They're Kids, (Probably) Not Devil Worshippers

I get it, okay? I get that Halloween is a religious battle ground littered with words like 'heretic' and 'satanic' and 'devil-worshipping' . What I don't get is why.

I am someone who likes to have my views respected, and I am also someone who worked for Planned Parenthood so I know firsthand that when people disagree with you, it's often in a jerkface way. Jerkface-ness is not what I promote in my life or on my blog, so I am going to try very hard not to offend anyone.

That being said, I have seen multiple articles this month from Christians promoting an array of theories on how to use Halloween to spread the gospel of Jesus. One article claimed that Christians should turn their porch lights on to 'lure' trick-or-treaters to the door, and then instead of giving them candy, the Christian homeowner should tell the children about Jesus and give them a Bible.

Really? People REALLY think that handing a 5 year old dressed as Nemo a Bible for Halloween after intentionally tricking them about getting candy is going to make them interested in Jesus? I don't. Because I've been a kid before. And while I thankfully never received a Bible on Halloween, I did receive the disappointing reality of a toothbrush from a dentist, fruit from a nutritionist, and a book from a teacher.

None of those things are bad - as an adult, I like all of the aforementioned things, including the Bible. But I fail to see how scheming a harmless trick-or-treater into hearing about Jesus on a night that they expect candy is going to do any good. Nor do I understand why people would want to be 'that' house. If you want to show people who Jesus is, be like Him. Meet people where they are (like, you know, a kid in a costume on your front porch), greet them with a smile and a kind word, be remembered for your hospitality and good temperament.

While I'm on the subject, I don't like the judgment I'm seeing from Christians about this holiday. I recently read another article claiming that children who trick-or-treat are worshipping the devil without even knowing it and the parents who allow it are promoting an anti-Christian agenda. Again, REALLY?!

If you don't celebrate Halloween, fine. If you do celebrate, but have rules for what types of characters your child can be, fine. If you just don't want to pass out candy, fine. Your house, your beliefs, your rules.

My husband is a pastor, we are heavily involved in the Christian faith, we get it. And for our family, we've already decided that if our future kid wants to dress up as an age-appropriate character, we're fine with it. That is, assuming there will still be age-appropriate (read: anything without the word 'slutty' in the title) costumes by the time we produce trick-or-treaters. If you disagree with that, also fine. As someone who once went trick-or-treating dressed as a devil, I'm fine with it. As someone who is a very proud Arizona State University 'Sun Devil' alumni that has been asked by Christians how I could EVER attend a 'satanic' school, I'm fine with it. Because just like my beloved college mascot, it's just a costume. And they're just kids.

They're just kids. Some are Christian and some are Atheist and some are Agnostic and some are other faiths. Beneath the costume and the politics that adults are trying to throw onto them, they're just kids. They have looked forward to dressing up for days, weeks, and months. They've proudly posed for pictures, and carefully picked out the bucket they'll use to carry their candy. They will be asked to grow up far too fast, and this may be the last year that they get to enjoy the night with a child's heart. They're probably not devil worshippers (Who cares if they are? Is candy just for Christian kids?), they're just kids in a costume who want some candy. For my part, I'm fine with it. And I think Jesus is, too.

Married With Guitars

It's official: we've successfully completed 730 days of wedded bliss. Two years ago today, we stood in front of 315 guests and pledged our love to one another. When reflecting about our anniversary recently, I asked Ryan if it felt like it had been 2 years already and he said "It actually feels like a lot longer." Make that 729 days of wedded bliss.

I erred on the side of sweet when I assumed he meant that it's just hard to think of when our lives were once separate. He gladly took the free pass and nodded in total agreement. No wonder it's been a pretty easy first couple of years - he's a charmer!

This date will always be bittersweet for me, as today also marks 3 years since I lost one of my very favorite people in the whole world - my Uncle Terry. I loved him dearly and am so sad to think that 3 years have gone by without him!

