out by Saturday night that I’m not sure I would have made it to the concert. As it was, I wasn’t convinced that Harry really needed me to put on a dress, heels and eyeliner.

But I did. Which is a good thing. I’d hate to have wobbled into the Opryland’s hip nightclub (do not even start with me about the humor in that statement), past the roped off line and security, in my stretched out jeans and tennis shoes.

The nightclub was exactly what a nightclub should be – and exactly what I don’t love about nightclubs. It was dark and crowded and loud and sweaty. I tried to be sociable; I did. I joined some of my (in)courage friends in a booth in the back. But they’d already paired off into [shouted] conversations, so after snapping a few pictures, I headed back to home base.

Also known as, wherever my roommate Hillary was.

That worked out well, as she’d scoped out a premium spot with a great view of the still-empty stage. Not too long after settling in, the action started.

After some words from Barbara Jones, one of the conference organizers and, I’m pretty sure, the woman responsible for getting Harry to come hang out with us, we watched a video about Harry’s work in New Orleans, rebuilding the music community after Hurricane Katrina.

And then the band strutted onto the stage. I know we were there to see Harry, but I have got to tell you: that trumpet player was ahhhh-mazing! He got the crowd dancing and singing even before Harry stepped on the stage, and two songs later when he played the longest note I’ve ever heard in my life? Well, I was out of breath just listening to him!

Harry and his small band played four songs, finishing up with a football-themed When the Saints Go Marching In. He talked about strong women and building community in New Orleans, and he made some lame jokes that aren’t even worth analyzing here. And it was So. Much. Fun.

I told one friend that I’m not sure anything makes me as happy as live music. And his particular brand of live music – Dixieland jazz, if I’m remembering my Jazz Appreciation lessons right – made it impossible to even remember how bad my feet hurt or how few hours of sleep I’d gotten or how I kind of wished I hadn’t set my drink down and forgotten it.

The music made me dance. It made me sing. It made me grin a goofy grin. And it made me cry. Just a little. Happy tears, of course.

After the first couple of songs, we knew what we had to do – move to the other side of the room, so we could line up to meet him! And that’s exactly what we did – me with shoes in hand, because seriously, those suckers hurt.

I’d like to say that everyone in that dark, crowded room behaved nicely as we formed a line to meet Harry. But apparently manners didn’t fit into everyone’s little party purses. At one point, I started wondering if those women shoving and pushing their way to the front had been given more than two drink tickets. And then I thought that maybe this is what it feels like to be at a European soccer match.

Though I did get squished against the wall, I survived (thanks in part to Lisa). and got my shoes back on my feet, just in time to get to the front of the line. They took six women in at a time, and only the designated photographer was allowed to snap a quick picture.

As we fluttered around Harry, jockeying for position (yes, I lost that battle), I turned and shook his hand. And in that moment, when I could have said so many things, I said, “Thank you.”

That’s it. It’s not as if I wanted to say, “I love you!!!!!!” That would have been awkward. But still. My “thank you” and the way I said it really felt like, “I carried a watermelon?”

And then it was over.

Amy squealed and told me – and then demonstrated ON me – exactly how tightly Harry had held her as we posed. Hillary and I just grinned at each other. And I swore I’d never wash my hand again.

That declaration lasted for about 24 minutes – until we got back to our room for a bathroom break between parties. I mean, not washing would have been gross. And weird.

So there you have it. Not the most thrilling adventure, I’m sure, but it’s my adventure. And now you have all the details as I know them.

But wait – there’s more! Here’s a video of Harry’s final song, from The Southern Plate:



Do you like jazz? Who’s your favorite artist?

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The most perfect Valentine's Day ever . . . almost.

When I was a freshman in college, I decided that it was time for Mark and me to get engaged. After all, we’d already planned to get married after my sophomore year, so we needed to get the ball rolling. Wedding planning takes time, you know?

So I told Mark about this. Don’t be alarmed. He started asking me to marry him when I was just 16, so this was only good news for him.

Shortly after that conversation, we flipped the calendar to February. Which, as you know if you’ve ever been in any sort of relationship, means expectations and plans and all that good stuff.

Chocolate may even get involved.

