Jules' Inklings

2008-10-30T22:20:00.003-04:00

Happy Halloween!
I bought this baby penguin costume from Old Navy for $5 last November. Jesse wasn't even in the plans yet. But I convinced Andy that someday we would have a baby, and I would want to buy said baby a costume. I could pay $20 in the future, or $5 right then. $5 won out. It is freaking humongous on my six pound baby. It was worth it for a few pictures. Since he was sleeping, I decided not to push my luck and try to get anything better or more posed. Have fun trick or treating, handing out candy, or attending a costume party tonight!

2008-10-28T15:14:00.003-04:00

Wow. Now That's Some Before & After.

2008-10-22T16:35:00.003-04:00

When Life Throws You a Curveball
I was definitely not supposed to be here, doing this, today. By all accounts, I should be at work right now, thrilled that it's 4:30 and the work day is almost over. I should be chewing on a Tums and waddling out to my car in a little bit, thinking about how great it will be to lay around on the couch all night because I'm exhausted. I should be wondering if Wednesday is too early to start saying I'm 38 weeks, if I don't actually turn 38 weeks until Sunday. I should be thinking - one more day down.

Instead, I am 5 days post partum. Instead of counting down the days, I'm counting the minutes he's been eating, and the hours til the next feeding. I'm waddling, but that's thanks to the emergency c-section I had last Friday afternoon. Instead of reaching for my Tums, it's the Oxycodin. I'm still exhausted, but, well you can imagine why.

After working a half-day last Friday, an appointment at my OB’s office to check my rising blood pressure turned into a fair amount of resulting drama. Before I had time to blink, and within minutes of my husband arriving at the hospital, I was celebrating the birth of my son, Jesse Cole, at 5:22 PM. There are lots of pictures I could show, but instead here’s a selection, one for every day of his life so far. Like everyone ever told me or warned me, I feel an overwhelming amount of worry and love every time I look into this face.

Day Zero

Day One

Day Two

Day Three

Day Four

Day Five

2008-10-12T14:37:00.003-04:00

FAIL.
From time to time, I enjoy this blog: failblog.org

I won't rip it off by slapping a big "FAIL" across this picture, but based on the following evidence, I declare October 2008 a failure of an October. I have tried to be patient, but consistent temperatures in the mid-80s in the middle of October is entirely unacceptable. I demand proper fall weather!

2008-10-11T10:34:00.004-04:00

36 Weeks
I haven't quite mastered this whole self-portrait thing yet. The camera is always such a prominent part of the picture. I was really anticipating getting to this point in pregnancy. In my mind, I thought that 36 weeks would finally sound really far along. Far enough along that I'd finally be allowed to look "full-term." But STILL people look at me, ask me how much longer, and then reply, "Oh still a month?" or "That's a long time!" Worse than these comments are the look that some give me, clearly trying to restrain themselves. Who can imagine what these comments might be if voiced? Apparently they think I should be delivering tomorrow. Ugh. I should have learned this already. When you are pregnant, some people can just be ridiculous. This is well-documented. Why should I be any different? There are plenty - many more - for whom a month practically is tomorrow. "Oooh, it's almost here!!" they squeal. I really like these people.

As you can kind of see in the background above, we got our baby cage - aka Pack 'n' Play - (thanks 8G ladies!) and have it set up in our room. Here's a better shot. We plan on having him sleep in the bassinet portion in our room when he is a newborn. Because we wanted a PNP anyways, we thought that by using the bassinet that comes with it, we'd save money and room by not buying a separate bassinet or co-sleeper.

P.S. Happy 60th Birthday Mum! I remember you signing a note you had left by my bed, "Love, Your 40-year-old Mum." You're still that young to me.

2008-10-09T10:29:00.011-04:00

My Ridiculous Feet
So, I was wrong. I truly and fervently hoped and believed that once the weather cooled down my ankle size would go down as well. While we’ve had a pretty warm fall so far, the weather is certainly cooler than it was back in August. But this, along with the drop in humidity, brought no change in my swelling. My friend said to me the other day, make sure you take a picture of those, I did when I was pregnant. This honestly never occurred to me. They’re horrendous! Why would I ever want to remember them? But I considered that maybe after all was said and done, I wouldn’t be able to accurately remember how bad they were. Like forgetting the pain of labor, so they say? Once I get my feet back, I don’t want to ever take them for granted again. And maybe I will need the picture someday for a well-timed guilt trip for my son.

In all their freak show glory, here are my feet at the end of the day yesterday:

Wow, that was hard and embarrassing to post. And you guys thought I was kidding, didn’t you? Maybe being a little bit of a drama queen, hmm? Walking around on these bad boys doesn't do much for the waddling situation either. After years of people commenting on my "small" 6.5 sized feet, I find this all pretty ironic. I’ve been reading a blog lately (shout out to Mrs. Priss!), and I am quite impressed with her commitment to fashionable footwear, particularly heels, throughout her pregnancy. Bless her. I really had no choice in the matter. None of my shoes fit – even my comfortable-but-still-cute ballet flats. For most of the summer, I wore flip flops, every single day. Yes, I have an office job; and a very understanding boss.

About a month ago I decided I needed some closed-toe shoes to get me through the fall. Sadly, it’s not even about getting bigger shoes. When I go up a size or two, all I get are ill-fitting shoes that flop off the back of my heel. I needed comfort and give. I settled on the Malindi version of Crocs. My husband hates Crocs with a passion. He was highly chagrined last summer when I insisted on going back to this one store in Chinatown in NYC to get some hot pink mock Crocs for $8. Those were the classic clog Croc style however, which are admittedly not that attractive (but comfortable!) The Malindi Crocs, while not exactly the height of fashion, are much more understated and slim (unlike my actual feet). I’m not sure he’s even noticed they’re Crocs yet. Or maybe he has and in his great wisdom has decided that picking on them at this point would be a really bad idea. They’re working out well. But as you can tell from the shoe-less picture above, they still leave indentations in my feet, which would happily swell to the size of Violet Beauregarde as a blueberry if left unchecked.

*For those new to this phenomenon, I have a classic pregnancy condition called edema. Yes, my case is worse than the average pregnant woman. My doctor is well aware of it and is not worried, as long as my blood pressure stays ok, which it has so far. I just have to live with it until this baby comes out. As she said to me yesterday, “Let’s get those puffy little feet up into the stirrups.” LOVELY. I don't know exactly how much water/fluid I'm retaining, but here's hoping it's at least 20 pounds worth. :0. Also, I drink a ton of water, put them up as much as I can, and see no difference when I watch my sodium intake. So, thank you for the advice, but believe you me, I have tried!

2008-10-02T17:50:00.004-04:00

There is no title for randomness

Here's some photos, since I have a brand new "I'm having a baby!" digital camera. Other interesting but random notes for the week include that the Steelers are now 3-1, but not without having paid the price. Apparently Safety Ryan Clark showed up to the press conference this week to say it was called off, joking, "I'm sorry, Coach Tomlin is injured." He may as well be too! It's going to be a looong season. And the Chuck season premiere was so fantastic. If you're not watching it, you should be. Onto the photos...

First of all, here's my baby's new bed!

And speaking of beds, here's the king-size, loaded-with-pillows variety I got to enjoy all to myself while on a business trip to Nashville this week. I was really looking forward to this. (sorry Andy). And the AC was cranked - Andy would have woken up as a popsicle. I loved it.

And finally, in case you're not on Facebook with me, here's a shot of the belly at 34.5 weeks. And my new camera. :)

2008-10-02T12:05:00.002-04:00

Handbag Planet!
HandbagPlanet.com is launching its website on October 15th, and every hour for an entire 24 hours they will draw for another free handbag! You can enter on their website and you can even choose which bag you'd like to win. I had a hard time choosing! Good luck.

2008-09-22T01:20:00.002-04:00

How Appropriate
It's 1:20 AM and I am surfing. I had been in bed, pretty happily, having fallen asleep watching Dallas beat Green Bay (I was happy about the sleeping, I mean, not that I had any vested interest in who won that game). But about an hour ago Andy came to bed, and I woke up enough to acknowledge my heartburn, my discomfort, my kicking son, and the fact that I'm too hot with the covers on, and too chilly with them off. So, here I am on the couch, killing time and waiting for the sleepiness to come again. As I clicked over to week 33 (what I turned today) on "What to Expect" I found the topic pretty ironic. Or maybe the word is poignant?

Your Pregnant Body This Week
Week 33 of Pregnancy: Insomnia
How unfair — that when you need it the most, you can't get it. You keep on telling yourself it's the last opportunity for a long, long time (at least until your baby's sleeping through the night). But you still can't get any. No, not sex, woman — sleep! Third-trimester insomnia strikes more than 75 percent of expectant moms — very tired expectant moms. All the hormonal changes, the midnight treks to the bathroom, the leg cramps, the heartburn that won't quit, the fact that you can't get comfortable when you're in bed with a watermelon where your tummy used to be, and the anxiety you're likely feeling about the impending birth of your baby (and the fact that you still haven't decided on a name for your baby) all contribute to your inability to catch some satisfying z's.

2008-09-10T18:31:00.001-04:00

Jealousy
My friend sent me this today and signed it "Love, Hurley." So, so true.

2008-09-05T17:56:00.000-04:00

Google It
Thoughts from weeks 27 and 28 (update: I am currently 31 - oh! both "weeks pregnant" and that's my age. weird.)

Week 27
Just sitting here at my desk this Monday afternoon, in my new-as-of-last-week set-up (one that allows me to put my feet up during the day), I could feel my son kicking off and on again. It’s an enjoyable distraction, and I sometimes type with one hand so I can use the other hand to feel his kicks. Then in my lower abdomen, the opposite end of where I had just felt him kick, I started to feel a rhythmic tapping. Once every second or two. It wasn’t as strong as a kick, but something was clearly going on in there. I started to wonder – that couldn’t be hiccups, could it? If it was, it wasn’t exactly what I was expecting hiccups to feel like. They were so close together and so light. Thank you trusty Google, which received my query: “what do baby hiccups feel like?” with eagerness to return me an answer! Various postings across the internet confirmed, I was feeling hiccups!

It feels to me like tiny little taps as well. like every 2 seconds.

I have been feeling this rhythmic movement (every few seconds) for about 2 weeks now. I didn't know what it was until I read in my 27-week email from babycenter.com that it was probably hiccups. I was like, "oh, that's what's going on in there." I told my DH it felt like a little drummer boy in there.

It felt smaller than a kick, and it was so regular--like every 2-3 seconds. More frequent than a person would hiccup.

Hiccups feel like slight kicks with 1-second gaps, it almost feels like our heartbeat. but you'll actually know its hiccups, it happens in your lower abdomen because the baby's head is down.

Week 28
One and only one thing determines if my hands and feet swell up – THE WEATHER! I discovered this was true, when last week we had a wonderful snap from our normal heat and humidity. It was going down into the 50s at night, and hitting about 80 during the day, with low humidity. My rings were sliding around my finger again, and my ankles had returned to a normal size. What happened when it heated back up? You got it. One way ticket back to Cankle Town. I kept doing all the same things – drinking lots of water, putting my feet up at my new desk arrangement, and even continuing my experiment with grapefruit juice. Only the weather changed. I can drink water til I’m peeing a river – I’m sure it’s good for me, but it doesn’t help the swelling one iota (or at least not all the iotas I need). Sure, putting my feet up HELPS, but it’s not a cure-all. This is made obvious when I wake up in the morning and I’m still a little swollen. So, until the fall weather decides to greet us for the long haul, I think I’m stuck with these things.

In the spirit of the Summer Games in Beijing, this week our baby is the size of a Chinese cabbage.

2008-08-29T08:16:00.000-04:00

Rub My Belly!
Dogs love a good belly rub—any time, any place, any person—but apparently humans do NOT. People have asked me a lot of the same questions over the past few months. When are you due? Do you know the gender? Do you have a name picked out? How much longer? In addition to these generics, people are also highly interested in whether strangers have rubbed my belly yet. Everyone seems to know about this phenomenon. Even single guys, who I would normally assume are “unschooled” in the ways of pregnancy and babies. And from everyone who asks me this, NO ONE thinks it’s okay (somebody does though, because it’s happening to someone out there to cause all this hubbub.) And a lot of people don’t think it’s cool for anyone (outside of their hubby and maybe their mother) to do it. I’ve often heard, “Um, hello! That’s my belly! Personal space, anyone?!” Us Americans, we like our personal space.

Now, I am not a super touchy person myself, but the topic really does not raise the ire in my heart as it seems to amongst my peers. Admittedly, I have not had any perfect strangers try this. I might feel differently if the UPS man abandoned his “not getting any smaller” comments for a mid-day belly rub. But when it comes to people I know – anyone I consider a friend – go for it! Give it a rub. And I love the smile on their face when they do. It’s their way of showing affection for a baby that they already love and care about so much. It’s an experience of wonderment and awe at the miracle that is baby-growing. And that’s just cool. Sometimes I can tell people want to, but they’re showing restraint (which I appreciate - it IS nice to ask first), so I extend the invitation. When I do, their hand is on my belly faster than you can say “midnight Taco Bell run.” (Whoa, where’d that come from? We haven’t made one, but I’ve promised Andy I’ll demand it at least once before the baby comes. If I don’t, he might.)

I’m cool with the fact that not everyone enjoys it, so we should all keep up a modicum of manners and at least ask your friend first. Trust me, if they don’t want you to, they’ll tell you. To avoid the awkward pause that will inevitably follow after they’ve shot you down in the middle of Wal-mart, just ask the mama-to-be where she is registered. Leave it to potential presents to make her quickly forget you wanted to cross the invisible barrier!

2008-08-26T08:31:00.000-04:00

Eating for Two, Michael Phelps Style
Thoughts from Week 23
One of the most sound, realistic bits of advice I have been given, which completely shuns popular thought is this: No, you’re not eating for two. You’re eating for yourself and one itty, bitty baby.

Technically, yes, that is two, although a common understanding is two full-grown adults. So not true. And yet, infinitely more times than I have heard this practical advice, I have heard the devil on my left shoulder – in the form of friends, coworkers and family – practically admonish me when I try show restraint over eating some sweet or going for seconds, “But you’re eating for two!” I have no doubt I have done this to other pregnant women in the past. And what with all the cravings and constant hunger pangs hitting me from the front and the back, it’s really not helping the “don’t blow up into a cow” cause.

It all brings up an interesting subject of body image during pregnancy. Before ever becoming pregnant, there was nothing cuter to me than a chubby pregnant woman with a big round belly. I rolled my eyes at those who would say, “I’m sure sitting next to me makes you feel great, since I’m as big as house right now!” Actually, never once did a woman who was growing another human being inside of her, EVER make me feel better for my own flabby belly or cellulite infused thighs. Please. For every pregnant woman who complained about her size, I had a placating smile and pat on the arm ready to go. “But you’re pregnant. You look adorable, really.” I fully expected to eagerly welcome my own pregnant body. I admit it, I have even been known to stuff a pillow or two up my shirt in my day – just to imagine what pregnant Julie might look like. (Stop judging – you know you did it, too.) I just couldn’t wait, and I looked forward to nine full months of not worrying about every little thing I ate and how it made me look in my jeans.

But in all honesty, embracing my new body image was a much harder challenge than I ever would have expected. People, including my husband at the top of the list, looove to tell me how cute I am, now that I’m pregnant. I would confidently say that people lavish more compliments on your appearance while pregnant than at ANY other time in your life. So, I’m not lacking for encouragement, that’s for sure. But for every compliment, there’s always a doubt – am I showing too soon? Should my arms really be this fat? They’re not carrying the baby! Are my ankles swollen under the pressure of my girth, or because it’s hot out and I consumed too much sodium today?

It’s a self-image challenge that I am dealing with day-by-day. I can happily tell you that I am thrilled to be pregnant, glow when people tell me I look great, and generally feel loved and happy about my so-far healthy pregnancy. But let’s just say, I now fully appreciate what it’s like on this side of the stretchy panelled jeans.

2008-08-08T14:31:00.005-04:00

08.08.08
The most amazing thing in the whole world just happened. This is the kind of thing you get in email forward and you think - that really happened?

The company I work for, Cre8tive Group, is having a big party tonight to celebrate 08/08/08. Thanks to our name, the 8 is pretty important around here. With this momentous date falling on a Friday, in the middle of the summer, and with the Olympics starting tonight, a party was pretty much in order. It's going to be chinese-themed (thank you China for your food, no thanks for Communism), we're broadcasting the opening ceremonies on a big screen outside, having Olympic-themed games, etc. It's gonna be great.

Well, Amy, my boss's wife, just called me.

Amy: You have to get over here, right away.
Me: Is anything wrong? You need me right now?
Amy: Just come over right now.

I hang up and brainstorm the whole way over there, trying to imagine what it could possibly be. As I walked into the house, I remembered that I had ordered the cake for the party tonight two days ago and Amy's dad was going to pick it up today. I ordered a FULL sheet cake (that's a big cake, people) with the Olympic rings prominently displayed in the middle. I thought my instructions were pretty clear.

Everyone smirking, they ushered me over to the cake, where I see in large red writing down the middle:

("Olympics Rings")

Yes, the parentheses and quotation marks are also ON THE CAKE. I laughed and laughed, while Chad snapped picture after picture - of the cake, of Amy being mad about the cake, of Amy on the phone with the bakery looking really mad about the cake. Needless to say, they are making us a whole new cake. But, never fear, the original will still be there, for everyone's immense enjoyment.

Fantastic blog, and not just because our cake made it on there: Cake Wrecks.

2008-07-30T19:42:00.006-04:00

"NO SKATEBOARDING ALLOWED"
I work in a small town. Population approximately 6,000. I'm not sure if that's when students are in session or not. With Asbury College and Asbury Seminary (separate institutions) both in Wilmore, surely they give a boost to the small city's population for nine months of the year. So, what are the trials of a small town? What are the great evils that must be squashed? Apparently, it's teenage boys who want to skateboard - anywhere. Oooh. Nobody wants the skate rats grinding and generally loitering on their property. Not the college or the seminary - both landscapes rich with sloped sidewalks and curbs to do tricks on. It's a virtual skatepark; or about the best you can get around here. But, no, skateboarding is strictly prohibited on their campuses. Nobody else wants them around, either. Not businesses, not the seven trillion churches. Now, I DO understand their reasoning for this. They have their reasons - grown-up, boring reasons. But reasons.

Meanwhile, these reasons get the skaters chased all over town. Yelled at like they were caught defacing property or setting something on fire. These reasons, and the people who enforce them, generally make the kids feel like criminals. Criminals who have no place in this town. There's a severe lack of grace going on here. I don't know all of them, by far, but I know a few of them. And they're GOOD kids. Kids who enjoy skateboarding. Which, for a 12-year-old in a small town in the middle of summer, really doesn't sound like a bad idea. They're socializing with each other, enjoying being outside, getting exercise, and let's face it - not smoking things, doing drugs, or having sex. Sounds cool to me.

The other day, my friend's son was hanging out with his skater buddies in the parking lot of the local baptist church. When he saw an adult authority figure come out of the church, he cringed. Just two weeks earlier, he had been harshly yelled at for WALKING with his skateboard NEAR the seminary grounds. Wow. So, his apprehension was understood. The adult approached them and they waited for their tongue lashing. This man, turns out the pastor of the church, said, "Hey guys. Looks like you could use some Ale-8s." He then proceeded to walk all of them across the street to IGA and buy them all an Ale-8. Hoorah, Mr. Baptist Pastor! Thank you for setting an example. Thank you for showing some grace. Thank you for remembering what it's like to be a kid. And thank you for showing these kids that not all Christian authority figures are the same.

2008-07-29T12:37:00.002-04:00

Cravings and Fillings
Thoughts from Week 22
Last night, right after work, Andy and I went to the gym together, for the first time in a long time. We just hadn’t been doing a good job coordinating our trips. I did 35 minutes on the elliptical and got off with the thought that maybe I would lift a few weights until Andy was ready to go. By the time I stretched and drank some water, I realized I was exhausted! Like, lay down on the floor right there exhausted. I looked at Andy for the head nod. Good, he was ready to go too.

We got home where Andy made us a bunch of spaghetti with meat sauce and a Caesar salad. I had plenty to fill me up, although not what I would call a ridiculous amount. I didn’t get heartburn or any other nasty side effect. But for the rest of the night, all the way up until going to bed, my belly was so full and stretched out tight! I felt 30 weeks pregnant – not that I know what that feels like. I laid in bed, feeling like my stomach would explode at any moment, thinking – I have 18 more weeks of this?? I am relieved this morning to have it feel somewhat normal again.

Also, Andy told me yesterday that I looked as big as some women do when they’re about to give birth. Despite what I just said about feeling like I would explode, I knew my stomach looked the same as it had. So, I told him this wasn’t true, although my relatively expert opinion on such matters does not always register with him. Boy, is he in for a shock.