He was very ornery; his trait that I miss the most. When I 'graduated' from Kindergarten, our teacher had us perform a silly song that I vaguely remember being based off of a mother's exotic soup recipe. The song recounted ingredients such as 'alligator eyes' and 'salamander thighs' and various other off-putting delicacies. And from the first time I ever sang that song for him, Uncle Terry took to making his own outrageous animal combinations. From that day forth, I answered to 'Elephant Butt', 'Rhinoceros Nose', and any number of other friendly jabs. Being that I was 5, the most creative response I could come up with was 'Buzzard Beak'. In his final days, as the pain medication grew stronger with the cancer, Uncle Terry's spunk never waivered, and he christened me with my last and possibly favorite moniker, 'Boogaloo Boobs'. 

Ryan never met him, but he has seen pictures and heard all of the stories. And even though Buzzard Beak wasn't physically there at our wedding, I will never celebrate this day without also celebrating him. And Ryan has taken a very big lesson from Uncle Terry, who had been married to my Aunt Sandy for 41 years, by never once comparing any part of my body to that of an animal, or a boogaloo.

As the seasoned married couple we now are with two years under our belt, we chose to forego a trip or fancy presents and just celebrate our anniversary together, like in our every day life. Ryan took me to Granite City for lunch - the same place he took me the night that he proposed. As we dined, we talked about how our lives (and the menu --- BRING BACK THE CHEESY HASHBROWNS!) have changed over the last two years.

Something that hasn't changed, and probably never will, is Ryan's love for guitars. Since we've been together, he's saved and sold and wheeled and dealed to add to/change his collection more times than I can count. Each guitar ends up with a female name (it helps me differentiate a strat from a tele and a Martin from a Taylor - don't judge!). While I love and support his musical talent, I have recently started having dreams that he wants me to give my wedding ring to the telecaster named Tina. I'm no psychologist, but I may have some slight jealousy issues. Anyway, being that I have been extra protective of my time with him, and my wedding ring, he has put all guitar shopping and most of his 'extracurricular' playing on hold.

Being that I'm an awesome wife, after lunch today I decided to drive him to the guitar shop and spend some time browsing with him. At the 2 year mark, I believe that I have been a musician's wife long enough to see the writing on the wall and know that any given window shopping day may turn into an actual shopping day. I wish I could say that he begged and pleaded to buy a guitar on our anniversary, but he didn't. He mentioned that he liked one, played it, said he really liked it, and I begged him to get it. I've either been brainwashed, or I really am in the running for wife of the year.

Last year, our gifts followed tradition and were made of paper. The second year is supposed to be cotton, but we took a few liberties and made it a solid body guitar with dual humbucker, double cream vintage binding, and block style inlays. She's beautiful, 36" long, 13.5 lbs, and we're working on a name. I'm not certain, but I think the third year is the year of the Jimmy Choo!

With love,

Heidi, Ryan, and our unnamed beauty

Oh Caramello, Where Art Thou?

I have a dirty, dirty secret. I'm not proud to say this, but I have to come clean. I'm cheating on Ryan.

My new love is an old love, really. We have been in an on-again-off-again relationship for over 10 years. He's rich, he spoils me with decadency, I dream of him when we're apart, and he's...he's...well, he's a candy bar. I am in a pretty unhealthy (literally and figuratively) love affair with Cadbury's greatest creation - the Caramello candy bar.

For those of you who may be unfamiliar, Caramello really is the BEST candy bar around. It consists of luscious creamy caramel hidden in a soft milk chocolate treasure box. In true Cadbury fashion, they used to only be available around Easter time, but now they are within reach all year long. Wonderful news for my taste buds, terrible news for my hips.

Remember when I said this was my dirty secret? I meant it. As a former fat kid, I really do try to make good decisions about nutrition. I believe that treats like candy bars are fine, as long as they are true treats and are consumed in moderation. But there's something about those sweet caramel nuggets that have consumed me.

I shouldn't call it cheating I guess, considering that Ryan is well aware of my love for Caramello. He aids and abets this habit, in fact. Whenever he sees one, he sweetly brings one (or two - don't judge me!) home for me. He sees how hard I work to make those good nutritional choices, so he supports the occasional indulgence.

'Occasional' is a really loose term - so if I were to, hypothetically of course, say that I defined an occasional Caramello indulgence as once a day, that technically wouldn't be untrue. Right? Let's just agree to agree on this one. Upon recently having a slight acne outbreak, I told my husband that it must be due to a new medication I am using. When he gently danced around the possibility of my pimple being caused by the amount of Caramellos I had been eating, I exclaimed that 'I haven't had one in TWO days!' According to Ryan, the mere fact that I think two days without a Caramello is an impressive feat means that I do, in reality, have a problem.