I assumed, because my experience with romance novels and chick flicks told me it would happen this way, that Mark would propose on Valentine’s Day. And so, I planned accordingly.

A few weeks before the big weekend, I made lasagna at home. It was no Pioneer Woman dish at that point, but it was (and still is) Mark’s favorite thing I make. I froze two servings and took them back to school.

I like planning events, and this Valentine’s Day was to be quite the event. I had a white sheet to use as a tablecloth, and I draped it over a coffee table from the dorm lounge. I [illegally] lit candles and had a bag salad ready to dump into a bowl. My friend Nicole picked up breadsticks from Fazoli’s, and I had an elaborate plan to get Mark out of my room while I threw it all together.

Except . . . my plan didn’t work out quite right. I asked Mark to return a couple movies I’d rented, but when he got to his car, he realized he needed directions. So he came back up to my room and knocked on the door.

Because I thought it was Nicole, delivering the breadsticks, I opened the door without a thought. And Mark saw me with scissors in my hands and rose petals scattered behind me.

He thought I was mad at him and destroying the flowers he’d brought me!

I was actually cutting open the bag of shredded cheese for the salad, and the rose petals were to decorate our makeshift table. From a rose I’d bought myself.

We laughed when he came back and told me what he'd thought, but I was so sad that he’d been worried. (And I was worried that he thought I was such a crazy woman that I’d cut up his beautiful flowers!)

Then to top it all off, the poor guy did not, in fact, propose. He gave me a Martina McBride CD with the song Valentine on it. The song that I’d sung at our spring concert the year before. The song that I’d really been singing to him from that stage in our high school gym.

I’m ashamed to tell you that my first reaction was not, “Awwwww! That’s so sweet!”

No, I behaved sort of like the kind of crazy woman who might cut up a bouquet of roses. I wasn’t angry or too ugly about it. But I wasn’t gracious and kind, that’s for darned sure.

We still had a great weekend together, and I am still proud of the way I pulled together that little romantic dorm dinner. (And I still love that song, by the way.)

But we would have had a much better start if I’d been giving up on perfect holidays back then!

I don’t think we’re doing anything at all for Valentine’s Day this weekend. We’ll probably rent a movie and order a $10 pizza. And I’m tossing around the idea of starting potty training. So, it’s going to be exciting.

Do you like Valentine’s Day? How will you celebrate – or boycott – the holiday this weekend?

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Poppies and purses and pretties.

One of my favorite parts of Blissdom was meeting some of the people behind the handmade products sold by (in)courage.

Lindsey, Maggie and Lisa are beautiful women who create beautiful products. I love what they do, but more importantly, who they are. They just impress the heck out of me!

Check out what they do:

Lindsey is The Pleated Poppy. I mean, she’s not actually a flower herself. She’s actually a delightful, funny woman. But she makes the cutest little poppy pins, among many other crafty goods.

Lindsey gave me a cute teal poppy pin, but this isn't it.
This photo is from her site.

Maggie is Gussy. And by that I mean, yes, she is Gussy. And Gussy makes lots of pretties with ruffles.

Gussy made a cute, ruffly laptop bag for all the (in)courage writers.
This is her photo.

And Lisa is, well, Lisa. Like the photos she shares on her blog, she is colorful, peaceful and lovely. And, oh yeah, she makes some jewelry.

Lisa made a BLISS necklace for every single person who went to Blissdom.
She's amazing! (And this photo is mine.)

I’m thankful for the gifts these women gave me at Blissdom. But way more than any pretty present, I’m thankful for the chance to get to know these ladies. These artists. These friends.

This post will be linked to Things I Love Thursday at Diaper Diaries.

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Top 10 Moments of Blissdom

Where do I even start? I got a couple extra hours of sleep last night and though I woke up with a cold or something that's making my throat hurt and my nose run, I think my body is pretty much recovered from the weekend.

My brain, though? Not even close to recovered.

So I'm not ready to share all the wisdom the fabulous panelists dropped on us at Blissdom. My plan is to get those thoughts organized by this time next week. Feel free to hold me to it!

All I can do today is tell you about some of the best moments I had at Blissdom.