It is Friday. I am eating a chocolate chip cookie Angie brought me back from the bank. (I love First Southern.) It is so good. I could eat twelve more. It fills me with the desire to spend entire the weekend in the kitchen making baked goods and eating them all. Interspersed with ball park nachos smothered in cheese. Literally. I have these desires regularly. Luckily, I usually don't act on them. In fact, despite of having thoughts of how good some nachos would be off and on for a few months now, I have yet to reach the point of desperation where I HAVE to go find some. Maybe one of these days, nachos will present themself to me, and they will taste so, so good.

This week our baby is the size of a spaghetti squash. Spaghetti, hmph. How ironic.

2008-07-25T08:20:00.000-04:00

Cankles and Punk Rawk Shows
Thoughts from Week 18
A heat wave worthy of August has swept thru in early June. Hitting 90 or more every day, it feels like the dog days have hit us early. Also hitting early for me are swollen ankles which have appeared this week. Thankfully, I have found that the more I can keep them up while sitting, I can control their girth. Also seeming to help are drinking a lot, doing some type of exercise each day, and a nice combo of being on my feet and sitting (too much of one or the other, they say, is not good.) I find swollen ankles to be so unsightly, I relish the sight of my normal, slender ones when I see them! (maybe because it's the only remaining "slender" part of me, hmm?)

I can still climb the stairs two at a time. I discover this when I really have to go to the bathroom and the downstairs one is occupied.

This weekend Andy built a fire pit in our backyard. So Sunday night we (he) built a fire, and we grilled hot dogs and marshmallows. Hurley laid under my chair and Elsa stayed on the deck (they are both semi-afraid of the fire, but obviously Elsa more so). It was perfect. Not that we won’t do those types of things with a baby, but I’m just enjoying the quiet moments with just the two of us.

This Saturday we also went out to Ichthus for the evening. Despite torrential rains the night before, which had cancelled the entire evening’s program, the weather was great. We hung out with Melissa, Chris and Anna. The highlight was MxPx taking the Deep End stage at 11:30. I have not seen them live in 3 years and it was great to see them again – like seeing old friends. It was surreal, as a pregnant woman, standing out in a grassy field at midnight, listening to loud punk rock music, wondering if the baby could feel Mike's bass in his protected haven. Surreal, but awesome. I love to see my long-time favorite band weave itself back into the moments of my changing life.

This week our baby is the size of a bell pepper.

2008-07-22T08:15:00.000-04:00

What Was That?
Thoughts from Week 17
I think I felt my baby move for the first time. I had just gotten home from a brisk walk, where I ran for 5 minutes at the end. With the humidity, it only took me about 2 minutes into my running jaunt to start sweating profusely and my face to flare up bright red. Whew, am I glad I’m not out there trying to make a couple of miles of running happen.

So I had been home for about 10 minutes, was chatting with Andy in the kitchen while he made dinner, and I had just sat down on the couch with a tall glass of ice water and my book. After a few minutes I felt the most curious sensation in my abdomen. It was so unique to anything I had ever felt before, I actually started to giggle and couldn’t wipe the smile off my face. Suddenly everyone else's descriptions of bubbles, flutters, and butterflies all seemed to make sense. It lasted 5-7 seconds, maybe. I’ve decided not to tell anyone else what I think until it happens again (and again and again) and I know for sure that that was my baby I felt. But man, was it cool. I cannot wait for it to happen again! A few hours later, I couldn't help myself. I looked over at Andy and with a grin said, I have a secret. ☺

2008-07-18T00:43:00.001-04:00

The Invasion of the Stretchy Panel
Thoughts from Week 13
Today, Tuesday April 29th, I wore maternity pants for the first time. I was sick of my limited wardrobe, of trying to find yet another work appropriate outfit that didn't feel so uncomfortable against my bloated belly. And when my friend Jenni gave them to me she said, you’ll probably want to wear these more early on. Indeed, they are much more fitted than some of the pants I’ve been given already. In fact, they look like completely normal khakis on me, they’re just stretchy at the top – which, let me tell you, is totally awesome. Kind of makes you want to wear maternity pants for the rest of your life.

But why am I even offering a defense, you ask? Who cares if I wear maternity pants? I am pregnant, after all - isn't that what they're for? I guess that enough people telling you they could wear their regular clothes until 20 weeks will make a girl feel a little self-conscious that she’s getting fat too quickly. But if I start now, the comparisons will never stop. So, all guilt aside, this morning I pulled on the pants that fit.

I’m comfortable and I look good (I think). What else can you ask for really?

This week our baby is the size of a lime. Mmm, margaritas.

2008-07-14T12:47:00.003-04:00

Puppy Dog Tails
On Sunday afternoon, my friend Shannan and I went shopping and browsing for decoration ideas for the baby's room. I've already purchased a bedding set- a compromise, if you will, of Andy's and my tastes - at a steal. I also know what colors I want to paint the walls. Based on the style and colors of the bedding (plaids and stripes of navy, baby blue, white, red and khaki), there were two potential "theme" paths the decor could go down that I wanted to avoid - nautical and Americana. But knowing where I didn't want to go still left a broad unknown expanse for where I did want to go. Shannan was a great help and I trust her judgment, besides the fact that she's just fun to shop with. We even roamed around Babies 'R' Us, because it's on the other side of Lexington, and I hadn't even been in there since I've been pregnant. This trip to BRU probably only worsened my case of baby consumerism disdain (not to mention my state of overwhelmed-ness), but it was still kinda fun nonetheless.

After Shannan had to go on to her book club meeting, I continued solo to Burlington Coat Factory. I knew they had a large baby section, called Baby Depot, but I had not been in there myself yet. Left free to roam by myself, I leisurely looked over a lot of stuff - including a lot of adorable baby clothes. I do this in almost any store I go in on a regular basis that has a baby section - Wal-mart, Target, Kohl's, etc. And let me tell you, I have amazing restraint. Knowing that people love to buy baby clothes, I have reminded myself to focus on buying the stuff that other people won't or can't pick out for you. With all of the sage wisdom and maturity I can muster, I've walked out of baby department upon baby department, feeling fulfilled enough with just browsing and dreaming. Until this point, I have allowed myself one indulgence - a blue & white striped onesie that says "My heart belongs to mommy," purchased the week we found out it was a boy. It was $3.

On Sunday, I was on my way out of Burlington, the last store of the day, and almost home free. Then, I saw this, and all resolve melted faster than a cup of sugar in hot water. I am a SUCKER for babies and kids in sleepers - footed, fuzzy, one-piece pajamas that button all the way up the front.
When we were growing up, we called them zuzuits. At least that's how I pronounced and spelled it (once I could spell). I learned much later on that the reason we called them such, was because my parents had a grown-up joke between themselves that the sleepers looked like zoot suits. Not knowing what the heck a zoot suit was, throw in a little lazy Pittsburghese speech, and us kids called them zuzuits, mostly unaware that the rest of the world had no idea what we were talking about.

There on the rack was a blue and brown striped fuzzy zuzuit with a little puppy embroidered on the side. I knew instantly that if my tiny little baby boy were to wear this outfit, I would never be able to stop snuggling him. It took a moment of debating before my heart beat out my practicality. Out came the debit card, and I shelled out $10 for something he will surely outgrow in 3.5 seconds.

But I do not care. You only have your first baby once. And I promise not to abuse that somewhat valid rationalization.

2008-07-12T18:34:00.000-04:00

Dog Tired
Hurley and Elsa's first race! On May 31st, the Jessamine County Humane Society hosted a 5K at nearby Camp Nelson. A bunch of friends came out and ran. In the spirit of the event, you could also run the race with your dog. Andy ran with Elsa and, with me not feeling up for a race and feeling chintzy about the entry fee, Hurley ran with our friend Renee. I cheered on my babies. :)

About a mile in, the first time they passed us. Elsa is looking tired already. Hurley was as bouncy as ever.

Andy and Elsa approaching the finish line. Andy said she was dragging a little, but picked up the pace when she recognized me. Look at that tongue! They were the second human/dog pair to finish.

Peter and me running Hurley (and Renee) into the finish. Look at him looking over at me! Hey mom, look at me! I was so proud.

The whole group of us that were there. Our friend Kris was here from Germany for our friend Clarissa's wedding (later that day), and she wanted to run a local race. Elissa, in the red hat, was the third female overall to finish and several others placed in their age group. Everyone who ran received a door prize of some sort.

The most well-behaved dogs: tired ones.

Happy Family (plus one you can't see).

2008-07-10T12:25:00.000-04:00

Baby Likes It Sweet
I have started to put up snippets from weeks past in my pregnancy journal. I am currently 22 (and a half) weeks and much fatter. Enjoy.
Thoughts from Week 11
My new guilty pleasure? Sweet tea from McDonald’s. I’ve always liked iced tea – well, ever since I came south and realized that people drank tea a LOT different than my mom. Unsweetened tea is not my favorite – and adding artificial sweeteners never seemed really worth it. Just give me a Coke already. But brewed sweet tea? YUM. But really, it’s never been a huge temptation, what with coffee and Coke around as big favorites and exisiting temptations. That is, until coffee was unceremoniously struck from my daily repetoire.

I’ve read extensively (online of course) about pregnancy and caffeine. I decided that a little coffee each morning was still a safe, not reckless thing for me to do. And let’s face it – me without caffeine in the morning is much more risky to the lives of my coworkers and my general well-being. You gotta weigh these things out, people. Then the nausea started and coffee became… not disgusting, but certainly not appealing. I just couldn’t bring myself to drink it. For a little while, I’d get myself a small mug and carry it around with me everywhere I went. I'd take the tiniest of sips and by the time it was cold, I realized I had drunk none of it. I finally gave up the charade. My other caffeine go-to, Coke, became almost as equally unappealing most of the time. Something about the carbonation was just not sitting well with my stomach. Then one morning in a lethargic stupor of routine, wondering how I would get through the morning, I remembered the $1 sweet tea from McDonald’s. Oh yum – now that sounded good. Now, my mornings are spent trying to get ready fast enough to allow time to roll through my local Mickey D’s for my pick-me-up (and maybe some hash browns). And it is so so good.

In comes the guilty part of the pleasure. The cups they give you are ginormous. Unlike, say, a can of Coke, I have no idea how much caffeine is in one of them. I’ve tried googling it. So I try (with restraint) to only drink half of one in a day. It’s working for me. But I will say that I still miss my coffee. Andy says it’s just the habit that I miss. I’m dubious.

This week our baby is the size of a fig. (Is that close to a fig newton?)

**Update: As of week 22, I have broken my addiction to sweet tea, which is probably good for my sugar intake. I still like it once in awhile. Also as of this week, small amounts of morning coffee have made their way back into my favorite mugs to be (mostly) enjoyed! I'm saving a package of sealed Dunkin Donuts coffee for when the love affair is in full swing again. Baby steps.

2008-07-08T12:17:00.002-04:00

Blogging for Two
If you ever read my blog in the past, I'm sure you discovering that I'm suddenly writing on here again will be pure happenstance. Surely you all gave up checking for new posts a long, long time ago. I do not blame you.

If you know me personally, which you probably do if you read this, then you also probably know that I am pregnant with our first child. Interestingly enough, my due date is almost one year after my last post - November 9, 2008. Who would have known. I am currently 22 weeks pregnant. From the first week I found out I was pregnant, I have tried to keep a journal of my thoughts along the way. I'm really terrible at journaling, but I have managed to record at least something, once a week or so. I thought I would share some parts of that journal. Here are some of my first trimester thoughts on running and exhaustion as pregnant woman.

Sometime in week 7, I realized something had to change. I hadn’t run since Good Friday (the start of week 6). I had a good 4 mile run that day, and I felt like myself again. But the sickness really hit that weekend, and on top of being tired, I just stopped running after that altogether. I either didn’t have the energy or was too busy hunting down food to make me feel better. So, in the midst of week 7 (almost week 8) I emailed Shannan, my best friend and running partner, to gripe. I was in a rut. I didn’t have enough energy to do anything besides lay on the couch every night, but the more I did that, the worse I felt. I never felt rested for all the resting I was doing, and worse, I began to grow sick of resting. I expected the bed (couch) sores to start at any moment. I told Shannan that I really wanted to run again, and more importantly, I wanted to be able to run in the Derby half-marathon that was 3.5 weeks away. If I didn’t start doing something soon, I was going to miss my fifth straight year of doing this race. I needed to do a long run to convince myself I could do it (and that I could do the small runs during the week), but the mere thought of having to get up at 6:15 to meet the 7 AM Saturday running group to do a long run made me exhausted (much less actually doing it).

Shannan encouraged me by admitting that her own training had left her sort of worn-out. She proposed we meet on Saturday – at the time of my choosing – and do a slow, easy long run. This was the invitation I needed and I agreed. That Saturday we met at her house on a very pleasant 50 degree morning at 9:30. Two hours later, we had run about 11.5 miles. I was sore and creaky in my body, but my mood and outlook was fantastic. I WAS a runner. I could do this. I felt happier the rest of the day than I had felt in weeks.

I got two more runs and two walks in the rest of the week. The next weekend I faced doing a long run a way I never do it – in Nicholasville and alone. I slept in until I knew I was well rested, charged up my iPod and lounged on the couch until I could ignore it no longer. At 11:30, I headed out by myself, with the plan to stop back at the house at about 5 miles for some Gatorade and a break. I had no idea what to expect. It went great and I ran for an hour and 50 minutes – which I figured out to be around 10.5 miles. I breathed a sigh of relief – I WAS going to run this race. Then, I napped.

This week our baby is the size of a kidney bean.

2007-11-08T11:08:00.000-05:00

This Is Me
Things my blog is not. It's not a daily, or even weekly, record of my life. It's not a forum for my opinion on or discussions about exciting current events. It's not highly interactive. It's not incendiary. It's not a (consistent) means for letting people know what's going on with me. It's honest, but not intensely personal.

Sometimes I feel like my blog is this big fat mirror I'm holding up to my life and I'm looking at it with squinted eyes (like the way I watch a horror film - as if the image is out of focus, it'll somehow be less scary than watching it with eyes wide open).

My pastor has said, if you want to see where people's priorities are, look at their checkbook. I think it's true - and it's honest, because who writes checks like their life is going to be judged on it? It's a litmus test, if you will, and it doesn't lie.

I've been writing my thoughts on here since January 2004. While maybe more diverse topics at first, the novelty of the blog wears off eventually and you write when you feel like it and about what you feel like. After almost four years of not trying to make my blog anything, I feel it is what it is. So what is it? If I take a hard look at it, the topics that keep coming up again again feel almost embarrassingly simple and banal: running, dogs, and Steeler football. A random funny story, pictures and other topics sometimes find their way to the Publish Post button. But the consistent themes of running, dogs and Steelers dominate my blog - and therefore most likely my life.

My first thought is one of guilt - oops, God and Andy should probably be on that short list. Luckily they get a few honorable mentions here and there. And I have a quick answer for why they don't show up more. Reserved vulnerability might be a good way to describe my approach. I do not understand these teenagers today (how OLD am I?) that wear their heart on their internet sleeve for all to see. A certain amount of personal thoughts and ideas are necessary, but I have boundaries. Probably most of what I would write regarding my faith or my relationship with Andy falls out of my made-up bounds.

My second thought is another one riddled with guilt. I am so superficial. And obvious. Is this my life? Am I not more diverse? Well read? Philosophical? Maybe I am and those things don't make the blog. But maybe, for the most part, I'm not.

But if my parents taught me anything, it was not to apologize for who I am. The other day my boss and I had lunch at Panera Bread. I ordered the Chicken Tomesto Sandwich with no tomato. He looked at me like I was crazy and asked how I could have a "tomesto" sandwich without the tomato. I explained that I liked the taste of the tomesto sauce, and other tomato related products, but I don't like actual tomatoes - it's a texture thing. I said, I know, I know, it's a very Becky thing of me, referencing an acquaintance who is known for her picky eating. I shrugged if off and said, "but what do you want me to do about it?" He laughed and said, "but that was very Julie."

I like tomato related food stuffs, but not tomatoes. Every time you turn around I might be running, watching the Steelers, or talking about my dogs. What do you want me to do about it?

This is me. The blog does not lie.

2007-10-25T09:49:00.000-04:00

Holy Freaking Crap
The Race Report

I wrote this the day after the race, so the thoughts were very fresh at the time. Warning: It's reeeally long.

Well, I did it. The marathon definitely tried to break my spirit (not to mention my body), but, in the end, I beat it. It was supremely harder than I had imagined. I really thought I was as mentally and physically prepared as I possibly could be for something I had never actually done before. I had run tough races in the past where the mind and will had to transcend the body. Still – I had NO IDEA. Wow. To all the everyday runners out there who have jobs, lives, and families who go out and take on the marathon, I have a deep deep respect for you.

(In the hotel lobby before the race. From L to R: Jill, Elissa, myself, Scott, Shannan, Don, Louise, Mike)
The weather was nice, if not completely ideal marathon weather, for all those of you who prayed for that in particular. Low 50s at the start. I think high 60s at the end. Brightly sunny and I was glad for my hat. There were long stretches of no shade at all.

I finished in 4:31 and change. This is approximately 15 minutes off my goal of 4:15. There were definitely two acts to this play. Two distinctly different acts – the first was a light-hearted comedy, the second was a DRAMA. The first half was a lot of fun and felt easy. I was running with my good friend Shannan and one of our running buddies, Mike Lesshaft, who runs with our group on Saturday mornings. This was Shannan’s first full marathon like me, although she’s run about 3x as many half marathons as I have (I have run 4). Mike has run a ton of marathons. His best time is 4:20, so when he heard we wanted to do a 4:15, he decided to at least start the race with us.

During the first 13 miles we joked and entertained each other – and sometimes the people around us. We ran a very comfortable pace, but stayed right on target for our goal. As I had hoped, I felt like I could run this pace forever. The miles clipped by fast and furious and we looked forward to the miles we knew we could see our “fan club” (comprised of Andy and a few other friends). I grabbed water or Gatorade everytime I could, took a decent drink or two and threw the rest. I’m not especially good at drinking while running, so I figured a little each time starting early would be better than needing to chug a lot at mile 7 or similar. Sometimes I got more on my shirt, arms and legs than in my mouth, but luckily none up my nose.

We crossed the half-way point at exactly 2:07:30. Forgetting the fact that it’s hard to do even or negative splits in a marathon (negative splits is when your second half times are faster than your first), it was pretty exciting that we were exactly on pace – to the second – of running a 4:15.

(Seeing Ed near mile 17; From L to R: Shannan in orange, myself, Mike in grey tank top)
Mile 16 is where it started to get hard. Our pace had slowed off target – first by 10 seconds per mile, then by 20 - there was a lot less talking and very little joking around. I knew I was just doing what I could do and couldn’t beat myself up for falling off pace. We hadn't seen our friends since back near mile 13, and I wasn't expecting anyone again until mile 23. So we were encouraged and surprised to see Shannan’s husband Ed around mile 17 with their dog Brindy. Ed had only returned home to Lexington the night before from a scuba diving trip (he’s an instructor) to Belize. He had gotten up at 6 AM to drive up to see Shannan and the rest of us. It was great to see him.

After mile 17, the 4:15 pace group caught up with us. We were with them for about 5 minutes before they powered on. I knew they were running at a pace I could not keep. As they ran away, I watched my goal time run away with them. I saw Shannan stay with them, and while I was sad to lose her, I was happy for her. Shannan is one of the most determined people I know and she has a high tolerance for pain – I knew she'd make her goal if it killed her.

Mike and I trudged on for a few more minutes in silence. Then he broke the news, “I’m gonna have to leave you here soon. At mile 18 I have to stop and walk.” I half-considered stopping with him, but I knew that if was going to stop at any point, it would have to be on my own terms. Down the line, I didn’t want the opportunity to blame anyone else for my time except me. At the mile marker, we wished each other luck and for the first time in almost 3 hours, I was alone. A lot of people run entire marathons by themselves, so I knew this was a key part of the experience that I probably needed to have. It was late in the race, and it was just me, the strangers running around me and the strangers cheering me on (sometimes calling my name since I had it written down my leg in marker).

I made it thru most of the next mile, but my stomach started to turn. I hadn’t stopped to use a port-a-potty yet, a fact that surprised me. So when I came upon a fuel station with three port-a-pottys, with no one else with me to worry about, I figured I better stop. If I was trying to make a certain time, or if I only had like 2 more miles to go, I could have made it. I knew at this point, the way I felt, it would be survivial to the finish, however, so I stopped. There was a short line I had to wait in. Stopping was surreal, as it always has felt the few times I’ve stopped in races. After using the bathroom, I drank some Gatorade and willed myself to start again. I passed the 19 mile marker and knew it would be one mile at a time. I fixated on mile 20. Knowing it would be too long of a race, if I stopped at every mile marker, I told myself that if I ran all the way to 21, I could stop again for another quick rest. This was partly psychological. I’ve used this ploy in the past to get another mile or two out of myself, only to get there and be able to keep going. I was secretly hoping if I got to 21, once I was there, I could do the same thing to get me to mile 22. After what had seemed like forever from passing mile 19, I thought that mile 20 had to be so close. I allowed myself to look at my watch and only 5 minutes had passed. In what felt like an eternity, half a mile had passed. OH MY.