Okay. Maybe I do have a problem.  If I look back closely, I guess I can see the warning signs. I may or may not choose the checkout lane I frequent at the grocery store based on whether there is a Caramello there or not. And I may or may not be finding remnants of Caramello wrapper in places where I know I haven't eaten one -  like the car, and in the laundry, and perhaps most depressing, the bathtub. Yes, I said bathtub.

This is not my proudest moment. Most delicious? Perhaps. I'd like to say that this post is a cry for help, but it really isn't. If loving Caramello is wrong, I don't want to be right.

Give Me Mascara, Or Give Me Death!

I don't wear a lot of makeup, but what I do wear is vitally important to me. On any given day, you can find me sporting eye shadow (probably black - sorry, Whitney!) and mascara, and no other products on my face. I was blessed with a pretty good complexion - aside from a shit ton of freckles in the summer, my face is generally clear and creamy- so I don't see a need for concealer. I'm also from the 'eyes or lips, never both' school of thought, and as you've probably figured out, I opt for eyes. Every time.

Before you e-mail me, this is not a knock on those who wear a lot of makeup - if it makes you happy and it isn't harming anyone else, go for it. I, personally, feel like a rodeo clown wearing anything but eye shadow and mascara. (Me. Individually. Not you. You probably do not actually look like a rodeo clown.) I feel so strongly about this that on my wedding day, when my trusted friend, bridesmaid, and makeup artist Mandy came at me for the 83rd application of lipstick (that a few vocal people told her I HAD to have, whether I wanted it or not. For the record, I did not.), I told her that if I saw that tube of rouge ONE more time, I was breaking it and her hand in two pieces.

At 29, I know my strengths. My eyes are one of them. And mascara is basically liquid gold. It's priced like it, too. Every month, I spend roughly $20 on a tube of the miraculous stuff, and by the next month, it's clumpy and gross and I have to buy more. I cringe spending the money, and generally refuse to pay a cent over $20 for makeup. But I do it because I love it. So much so that if my house were to ever tragically go up in flames, I would save the husband, the dog, my wedding ring, and my Maybelline Colossal Volume Express mascara. It's THAT important.

Recently, my friend Sarah began selling a Younique, a line of skin and beauty products that are cruelty free, gluten free, and some products are even vegan friendly! As a vegetarian who loves her dairy products, the vegan friendly claim didn't hold as much weight for me as the cruelty free did, but I was intrigued nonetheless. Younique's signature item is their 3D fiber mascara that touts itself as their best selling product. And as we've discussed, luscious lashes are very, very important to me.

So I gave it a try. Sarah had it to my door in 48 hours, and I was eager to try it out. I won't lie, though, I was a bit skeptical at first, because I've always gotten compliments on my Maybelline eyelashes. I didn't think there would be much of a difference. Plus I thought the pricing was a tad high ($29 +shipping/tax) and probably not worth the switch. Boy, was I wrong!

Here I am showcasing how my skin is nearly perfect even without makeup:

 

                                      

Ignore the puffy nose - I had sinus surgery in March and now permanently look like I've been in a bar fight. Maybe I should talk to Sarah about some concealer after all.

And then the mandatory coat of black eye shadow and Maybelline:

 

                                 

I was not joking - I rock that yellow tube of liquid gold!

Still suspicious (sorry, Sarah!) of Younique being any better, I broke it out and gave it a shot. It comes in this really cool case that I must admit, looks a lot nicer on the bathroom counter than what Maybelline's bright yellow tube does:

I followed the instructions that came with the 3D Fiber Lashes, which basically said to apply the gel first to the entire lash, then while still wet, apply the fibers from the middle of the lash to the end, and finally, apply one more coat of the gel to seal it all in. Before you go any further, I am going to have to remind you that 1.) I'm taken, 2.) Science has not yet cloned my amazing eyes, so no you can't have them, and 3.) Be jealous:

After the 1st application of gel

After the fibers

                                                                 Final product: luxurious, luscious lashes!

                                                                              More of fabulous me -
                                                      I tried to take a sultry photo, but I couldn't stop smiling!

I am officially a believer! Worth every single solitary penny. Did you hear me? EVERY penny. Especially if I take a few pennies out of my husband's guitar fund. #SorryNotSorry.