1. Lunch with Hillary and Monica on Thursday. They met at last year's Blissdom, and I started the lunch feeling like the odd man out at their reunion. And that feeling lasted for about 30 seconds. And then we were just three friends sharing a meal.
2. Meeting - and getting to hang out with - Sarah Markley. She is even more beautiful in person than she is on her blog, and I'm talking inside and out.
3. Eating a good ol' Southern breakfast (ala Cracker Barrel) with my (in)courage sisters. Holley and Stephanie are incredible leaders and friends, and the way they've put together a group of diverse women who are somehow immediately at home with each other is just amazing. 
4. Making a couple women's day just by telling them I read their blogs. I didn't realize how excited they would be to meet a reader and fan, but that's silly. After all, every time someone told me they read my blog, I felt pretty giddy myself!
5. Seeing Harry Connick, Jr., perform. In person. Right in front of my face. (Yes, I'll share more details later this week. I promise!)
6. Hanging out with Annie. I know I'm not alone when I say I love this girl. But I do. She's so darned funny and smart and just my kind of lady. I love her. The end.
7. Having a three-night slumber party with Hillary and Jessie. These girls are so sweet, so crazy, so funny, so talented, so smart! And they are SO my friends.
8. Meeting bloggers I've been connecting with online for several months (like Amanda, Mandi and Jill), spending time with bloggers I've met before and can't get enough of (like Nester, Emily and Jo-Lynne), and being introduced to incredible artists (like Gussy and Lindsey).
9. Meeting and hanging out with Lisa and her twin sister, Chrissie. These women were so welcoming and sweet and gentle and funny. And I love them, too.
10. Walking out of my gate at the airport and hearing the sweetest voice say, "Mommy!"

I'm forgetting some things, I'm leaving out some things for now, and the moments I just mentioned are not in any particular order. And they don't even begin to include the hotel, the swag, the speakers and the many, many times I was moved to huge laughter or quiet tears.

Blissdom was an incredible conference, and I'm looking forward to processing everything I saw, did and learned over the next few weeks. And I'm thankful for the opportunity to attend, which was made largely possible by my sponsor, United Country Real Estate.

Did you go to Blissdom? If you're a blogger who didn't go to this year's Blissdom, have you gone or do you plan to go to a blogging conference?

This post will be linked to OhAmanda's Top Ten Tuesday and Musings of a Housewife's Blissdom Recap Roundup.

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It had to be . . . Harry.

Image by DawnMHSH

Yes, it's true. I met Harry Connick, Jr., at Blissdom. I'm not saying we sat and chatted over coffee. I mean, first of all, I don't like coffee.

But I did shake his hand. And I can't wait to tell you more of the story. But tonight, my brain is mush and my bed is calling. So until then, tell me: have you ever met anyone really famous?

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Live from Nashville: airport ramblings.

 

Image by Jsome1

I'm sitting at the Nashville airport, waiting for Hillary to pick me up. I suppose I could just grab a shuttle to the hotel, but, well, I'm cheap.

You'll be happy to know that I got on my flight as planned this morning - as opposed to the flight I missed going to SheSpeaks. Yep, I got to the airport not so bright and early, so I wouldn't have a replay of that little event.

So early that I had about an hour to kill. Which means, of course, that I'm almost finished with my book.

Oh well. The good news - aside from simply MAKING my crazy early (yes, 8 a.m. is early for a flight when you factor in getting ready, last-minute packing, drive-time and check-in!) flight - is that I just had the best flight EVER.

See, I'm not a good flier. Not at all. But this morning's trip was great! Of course I knew the flight would be short (just over an hour), but I didn't know it would be practically empty.

Imagine my pleasant surprise when I got a WHOLE ROW to myself! It took everything I had not to pop up that other armrest and make myself AT HOME.

Instead I read a little more and half-slept, half-eavesdropped on the much-too-chipper guys a few rows back.

Little did I know that I should have been listening in on the folks a few rows UP. Because those guys? Those guys were MUSICIANS.

What clued me in? Well, I suppose it could have been the fact that they were on a flight TO NASHVILLE. But you know, that doesn't necessarily mean anything. (After all, they could be tea partiers, or whatever that OTHER convention going on at my hotel is about.)

Nope, I know they're musicians, because as I walked ahead of them and then behind them (then ahead again and behind again - their unsteady pace REALLY made it difficult for me to properly eavesdrop), they were singing.