Somewhere between mile 19 and 21, I looked over and sitting back off the road was a very elderly woman in a wheelchair, covered in a blanket, with an IV bag standing next to her, and various tubes and wires coming out of her. A man who had obviously brought her out there, was standing next to her. I waved and found enough energy to shout over to her, “thanks for coming out!” She smiled and waved back. I knew that someday in my life, that could be me, and I would think back to the day that I was healthy and strong enough to run a marathon. What great inspiration. During these miles I spent alone, the fans along the were very encouraging. I tried to thank them as much as I could, so that they knew how thankful we all were, even if we couldn’t all say it. Especially if someone called me by name, I tried to at least wave, although sometimes the most I could muster was just giving them a thumbs up. Sometimes when I was just smiling and waving, I felt like I was in a parade. A very weird, sadistic parade. :)

At the 21 mile marker there was a very large and supportive crowd. I tried to smile at them as I ran thru… I saw a woman cheering and holding up a sign which I fixed my eyes on. “You won when you stepped up to the starting line.” Cheesy, but at that moment, as defeated as I felt, it meant the world to me. There was a fuel station right after that crowd. My reverse psychology did not work – I slowed to a walk and grabbed some Gatorade. My eyes welled up with tears at this point, I couldn’t believe I was stopped again. But I willed the tears not to spill over. People said to me, keep going, you’re doing great and I’d say thanks, my voice cracking. The marathon definitely had its grip on me. I felt a cramp starting in my upper right calf so I stepped to the side of the road and stretched a bit. It felt soooo good to stretch. To be honest, the pain had settled into my legs back by mile 9. But at mile 9, you don’t really care. By 21, I was reaching my breaking point. I couldn’t believe there was 5.2 miles to go. I couldn’t believe I was this exhausted and had to somehow get my body to a point in space 5.2 miles away. Knowing that running would get me there faster than walking, and walking really didn’t feel that great either, I started up again.

About a half a mile later, a nice, well-meaning woman on the side of the road said as I passed, “You guys are looking great!” For about the tenth time, I thought sarcastically, “ha, yeah right.” The man next to me said to me and others, “I don’t know who she’s looking at.” I laughed and agreed. After a moment of silence, I was still relishing a laugh, and he said, you know, I’ve been behind you for about 10 miles, you have a great stride going. I was in complete shock, I just said, “Really?!” I quickly thought about the last 10 miles… standing in front of the port-a-potty in line before mile 19 and stretching on the side of the road at 21. As I don’t think he was stopping every time I did, I could only imagine he had his own stops as well, and we kept ending up around the same place. This encouraged me to no end. This man, who looked fit and experienced, thought my stride was great. This helped me lift my head and get me thru a little farther.

This is when I started really fixating on Angie. I knew my friend and co-worker Angie would be between miles 23-24. I told myself I was NOT allowed to walk until I saw her. I would allow myself to take a short walk break when I saw her. Not only did I really want it, I was so touched that she had driven up here just to see me run by once for about 10 seconds. The least I could do was talk to her for a minute. :) Not long after mile 23 I saw her standing there with two people I assumed were her parents. She was wearing a bright orange Bengals sweatshirt (to spite me) and a leopard-print cowboy hat (so I could spot her). Her face went from excitement to horror as she realized I was stopping. “No, no, don’t stop!” I told her not to worry, I was gonna keep running, but I needed this. She walked along the course with me for about a minute, maybe two. I don’t really remember what we talked about. I remember her asking how I was and I barely knew how to put it into words. I think I just looked at her and said, “Wow. Angie, this is really really hard.” We said our goodbyes and she gave me a few tips about what was ahead. She told me there was a rise coming up, but after that there was a water station. I waved to her parents and thanked them for coming out to cheer and set off again. There were 3 miles (or less) to go. I could DO this.

About half a mile later, I saw something I didn’t expect – up ahead of me I saw the bright orange top that I knew belonged to Shannan. I thought I was hallucinating. It was on an uphill, but I tried to pick up my pace. But after a few seconds of this, she looked just as far away. “SHANNAN!” She didn’t turn around, so I dug in and bore down on her. I got a little closer and tried again. She turned around startled and said, “What are YOU doing behind me?!” For some strange reason, she thought I was ahead of her the whole time. Ha! I caught up to her and realized she was not doing well. I was sorry she wasn’t making her goal, but boy was I glad to see her again. I found out that she hadn’t stopped at all. She felt like her left hip was popping out of place when she moved it a certain way, so her run had turned into a shuffle at times. We trudged on and passed the 24 mile marker. At some point in here, my perpetually upbeat friend told me she didn’t know why ANYONE ever did this, and said she’d rather be having surgery right now. Life was looking pretty bleak. (Several hours later in the car on the way back, this was a really funny story to tell the others. At the time, not so funny.)

About halfway between mile 24 and 25 we heard someone shouting our names. We had no idea who it would be as we weren’t expecting our fan club (as we really loved calling them) until much closer to the finish. I looked ahead and saw our friend Steph Church on her bike. Stephanie is a triathlete who has competed in several at Olympic distance and raised money for Team in Training for two of these events. For the next mile-plus, Steph would ride her bike alongside me and talk me thru. For the most part I could not respond more than a head nod or a grunt. At one point she offered to go away, but I told her she was helping me a lot. She told me I looked great, how much she liked my running skirt, and how awesome I was. I was humbled – I did not feel awesome or like I deserved such encouragement. She told me she had already rode to the finish and that my hubby was there waiting for me. She helped me out by telling me what to expect – a slight hill up ahead or after that corner, you’re home free. Not long after we met Steph, I had started to pull away from Shannan. I knew I was putting more distance between us as we went on, but we each had to run our own race at this point. We had gotten each other thru some tough miles, but I knew she would not have wanted me to wait for her. I can think of many races where we ran the whole thing together, but I sent her on during the end, and she always went. It’s part of our deal. This time the tables were turned. Steph let me know that they would kick her off the course at a certain point, but by then I’d be almost done.

(Near mile 26; the man in the yellow shorts is the one who encouraged me at mile 21.)
The last time I remember seeing her was when I saw our friend Chris’ bright green jacket ahead and I knew he was surrounded by the rest of our fan club. All I could see was them pointing cameras at me and waving their arms and yelling. Suddenly, our friend Mary was running alongside me yelling enthusiastically – I have NO IDEA what she said. :) (Mary had been training for this race as well, but was sidelined by a stress fracture. She ran two half marathons on this injury before it was diagnosed.) I tried to smile for everyone’s cameras so that I wouldn’t look as terrible as I felt. I ran past them thinking, okay, now it’s just me and the finish. But before I knew it, Andy was running alongside me, saying encouraging things and asking me how I was. I don’t remember what I said, but he replied – but you’re smiling! My husband was running alongside me after this great test of will and spirit – he loved me and supported me. How could I not smile?!

He told me he loved me and fell back. Now it really was just me and the finish. I rounded the last turn and saw the coveted finish at the bottom of the hill (that’s right, a downhill finish) on a brick-lined street. My legs felt like someone else’s. The hill and euphoria carried me right down it to the finish and I looked from side to side at the large, loud crowd and smiled. I crossed the finish line and immediately macked for the camera.

I grabbed my mylar blanket, got my chip clipped off my shoe waited in the immediate finishers’ area for Shannan to finish. I knew I wouldn’t have much time before they made me move on to the area with drinks and food, but Shannan had to be close. A few minutes later, I saw that bright orange shirt coming down the hill. I cheered her in, even though I knew she’d never hear me. She ran across the finish and instead of a smile, I saw a dazed look of pain on her face. I saw her stumble to the side right before her knees buckled under her. I was still standing about 10 feet away, but two volunteers were immediately by her side, caught her and lowered her to the ground. Shannan had really left everything out on the course and I was so proud of her. Within seconds, they had a wheelchair by her side and offered to take her to the medical tent. After a minute or two on the ground, she insisted she could walk and I told the volunteers I would take her. (Shannan would have to be unconscious to ever be taken away in a wheelchair.) She wrapped her arm around my shoulder and I stood there beaming as they put the medals around our necks. We hobbled into the food and drink area. After 4.5 hours of lukewarm Gatorade and water, NOTHING was as good as the super cold orange slices they were handing out. Mmmmm.

THE WORST pain I had felt the whole time settled into my legs about five minutes after finishing and lasted for about 30-45 minutes after that. A strong aching pain covered every inch of my body from the hips down. I wanted to cry, if only I wasn’t so happy to be done running. But I couldn’t stop saying, my legs hurt SO BADLY! By this time, we had met up with my fast friend Elissa who had qualified to run the Boston marathon with a time of 3:38 – she needed a 3:40. This was her second marathon and qualifying for Boston was her goal – YAY Elissa! I had to laugh that she finished almost a whole hour in front of me. I have long since given up trying to compare myself to her. Her nickname is Gazelle for a reason. :)

Elissa, Shannan and I made our way to a grassy area in the shade. I stood there, looking at the ground, wanting to be on it, but not knowing how I was going to get there. I slowly and awkwardly lowered myself down to the ground and laid in the fetal position – it really was the most comfortable position I could think of – as our “fans” slowly started to join us; the first being Andy who came and sat next to me. As they came up, I raised my arm for high fives, but stayed in my position on the ground, hoping the guy who was standing right behind me with his back to me realized I was laying there and wouldn’t step on me.

We had a late check-out, but still had to be out by 2 PM. As it was now about 1, we knew we had to start making our way back. I knew this would be the moment I was immensely thankful that our hotel was two blocks from the finish – and as slow as all the runners in our group were moving in that direction, it was a very good thing! We saw Mike on the way back to the hotel and found out he had finished in 4:47 and was happy with his time. Yay Mike!

Several people have already asked me if I will do it again. It’s hard to think about right now. But as I’m not swearing up and down that I will never do it again, I think there’s a decent chance I will forget all the pain and the trials and want to take on the beast again. BUT, it’s very good to know that even if I never toe the start line of a marathon again, I have done it and I can always say that I have. Check.

Thanks for all the love, support and prayers.

2007-10-08T18:44:00.000-04:00

Chi-town
So thanks to the great hand of providence (I know you’re tempted to start singing late 80’s Michael W. Smith), I did not run in the ill-fated Chicago Marathon yesterday.

Although I tried. Last October, as I stood at the 21-mile marker, bundled up and shivering against the cold wind, waiting for my friend Elissa to run by, I knew in the corner of my mind this would be the marathon I would make my first, probably the very next year. When I saw Elissa, I hopped off the sidewalk and ran with her for about 100 yards, just to see how she was doing. It can be lonely thing to run a marathon alone, and at this late in the race I knew she might need to vent some thoughts and feelings that had been building up. I encouraged her as much as I could in those few short moments and she was off again, to tackle those last tough miles alone. Little did I know, those 100 yards were the most my feet would ever see of the Chicago Marathon. When we met up with her at the finish, as soon as she saw me, she burst into tears and declared, “I will never do that again.”

Fast-forward from October 2006 to Spring 2007. We’re both training for different half-marathons that will take place on the same day in late April, in different states. I tell her – I think I’m going to sign up for Chicago. Excited, and apparently over her “never again” declaration, she wants to do it too. Superstitious, or maybe just a little stitious, I decide to wait until after the half-marathon to sign up. What if I fall down a hill in this race and break my leg/ankle/nose and can’t train? Certainly don’t want to pay the hefty registration fee only to have that happen. There’s plenty of time.

Apparently there wasn’t.

Months and months before the October 2007 Chicago Marathon was to be run, registration was closed at 40,000 participants. Well, shoot. I admit, I was pretty disappointed.

Based on the recommendations of experienced marathon-running friends, we instead signed up for the Columbus marathon, to be held just two weeks after Chicago. Columbus is a smaller and more manageable race, but with 10,000 entrants, still has the exciting atmosphere of the big races. It’s a closer drive, and being a much smaller city in general, we can stay right downtown, within walking distance of the start and finish lines—without paying a fortune (virtually impossible to do in Chicago). More than happy with my decision, I settled into summer, proceeded with my training and didn’t think twice about Chi-town. Until yesterday.

As most people have heard, yesterday’s Chicago marathon was as close to a death march as they come. By 10 AM, just two hours into the race, record temps of 88 degrees were beating down on runners, practically baking them into the streets of the not-so-windy city. Accounts tell us that people were literally passing out left and right. At some point in the morning (reports vary on time), they simply cancelled the race. They turned off the clock, and those not at the half-way point yet were diverted back to the start, while those beyond it were urged to stop running and walk the rest of the way. Today message boards and blogs are full of people complaining that there was not enough water or Gatorade – many stations already completely out by the time runners reached them. Rather than be upset and judgmental, I’ll simply comment that it’s clear the organizers were not ready for the vast increase in fluids all the runners would need… nor take into account the amount of water runners would grab to simply dump over their head. From what I’ve read, the great citizens of Chicago, in the wake of a disappointing Cubs loss, stepped it up like champs by going from simple spectators to delivering water to the runners by any means they could. Although despite this valiant team effort, I cannot imagine worse conditions to run a race in.

Chicago is widely known among runners, at least in the midwest, as a great first marathon. I have no doubt that many runners on yesterday’s course were first-timers. It’s flat, well-run, has a ton of fan support along the whole course, and it takes place, weather-wise, at a perfect time of year. Well, usually.

Thank you God it was not my first marathon.

---------------------------
Chad Schieber, a 35-year old Midland, MI police officer, passed out late in the race and subsequently died in the hospital less than an hour later. A man who regularly risked his life on the job, collapsed just a few miles ahead of his wife, Sarah, who was also running the race. An autopsy showed he died of a heart condition called mitral valve prolapse, not of a heat-related illness as was first assumed. According to this article he was a Christian man who was wholly devoted to his wife, three children and church. My heartfelt sympathies and prayers go out to his family and friends.

2007-10-03T17:31:00.000-04:00

Respect the Distance
Ok so there's a small chance I've been growing too confident about my approaching marathon. Rather than feeling scared and in awe, lately I've been so ready for this thing. Once, I would have been happy just to finish, and maybe not die. Now my brain is trash-talking my legs. "I don't care if you're hurting at mile 22... I own this race and you're going to do what I say."

In order to keep my ego in check, I've been reading other runners' accounts of their first marathons, what Wikipedia has to say about "The Wall" (this is not a Pink Floyd reference), and repeating this over and over to myself: Respect the distance.

For the most part, if you train properly, you can feel pretty confident of completing your goal at the smaller distances. Even in the half-marathon, I've found you can make your body do most anything for 13 miles. But I'm learning quickly that anything over 20 miles and it starts to get dicey - fast. And I have to say, that's really awesome, since 20 miles is the farthest I've gone in training runs.

From Uncle Wiki:
Carbohydrates that a person eats are converted by the liver and muscles into glycogen for storage. Glycogen burns quickly to provide quick energy. Runners can store about 2,000 kcal worth of glycogen in their bodies, enough for about 18-20 miles of running. When glycogen runs low, the body must then burn stored fat for energy, which does not burn as readily. When this happens, the runner will experience dramatic fatigue. This phenomenon is called "hitting the wall."

Um, GULP. I'm not a scientist, but I am a thinker. And in the past few days, I've thought enough about it to be scared. Now don't fret too much, just yet. Luckily, we have these awesome little things called PowerGels. In real world to a real person, they're fairly gross. If you poured a LOT of salt into a small amount of vanilla pudding... yeah, it kinda tastes like that. But in running world, in a sort of sick and twisted way, I crave them. I have one floating around in my purse right now, and at odd times during the day when I've seen it, I've been tempted to eat it right then. (I have not, because at a buck a pack, those things are like little packets of golden goo.) So, at least I have that strange obsession going for me, but you can only carry and eat so many during the marathon. Like most anything, too much of a good thing becomes, er, not a good thing anymore.

So PowerGels or not, I'm fully aware that 26.2 miles allows for a lot of things to potentially go wrong. How about that whole unchartered territory thing for one? I've done three 20 mile training runs. If it weren't for the many people who have done this before me... let's say I was making this up as I went along (thank goodness I'm not), I would never guess that was enough. Surely I need to do the full distance - or a lot closer to it - before I attempt the race, right? Not so, people/experts/the internet tell me. Yet I find it awfully suspicious and unnerving that my glycogen levels are planning on jumping ship on me just about the time I cross the 20 mile marker and into the great unknown. In training you do 20 and you feel great about yourself. Before any levels can crash, you're already stuffing homemade muffins into your mouth.

"I am super woman!" you think.
"Um, are you sure I don't need to run any farther now?" you ask, bits of muffin flying off your lips.
"Yes, we're sure," they smile devilishly, rubbing their sinewy little runners' hands together.

Then when I crash and burn in the real race, they will all laugh uproariously and point their fingers at me.

How did I sign up for this? I think, I think maybe someone is playing a joke on me.

2007-09-04T11:44:00.000-04:00

Work Day Weekend
This Labor Day weekend, we took the name to heart and dove in on a few house projects. Andy cleaned and stained the deck and we both painted the living room. I put the living room back together while he was staining the deck, in case you were about to cry foul regarding the division of labor. Yeah, yeah, I also watched an O.C. marathon on the Soap Opera Network while I did it, but he got a tan while he stained, so who's to say anything?

I also took the extra time at home as my chance to wage a full-on war with the flies which have been slowly but steadily taking over our house. A couple of weeks ago there were just a few, and while annoying, I expected them to just die off. Apparently they set up camp and starting making babies. I don't know how else to explain their growth in ranks. Luckily they're pretty slow and lazy, so they were no match for the pissed off woman of the house and her rolled up copy of Cottage Living (side note: I don't know how we started getting this magazine, but it comes on a regular basis now). I believe there are one or two survivors remaining, currently on death row. They better be saying their last prayers right now, because when I get home today, there will be no mercy.

Here's a quick look into the Stevenson home this weekend.

Thanks for the use of the ladder, Cre8tive Group!

Elsa sits where her dog bed normally lies, with a forlorn look that says, "This is all your fault."

Hurley shows off the result of an "emergency" trip to the vet on Saturday. He's now on antibiotics for an unknown, foreign tumor on his leg (should turn out to be nothing). Held even more firmly in place with a bit of blue painter's tape, after he spent a good deal of time chewing on the first bandage.

As Andy stained, he was subjected to the occasional loud whack against the window from my vitriolic attack on the flies.

While we painted the dogs caught up on their napping and spent time perfecting the look we humans have termed "puppy dog eyes."

Moving the bookcase while the books are still in it = not fun.

The fruits of our labor (day weekend). Yes, that's Ryan Atwood
on the screen, probably brooding.

2007-08-31T20:24:00.000-04:00

Heat, Humidity and Other Hellish Tales
The other day I was talking to a friend of mine in Michigan, who used to live in Florida. She was asking how the weather has been here, so I started regaling her with the horrific details of record breaking temps and suffocating humidity, when I stopped short and said - you know, it's been like Florida. Except, you know, not. Indeed, there's no Siesta Key here, no South Beach, and definitely no Disney World. All the pain, none of the perks.

Yeah, yeah...what am I griping about really? I have a cushy desk job, and AC conditioning me almost everywhere I go. The catch has been this marathon training that, somehow, I signed up for. The past six weeks have been some of the most brutal temps I've experienced living in Kentucky. It has ominously coincided with the most fierce and intense part of my training. Lucky me.

The number one thing that's gotten me thru is the constant reassurance from myself to me that the worse it is now, the better/easier/less hellish it'll be at the actual race in October. I've been running at odd times - early in the morning and after sunset - in an attempt to miss the sun's brute force. It really hasn't mattered, however, and I've become accustomed to returning home as wet as if I'd been running thru sprinklers. If only that was really the case. I've also started to listen to audio books and podcasts while I run, rather than just music, in an effort to keep my mind more distracted from how miserable I am. I haven't even changed any of the music on my Shuffle most of the summer. Of course, why I should I? On there are some of my favorite running songs of all time. Not always for being upbeat and loud, but oftentimes for their sheer likeability or lyrics which always manage to inspire.

You better lose yourself in the music, the moment
You own it, you better never let it go
You only get one shot, do not miss your chance to blow
This opportunity comes once in a lifetime yo
- Lose Yourself, Eminem

If I just breathe, let it fill the space in between,
I'll know everything is alright
Breathe, every little piece of me
You'll see everything is alright, if I just breathe
- Breathe, Michelle Branch

Into marvelous light I'm running,
Out of darkness, out of shame.
My dead heart now is beating,
My deepest stains now clean.
Your breath fills up my lungs.
Now I'm free. now I'm free!
- Marvelous Light, Charlie Hall

Move along, move along like I know you do
And even when your hope is gone
Move along, move along just to make it through
- Move Along, All-American Rejects

I read an article once, probably in Runner's World, and the author talked about there being two days of the year that runners absolutely love. One is in early spring, and it's that first perfectly warm day, when you can't wait to put your shoes on and go out for run. It's all you think about at work. The sun is shining, and you know you won't have to worry about being cold - or hot - you'll just run with the mild breeze at your back, hope springing forth for all the lovely days to come. The second day is similar, but takes place on the reverse end of the calendar. There's a point when summer's infernal grip, which has remained steadfast and secure, starts to slip just a little bit, and you know there's an end in sight.