While it is my general policy to not share any secret that might make another woman look better than me, I am breaking my rule one time and one time only. You can contact Sarah here to find out more about Younique and all of their products. I'm sure she'd be happy to sell you makeup as a gift for me, too. She has my address and everything.

In conclusion: Younique is fabulous, I'm pretty fabulous, and I'm also accepting applications for my next product spotlight. Send me something amazing and I'll post pictures of myself wearing it. Win-win!

29 Candles

I turned 29 this week. And it didn't kill me. I've always anticipated that day (and the day 365 days from that day) to be filled with tears. This birthday was the day upon which the realization that I was in my LAST year of my 20s hit me.

29 is a tough pill to swallow. We have this unspoken, but very real pressure to have our crap together by 30. Our 29th birthday signifies that we have only one year left to be set in our professional field, married, owning a house, and caring for a dog and a couple of puke-y floor lickers. Or any applicable combination of the above.

We're told our whole lives that at 30 we have to be real adults. So upon turning 29 and realizing that we don't have it all together, we crumble. I woke up Monday fully expecting to be in a sorrowful, teary mood. But I wasn't. Weirdly enough, I feel empowered by being 29. And if I'm being completely honest, still a little scared. Because while I have the proverbial spouse and a mortgage that people tell us we have to have to be a whole person, there's a lot I still have to get done by 30, starting with the following:

1. Being comfortable with another person's pain: I attended a church seminar over the weekend that was designed to give insight into our own personalities, and those of our church body. At one point, the speaker said 'You can't be everything to everyone. You need to tell people that you're comfortable with their pain." The audience all laughed at this statement, assuming as I had that he MUST be joking. Only he wasn't. He explained that in church and more widely, in life, that people aren't going to like things you do. Some might even tell you that. But you don't have to change who you are or what you believe just to make someone else more comfortable. This really hit home with me, as I haven't blogged in 6 months because of something someone said to me. I have been blogging for over 7 years, and I have over 10,000 unique visits between my two blogs. In those 7 years and 10,000+ visitors, ONE person has said something negative to me about my writing. One. For 29 years, I haven't been comfortable with another person's pain. But today, and for the days that follow, I am. At least I'm going to try really hard to be.

2. Learning to not be friends with everyone: This one is a biggie for me. As I mentioned earlier, I am a people pleaser. So I want to be a friend to everyone. But I'm also an introvert, which makes being a friend to everyone absolutely exhausting. I never want to be rude or cold, but I have to do a better job of guarding my time, heart, and life. And that means I have to stop accepting applications for partners in crime. The truth is, all of my friend slots are full. With the best friends out there. They know my story inside and out, and I know theirs just as well. I have 7 confidants who are ready to help me hide the body and bail me out of jail at a moment's notice. You don't get more partner-in-crime-like than that. It's taken me 29 years to assemble the best, funniest, kindest, truest human beings that I choose to invite into my inner circle. I don't think an 8th person so perfectly matched even exists.

3. Being a better wife: Let me be very clear: I'm a good wife. Like, a really good wife. I'm hot, I'm sweet, and I'm obviously talented - what more could he want? While all this may be (read: is definitely) true, there's always room for improvement. Even for me. For the next year, and years to follow, I'm going to let more things go (figuratively, not my hot bod), and I'm going to make sure he knows how much I love and appreciate him EVERY day. It's become frighteningly easy to just assume he knows how important he is to me, and by the time I'm 30, I plan on making him absolutely sick of hearing how amazing he is.

4. Forgetting all of the 'deadlines': Before I was married, that was the goal everyone placed upon my life: to be betrothed as soon as humanly possible. Once I said 'I do', the new goal seemed to be to start having kids. At 29, I've yet to produce an adorable tiny human, but I have kept an adorable not so tiny, not so human 2 year old Boxer alive. That's something to celebrate, right? We, collectively as married adults, have chosen not to have a baby quite yet as our hands our full with the aforementioned dog, and we're okay with that decision. The rest of the world is just going to have to be okay with that, too.