Singing. In the airport. And laughing. And saying, "That's great! That will be my first single! Hahaha!"

I know. My deductive skills are amazing.

As I was working much harder than I should have to on five hours of sleep to listen in on this fascinating display of, well, SOMETHING, I also tried to get a good look at their faces. After all, until I heard the words "FIRST single," I thought maybe they're really famous. This is Music City, right?

Well, I'm pretty sure they're not famous. Yet. Maybe they will be. I'll let you know if and when I hear that phrase they repeated all the way from our gate to baggage claim on the radio.

And with that, I believe I'll log off for a bit. I don't see an outlet anywhere, so I'm depending on my laptop's battery. And as said laptop is actually a dinosaur that has never heard the word "netbook," much less the hideous "iPad," I'm guessing I've just about exhausted its poor little battery.

Oh, one last thing, though: my bag that I painstakingly packed late last night, folding each shirt and pair of pants into tiny squares and placing them JUST SO? Yeah, it got inspected. Thankfully, even MacGyver couldn't turn way too much plus-sized women's clothes for a four-day trip, a lint roller and a cheap plastic hairbrush into a bomb.

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Hey, jealousy!

In the past couple of weeks, I’ve started implementing my company’s social media strategy. Or kicking off our social media campaign. Or entering the world of social media.

I’m not really sure what we’re calling it. I just know that it means I get to do a lot more fun stuff during the day.

It also means that I’ve spent more time on Twitter than normal. And because Blissdom is this week, I’m hearing a lot of conversations about the conference. What to wear, what to pack, how much snow does Nashville really have?

But I’ve noticed other questions, too: Will I fit in? Will I be awkward? Will I embarrass myself?

I’d be lying if I said I don’t have any of those same thoughts flying through my head (along with my packing list, flight agenda and the tax rates for the hotel room I’m sharing), but I’m also relieved to be meeting and sharing that overtaxed room with two good friends.

They may not know this, but I’m assuming that if all else fails (read: I cry in front of a big, famous blogger I adore – again), they’ll still be there.

It’s interesting, this world of blogging – and by that, I guess I mean this world of blogging women. We can be so insecure, so conflicted, so scared, can’t we? And while it’s easy to hide our fears, weaknesses and insecurities behind well-written articles, a witty username and punny post titles, it’s not so easy to be that confident in person.

At least it’s not for me. A good friend asked me yesterday how she could pray for me while I’m gone, and one of my requests (I kept it to four, okay, people? And not a single one included, “Please, God, let me meet Harry Connick, Jr.!”) was to not be awkward.

(I’ll keep you posted on how that works out.)

I especially don’t want to be awkward around “the cool kids.” Because, you know, they’re cool. And I’m not. And I want to be.

Whoa, there! Hold the phone! Chill out! (See, even when I talk to myself, I’m kind of dorky.) It’s just that easy, though, to start down the path of doubt and envy.

“They’re cool. I’m not. I wish I was like her. Or her. Or her.”

I know I’m not alone in this. Between the whispered fears on Twitter (And yes, we all recognize the irony of “whispering” something by broadcasting it on Twitter. Just go with me here.), the panic-laced e-mails (And yes, these may have been mainly coming from me and not to me), and the blog posts I’ve read lately about jealousy, I’m seeing a pretty distinct pattern.

[I started to say “trend,” but Lord knows that even at my most confident, I don’t fancy myself a trendspotter.]

I’ve loved these posts, and I thought you might, too. Posts that say yes, jealousy and insecurity are real, but you know what? We need to get over it. Because odds are, we don’t actually want that other person’s life (or stats or design or whatever) as much as we think we do. And odds are, too, that someone out there looks at us – small, insignificant (in our own eyes), scared us – with the same envy or admiration.

• Rachel Held Evans: On Resenting Anne Jackson 
• CJ Darlington: The Comparison Trap
• Penelope Trunk: How to Make Yourself More Likable (or, in my words, Why I Shouldn’t Be Jealous of The Pioneer Woman) 

What do you do when you find yourself comparing yourself to others or getting wrapped up in jealousy?

This post will be linked to Your Life, Your Blog at Real Life.

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