I realized as I drove home today with the windows down, not already sweating through my work clothes, that today was that day. It's hardly fall out there. It's only August 31st and as I've been reminding people who keep asking how my summer was, we've still got almost a month of it left. And yet, the breeze felt cool and the humidity seemed non-existent. I definitely didn't have to run today. I have 17 miles scheduled for 6 AM tomorrow morning - a feat which will take me no less than 3 hours to complete. Any normal Friday, and this called for a night off to rest up. But not today. Today beckoned. Figuring that 3 easy miles couldn't hurt, I headed out the door to a welcomed 70 degrees and low humidity. It wasn't a perfect run, by any stretch. I had a nagging dull pain in my left shin, that had me wondering and worrying a bit about tomorrow morning. But for all intents and purposes, I didn't care. For the first time in a long time, people were out walking their dogs and happily waving to me as if they'd just be released from their own personal prison. For the first time in a long time, I wasn't meticulously picking off the miles like some laborious to do list, thinking about how quickly I could drive the same distance. For the first time in a long time, I could have run for a good long while longer than what I set out to do.

But, for the first time in a long time, it was nice not to have to.

2007-05-09T15:32:00.000-04:00

26.2

Boy, can't turn back now. I've been doing half-marathons since 2004 now, consistently dodging the "when are you going to do a full?" inevitable inquiry. Knowing I'd commit eventually, it was always safely, vaguely sometime "in the future." But now it has a date (this year), a place, and most importantly, it has my money. I now have a date with 26.2 miles.

2007-04-30T16:34:00.000-04:00

Flip That House
I’ll admit it. My garage has been in complete and utter disarray since I moved in two years ago. Big, empty moving boxes sat stacked no-so-neatly on top of each other. Scads of Christmas decorations packed next to boxes of useless treasures I couldn’t part with. Two lawn mowers. Dog food. Spilled dog food. Old possessions that never sold in a friend’s yard sale, that sat awaiting its own yard sale… which was never to happen.

I was ashamed to even open my garage door for the neighbors to see, sneaking out the Sunday night trash only under the safe cover of night. My old roommate and I talked about getting our act together and cleaning it out. But we always seemed to find something more pressing to do. It wasn’t that hard actually. Re-watching Bridget Jones’ Diary for the trillioneth time always seemed like a better idea than tackling the garage. After all, it’s been that way for X amount of months. What’s another week/month/year?

I like to clean in 15-30 minute increments. Squeezed in between other things, you barely recognize it was even part of the day. Somehow, things seem to mostly stay in order that way (at least the visible parts), without setting aside an entire half a day to do it all at once. But this was no 30 minute task. In fact, such chores taking up an entire afternoon is the exact image of suburbia that I dreaded as a kid. It seems you could easily fill up those precious weekend afternoons spent at home with a myriad of never-ending chores. And to me that’s all the average American family seemed to do – chores. What a way to spend your life.

And now, my roommate is my husband. Not that he’s significantly more motivated than my old roommate (or myself for that matter), but this relationship carries with it a little more of the burden of shared responsibility. (Plus, watching TV now looks a lot less like a common interest in a Bridget Jones DVD and more like a power struggle over whether we’re going to watch Planet Earth on the Discovery Channel or Run’s House on MTV .) Now that it’s nice out, we both knew it could be ignored no longer. It was time to meet the beast head-on.

What a suprisingly enjoyable way to spend a gorgeous afternoon. It was cathartic, fun, active and productive. Talk about instant gratification. An eye sore which plagued me with guilt for almost two years, now in one short afternoon has become an organized place of tranquility and peace in our home. Deep breath. Ahhhhhhh.

Yeah, yeah, I know it’s still just a garage. Leave me alone.

I think the sense of relief and pride can be summed up in one short conversation on the way home from church later that night.

I broke the thoughtful quiet as we pulled onto our street.
Me: (Feeling somewhat guilty) During the sermon, were you thinking about how our clean garage is?
Husband: Yeah. (Pause) And I was planning out how to aerate the lawn.

There you have it people. Childhood fears, no more. Weekend chores so satisfying, they’re the stuff of daydreams.

2007-04-10T16:29:00.000-04:00

Mary Poppins, Part Deux
I've been in a bit of a funk lately and I really can't pinpoint what the source might be. I love being married, I have no problem with turning 30, spring is here, leaving the Bluegrass much prettier than how it found it, and work has been decidedly less drama-filled of late. And yet, I find myself at weird moments - at midnight washing poo off my dog after a "mishap" outside; in the shower in the morning convincing myself that there is a solution to the things that have been stumping me; or simply on my way to work - feeling undeniably overwhelmed and sad.

This afternoon, I decided I needed a little count your blessings moment. I've done a "favorite things" list on here before and while I really enjoyed that, I didn't want to rehash all the same things. However, it occurred to me that some things in my life have changed since the last time (huge understatement). Here's a non-exhaustive list of some of my new favorites. Again, the ground rules: there's nothing profound on here, so lower your expectations now and no making fun of all the food items.

Fruit and yogurt parfaits and coffee from McDonald’s
Wedding pictures
Hurley’s leaping and bounding
Elsa’s “smile”
Andy’s cooking
One for the Thumb
Guacamole from Kroger
Wireless internet
All new episodes of Lost
New houses
Home is an idea, not a physical place
Seasons of The Office on DVD
Wrinkles near his eyes when my husband smiles
Double dates with XT and Jay
Planning vacations with Andy
Highbridge Spring Water
TLC (the cable channel)
“Welcome to the Black Parade” by My Chemical Romance
Club 3-0
Andy’s spring landscaping
Sugar-free Jello chocolate pudding (it’s just as good as the regular!)
Races
Small Group, 2.0
Pregnant friends with BIG ol’ bellies
608
Amanda's quoteboard
Going from no sisters to three (all in-law)
A whole new family to love
Smokey Mountains
“Fight pain with love”
Crossing things off my to-do list

2007-03-22T09:48:00.000-04:00

Club 3-0
Maybe this is a little narcissistic of me, maybe not. After all, this blog by its very existence is fairly me-focused, so why not embrace it? Speaking of embracing things, that's what I'm trying to do with 30. As of 4ish this afternoon, I'll officially be a part of Club 3-0, a phrase coined by my good friend Cherie.

I had a lot of fun in my 20s - a lot, and I have very few regrets. I was happier during this decade than ever in my life. Not because I had a bad childhood, but because I have truly relished being an adult. Independence, self-awareness and confidence are things that I craved as a kid, even if I didn't know it at the time. Even as you grow out of innocence and encounter all the responsibilities, sadness and frustrations of life that come with adulthood - bills, taxes, war, death, disease, divorce - there is great solace and peace in knowing who you are and being comfortable in your skin. Even when you don't know where exactly you're going, knowing that God is leading the way removes any lingering doubt.

My iPhoto collection is not even close to exhaustive, but I was able to pull out a few "birthdays of the past" that happened to be in there for reminiscing sake. Enjoy. And Happy Birthday - to me. :D

1979

1982

1985

1994

2006

2007-02-01T11:34:00.000-05:00

"Horses, horses, horses, horses..."
I am so excited to tell you about my former roommate Christine's recent success. The National Educational Telecommunications Association (NETA) awarded her the 2007 Best Biography Documentary Award for her PBS documentary “Life With Passion: Raising Egyptian-Arabian Horses.”

Christine produced this video in Texas while she was getting her master's at Baylor University, immediately before she came to live with me, thus kicking off the era widely known as "The Reign of Julie and Christine." You'll see next to the article a picture of her and her horse that she received as a gift from the farm she worked with. He's listed by his registered name there, but all his friends and family just call him Graley. He's the love of Christine's life, besides of course her Golden Retriever Ben, Adam Brody, and me, natch.

Congrats my talented and beautiful friend.

p.s. My utmost respect to anyone who gets the pop culture reference of the title of this post.

2007-01-16T12:57:00.000-05:00

WE WILL...

From celebration and joy, to tragedy and mourning, to praise and thanksgiving. In six weeks time, I went from the elation of our wedding and honeymoon, directly into the fun and warmth of the Christmas season, only to then be dumped harshly into the heartbreak of losing my childhood home.

At approximately 3 AM on January 7, my younger brother Cory, who was sleeping on a pull-out couch in my parents’ basement, was awoken to a crash from up on the first floor and saw smoke billowing down the stairs. A volunteer firefighter, Cory sprang into action, and was upstairs in an instant, yelling with insistence over and over again – THE HOUSE IS ON FIRE! GET OUT NOW! On the second floor were my parents and our family dog in one room, my mother-in-law in another, and my sister-in-law in the third. My Grandma was in a new addition to the house on the first floor.

To be awoken out of sleep in such a way can be confusing and disorienting, but my mother-in-law said later that Cory was so direct and insistent, they all knew to follow his directions immediately. The next part is directly taken from her written account of that night.

I immediately got up and left the room and met Sue just outside the room. I went to the door where Ruth was, to yell for her. She got her door open just as I was trying to open it for her. We three then descended the stairs through black, billowing smoke. (Rick had already gotten down the stairs) I was in front, then Ruth, then Sue. Ruth tells me I was hunched over and going very slowly, but I'm sure I was trying to feel the steps and avoid the smoke somehow. I'm aware that at some point I began yelling, "I can't breathe!" or "I can't see!" I don't remember now exactly what I yelled, and it feels like it was someone not me that was yelling. At that point Rick yelled, "The door is here!" and I vaguely saw his form in the doorway. Not remembering the design of the stairs I stepped off the side from about 4 steps up and landed twisting my ankle. I remember Rick grabbing me funneling us out the door and Ruth's memory reminds me of gagging and gasping for air as we got outside. I remember Ruth jumping into her pants. She had the presence of mind to grab her purse, pants and shoes as she headed out her door. I was barefoot in my nightgown.

Once everyone from upstairs was outside, Cory went back inside and over into my Grandma’s side of the house, the entrance being immediately inside the door and at the bottom of the steps they had all just come down. Cory went in the apartment and closed the main door. He then went into her bedroom and closed that door. He handed both my Grandma and her dog out the window to my Dad. She was the only one who didn’t have to go through the fire.

Everyone was shouting for Daisy, the family dog, to get out. But it was too late to go back in. Almost a week later, Cory would find Daisy’s body in my parents' room, not far from her dog bed. The majority of my parents’ room had fallen through to the first floor, and Cory walked across the only part of the floor remaining to retrieve her body. We simultaneously scolded him and thanked him for doing it. Miraculously her body was not damaged by fire. She was covered in soot, but not burned. The fact that she was so close to her bed means she was taken quickly by the smoke, and was not wandering around the house trying to get out. Cory and Andy dug her grave that night while me and my Dad held the flashlights. Daisy is buried alongside a long line of good Weber dogs - Katie, Pepper, Gizmo, and now Daisy Dog. Luckily Andy and I have video footage of her this past Christmas wearing her red reindeer ears and doing the "Christmas Wiggle." I watch that video and laugh and cry so hard at the same time. We'll miss her a lot.

It’s surreal that Andy’s mom and sister were staying in the house on this particular night. They were passing through from New Jersey to Ohio and had stopped for a visit. Our moms were up talking until almost 2 AM, just an hour before the fire began. However, we know that God had a plan for our families. Because my mom kicked Cory out of his bed for Andy’s mom to sleep, Cory was then sleeping in the basement. Only Cory heard that crash that woke him up. The smoke alarms did not go off. The fire chief told my family that two minutes longer, and Cory would have been the only one able to escape the house safely through the basement door.

I don’t know why they always say those things—they seem so dramatic to me, when extra drama really seems unnecessary. I spent the first half of last week, immediately after the fire, being frightened by that statement. Knowing how close things were sent chills down my spine. As time went on, a peace quite the opposite of my original fear settled into my spirit as God spoke to me. This one assurance keeps going through my head and I’ve repeated it to many people, “God did not mean for anyone to die in that fire.” However it was arranged and whatever would have developed, God meant to save our families. If Andy’s family had cancelled their plans and not been able to stay, I believe other circumstances would have put Cory in the basement, or the smoke alarms would have gone off, or something. I can almost imagine God looking on the scene with care, and knowing that Cory hadn’t woken up yet, deciding to cause a little crash on the first floor. “There, that outta do it…”

I’m not one to believe God is going around pulling puppet strings, but I do believe that the whole world is in his hands. He had that situation in his hands, leading me to believe without a doubt that he’ll also have every future, unforeseeable, vulnerable situation in his capable, strong hands.

The house is a total loss. It was over 100 years old and originally sat in peace by itself, before other houses, malls and 7-11s sprang up around it. Our family has lived there for 36 years. It sits now a dark and scary place. The stuff of nightmares. Everything is black. Boarded up windows. No color, no light, no life. To take something that was once bright and cheery and full of life and to make it all black and charred and a shell of itself is a disturbing thing. It will have to be torn down. A new house will be built in its place – a different and probably much better house, in many respects. I told my mom this weekend that no matter what the new house looks like, she’ll still be able to look out her window or sit on her patio facing the yard and it will immediately still feel like home. Maybe sometimes they’ll even be able to forget for a moment that anything has even changed.

The only bit of color to be found on my mom's black, charred desk full of ashes was a piece of a card sticking up in the middle of it, which proclaimed boldly across the top, "The Lord is our protector." I guess in case God thought we didn't quite get it, he decided to leave us a big sign. We didn't have a camera at the time to get a picture, but I grabbed it to give to my parents. Maybe we'll even frame that half-burned card for our new house as a reminder of what God did for us and continues to do for us.

2006-11-20T10:12:00.000-05:00

Salvation is Here
So, I'm getting married this week. This week is also Thanksgiving, which rivals Christmas as my favorite holiday. Getting married on Thanksgiving weekend was very intentional, and as I listen to everyone else around me share their hearts and give thanks, I am even more convinced that this atmosphere is the one in which we were to be married. My Thanksgiving song for this week - and maybe the rest of the holiday season - is Salvation is Here by Hillsong United.

Cause I know my God saved the day
And I know His word never fails
And I know my God made a way for me
Salvation is here
Salvation is here and He lives in me

Salvation is HERE. For God died for us - he sent us help - just when we needed him. We cry out for help and we don't have to to wait. Salvation is here, right now! My God made a way for me. He forgives and lives in me. He sent me Andy as a tangible example of how perfect his love can be. Salvation, grace, love. God's good and perfect gifts that I am thankful for this week and always. Thank God for this week, this holiday, this wedding to celebrate those gifts.

Happy Thanksgiving.

2006-10-18T13:38:00.000-04:00

A Prom for Everyone
I hear them. No, not the voices in my head. The murmurs around me of those who don’t approve of the size of my church. You can tell they don’t want to offend me, but sometimes it still slips out. Once you have buildings the size of airport terminals, there’s definitely something unnatural about it. Sometimes these murmurs make me squirm a bit—am I supposed to feel badly? Would I be a better Christian if I went to a more reasonably sized church? Maybe one more the size of the one I grew up in. I agree that my church is not for everyone and that’s ok. But I haven’t gotten to the point yet why it’s a bad thing that this many Christians gather together under one roof each weekend. Heck, let’s face it, there’s always something going on at the church—whether it’s Thursday afternoon or Sunday morning. And I love that. I love being a part of something much much bigger than myself. When I start to squirm, I remind myself that where much has been entrusted, much is expected. My church has resources like crazy—people, money, connections, visibility, etc. And with those resources, much good is done.

One of the most amazing things my church provides, with God’s heart, is service to a large special needs community. Throughout the year, a “Jesus Party” is held each month. From the church’s website, “Jesus Parties are once-a-month events where those who are mentally and physically challenged can socialize, have fun and focus on God. ‘It's basically a 2 and a 1/2 hour party,’ says Brewster McLeod, Special Needs minister.'” The ultimate Jesus Party is held every November and is appropriately named the Jesus Prom. An insane amount of preparation, volunteers (about 700!) and donations each year make it possible for hundreds and hundreds of special needs adults from all over central Kentucky to put on a tux or a prom dress and, for at least one night, be treated like kings and queens.

On Tuesday night, instead of having our regular Life Group time at someone’s house, a few of us met up at the church. All this week, the attendees of the prom can come to the church and pick out the tuxedo or dress they are going to wear a few weeks from now. We worked in the girls area, helping each lady to pick out a dress in her favorite color, everyone in the room fawning over how great they each looked. During this process, I couldn’t help but think about my recent trips to go bridal gown shopping. I had the nagging conviction, “Every girl should get to do this at least once.”

My very first lady was named Sue. Just taking a guess, she was probably about 65 years old. She was very sweet. Quiet, but obviously happy to be there. I haven’t been around adults with special needs all that much, and felt nervous at first. How much was I supposed to help? Did she need help getting dressed? After all, I didn’t want to offend her. I took my cues from those working around me, and Sue and I were getting along fine in no time. She beamed as we all told her how pretty she looked. Sue picked out a gorgeous red satin dress, and we also spent some time together perusing the shawls, purses and even bracelets to find ones to match. We found some comfortable black shoes she could wear that would match her outfit better than her normal tan ones, but that she could still walk around in for the evening. As she put her orthopedic shoes back on, she spoke to me for the first time without prompting.

Sue: You won’t believe it, but this is my first prom.
Me: No! Well, it’s about time you got to go! You’re gonna have so much fun.
Sue: My mom wouldn’t let me go to my graduation prom. She said, “No! You can’t go!” But she can’t stop me from going to this prom.

At this point, I really was only able to nod my head. I was too busy trying to keep the tears from spilling out. It was most likely the 1950s when Sue was a teenager, and I’m gonna go out on a limb and say that back then those with special needs were probably not treated like valuable members of the community. It’s 50 years later, but here is Sue, feeling just like a teenager again. And this time, thanks to God’s love, she finally feels like she fits in.

The inspiration for the Jesus Prom is Luke 14:12–14: "Then Jesus said to his host, ‘When you give a luncheon or dinner, do not invite your friends, your brothers or relatives, or your rich neighbors; if you do, they may invite you back and so you will be repaid. But when you give a banquet, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, the blind, and you will be blessed. Although they cannot repay you, you will be repaid at the resurrection of the righteous.’”
www.southlandchristian.org, keyword: jesusprom

2006-09-08T14:15:00.000-04:00

It's Go Time

Hurley's ready for some football - are you? Here's to dusting off the Terrible Towel, emergency appendectomys, a back-up quarterback, 2 Joey Porter sacks (count 'em!), and a 1-0 start. Cheers.

I know I never blog anymore. Don't give me crap about it.

2006-07-31T12:01:00.000-04:00

The Field or the Pulpit?
An old friend from my high school days, Zac, had a great write-up about him in the Atlanta Journal-Constiution this past weekend. After a long stint away from the football field, and at the end of his seminary education, he was presented with the opportunity to kick again with the Atlanta Falcons and has been down there training for the past few months.

A recent injury makes his future with the NFL uncertain, but no one has more faith in God's guidance and will than my friend Zac. And as I told him in an email, there are no two path more holy and righteous that he could contemplate than the NFL and the ministry. :)

Kicker gets 2nd shot at NFL career.

2006-07-18T12:41:00.000-04:00

Worth the Wait

It's official. The rock (good job, dear) is on my finger. The church is booked. And the world now knows: I am marrying the man I've been waiting for my whole life. And he was so worth the wait.

A few days ago this very man got down on one knee and told me he would be honored to call me his wife. Little does he know, I am the honored one. I think I'll hold on to that secret for a little bit longer.

I think by this point, I have called, emailed, texted or IMed most people. If you're finding out for the first time from here, I do love you - it's just all been a whirlwind!

130 days to go. :D

2006-06-22T15:13:00.000-04:00

"I'm Country"
Enough with all the dogs. Let's get down to the good stuff. Like the Britney Spears interview with Matt Lauer on Dateline. I didn't catch the train wreck myself, but according to my co-worker (my informant on all such matters), the only thing keeping her from displaying her privates to poor Matt was her big, pregnant belly hanging down over, er, them. Not pretty. Not prettty at all, Brit.

2006-06-20T20:05:00.000-04:00

One Big, Happy, Weird Family

From left to right: Hurley, Ben, Cheddar (Christine's boyfriend's dog--thinks he lives here), Elsa

We are now outnumbered. Supplies running low (particularly treats, paper towels, and unchewed flip flops). Send help soon.

2006-06-18T22:11:00.000-04:00

And He Has A Name

Everyone, I'd like to introduce you to Hurley.

...We flashback to Hurley sitting on the sofa in his mother's house, eating from a bucket of chicken that bears the same logo as his work shirt. His mother chides him about going out and trying to find a nice woman, but Hurley is paying attention to the Mega-Lotto drawing on television. As the winning numbers are called out we can hardly believe our eyes. 4,8,15,16,23 and the mega number…42. Hurley checks his ticket, sees that it is an exact match…and promptly faints, smashing the coffee table beneath him....

2006-06-08T09:55:00.000-04:00

On Dogs and Adoption

I wrote the following for my company's internal newsletter. For lack of any other blogging on my part, I thought I'd post it and catch everyone up. Sorry my blog is so dog-centric lately. Uh, I'm sure it'll pass soon.

My love affair with dogs began when I was… well, born, I suppose. When you’re born into a family with dogs, you really don’t have much of a say in the matter. From the time that I could recognize those living around me as the members of my family unit, our dogs were immediately regarded as an integral part of it.

And what good dogs the Weber Family had. They played, jumped, swam, sledded, loved, and misbehaved right alongside me and my brothers. I dressed the little one in baby doll clothes (to my brothers’ chagrin), and my mom carried the German Shepherd up and down the stairs when she became too old and feeble to walk them herself. We grew into adults, and they lived out their years. Katie (with me, above), Pepper, Gizmo, and Daisy, and only the last one remains.

After college I asked God many times just how long he expected me to live without a dog of my own; my “family unit” felt incomplete. Finally, last May, I purchased my first home. This now meant that I could store my Christmas tree in the garage, play in my yard, paint the walls whatever color I wished, and, at long last, have a dog again.

On one random sunny day this February, my roommate, Christine, and I drove down 33 to the Woodford County Humane Society, where I first met Elsa. Within an hour, Elsa was in my backseat on her way back to Nicholasville and her new home.

A few months later, after she convinced me, Christine brought a 70 pound Golden Retriever, Big Ben, into the fold. Our house is crazy, indeed, but the dogs love each other and play like champs. “Well, that’s it. Two dogs is plenty,” I would think contentedly.

Then he arrived... practically right on our doorstep. It was the curly-haired little rascal we had seen running around our neighborhood for a few days. He was so cute, we assumed he had to belong to someone. Until that morning when he greeted us, fur still soaked through from the particularly heinous thunderstorms the night before. No collar. No discernable home to go to. I looked at Christine with tears already spilling down my cheeks, “Can we please bring him inside?”

Due to an odd holiday schedule that kept the Humane Society closed longer than normal, we ended up keeping him for two whole days. In that time, he fit right in like a long lost member of the family. He played with Elsa and Ben, and he slept by my bedside at night. He traveled to the office with me each day, riding on my lap in the car and sleeping under my chair when he wasn’t off greeting everyone else. Everyone fell in love with him, and teasingly said to me, “You are so keeping this dog.” I was adamant in my practicality, however. We have two dogs already, “What are we? The crazy dog ladies?”

However, the day I dropped him off at the Humane Society, I started to plan how I would I adopt him if he wasn’t claimed. After much thought and many conversations, my head now agrees with my heart. He is a part of my mad little unconventional family, and it’s time to bring him home. The adoption will be final this week, and with my boss already giving his blessing, he will become the first ever Cre8tive Group office dog.

Update: We named this dog Pepper on a whim, because of his coloring. He had just come into the house, we didn't think he was staying, and we wanted to call him something - anything. As you'll note above, my family had a German Shepherd for 14 years named Pepper and I'm not that unoriginal/lazy to just keep it for him too. This little guy will receive a new, cooler name, to be announced later.

2006-05-30T11:16:00.000-04:00

Things That Make Elsa Jealous

I'm a Pepper, he's a Pepper, wouldn't you like to be a Pepper too?

My roommate, Christine, and I have run into this little guy in our neighborhood three times over the past week. No tags of any sort and just the friendliest little dog. He clearly is not a dog that was meant to live on the street. We took him in once last week, but he got away. He came back to us last night and we've been taking care of him since. We even named him Pepper. He's been hanging out at the office with me this morning, until the Humane Society opens at lunch time. We are hoping he has been chipped, so that we'll be able to find his owner (most likely a little old lady) right away. If not, I have no doubt this little bundle will be adopted in no time.

He's so snuggly and sweet, it's really hard to work, and not just hold him. But at the same time, he's resting quietly under my desk, really without a care in the world. If he turns out not to have a home to return to, and you'd like to adopt him, you can check on his status at the Woodford County Humane Society over the next few days. I would keep him forever, if Christine and I weren't already the crazy dog ladies of our neighborhood.

Update: Can't take him to Woodford, who charges a surrender fee for all out of county residents. Since Jessamine is still closed until tomorrow, I am taking him to my vet who has a microchip scanner. Will update this afternoon.

Update 2: Pepper isn't chipped. He'll remain a Weber/Amerman dog until Jessamine HS opens tomorrow. I'm praying that I stop bonding with him and he stops being the the cutest dog ever because that's not helping the cause. :) With no collar and no chip, I'm getting worried about this supposed home that Pepper ran away from. While I'll still take him to the Humane Society tomorrow, I am actively seeking a good home for him - contact me if you're interested.

Update 3: Pepper is now at the Jessamine Humane Society. Still looking for his family. He will be kept as a stray for one week, and then will be "prepped" and put up for adoption.

2006-05-10T10:04:00.000-04:00

Happy Birthday to Daisy, who turns 103 today!

Willard Scott celebrates this lovely woman's birthday this week on the Today Show.

In all seriousness, this little girl does need a home. If you live in the Kentucky area, and would like to save a senior Maltese (with a lazy tongue and a crazed look in her eye), Daisy is currently available for adoption from the Shelby County Humane Society.

2006-04-26T16:49:00.000-04:00

¡Olé!

Public Service Announcement

This, kids, is my boss.
This, apparently, is what my boss does on his birthday.
This is what my co-workers do when they don't have enough real work.
THIS is why you should not let waiters in a mexican restaurant take your picture and post it for all to see. And why you should always be nice to your employees.

I smell retribution brewing in the office.

2006-04-21T10:22:00.000-04:00

Life Needs More Widgets
My co-worker Thor created his first widget. You can find it at apple.com. Go download it now!

Ratio Shackle.

2006-04-06T11:18:00.000-04:00

Quote of the Week
One of my wittiest friends uttered this recently when brooding over singledom, the dating pool, and the encroaching age of 30.

"For instance, does someone somewhere require men past a certain age to wear pleated khakis and tassled loafers, or do they reach that conclusion on their own?"

2006-03-20T14:03:00.000-05:00

Spring
I distinctly remember from my growing up years, my Mom always gushing on and on about the new buds on the trees every spring. I also clearly remember not giving a rip. She would always seem to choose moments we couldn’t avoid her to make such declarations… such as in the car on the 20 minute drive to church. “Yeah, Mom, it’s real great. Can you turn up the radio a little?” I’d say. For one, even though she was singing the praises of all the green, to my 8-year-old eyes, the trees looked just about as dead as they had for months. Not only that, but despite the two 60-something degree days we more than likely had a few days prior to cause the outburst, it had now been raining for 3 days straight and the temps were hitting a lovely high of about 40. Welcome to March in Western Pennsylvania… it’s hardly anything to get excited about.

Usually it takes place over a long time period, with little things that you don’t notice until it’s way too late. I’m honestly not sure when it was, but the first time I remember seeing a small sprig of green popping out from the bare branches of the trees around me, and felt an immense hope for what was to come, I knew without a doubt that I had become my mother.

Now, my little sister is the one getting the earful. In fact, I start before nature even has a chance to take its course. At some point in February, I make sure she takes a good look around her… absorbs the sight of grey skies, bare, brown branches, and dead yellow grass. “Just wait” I say, “in just a few weeks all this ugliness will be alive with color.”

It’s the first day of spring today. It’s also supposed to be a high of 45, with the possibility of rain and maybe even snow flurries later on. And definitely no sunshine. But in the past 10 days, spring has most certainly come. The grass seemed to turn to green overnight, and the daffodils are everywhere you look. And while there’s clearly still more bare than life on the trees, I only have eyes for the tiny flecks of green. It seems as if hope, and vision for the future, can blind you to the past that you’d rather forget. But at the same time, without the past, we'd never have a need for the hope. When Vanessa seems to just humor me as I go on about the beauty of new life, I remind myself of my own story. Vanessa will get it someday. It seems as if we all do.

2006-03-03T15:30:00.000-05:00

Genius
A group of college kids from Georgia State set out to prove a point. Necessary to accomplish it: Drive the speed limit on the interstate in rush hour traffic in Atlanta and just try to survive. They filmed the whole thing and submitted it to their Campus Movie Fest. Watch the video here.

In four cars, on all four lanes, the students from Georgia State University and other local colleges paced the entire midmorning flow of Perimeter traffic behind them at 55 mph for half an hour. They call it "an act of civil obedience."

"I get a lot of tickets," said Andy Medlin, 20, the Georgia State student who came up with the idea. "The best way to expose the flaws in the system is by following it."

Thankfully, they survived unharmed, though much maligned. The eight students captured it all on video for a student film competition, and the five-minute piece has fired up the country this week on blogs, talk radio, and national news broadcasts. - By Ariel Hart, Atlanta Journal-Constitution

2006-03-01T11:28:00.000-05:00

Crazy Pound Pup

Elsa, The dog who exceeds my limitations

"Her name was Lola, she was a showgirl..." Oh wait. I didn't name my new pound pup after a Barry Manilow song. Nor did I name her after my favorite female tv character from my adult life, Sydney Bristow (Alias). Or my favorite Jane Austen heroine, Eliza Bennet. Not to mention the many different hometown (Pittsburgh) references I (and others) came up with... Heinz, Rooney, Schenley, Hela (2 points to whoever figures this one out first), and Tanner. But a) none seemed to fit her and b) I wanted no confusion over whether she was a girl or a boy.

Instead, I'm referencing a lesser known song by Jason Mraz, Curbside Prophet. Not because I love this song (which I do), or because people will get it (which they won't), but simply because the name chose her. There were so many other names that carried more meaning and weight for me, but they just didn't belong to her. Her name is Elsa, and I can't deny it anymore.

Cause I’m tourin’ around the nation on extended vacation
See I got Elsa the dog who exceeds my limitations
I say, “I like your style, crazy pound pup!
You need a ride? Well come on girl hop in the truck"

2006-02-24T10:23:00.000-05:00

iTunes Fuels Secret Shame Amongst 20-Somethings
Since the advent of the Apple iTunes Music Store, it's become increasingly more tempting to find and buy "that song" you just heard on the radio, TV commercial, or from the guy humming behind you in the Wal-Mart line. For just 99¢ you can be immediately reuinted with a song you haven't heard or thought of in years. Most of the time, I hope, the purchase is somewhat respectable. Other times, you're left glancing nervously over your shoulder as you click "Buy Now." Here's a Friday morning shout out to my embarrassing iTunes purchase of the week. Besides the fact that the Pets.com commercials (Michael Ian Black is hee-larious) might have been my most favorite commercials ever (I actually OWN the dang sock puppet; thanks Matt), last week on a Sex & the City rerun, Carrie Bradshaw danced to this song with her friend Stanford. I was immediately entranced.

If You Leave Me Now, Chicago
If you leave me now, you’ll take away the biggest part of me
No baby please don’t go
If you leave me now, you’ll take away the very heart of me
No baby please don’t go

A love like ours is love that’s hard to find
How could we let it slip away
We’ve come too far to leave it all behind
How could we end it all this way
When tomorrow comes we’ll both regret
Things we said today

A love like ours is love that’s hard to find
How could we let it slip away
We’ve come too far to leave it all behind
How could we end it all this way
When tomorrow comes we’ll both regret
Things we said today

If you leave me now, you’ll take away the biggest part of me
No baby please don’t go
Oh girl, just got to have you by my side

No baby, please don’t go

Oh mama, I just got to have your lovin, yeah

We’ve come too far to leave it all behind

2006-02-22T13:47:00.000-05:00

A Camera and An Idea
So, my latest project is to make a homemade documentary about my Mummum's house. The last of 13 children, she was literally born IN the house (on the second floor) that her father built, raised her own family there, and as of next month, will be moving out forever. Sadly, the house is then going on the market, left to the whims of a stranger. Because I know just enough about Final Cut Pro to be dangerous, I brainstormed the documentary idea while in a meeting I probably should have been paying attention to. I'm currently in the process of rounding up information from my family. My cousin just sent me this starter list of her memories from the house. I loved these and thought I'd share them, at least until I get around to sharing my own list. Perhaps this sounds a lot like your own memories from your grandparents house.

- riding my bike into the creek

- playing hide and go seek outside (and getting stung by a bee on the lip -- gee, why do these all involve pain??!!) :)

- playing basketball down in the lower lot

- staying overnight and sleeping on the couch, being terrified that someone was coming up the cellar stairs (it was just the furnace running!!)

- the turtle candy jar

- doing puzzles on the table

- on the subject of the table, what's with the 20 layers of tablecloths?

- STAR WARS EVERY SINGLE CHRISTMAS!

- the Christmas tablecloth

- playing Atari on the TV in the kitchen

- the old comic books in the dining room cupboard

2006-02-17T09:23:00.000-05:00

Comments
I got sick of Haloscan always deleting my old comments (although I heard recently that you can pay them $12 a year to have them all restored.) Instead of ponying up, I decided to relinquish my strong stance on laziness and just enable Blogger comments. So for right now, I have two sets of comments below. I'm not sure I'm ready to just delete my Haloscan comments. So I'll leave them up for a bit, probably until it gets too confusing (so, like, tomorrow). The first comments link is what you want for leaving new comments. The second is for viewing the old ones.

This is officially the most boring post ever. I couldn't even come up with a catchy title. But maybe after my record-setting worst ever "Whine and Cheese" title, the title gods decided I no longer deserved the gift of clever titling and took back my powers. Yes, I'm sure that's what has happened.

2006-02-15T14:01:00.000-05:00

Whine and Cheese, Please

Seattle Seahawks Whine

Yeah, ok, these things have not ceased to be funny to me yet. Maybe that's what a week's worth of ESPN-driven hype will do to you. The finer print says "Made from the finest sour grapes. Also made with poor special teams, one crushing interception, horrid clock management, and tears." He he.

2006-02-13T17:16:00.000-05:00

Back to Life, Back to Reality
My first non-football related post for awhile. It’s taken me the better part of a week to realize that life that does not revolve around football does exist. I was pretty out of it there for awhile (shakes head to clear the fog).

While the northeast was swimming waist-deep in snow, we managed to scrape out 3 to 4 inches of the white stuff ourselves. Not too bad for the bluegrass. If there’s another color besides bright green that I love to see our rolling hills and horse farms bathed in, it’s brilliant white. In fact, I can’t decide which one I like more. I’m glad I don’t have to pick, but live in a place that offers me both.

Horizontal Snow

Amazingly, while the snow clung to every branch and bush, it melted the instant it hit the roads. So, don’t fret kids, my weekend plans were in no way hindered. I know you were worried. This isn’t a great picture, but when I got home Saturday night, I realized that the extra little bit of snow we had received that evening seemed to come in horizontally and stay there. I’m not sure how that happened because I don't remember it being especially windy. My whole neighborhood looked like this though.

Vanessa and Mr. Snowman

When Vanessa (my little sister) came over on Sunday she asked me if we could go outside and build a snowman. Besides neither one of us having the proper clothes with which to roll around in the wet snow, I explained to her that while I used to love being outside in the snow as a kid, as an adult I preferred to stay inside, nice and cozy, and watch it. Whoa… did that come out of my mouth? Who loves the snow as much as me and doesn’t like to play in it? And why? Because I didn’t feel like being wet and cold? What happened to my childlike enthusiasm? I felt bad for awhile, but decided that I probably have enough childlike qualities that I can let this one slide. And before you think I'm too cruel, she had spent the entire day before outside with her brothers and sisters making a huge snowman. Instead we made valentine’s cookies and played Monopoly. She was satisfied to make me the cutest little snowman on my back deck. Don’t mind his “right eye.” We had to do a quick surgery (his head fell off just before I tried to take the picture), which left him looking a little more worse for wear. I think it gives him character.

2006-02-09T11:23:00.000-05:00

Bittersweet... Symphony?

Something they can't take away from us: Parker's record-setting TD run.

Yeah, that's the song that the Seahawks entered the field to on Super Bowl Sunday. What an odd choice. I'd like to think they were doomed at that point. But "bittersweet" is actually more like how I'm feeling this week, after the initial euphoria, and now that I'm shoved back into the real world, where the average person doesn't bleed black and gold.

"It was a boring game." Fine, then turn on the stinking Puppy Bowl if you're so bored.

"It was sloppy." Who said it was going to be pretty?

"Ben looked scared and performed horribly." Yes, he was scared and I can't blame the kid (I can't believe I am 5 years older than this guy)... I thought he totally got it together, however, and did what he needed to do (can you say taking on an NFL linebacker? how many QBs are doing that??)

Anyways, I can swallow all of those, but you know what I can't handle anymore? "The refs threw the game because the NFL wanted the Steelers to win." Oh really, just like they wanted them to win 4 weeks ago against Indy? Remember the overturned interception? Remember how blatantly wrong that was that the NFL said "My bad!" for the first time in three years? Yeah, I didn't think you guys forgot about that one. Funny how we won anyways, despite the refs.

I can't eek through this week without someone first congratulating me on the win and then making a snarky comment about the officiating. I've been waiting for this my whole dang life (anyone else remember my drama-laden post after the AFC Championship loss last year?), and people are RUINING this experience for me! Here's my three-point sermon about the game:

a) There were some close calls, and other calls which weren't nearly as bad (and certainly not completely wrong) as they're blowing them up to be. There's no conspiracy.
b) Seattle's problems ran deeper than the officiating.
c) Good teams overcome bad officiating (ie. Steelers vs. Colts)

More than all of that, I want to point everyone to Gene Wojciechowski's article on ESPN.com. He says everything I want to say - and says it from a non-Steeler-biased point of view. He readily admits to all the negatives of the game, but rightly scoffs at all the whining and finger-pointing. "...To simply dismiss the Steelers victory as an act of referee kindness is to take a Bettis-sized leap of faith." The Steelers WON this game - as ugly as it was. As nervous as young Ben was (rightly so, anyone see the poor kid on the Grammy's last night?), the team that found a pretty way to win three straight playoff road games, then found an ugly way to win the Super Bowl. They won. Period. End of story. Now shut up about it and let me enjoy this, people! And in return, when YOUR team makes it to whatever championship game is appropriate, I will say "Congrats!" and leave it at that, no matter what happens. Because that time is for the fans alone to enjoy. This is OUR moment, Seattle fans, you had your chance and you lost it.

(Clutching her Terrible Towel, Julie dismounts her soapbox.)

2006-01-23T13:19:00.000-05:00

Steeler Nation

Scott Paulsen, a Pittsburgh radio show host wrote this column on the building of the Steeler Nation. To all displaced Pittsburghers and Steeler fans, I double-dog dare you not to cry when you read this.

Nation Building
January 18, 2006
Scott Paulsen

Think about this the next time someone argues that a professional sports franchise is not important to a city’s identity:
In the 1980’s, as the steel mills and their supporting factories shut down from Homestead to Midland, Pittsburghers, faced for the first time in their lives with the specter of unemployment, were forced to pick up their families, leave their home towns and move to more profitable parts of the country. The steel workers were not ready for this. They had planned to stay in the ‘burgh their entire lives. It was home.

Everyone I know can tell the same story about how Dad, Uncle Bob or their brother-in-law packed a U-Haul and headed down to Tampa to build houses or up to Boston for an office job or out to California to star in pornographic videos.

All right. Maybe that last one just happened in my family.

At this same time, during the early to mid-eighties, the Pittsburgh Steelers were at the peak of their popularity. Following the Super Bowl dynasty years, the power of the Steelers was strong. Every man, woman, boy and girl from parts of four states were Pittsburgh faithful, living and breathing day to day on the news of their favorite team. Then, as now, it seemed to be all anyone talked about.

Who do you think the Steelers will take in the draft this year?
Is Bradshaw done?
Can you believe they won’t give Franco the money – what’s he doing going to Seattle?

The last memories most unemployed steel workers had of their towns had a black and gold tinge. The good times remembered all seemed to revolve, somehow, around a football game. Sneaking away from your sister’s wedding reception to go downstairs to the bar and watch the game against Earl Campbell and the Oilers - going to midnight mass, still half in the bag after Pittsburgh beat Oakland - you and your grandfather, both crying at the sight of The Chief, finally holding his Vince Lombardi Trophy.

And then, the mills closed. Damn the mills.

One of the unseen benefits of the collapse of the value systems our families believed in – that the mill would look after you through thick and thin – was that now, decades later, there is not a town in America where a Pittsburgher cannot feel at home. Nearly every city in the United States has a designated “Black and Gold” establishment. From Bangor, Maine to Honolulu, Hawaii, and every town in between can be found an oasis of Iron City, chipped ham and yinzers. It’s great to know that no matter what happened in the lives of our Steel City refugees, they never forgot the things that held us together as a city - families, food, and Steelers football.

It’s what we call the Steeler Nation.

You see it every football season. And when the Steelers have a great year, as they have had this season, the power of the Steeler Nation rises to show itself stronger than ever. This week, as the Pittsburgh team of Roethlisberger, Polamalu, Bettis and Porter head to Denver, the fans of Greenwood, Lambert, Bleier and Blount, the generation who followed Lloyd, Thigpen, Woodson and Kirkland will be watching from Dallas to Chicago, from an Air Force base in Minot, North Dakota, to a tent stuck in the sand near Fallujah, Iraq.

I have received more email from displaced Pittsburgh Steelers fans this week than Christmas cards this holiday season.
They’re everywhere.
We’re everywhere.
We are the Steeler Nation.

And now, it’s passing from one generation to the next. The children of displaced Pittsburghers, who have never lived in the Steel City, are growing up Steelers fans. When they come back to their parents’ hometowns to visit the grandparents, they hope, above all, to be blessed enough to get to see the Steelers in person. Heinz Field is their football Mecca. And if a ticket isn’t available, that’s okay, too. There’s nothing better than sitting in Grandpa’s living room, just like Dad did, eating Grandma’s cooking and watching the Pittsburgh Steelers. Just like Dad did.

So, to you, Steeler Nation, I send best wishes and a fond wave of the Terrible Towel. To Tom, who emailed from Massachusetts to say how great it was to watch the Patriots lose and the Steelers win in one glorious weekend. To Michelle, from Milwaukee, who wrote to let me know it was she who hexed Mike Vanderjagt last Sunday by chanting “boogity, boogity, boogity” and giving him the “maloik”. To Jack, who will somehow pull himself away from the beach bar he tends in Hilo, Hawaii, to once again root for the black and gold in the middle of the night (his time), I say, thanks for giving power to the great Steeler Nation.

All around the NFL, the word is out that the Pittsburgh Steeler fans “travel well”, meaning they will fly or drive from Pittsburgh to anywhere the Steelers play, just to see their team. The one aspect about that situation the rest of the NFL fails to grasp is that, sometimes, the Steeler Nation does not have to travel. Sometimes, we’re already there.

Yes, the short sighted steel mills screwed our families over. But they did, in a completely unintended way, create something new and perhaps more powerful than an industry. They helped created a nation.

A Steeler Nation.

2006-01-22T21:48:00.000-05:00

...PITTSBURGH'S GOING TO THE SUPER BOWL!

2006-01-20T13:54:00.000-05:00

Red Rover, Red Rover, Send Denver Right Over!

Interesting little piece written by a Denver columnist sent to the Burgh to cover, well, I guess the fans in the week leading up to the AFC showdown. Apparently the first article he wrote after arriving was less than complimentary, and felt the need to restate his position on the Steel City. I like this one much better.

Yinz might like Steeler Nation, after all

2006-01-16T21:36:00.000-05:00

I’ve Got A Feeling….

The Bus Celebrates a TD

When the whole country wanted the Red Sox, not the Cardinals, to win the World Series in 2004, I couldn’t help but think about the still rabid St. Louis fans – come on now, you get it… don’t you? During a time of year when serious and casual baseball fans alike usually divvy up pretty evenly, unless you were a card-carrying St. Louis fan, people were overwhelmingly pulling for the Sox. I thought about the Cards fans, “Surely they have some human conviction deep down that would like to see the Sox win. Surely.”

Before yesterday, everyone (particularly the NFL, some might say) wanted Tony Dungy, Peyton Manning and the Colts to win the Super Bowl. Football fans whose teams have long been out of it had staked their claim on Indy as the team to root for. And even an idiot (including me) could understand why. A 13-0 start, a Christmas tragedy, a golden boy QB… all factors which will garner fandom like none other. (By the way, I’m not dogging golden boy quarterbacks. While not quite as loved as the eldest Manning son, Ben’s pretty darn close to being a golden boy himself.)

All of that said, with baseball a distant memory and wading deep in the NFL playoffs, I admit that yeah, ok, I get it. I know why the world wanted Indy to win. But absolutely nothing (NO amount of heart-tugging for the Colts) could rain on my exuberant parade Sunday afternoon when I first watched Big Ben march his offense deftly down the field to defiantly announce to the deafening crowd that they came to play. And play they did. There were so many moments that even now put a smile on my face. Beautifully accurate passes and a big handful of sacks. However, only one memory induces in my spirit the kind of relief that continues to come in waves, long after the moment has passed. To Ben Roethlisberger (who surely reads my blog): Thank you, thank you, thank you for tackling Nick Harper near mid-field and thus saving our season. You played an amazing game, but I will always remember the sight of you grabbing Harper’s calf and denying him a free pass straight into the end zone. It was like the knife had started to sink into my heart, but you apprehended my attacker. Damage had been done, for sure, but hope remained that my life (er, I mean, the Steelers’ season) was not over just yet. And really, whether this team went on or not this year, it means the world to me that Jerome Bettis did not have to end his career on such a terrible and freak play.

Ben Saves the Day

A few excruciating plays and endless minutes later (at which point I said dramatically, but with all seriousness, “Have commercials ever seemed so insignificant?”), I yelled out “WIDE RIGHT! WIDE RIGHT!” and I became acutely aware that there was a Buffalo Bills fan sitting in my living room who might not like hear those words. I resorted to just screaming and running around my living room like a maniac. The most accurate kicker in NFL history, Mike Vanderjagt, had just missed a 46-yard, would be game-tying field goal. As an aside, my roommate really enjoys these entertaining little outbursts of mine, although I’m not so sure about my neighbor.

As far as I was concerned, the Steelers just won the Super Bowl. Yes, THAT’S what that game meant to their fans. The first No. 6 seed, ever, to beat a No. 1 and go on to a conference championship game. To finally respond to the team that dropped an 80-yard bomb on us in the first moments of that Monday Night game (and caused me to strain a muscle in my shoulder). The favored attention-garnering team from last year that couldn’t step up against the Patriots, and now the underdogs this year stepping it up like champs. I know I’ll be changing my tune come next week, and whatever should come after that, when I want the Steelers to win more – and more. But for today, I couldn’t be happier or more content.

For those of you non-Pittsburghers who don’t understand what the title of this entry means, you’ll have to wait and hope to find out next week. As superstitious as I’ve become, I refuse to finish it until our fate next Sunday is decided. However, I can’t stop any of you from finishing it yourselves in the comments. ☺ And for those of you who want me stop blogging on the Steelers already, well, I wouldn’t hold your breath.

2005-12-21T10:10:00.000-05:00

Merry Christmas

What follows is Ben Stein's commentary that he delivered on CBS's Sunday Morning this past week. As always, very well said, Ben. I probably won't blog again until well after Christmas, thanks to a little thing at my parents' house I like to call dial-up. A very Merry Christmas to each one of you. May the reality of His birth and life be so present in your heart that it outshines all that is insignificant.

Herewith at this happy time of year, a few confessions from my beating heart:

I have no freaking clue who Nick and Jessica are. I see them on the cover of People and Us constantly when I am buying my dog biscuits and kitty litter. I often ask the checkers at the grocery stores. They never know who Nick and Jessica are either. Who are they? Will it change my life if I know who they are and why they have broken up? Why are they so important? I don't know who Lindsay Lohan is, either, and I do not care at all about Tom Cruise's wife.

Am I going to be called before a Senate committee and asked if I am a subversive? Maybe, but I just have no clue who Nick and Jessica are. Is this what it means to be no longer young? It's not so bad.

Next confession: I am a Jew, and every single one of my ancestors was Jewish. And it does not bother me even a little bit when people call those beautiful lit up, bejeweled trees Christmas trees. I don't feel threatened. I don't feel discriminated against. That's what they are: Christmas trees. It doesn't bother me a bit when people say, "Merry Christmas" to me. I don't think they are slighting me or getting ready to put me in a ghetto. In fact, I kind of like it. It shows that we are all brothers and sisters celebrating this happy time of year. It doesn't bother me at all that there is a manger scene on display at a key intersection near my beach house in Malibu. If people want a creche, it's just as fine with me as is the Menorah a few hundred yards away.

I don't like getting pushed around for being a Jew and I don't think Christians like getting pushed around for being Christians. I think people who believe in God are sick and tired of getting pushed around, period. I have no idea where the concept came from that America is an explicitly atheist country. I can't find it in the Constitution and I don't like it being shoved down my throat.

Or maybe I can put it another way: where did the idea come from that we should worship Nick and Jessica and we aren't allowed to worship God as we understand Him?

I guess that's a sign that I'm getting old, too. But there are a lot of us who are wondering where Nick and Jessica came from and where the America we knew went to.

Black and Gold and White

2005-12-13T17:19:00.000-05:00

Steeler game, Dec 11, 2005
Originally uploaded by Jules Verne.

December Steeler football in the snow... it really doesn't get much better than that. Of course winning helps, A LOT. Coming in and handling the 9-3 Bears like champs did a lot to restore my faith in their season. Now, I didn't jump ship before this game, but let's just say I've been more grumpy than usual. And not just in the mornings (beat you all to it).

This would be a great time to plug my new favorite blog. I'm not really one to spend time reading blogs from people I don't know. I spend enough time on the internet as it is. But I stumbled across this one after Google-ing a particular Steeler story (Maddox trash in lawn situation). This guy (I have no idea who he is) writes about his three favorite teams: the Boston Red Sox, the UNC Tarheels, and, of course, the Steelers. Being the time of year that it is, he's been mostly talking about the Steelers. He's funny, passionate, smart, and humble enough to say he's really not that smart. If you're a Steeler fan, you'll feel like you've made a new friend after just one post.

http://heelssoxsteelers.blogspot.com

Excerpt from December 6th:
By the way, I'm slowing turning into all that I hate about sports fanatics. Leading up to Sunday's game, all I could think was that, because of Ben's myriad injuries, there was a 100 percent chance Maddox would see the field. I then spent the game yelling at most every play call, and almost every player on the Steelers. After the game I felt like Jimmy Swaggart after he got caught at that Motel 6 with a hooker: embarrassed by my actions, and worried that all the crying as I repented would create a mini-climate super humidified in the general vicinity of my head, and totally wreak havoc with all the hairspray keeping my wig in place. OK, maybe not quite that bad -- or weird -- but I do hate those fans whose sole purpose it seems, is to complain about their team under every circumstance. And even though I didn't get caught with a hooker, I feel obliged to apologize to the Steelers organization for my behavior. So there.

2005-12-12T13:24:00.000-05:00

Christmas Controversy

A so-called "megachurch," my church garnered national attention this week. It was negative attention, and I can tell you that we didn't ask for it. A good many in the media, from CNN to Good Morning America, picked up the story that Southland, along with other large churches across the country, have decided to not hold services on Christmas Day. Being a church that requires 300+ volunteers just to make a day of services happen, that could be reason enough for me, although it's certainly not the only one. Although our senior pastor, Jon Weece, received nasty emails upon emails from very angry people--mostly those not from our church, and who know nothing about us--he declined all major interviews. Instead, he answered each and every email personally, and in love, and addressed his congregation this past Sunday from stage. I could go on forever about it, but I think Jon says it better than I ever could. I stand behind him and our elders and the decision they made. While I plan on attending church on Christmas morning with my family in Pittsburgh, I have no doubt that Southland made the right decision for Southland.

CNN's story.

Listen to Jon Weece's December 11 address to the Southland congregation. It's kind of long, but it gets really good near the end if you want to skip to that.

2005-12-08T14:12:00.000-05:00

Random Employee Story of the Month

My co-worker, Steve Thorson (Thor), contributed the following for our company internal newsletter (Balance: Blurring the line between professional and relational). Because I'm not getting around to writing anymore about our trip myself--and because this was so funny--I asked him if I could post it. He said no, but I pretty much do what I want anyways. ( Just kidding - he said yes.)

As you all know, Peter, Julie, and I represented Cre8tive Group in Mississippi two weeks ago. The relief efforts were headed up by Mark Troyer (aka “Dirty Bird,” as Julie liked to call him). A seemingly wise decision, Mark Troyer decided that the safest way to navigate the town of Pass Christian would be by way of “adult” drivers. Allow me to define this word:

Adult (n.) - One who is not enrolled in academic courses. Commonly misused as: One who has attained a high level of driving maturity, ability, or awareness.

Being that most of the volunteers on this trip were Asbury students, at any given time 24 of them were subject to riding with our three older, but not necessarily better-driving, 8G representatives. Though no one was seriously harmed, I’ll recount a few close calls:

• One day after lunch, I gathered my team and headed towards our van. As excited as I was to get back to work, I imagined that my team, inspired by their leader’s zeal and eagerness to serve, would be fervently clawing their way into the van as to not waste one precious second. On this note I jumped into the van, cranked the engine, and tromped the gas, only to be halted by the screaming of a student hanging out of the side door. Apparently she was only half-way motivated to get back to the job, because only half of her had gotten into the van before it took off.

Thor with some of his team (victim still in tact) over lunch.

• “Hold on everyone!” was a phrase that was often heard in Peter’s van a few moments before his off-road-machine went hurling over some mountainous railroad track or hunk of washed out street. “Everyone thinks I’m a bad driver, but I'm a fun driver; it’s kind of like a Disney ride,” I remember him saying. On our last day, in a final attempt to ramp the Menge Street railroad crossing, Peter managed to hit the bulge in the road with such momentum that one of his passengers flew out of his seat and into the ceiling.

Peter scheming up another railroad jump, outside the food tent.

• Not only did Julie find a way to back directly into a telephone pole, but a few days later she also succeeded in making enemies with some guys on the freeway that were quite possibly on their way to murder someone. Fortunately, the thugs pulled their glass bottles instead of their Nines. Julie and her caravan escaped unscathed.

Despite the accident, Julie's team still thought she was a better driver than Peter.

Though many could have perished on account of your well-meaning 8G drivers, all students were returned safely to their dorms, and the three of us returned in good spirits and ready to collect our week’s paid vacation. Oh, and Peter and I were wondering, Chad, if we could take the Pathfinder to pick-up that slot machine in Ohio?

My Relief Trip™ Reflections: Part 2

2005-11-30T09:51:00.000-05:00

Signs of America
Originally uploaded by Jules Verne.

Many times I heard people say this past week, "and this is in AMERICA," insinuating, of course, that such tragedies don't happen here in our golden country. At least, if they happen, they don't sit for so long, months later still looking like the most elaborate Hollywood set for a disaster movie ever seen. Many people I spoke to, both before and after the trip, were under the impression that things were getting pretty well cleaned up. And why should they think any differently? With the media moved on to bigger, better, and less tired news stories, many in our country are left in the dark concerning the dismal reality on the Gulf Coast. A friend of mine, who lives down there and is an active part of the restoration, shared with me the general timeline that people down there are operating under. The first phase, the emergency phase, is approximately 30 days and entails an accounting of all persons involved in the tragedy, both the living and the dead. The second phase, the clean-up phase, takes 10 times the amount of time as the first; or 300 days, or about 10 months. We are now 2 months into this phase. So why were we surprised when our group walked into houses that hadn't been TOUCHED since the disaster? It was a like a haunting perfect preservation of that day, which while squinting in the bright sunlight, was hard to even imagine. The third phase, rebuilding, is estimated to take 8 to 10 years. This is just the beginning, folks, and your fellow countrymen still need you. At the very least, they need you to not to forget about them. Keep them in your prayers. I dealt with it for 7 days; they were dealing with way before I got there and are still dealing with it. The lucky ones are living in a FEMA trailer on their property. And everyday these residents wake up and see the devastation all over again. Imagine the depression that must settle in after days, weeks and months of this. I'm asking that you remember, pray, and ask questions. If the media does not give you an accurate picture, then seek out answers, if only out of respect for these Americans. Whatever you do, don't assume that everything is getting back to normal. It couldn't be farther from it.

My Relief Trip™ Reflections: Part 1

2005-11-28T14:12:00.000-05:00

Pre mud-out, bedroom

Pre mud-out, facing kitchen

Post mud-out, facing kitchen

Post mud-out, outside

I’m back from Mississippi a little more tired, a lot more aware, and tons more blessed than when I left. I am going to try and post something about the trip everyday this week. It’s too hard to try and put it all together in one, so you guys will get sputterings of my post-trip thoughts in the form of stories, lists, and pictures. Here’s my first, non-commital, non-deep entry. I realized about halfway through the week that a new vocabulary set had now become commonplace in my everyday speech. Here’s my dedication to key words and phrases I used/heard more this week than I ever have in my life… and some for the very first time ever.

Katrina cough (common side effect of all the dust and mold on both residents and volunteers to the area)
Mud-out (see above; complete cleaning out of a house including all debris, drywall, flooring, duct work, nails… all the way down to the studs, leaving it ready to be rebuilt)
Muck-out (which is it anyways?)
Where’s my crowbar? (I quite possibly have never asked this question before in my life.)
Insulation (swam in it on Monday)
Fiberglass (all over my person after said “swim,” including my eyelids. Ouch.)
Devastation (everywhere)
Destruction (less popular alternative to “devastation”)
Ew, water! (the smallest amount of polluted water found in any house was a cause for announcement... just don’t spill it.)
I hate gnats (they swarmed and ate us alive)
Immaculate (our goal)
Flexibility (our theme)
FEMA (people either love ‘em or hate ‘em… mostly depends on if you have your trailer yet or not)
Triad (in this case, a group of 3 white 15-passenger vans travelling together; we had 3 triads. ours was also known as the "Troy-ad" due to the inclusion of our fearless leader, Mark Troyer)
Blessing, Hope, Thank You (words spoken many times over by the residents we served)

2005-11-19T01:28:00.000-05:00

Harry Potter and Mississippi
It's about 1:30 am and I just got home from seeing the 4th installment of the Harry Potter series brought to life, The Goblet of Fire. And in about 2 hours (that's right, TWO), my alarm will sound signaling it's time to head off to Pass Christian, Mississippi for My Relief Trip™. Sounds crazy I know, but missing the Potter premiere before I left for a week was not an option; and I don't regret it (go see it now!) Forgive me if I don't write more but I must attend to my "nap." I would greatly appreciate all your thoughts and prayers for us this week. Happy Thanksgiving. I'll catch you on the flip side.

2005-11-08T11:10:00.000-05:00

My Relief Trip™
It's similar to "My eBay," "My Yahoo!" or the myriad of other personally customizable nuggets of your life. I've read on many people's blogs about their own experiences with the hurricane-ravaged areas of our country. This, however, is My Relief Trip™.

On November 19-26, I will miss Thanksgiving in Pittsburgh for the first time in my 28 years and travel to Pass Christian, MS with a group of approximately 70 students and faculty/staff from Asbury College. A handful or so of other "community members/alums," including 3 other Cre8tive Group-ers, will also be a part of the team providing relief to this hard hit area. I'm sure I will tell you much more about My Relief Trip™ in the upcoming weeks. However, I first wanted to share with everyone pictures of the area. As you'll see, it was a beautiful town, with a lot of gorgeous, old southern mansions.

Before & After Pictures of Pass Christian, MS

Wilmore to the Pass: Operation Restoration, Official Site

2005-11-07T11:21:00.000-05:00

Creepiness Continues To Reign

Nude photos lead to arrest
Police say man used hidden camera to photograph woman
By MICHAEL W. HOSKINS
Staff writer, The Johnson County Daily Journal (Indiana)

A clock radio in a Greenwood woman's bedroom and bathroom was doing more than telling her the time or playing tunes. The woman's personal trainer is accused of giving her the digital clock radio with a video camera inside as a gift and recording more than 400 images of her, police said. Will Lenzy, 57, of 720 Woodale Terrace, Apt. 16 in Greenwood, was arrested Tuesday on charges of voyeurism with an electronic device, a felony, and harassment, a misdemeanor. Johnson County Prosecutor Lance Hamner said Thursday his office is reviewing the case before deciding what charges to file. This could be one of the first crimes of its kind in Johnson County and one of the few reported in Central Indiana, Greenwood police Chief Joe Pitcher said. "It's eerie," Pitcher said. "Who knows where those images may have ended up." The two met at Bally Total Fitness, where Lenzy was a trainer for the woman, according to a probable-cause affidavit. Lenzy helped her move furniture and gave her the clock as a gift, which he then used to record images of the woman in her bedroom and bathroom during the next four months, the report said.

Now, I'm not criticizing this woman for accepting the clock without question. How would she know this guy was a pervert—and a technologically gifted one at that? But an alarm clock is sort of a weird gift, unless it was special in some way (also mowed your lawn or cost $200 or something). So, because people have to go on and be all psychotic and crap, my advice is this: just don't trust people. Particularly people you meet at the gym. In fact, you better not get a personal trainer at all. If you do and they give you some housewarming present other than like, cookware or a blanket, question it immediately. Take it apart and study its functionality if necessary. When it turns out to be harmless, throw said gift away because you have no idea how to get it back together. Unfortunately people like this are going to turn us all into paranoid delusionals. Luckily I already have some experience with that.

2005-10-31T10:50:00.000-05:00

Football Fever
I've got Monday Night fever this fine Halloween day. I've got my black and gold on, and I'm primed to watch the Steelers take on the Baltimore Ravens, our division rivals, tonite under the bright lights at Heinz Field. I have to guess that the city of Pittsburgh is electric today... a home Monday Night game tends to do that. Maybe it's because Bill Cowher, the longest tenured coach in the NFL, is undefeated at home on Monday Night.

The fact that I'm pumped about tonite, however, is not why I'm posting right now. I've been pumped for most of the season (from last second wins, to the end zone seats I had at the game versus the Patriots in September.) But today it's mostly because I couldn't help but share the following tidbit I read about last week's game against the Bengels.

By Cris Collinsworth
Special to NFL.com
(Oct. 27, 2005) -- The city of Cincinnati was buzzing on Sunday. Not only were the Bengals in first place, but in first place with a game-and-a-half lead over the dreaded Pittsburgh Steelers, who were coming to town. The Bengals had a chance to extend their lead to two-and-a-half games if they could just hold serve and win at home. Fans were out in force with their "Who Deys" and stripes were everywhere. Even the national media, who no doubt had to use MapQuest to find directions to the stadium, made their way to the Queen City for the Bengals' welcome-back party. Sunday was supposed to be a return to prominence for the Bengals -- who had been out of the limelight for 15 years.

But the Steelers did what they always seem to do as they clubbed the Bengals over their head and dragged them back to their caves. It was like that classic scene in Raiders of the Lost Ark where a sword-wielding assassin confronts our hero Indiana Jones and tries to intimidate him with his swordsmanship. Jones, unflinching and unnerved, easily dispatched the assassin with a quick draw of his pistol. That is what it was like watching the Steelers defeat the Bengals.

It's a Dog Eat Dog World Out There...

2005-10-15T13:49:00.000-04:00

Julie, Christine & Cohen on his last day
Originally uploaded by Jules Verne.

Some of you may have noticed that for a few days I had a picture of an adorable little puppy up here—announcing HER to the world as my new pet. I was tickled out of my mind.

Three days later, after lots of worrying, anticpation, excitement, and preparation, I was delivered the wrong dog: a boy. Let me first say with absolutely no judgement to anyone else, that I have just always wanted a female dog. Call it a personal preference and let's just leave it at that. So when I was faced with a little puppy so much like the one I had picked out and already named, just with one little extra appendage, I was not a happy camper. There are a lot of needless details that would turn this post into the longest one ever—but trust me when I say that I did my best to right the wrong. However, the breeder, in true Nick Vegas style, literally took my money and ran. I was out the cash, and I was left with an adorable little thing who I tried not to bond with, because I knew I wasn't keeping him. Despite how precious he was, I wasn't ready to make the 15+ year commitment to a male dog, knowing the "issues" that would surely arise once he was no longer a little baby. This entire process—disappointment over the one that was lost, caring for one that I wasn't keeping—was a lot for my puppy-loving heart to handle. It was a tough week. Even though I tried not to name him, lest I bond with him further, after about a day, he became Cohen to me and Christine (my roommate). We loved him as did everyone who met him. I was thrilled to find him a new home within the week, with two older brothers (another Shih Tzu and a Pekingese) to play with and good people to love him. And they kept his name Cohen, to my great delight.

In light of this whole experience, I'd like to share a few tips that I learned. Well, some of these are less of a tip, and maybe more just common sense. Please no comments on how naive and trusting I was. You live and learn, and I think I am sufficiently more wise and jaded now. And in some instances I had a really good excuse.

When buying a dog from a sign you see at your local Wal-mart:
1) Always visit the home of the seller to see the dog's living conditions and its parents (if a puppy). Even if you are not intersted in breeding a purebred dog, you'll want to see its parents, just to make sure everything is as stated. If the sellers are worth their snuff, they'll want to see your home as well, to insure the dog is entering into an acceptable home. If they insist on always coming to you, don't assume they're just trying to be nice--they're probably hiding something.

2) If it's a puppy, ask for vet records of all shots and visits. Contact their vet to validate what they are telling you is true. Calling local shelters to check out the breeders name will help, too. If it's a known puppy mill, they might be able to tell you that ahead of time.

3) When getting a puppy from a litter, always check the gender of the dog before completing the transaction. Believe it or not, you can't always take people's word for it. If possible, take pictures of the dog you have chosen when you first meet him/her. This will be useful in pointing out the differences in markings if there is any question down the road. Or if your seller is just stupid.

4) Don't, out of excitement, tell everyone you know about your new dog until it's a done deal and the dog is actually living with you.

5) DO tell large, intimidating men in your life about your sad circumstances (if they should arise) who will offer to kick said shady seller's butt. Even if they don't actually do it, it's nice to know that people are behind you.

Tough Questions

2005-09-15T16:53:00.000-04:00

Me and Emily at my birthday party
Originally uploaded by Jules Verne.

My co-worker and friend, Teri, has a 7 year-old daughter whom I absolutely love—Emily. As you can see, she's adorable. But to be brutally honest, mostly I love her because she loves me so much. Lots of people have adorable kids, and if the kids don't respond well to my attempts to entertain them, then their novelty with me wears off pretty quickly. One of the very first times I spent more than 5 minutes with Emily, we entertained ourselves by dancing/jumping around her parents' living room (at my initiative) until we could barely catch our breath. My fate with her was sealed: she idolized me, and I ate it up. To this day, Emily continues to think I'm super cool, and I soak it in with pleasure, doing my best to keep up the illusion—at least until she's old enough to learn the truth about me.

Yesterday Emily came bounding into my office as she often does when Teri needs to pop back in to get something after already picking Emmy up from school. She gave me a fierce hug and proceeded to talk my ear off while she drew her signature puppy dog on my white board—using every dry erase marker I have (Coincidentally she was wearing a sassy little pink t-shirt that read "How can I listen when I can't stop talking?") While I love these visits, this time, I was actually kind of distracted with work needs. I did my best to multi-task: answering her never-ending barrage of questions, while continuing to pound away at my computer. I was doing pretty well until she asked, "What's a fax?" My mind raced away from what I was doing, trying to come up with a succinct, user-friendly, one-sentence answer fit for a second grader. When I couldn't come up with one in less than 3 seconds, I'm ashamed to say, I took the low road. "Uh, you should ask your mom that. She'll be able to tell you." Satisfied with this answer for the moment, she went back to her work of art. A second later I got an instant message from Teri who was upstairs: "Is she bugging you? I told her to just say hi and then come up." "Nah" I said, "But be warned that you're going to have to explain what a fax is." She laughed and said, "At least you didn't have to answer her question from last night. 'Can you make yourself pregnant - like all by yourself?'"

And that, my friends, is a tough question. And reason number #257 I'm thankful that I can still send the Emilys of my life scampering back to their parents. I'll be cool Miss Julie and their parents can tackle such quandrys on life and technology. Someday, though, I'm going to have to trust the Lord to give me the right words.

Blending Faith and Fear

2005-09-14T16:56:00.000-04:00

Unlike the rest of the year, fall—and Halloween—and the feelings that come with make me want to watch a scary movie. Outside of this small window of time, there's not much that draws me to them. But I can always count on two things come September: Monday Night Football and an itching for a quality scary movie. Now, I'm really picky about what kind of scary movie I will watch. I unfortunately agreed to watch the newest remake of Texas Chainsaw Massacre last fall with some friends. We made it about 45 minutes in and turned it off. Stupid. Disgusting. Pointless. I'm still lamenting the 45 minutes lost. But give me something intelligent and thoughtful and I'll put up with a lot of creepiness. The best example of this in the past few years was the indie flick, 28 Days Later. I highly recommend checking it out. It features the brilliant Brit Cillian Murphy, who you can see of late in Batman Begins (the Scarecrow) and opposite Rachel McAdams in Red Eye. Anyways, I say all this to preface why I want to see The Exorcism of Emily Rose. Back in the light and safety of summer, I immediately dismissed it as way too real—and therefore WAY too scary. However, as summer releases its grip, life itself gets a little darker, and my cravings for the creepy kick in, I've decided this is THE scary movie to see this season. After reading the following article on Beliefnet, I'm even more convinced it's exactly what the doctor ordered.

Blending Faith and Fear, by Marshall Allen

Katrina's Chaos

2005-08-31T09:32:00.000-04:00

My good friend Becky, who lives a mile from the beach in Biloxi, Mississippi, has been tracking the effects of Hurricane Katrina on her blog. Click on "Random Thoughts from the Coast, Becky's Blog" to read about her experiences. Drop her a comment to encourage her during this time.

Top 10 Strategies of Saddam Hussein's Attorneys

2005-08-15T13:18:00.000-04:00

This particular Letterman Top 10 made me laugh out loud, even though I was reading, not hearing it (it always loses something without Letterman's delivery). I thought it was worth sharing, especially for those who are still lost in a Leno-infested world. Come back to the light.

10. Play up the "at least he didn't do steriods" angle.

9. Pin everything on Saddam's scheming brother, Larry Hussein.

8. Answer every charge with, "No you're thinking of Iran."

7. Explain he was driven insane by the intense flavor of New Spicy Nacho Doritos.

6. Brand prosecutor's list of 12,000 witnesses as "flimsy."

5. Brighten the mood by calling to the stand the always charming Tony Danza.

4. Request one of those "confined to your 153-acre estate" punishments like Martha got.

3. Give Saddam white suit and turkey leg - make him hilarious Boss Hogg-like figure.

2. Let Saddam go nuts and execute everyone in the courtroom.

1. "If the underpants don't fit, you must acquit."

Uncle Wib

2005-08-12T12:00:00.000-04:00

On Wed., Aug. 10, 2005, age 92 of Millvale, beloved husband of the late Mildred Kohser; father of June Wilt and Dale Kohser; brother of Edna May Flora and Betty Bullard; also survived by four grandchildren and four great-grandchildren.

Uncle Wib lived a long, full life, although it is still sad to see him go. The older brother of my grandma (aka, Edna May, aka Mummum), Wilbur was part of a large, loving family. Of course they couldn't list the other 10 brothers and sisters he had - choosing only to name the 2 remaining Kohser "kids." Over the past two decades I have seen many of these aunts and uncles pass on. Some I never met, some I went to church with every Sunday and made me fantastic chocolate chip cookies and matzoball soup. It's sad to see Mummum's generation pass on, handing off the baton to more children and grandchildren than you could count. I am so proud of our little "section" of the Kohser family, the Floras. And I am glad that Uncle Wib was an active part of it at family get-togethers, dinners, and holidays. I'll never forget my most recent memories of him: mainly his undying devotion to his wife Mildred, especially in her last years. And with a name like that, you know he was the cutest man ever. As my friend Kara put it in an email to me yesterday, "Welcome home, Uncle Wib."

Kentucky's Last Great Places

2005-07-28T17:20:00.000-04:00

I am immensely proud of my college buddy (and fellow C&MA Bible quizzer from way back in the day), Brandon Wickey, who recently won a regional Emmy Award for his videography on KET's Kentucky's Last Great Places. Great job, Brandon.

Read about it here.

2005-07-22T12:40:00.000-04:00

Harry Withdrawal
Since the release of and my subsequent finishing of book six of the famed (indeed, obsessed over) J.K. Rowling series, Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, I have toyed around with ideas about what to write on here. There's too much, however, to bring it all together into a cohesive thought at this point. Nor am I able to commit to talking about just one element. But I did just read a great article in Time magazine on Rowling (which, as they pointed out, rhymes with bowling, not howling). If you haven't read the book yet, but plan to, there are some very small spoilers on the content, but nothing a normal person wouldn't mind knowing ahead of time. Some people are super sticklers for knowing nothing ahead of time. I'm not one of those people, so I'd consider it safe. Proceed at your own risk. I found this article revealing about her character and her plans. And in my current state of Harry-withdrawal, thirst quenching.

J.K. Rowling Hogwarts And All.

Dashblog

2005-07-14T13:18:00.000-04:00

Well, I'm testing my new Mac widget named Dashblog, which will allow me to post here even easier. If you're interested in this widget yourself, you can find it here.

2005-07-11T11:53:00.000-04:00

Metropolis vs. Smallville
I often feel torn over where I should be living and what I should be doing…and how much time I have left to do it. Metropolis vs. Smallville. Experience vs. Relationships. Excitement vs. Security. Adventure vs. Lemonade Moments. I know that these things aren’t necessarily mutually exclusive, but over and over again it feels like every time I choose to keep living here, I AM choosing one over the other.

In one moment I’ll feel a part of me pulling me toward a more exciting road, questioning what I am doing here in this small midwest town when I, technically, have no one to answer to—no one else to upheave as a result a move. I feel the press of time and try to fit as much as I possibly can into my days and weeks. In the next moment, I am overwhelmed by the need to simplify, to slow down, to focus more on the relationships I've been given and less on “what there is to do.” To live out my Aunt Janet’s sentiments in a recent family email, “I wish things could just slow down so we could sit on the front porch and sip some lemonade.” Lemonade Moments, I think I’d like to call them from now on (that’d be a great title for this, if only I wasn’t so married to my Smallville reference). They certainly aren’t filled with adventure. And they’re hard to have when you leave all of your friends and family behind to go experience another city or culture. Today I am screaming inside to get out and go “do” before it’s too late. Tomorrow I will remember how much I love my friends, my job and my church that God has blessed me with. Saturday I will be reminded that although not my biological sister, Vanessa would most certainly feel the effects of my absence. And in November, I’ll reminsce about Thanksgiving dinners from the past and wonder what I’d be missing out on if I was on the other side of the country, or the world.

My friend Rachel, who often wrestles with this same quandary, said something once that stuck in my head. To paraphrase her thought, “I keep thinking that I’ll just get out of here and move to a big city, and once I’m there, I will really be able to change the world. But then God asks me why it is that I can’t do that HERE.” In essence, if we’re not even trying here, what makes us think that we’ll do it anywhere else? God’s got a good point. So, until HE tells me to go (not my own selfish desires), all I can do is live by my new motto, “Serve everywhere you can, love those who around you right now, have as much fun as possible, and at the end of the day, pour yourself a glass of lemonade.” In the end it won’t matter how many frequent flyer miles I’ve racked up, or how exciting my life has been from the world’s perspective. A full life happens when you let God have his way, in the exact place where you are standing. If I let that happen, maybe I'll discover that Smallville is where it's at after all.

2005-07-07T13:20:00.000-04:00

London Calling
My prayers go out for the London community on this day. Through the magic of the internet, I've been streaming alternatively the BBC and Virgin Radio UK most of the day while I work. The BBC provides the professional news voice on the matter, while listening to Virgin gives you more of an "ear to the ground" version of regular people like you and me dealing with the tragedy that just rocked their lives. Listening in, it's kind of a trip to be so connected to a community so far away. Half-way across the world, but really so close, their voices right here in my Kentucky office. Tragedies happen every single day in our world, but they are often so far removed from my little sphere, they barely effect me--if at all. Feeling especially close to Londoners today, know that I am praying for you.

Sometimes everything is wrong. Now it’s time to sing along.
When your day is night alone, hold on.
If you feel like letting go, hold on.
When you think you’ve had too much of this life, well hang on.

Cause everybody hurts. Take comfort in your friends.
Everybody hurts. Don’t throw your hand.
If you feel like you’re alone. No you are not alone.

If you’re on your own in this life, the days and nights are long.
When you think you’ve had too much of this life to hang on.

Well, everybody hurts sometimes.
Everybody cries. And everybody hurts sometimes.
So, hold on.
Everybody hurts. You are not alone.

- R.E.M.

Welcome to the World of Home Ownership

2005-07-01T18:00:00.000-04:00

The House
Originally uploaded by Jules Verne.

I've heard this phrase a lot in the past month or two. Next to "congrats," apparently it's the comment of choice when you tell someone that you just bought a house. In a whirlwind of paperwork and well-wishing, I purchased my first house--a townhouse to be exact--this past April. Expenses abound, but the rewards are immeasurable. The other night I sat out on my back deck with my red lantern lights plugged in and watched the show: real lightning and that of the bug variety taking over the sky and the yard. It was beautiful.

Anyone who is reading this and wants to stop by my house-warming party on the 4th of July, there will be hot dogs and pop for everyone. :-)

2005-06-10T13:34:00.000-04:00

RENT
They've made a movie version of the Broadway musical, Rent. It looks awesome. Watch the trailer here.

2005-05-25T14:23:00.000-04:00

When I Grow Up
Last week in a church roundtable discussion, we had to list out what a dream job would be. Not necessarily what we are gifted to do, or even what is possible. More like - what is the most fun, exciting job you can think of having? All actual skills and probabilities aside. This is what I came up with. No laughing.

1) Professional surfer. I really just want the tan, the body, and the clothes. And me flitting about in some exotic locale on a regular basis.
2) Personal assistant to Jennifer Garner. Hanging out on the set of Alias, getting cappuccinos for the nicest girl Hollywood, and rubbing shoulders with her new beau Ben and his best buddy Matt.
3) Band manager. Probably more headache than I really want. But I've always wanted to be on the road with a really cool band, doing what I do best--bossing people around.
4) Host of The Amazing Race. All the perks of world travel and fancy resorts. All the excitement of the race. None of the stress of actual competition.

2005-05-23T14:10:00.000-04:00

And Now These Three Remain
The beauty of grace is that it makes life unfair.

2005-05-13T12:07:00.000-04:00

I So Hate Consequences
Basically being human means facing consequences for your actions. I was about to say that it was one of the "joys" of being an adult. But I realized that I've watched my friends introduce their children to the reality of consequences about as early as they can possibly understand—often before the kid can even talk. A lifetime of consequences—it's a lot to swallow. So what's the difference now that we're adults? Being an adult means you don't get to cry about it. More than that, we accept the consequences of our actions with grace. Now THAT'S tough.

And I so hate consequences
And running from you is what my best defense is
Consequences
Oh God, don’t make me face up to this
Cause I know that I let you down
And I don’t want to deal with that

And after all of my alibis desert me
I just want to get by
I don’t want nothing to hurt me
I had no idea where my head was at
But if my heart says I’m sorry can we leave it at that
Because I just want for all of this to end

- Relient K

2005-04-21T16:27:00.000-04:00

Lessons in Unity
I spent the past weekend in Boston for the first time ever, taking in the Super Bowl of running, the Boston Marathon, as well as almost everything else we could access either by walking or public transportation. I loved it and it was a great time to be there, but I did spend a portion of the time being jealous. Jealous that Boston was bigger, cooler, and older than my hometown of Pittsburgh. Jealous that their baseball team was the reigning champs, and the Pirates were, at the time, 4 and 8 (we won’t even mention the Patriots right now). Jealous that they had a Dunkin Donuts on every corner. Even their accents were more pronounced and well-known. Not necessarily a good thing, I know, but let’s remember I wasn’t exactly being logical. Cleaning out my inbox today, I found a link to an article my aunt sent me back in January. I don’t even know if I got around to reading it at the time. But it restored my faith and pride in Pittsburgh, and is therefore worth sharing.

By Howard Fineman
Newsweek
I didn't have change for the bus but it didn't matter because I was back home and figured that somebody would help me.

It was nearly 11 o'clock at night, and a frigid downtown Pittsburgh was fast emptying out after the Steelers game. My 13-year-old son and I had raced to a bus that, I knew from childhood memory, would take us to my mother's home. But I didn't have the right change for the $3 fare for the two of us.

The bus driver rolled his eyes, but gave me time. Standing in the aisle, I asked, "Does anybody have change?" as the bus lurched around a corner to Fifth Avenue. The "71 Negley" was packed. There were other dejected refugees from Heinz Field, wearing "Big Ben" ski caps or "Bus" jerseys; maintenance workers heading home from the second shift; nurses on their way to night duty at the hospitals near the University of Pittsburgh. Rows of sympathetic eyes looked at us. Passengers fumbled with their wallets or purses. No luck. Finally, a corporate-looking fellow in a ski jacket spoke up. "Here, take the three dollars," he said. "I can't do that!" I replied. "Go ahead," he insisted. "Somebody did this for me just the other day."

In Washington, I live in a divided world of Red vs. Blue—Republican against Democrat, Heartland vs. Coasts, Rush Limbaugh vs. Al Franken. But last weekend, for two blessed days, I was enveloped in a unified world of Black and Gold. There are lessons in that place for the country and for the president who would lead it, the main ones being: We are all in this together. Winning is important, but not the only thing. In America, pride of place is an all-but-forgotten form of salvation. Cities matter.

Those of you who know me from this column know that I am a native Pittsburgher—the fifth of five generations if you count my immigrant great-great grandmother, who came over late, and may not quite have known where she was. I am absurdly proud of my hometown and devoted to the football team that embodies it. My son and I happily schlepped via Amtrak through a snowstorm to the Auld Sod. We watched the Steelers succumb to the tough and smart—but colorless and technocratic—New England Patriots. The loss hurt, but, in the end, not much.

What mattered was being there, with family, in a city that always felt like family. I am not naïve about Pittsburgh. I know the history. It was and to some extent still is divided by race (ask August Wilson) and class (ask the Steelworkers) and income (ask the members of the Duquesne Club), and by its chaotic and divisive topography. Rivers, hills and valleys isolated each ethnic group. Growing up in Squirrel Hill, you headed into foreign territory when you crossed the bridge into Greenfield. You didn't go to Italian Lawrenceville or Polish Hill or the black Hill District. And you certainly didn't venture out to Sewickley, where the WASPs were.And yet, ultimately, no one in Pittsburgh was or is allowed to pull rank. It's a civic crime. More than that, it's impossible: If you are a Pittsburgher, well, that's what you are, whether you are a Mellon or guy who sells them. Pittsburgh is the Bigs, but is hundreds of miles from the biggest of the big leagues (New York and Chicago). Set off alone in Western Pennsylvania, Pittsburghers are united in their splendid isolation and in pride in being better than those other more famous places. When I was a kid, it was both a boast and a curse that everything in our city was the biggest or best "between New York and Chicago." All that really meant was that we had it over Cleveland.

When I was a kid, the sense of civic identity came from something else as well: excellent public institututions, funded by charities and tax money. We had the best in libraries, schools, museums, parks and playgrounds. They belonged to everyone—and everyone, high and low, used them. You could see the unity of the city in the parking lot of tailgaters hours before the game. The standard male fan uniform was blue jeans (usually with a Terrible Towel hanging from the belt), work boots and Steelers jacket. But making their way to the stadium were guys in overcoats and college caps, and the Land Rovers and battered trucks were side by side.

By kickoff, Heinz Field was full to the brim with the largest crowd in its history. The snowstorm had kept the New England fans away (much to the dismay of scalpers, I'm sure), and the view from our box was vivid almost beyond belief: 66,000 roaring people twirling bright yellow Terrible Towels, turning the stadium into a gargantuan marigold whipped by the wind.

In politics, that kind of display can be frightening, an ominous emblem of dictatorship and ideological rigidity. But no dictator ordered the fans to do this, no one organized it, and the only message was a benign one: Here we are! We chose to be here to support our team, our town and each other.

The game went badly, of course. The rookie quarterback played like a rookie. The inspirational but unimaginative coach—a Pittsburgh native as tough and unbending as stainless steel—lost his fifth championship game in six tries.

In the bus, no one seemed angry. It had been a good year—better than anyone had expected. The consensus of the Heinz Field fans and those who had watched the game (just about everyone else) was that the rookie would grow, and improve. As for the coach, well, he was from Pittsburgh. "They'll never fire him," said the nurse on his way to the hospital. "He's family."

2005-04-20T14:00:00.000-04:00

Disclaimer: I didn't write this and I don't know who did.

EXCERPTS FROM THE DOG'S DAILY DIARY

8:00 am - Oh Boy! Dog food! My favorite!
9:30 am - Oh Boy! A car ride! My favorite!
9:40 am - Oh Boy! A walk! My favorite!
10:30 am - Oh Boy! A car ride! My favorite!
11:30 am - Oh Boy! Dog food! My favorite!
12:00 noon - Oh Boy! The kids! My favorite!
1:00 pm - Oh Boy! The yard! My favorite!
4:00 pm - Oh Boy! The kids! My favorite!
5:00 pm - Oh Boy! Dog food! My favorite!
5:30 pm - Oh Boy! Mom! My favorite!
6:00 pm - Oh Boy! Playing ball! My favorite!
6:30 pm - Oh Boy! Sleeping in master's bed! My favorite!

EXCERPTS FROM THE CAT'S DAILY DIARY

Day 283 Of My Captivity.
My captors continue to taunt me with bizarre little dangling objects. They dine lavishly on fresh meat, while I am forced to eat dry cereal. The only thing that keeps me going is the hope of escape, and the mild satisfaction I get from ruining the occasional piece of furniture.

Tomorrow I may eat another houseplant. Today my attempt to kill my captors by weaving around their feet while they were walking almost succeeded; must try this at the top of the stairs. In an attempt to disgust and repulse these vile oppressors, I once again induced myself to vomit on their favorite chair; must try this on their bed. Decapitated a mouse and brought them the headless body, in attempt to make them aware of what I am capable of, and to try to strike fear into their hearts. They only cooed and condescended about what a good little cat I was. Hmmm, not working according to plan.

There was some sort of gathering of their accomplices. I was placed in solitary throughout the event. However, I could hear the noise and smell the food. More importantly I overheard that my confinement was due to MY power of "allergies." Must learn what this is and how to use it to my advantage. I am convinced the other captives are flunkies and maybe snitches. The dog is routinely released and seems more than happy to return. He is obviously a half-wit. The bird on the other hand has got to be an informant, and speaks with them regularly. I am certain he reports my every move. Due to his current placement in the metal room, his safety is assured. But I can wait, it is only a matter of time...

2005-04-14T16:23:00.000-04:00

The Advent of the Ridiculous
The ridiculously cute that is! Ok, so this is seriously blurring the lines between cute and crazy, which is probably why I can't stop staring at the little dogs hanging around in these. They're called Puppy Purses, but they're much more animal friendly than just sticking your little FrooFroo in a hot, confining bag. What's really ridiculous, however, is their price tag.

The Puppy Purse

2005-03-29T09:08:00.000-05:00

Sweet Baby Girl
Sunday night around 11 pm I got ready for bed... as usual, I put on my pajamas, washed my face, took out my contacts and brushed my teeth. Forty-five minutes later, I got back up out of bed, got dressed, put my contacts back in, and started the coffee. You see, my phone just rang... a sound that had been making me jump for the past 7-10 days. On the other end were my married college friends who had months ago asked me to be present with them in the delivery room for the birth of their baby. Now one day post-due date, the still unknown baby (is it a boy? is it a girl?) was officially on the way. I got ready quickly, grabbed my coffee, and drove to Lexington as fast as I could. As the rain came down in sheets and lightening lit up the sky, I heard Alanis Morrisette on the radio. In that reflective moment, it immediately took me back to our freshman year, when we all were just kids goofing off. Away from our parents for the first time, we were old enough to make our own decisions, but young and protected enough to just fiddle around with responsibility like it was a choice, not a necessity. Now we were the parents--or at least old enough to be so. Knowing that my 18 year old self could have never pictured myself in this moment, I took the 20 minute drive to reflect on those lighter times and the journey since.

Several needless details, many contractions, lots of deliberate breathing (hoo hoo, hee hee), and not that many minutes later, we were checked into the hospital. It was not quite 1 am. By 1:40, with video camera in hand, I was coaxing and consoling to the best of my ability, just trying to stay out of the doctor's way (we were all a little scared of his "bedside manner"). At 1:52, our encouragement turned to shouts of excitement, "IT'S A GIRL!" I loved her already. Julianne Elena had joined us and started her own journey, right before my very eyes. I know that someday she'll meet her own lifelong friends for the very first time and they will go on to share life's joys together. I hope I'm around to watch it all unfold.

2005-03-24T15:45:00.000-05:00

A Grammar Lesson
Everyone should read and take note. While we're at it, let's also work on using the turn signals, people. It should be noted that my posting of this article does not mean to say that I am a snobbish grammarian who believes my grammar is always spot on. These few sentences are probably full of mistakes. It's just to say that we all have a lot to learn about our own language. But I do use my turn signal.

By Jesse Kornbluth, a New York-based writer and the founder and editor of HeadButler.com.
HOPEFULLY
Everyone uses "hopefully" as a shortcut for "I hope." It is not. Yes, the dictionary allows it, but that's just bending to popular usage. In my book, there is only one correct use for "hopefully." It's a synonym for "prayerfully"—as in, "She looked up hopefully and said, 'Dear Lord, please make it rain soon, or we'll have no harvest.'" Do you want to say "I hope"? Then say "I hope."

PERFECT
As in "the perfect vacation" or "the perfect date." No. Nothing's perfect. [Well, maybe: a perfect idiot, a perfect delusion.] People who use "perfect"—a dumb, empty, overused and altogether meaningless adjective—are not signifying their good taste, but their unwillingness to think of a more descriptive word.

EVERYONE and THEY
As in: "Everyone knows what they want." Who is this "they"? A singular subject is followed by a singular pronoun. How to write this sentence correctly? I say: "Everyone knows what he/she wants." Looks awkward? True. But at least it isn't sexist. Or wrong.

SINCE and BECAUSE
They're not synonyms. "Since" only refers to time: "Since August, he's been in a funk." It cannot be used to suggest causality: "Since he's depressed, we never call him."

VERY UNIQUE
I think this started in real estate ads, where hype often trumps truth. "Your apartment is unique? Wait 'till you see this totally unique place." Implication: The new apartment is far more unique than the old one. But something can't be "more" or "less" unique than anything else. "Unique" is an absolute. It can't take a modifier. And if you stop to think about it, you grasp that everything is unique and everyone is unique—as in "one of a kind"—and, suddenly, "unique" becomes...banal.

OVER and MORE THAN
"He has over a billion dollars." Wrong. Riveting, but wrong. "Over" refers to positioning in space—the opposite of "under," as in "over the fence." When you refer to quantity, you want "more than."

DISINTERESTED and UNINTERESTED
"Disinterested" describes neutrality. "Uninterested" suggests a negative point-of-view. A gay man may be said to be sexually "disinterested" in women; that is, he doesn't care about having sex with them. But he may be "uninterested" if a woman propositions him; that is, he has a definite opinion on the idea, and it isn't to rip her clothes off.

ITS and IT'S
Now you think I'm being insulting. But its amazing how often people get this wrong. Oops. Wrong. (But you caught that, didn't you?) I meant "it's"—the contraction of "it is." The possessive adjective has no apostrophe.

A BRUTAL MURDER
Really? Tell me about the other kind.

There you go. Ten easy lessons. No, eleven—shine your shoes.

2005-03-18T11:40:00.000-05:00

The Cry of the Deer
also known as The Rune of St. Patrick

I arise today:
in vast might,
invocation of the Trinity;
belief in a threeness;
confession of oneness;
meeting in the Creator.
I arise today:
in the might
of Christ’s birth and his baptism;
in the might
of his crucifixion and burial;
in the might
of his resurrection and ascension;
in the might
of his descent to the judgment of doom

I arise today:
in the might of cherubim;
in obedience of angels;
in ministrations of archangels;
in hope of resurrection...
in prayers of patriarchs;
in predictions of prophets;
in preachings of apostles;
in faith of confessors;
in innocence of holy virgins.

I arise today:
in the might of heaven;
splendor of the sun;
whiteness of snow;
irresistibleness of fire;
swiftness of lightning;
speed of wind;
absoluteness of the deep;
rock’s durability.

I arise today:
in the might of God for my piloting;
power of God for my stability;
wisdom of God for my guidance;
eye of God for my foresight;
ear of God for my hearing;
word of God for my word;
hand of God for my guard;
path of God for my prevention;
shield of God for my protection;
host of God for my salvation;
against any demon’s snare;
against all vice’s lure;
against concupiscence;
against ill-wishes far and near.

I invoke all these forces:
between me and every savage force
that may come upon me, body or soul;
against incantations of false prophets;
against black lairs of paganism;
against false laws of heresy;
against idolatry, spells of women, and druids;
against all knowledge that should not be known.

Christ for my guard today:
against poison, against burning;
against drowning, against wounding;
that there may come to me merit:
Christ with me, Christ before me;;
Christ behind me, Christ in me;
Christ under me, Christ over me;
Christ to right of me, Christ to left of me;
Christ in lying down, in sitting, in rising up;
Christ in all who may think of me!
Christ in the mouth of all who may speak to me!
Christ in the eye that may look on me!
Christ in the ear that may hear me!

I arise today:
in vast might, invocation of the Trinity
believing in a threeness;
confessing a oneness;
meeting in the Creator;
From the Lord is salvation; in the Lord is safety;
Be thy right way, Lord, ever with us!

Translated by Oliver St. John Gogarty, revised by Dick Whitty

2005-03-17T10:04:00.000-05:00

Happy St. Patty's Day!
I am wearing green this year. I think there's a tradition where you get punched or something if you don't wear green on this day. Or at least get made fun of incessantly. I should know - I forgot to wear green last year. I kept trying to convince people that my underwear was green to cover for my mistake. But they didn't believe me. Good thing, since I was totally lying. Do what you do on this day, but try to keep it as clean and well-behaved as possible. Remember - tomorrow is just March 18th and you'll still have to answer for what happened on March 17th. So have a green milkshake and mutilate the Irish accent. At least it'll be more fun than whatever you did yesterday!

Today I pay my respects to my late Irish Grandmother, Veronica Weber, who passed before I could ever know her. Thank you for blazing the way and for falling in love with my dear Grandfather (even if he was German).

2005-03-15T17:16:00.000-05:00

Whiskers on Kittens
Sorry to everyone who reads both my blog and StephChurch's blog. Not only because we have the exact same design and layout, but also because we keep stealing blog ideas from each other. This time around I'm the dirty little thief. Hopefully this list will look a pinch different than hers.

This is all about reminding yourself of everything that you're thankful for in life - big and little alike. From snow to pizza to the mercy of God, this list is what makes life not just bearable, but actually enjoyable for me. Please no comments about how many food items are on here. With no further adieu, in alphabetical order, here are a few of my favorite things (78 to be exact).

a boss I like and respect
a college/life education
a faithful God
a family which grows closer each year
a good TV show (X-Files, Alias, Friends, Lost...)
a take-charge, strong Mom
a very cool Dad
an all-powerful God
an intimate God
better than average Coke (see McDonald's)
breakfast food
brothers
change of seasons
cheese
Chipotle
coffee
concerts
contacts
decorating the Christmas tree
dogs
down blankets
Dunkin' Donuts
eating more cookie dough than baked cookies
finding bargain clothing
finishing a run in 33 degree rain - and then getting warm/dry again
freckles
full weekends
Gap Outlet
getting my Dad's blue eyes
good music
grace
growing up in Pittsburgh
humility
inside jokes
instant messaging
iPod
iTunes
Jane Austen
kisses from my friends' kids
knowing that I still get to plan my wedding day
laughing—hard
llamas to wave at on Jessamine Station Rd.
low blood pressure (despite the amt of sodium I consume)
low-fat vanilla cone from McDonald's
"next year" for the Steelers
more than one place to call home
more to Easter than bunnies and chocolate
movie marathons with friends
movie theater popcorn with add your own butter spouts
movies that make me cry, think, laugh
my birthday
my little sister and all she's taught me
my own place
opening a new CD
packages in the mail
packed movie theater on opening night
packing for vacation
peanut butter milkshakes
people who care
people who make me laugh
races
real Christians
"refrigerator rights" at Shannan/Ed's house
road trips
running in sunny 55 degree weather
seeing the Steelers play (and win) in person this year
sleeping in
small bug population in my apt.
snow
spur of the moment outings
Sundays at my Grandparents' house
the beach
the color on the walls of my office
the internet
the library
walking to work
Wendy's Wednesdays
worshipping at my church

2005-03-08T09:22:00.000-05:00

Bye Bye Birdie
The scene opens on me in my car, late one evening last week. I am driving down a quiet residential street on my way home. I notice what looks like a bit of trash in the road, so I adjust my wheel slightly, so as to drive over it unharmed—whatever it is. A moment before I drive over it, I realize it is not trash, but in fact a bird sitting there. Apparently the bird notices that I am not a bit of trash either, but in fact a very large car that is about to drive over it, and attempts to get out of the way. Bad idea. In the split second it takes for me to see the bird and for it to disappear under my car, the silly bird tries to fly away. Fwap! Is all I hear and for a millisecond, my new friend is once again visible above my headlight before she falls to the ground. We make eye contact—and then she is gone.

Let's just say that I don't "handle" the whole "hitting small animals on the road" thing very well. Suddenly this bird has a life and feelings and a family who are sitting around the fire back home waiting, in vain, for their mom to fly in the door any second. I am yelling into my hand, although I'm not sure why since no one can hear me. Tears are welling in my eyes, as I imagine her broken body lying on the ground, struggling for breath. I am praying out loud that the Lord will please just take the bird quickly and that she won't suffer. She will soon be flying around heaven with Grandma and Grandpa Birdie. After about a minute of such verbal grief, I get myself under control enough that I am neither yelling nor praying out loud. I resign myself to listen to the melancholy, yet soothing, music coming out of my stereo which seems to match my mood perfectly. At this very moment of resignation, I hear the words of the song that's playing, as if God Himself was responding to my prayers, "But then this bird just flew away. She was never meant to stay. To keep her caged would just delay the spring" (Travis, "The Cage").

Fly away Birdie, fly away.

2005-02-11T12:08:00.000-05:00

ME - Right Now
I stole this idea from someone else's blog.

1 MINUTE AGO: signing someone up for our storage units
1 DAY AGO: running in the snow
1 WEEK AGO: looking for some down time
1 YEAR AGO: training for my first half-marathon
I HURT: for my Mom… and for Mummum
I LOVE: snowstorms
I HATE: losing
I FEAR: that I’ll never live in Pittsburgh again
I HOPE: that there’s more
I FEEL: like running
I BREAK: DVD players, apparently
I LISTEN: for what people aren’t saying out loud
I HIDE: from people I don’t want to talk to (ex-boyfriends, “distrators,” etc.)
I PLAY: Dance, Dance Revolution – and become addicted
I BREATHE: the cold air, and love it
I MISS: my dog
I LEARNED: to keep my mouth shut
I KNOW: that God is REAL
I DON’T SAY: what I mean (always)
I DREAM: crazy stuff
I NEED: to get myself going (which is the opposite of my whole slowing down philosophy – see “Current Thing” below)
I THINK: that I’m the happiest I’ve ever been
Current Clothes: scarves, sweaters, Sauconys
Current Mood: scattered (is that a MOOD?)
Current Music: "Caught Up" by Usher (iTunes library on random)
Current Taste: almost anything Parisian
Current Hair: cut, but in need of color
Current Smell: coffee (my inability to stop drinking it is screwing up my sleep schedule)
Current thing: slowing down
Current Desktop Picture: Daisy, my family’s dog, “being cute” (she can’t help it)
Current Favorite bands: John Mayer, MxPx, Yellowcard… what’s new?
Current Book: The Confession
Current DVD In Player: You mean my broken DVD player? Last DVD watched... Alias, Season 3
Current Worry: none... I'm crusin'

2005-02-02T14:12:00.000-05:00

My younger brother, Cory, wrote the following about our grandfather after his passing. You all may be sick of reading about him by now, but we're not sick of talking about him. :) Cory didn't ask me to post this, but I thought it was worth sharing.

My Pap was a husband, father, grandfather (a pap), soldier, police officer and best of all a Christian. I had 22 1/2 years to spend with him and learn from him, and boy did I learn. I learned it’s OK to sleep in church, to always work hard and the list goes on. One thing he passed on to me, but I didn’t realize it till the day before his burial, was a sense of duty. At 12:30 am, only 8 1/2 hours before his service, thinking “I’m ready to do to bed” (from stress and sadness from the past few days and knowing the next day would be hard), my fire pager went off letting me know that my station had a confirmed structure fire. Without a thought I left for the fire to do my job and 4 1/2 hours later returned to go to sleep.

My uncle talked about my Pap, his Dad, to many over those couple of days about his sense of duty. I have a little different service than he did, but we both did it to help. So for the next year and for the rest of my days of service, I dedicate this to you, Pap, that every time those fire whistles go off and every time the EMS bells ring, I will do it not just for the people I may help, but for the man that taught me to be strong no matter how hard it is. I do it for you, Pap, and I thank you for what you have given me. I love you, Pap.

2005-01-31T13:45:00.000-05:00

The Soundtrack of My Life
My not-so-secret dream in life is to have background music following me around all the time. Just in case my super interesting life is ever turned into the next blockbuster, I'm already prepared with the appropriate soundtrack. Each of the songs both somewhat represent that time in my life (either by lyrics, title or association) and was also popular during that general timeframe. Well, for the most part--I don't really remember my birth, I just had to pick something appropriate. Two things for you to comment on: What would be on YOUR soundtrack? and (more importantly) What should the name of my movie be?

Soundtrack to The Life and Times of an Average Girl
Birth... Daughters, John Mayer / Dare You to Move, Switchfoot
Early childhood... Glory Days, Bruce Springsteen
Cory is born... Let’s Hear It for the Boy, Deniece Williams
Summer, playing with my Dad and brothers... Summer of 69, Bryan Adams
Late Childhood... Don't Stop Believin', Journey
Early Jr. High... Hangin’ Tough, New Kids on the Block (or anything by them)
Late Jr. High... Forever Young, Alphaville
Early High School... Smells Like Teen Spirit, Nirvana
Late High School... When I Come Around, Green Day
Freshman year... Name, Goo Goo Dolls
Sophomore year... Wonderwall, Oasis
Junior year... Doing Time, MxPx
Senior year... Good Riddance (Time of Your Life), Green Day
Spring Breaks... MmmBop, Hanson
Post-college... All-Star, Smash Mouth
Moving... The Old Apartment, Barenaked Ladies
Love... In Your Eyes, Peter Gabriel
Hurt... I Will Survive, Cake
Running... Dream On, Aerosmith/ Breathe, Michelle Branch
Driving/Car Trips... Wide Open Spaces, Dixie Chicks
Pap's funeral... For the Moments I Feel Faint, Relient K / Blessed Be Your Name, Matt Redman
Pittsburgh... We Are Family, Sister Sledge
Kentucky... Will I Ever Make It Home, Ingram Hill
Right Now... I Don’t Wanna Be, Gavin DeGraw