5. Being a ME pleaser, not a people pleaser: I have lived my life being so scared of offending someone, that it has paralyzed me. Because of this, I have my feelings hurt way more often than I should, and it manifests by me changing to please someone else. When I'm consumed by what everyone else thinks, it leaves no room for me to think about who I want to be. Ryan tells me all of the time when I'm obsessing over this that there is a very short list of people in this world who I need to please. This year, I'm going to whittle that list down even more. By 30, Jesus and I are the only two people who will get a say in who I am. And Ryan. And probably my mom. And the dog...dogs are excellent judges of character. At least mine is...

Womb Watch 2014

I'm beginning to understand how Jennifer Aniston feels - her lovelife has been a source of jokes from her friends, her hair is so amazing that it inspired a revolution, and the vacancy of her womb seems to be a constant topic of conversation.

If you're a woman of child-bearing age and you happen to also have perfect hair like Jen and I do, you can probably relate, too. EVERY single time I walk into a doctor's office, no matter what my symptoms are, I'm asked if I'm pregnant. When I politely but definitively tell them 'no', I am asked several follow-up questions to which my answers are always ignored, and then I'm told, 'we're going to have you take a test anyway'. Like I'm a 16 year old who is going to hide a pregnancy and then give birth in a bathroom at the prom. I could run into the Emergency Room on fire, with flames shooting out of my head, and they'd probably make me pee in a cup before extinguishing my perfect Jen Aniston hair.

Every time I mention that a baby is cute or that I heard a funny thing from a toddler, I'm flooded with questions of when I will be making a kid of my own. Every time I say, 'Guess what?' I'm bombarded with, 'OMG! You're pregnant!!' Nope. Just wanted to share that I have a 3 day weekend/upcoming vacation/great seats to a concert.

It's not that I don't like kids. I LOVE kids! From newborns to teenagers, I am a free sitter of all. I look forward to spending a day with a niece or nephew or a friend's kid. I get to feed them ice cream for dinner, be fun and play the whole time, and then my favorite part of all - RETURN them. When they get sick, or have an attitude, or I just want to be responsibility free, I get to take them back to their parents. The awesomeness of this arrangement cannot be over sold. It's really the best thing EVER.

And also, here's my soapbox moment for the day - it's kind of crappy that society puts this kind of pressure on people. Like the lack of producing an infant somehow makes your relationship, or worse - life, incomplete. I assure you, the people who don't have kids find plenty of other wonderful things to fill their lives with - like travel and sleeping and not cleaning up puke.

Here's the other piece of this womb watch intensity - it's not like we're 18. One of us is pushing 30 and the other is pushing a number a few bigger than that. We waited a tad longer than a lot of people do to enter wedded matrimony, and I feel the need to explain this to all who inquire about our lack of tiny humans. We've been told by countless people that the first year of marriage is the hardest...until you have kids, and then relationship satisfaction often plummets. Awesome - sounds fun - can't wait. Having made it through Year 1 with flying colors, I'm looking forward to a few more calendars filled with vacations, extravagant gifts, and not having to push a grocery cart with an extra 30 pounds of a small, smelly creature.

While I do think that it is sweet that people are anxious for us to start a family, and I sometimes feel like a jerk saying this, but I'm not really interested in letting a tiny human keep me up all hours of the night, puke on me, and suck all of the money my husband and I spend on ourselves. At least not quite yet. Before you write me a letter professing my lack of a heart or maternal instinct, let me say that if we end up with a small creature that bears a resemblance to us, I'm sure I'll be thrilled.

Know what else is thrilling? Sleeping in on weekends. Having nobody puke on you. Not having to explain to a tiny human why they can't lick the floor. Getting to have as many date nights as we want without having to pay someone to keep the tiny puke-y floor licker alive for a few hours.

You can try to argue that logic all you want, but there is really no rebuttle to that. And despite the best efforts of doctors everywhere trying to prove me wrong, I will take this opportunity to confirm that there is currently not a future puke-y floor licker renting out my uterus. Hope you didn't have December 2014 in the office pool.

All Is Fair In Love, War, and Games

When you work in healthcare, there is no such thing as a 'snow day'. There is, however, such thing as an 'everyone in our office called in sick' day that also happened to fall on a Monday that greeted us Iowans with snow, sleet, and freezing rain.

I woke up exhausted from another night of sporadic sleep, texted my boss at 6:50am that I was not coming in until later, and promptly went back to sleep. When I woke an hour and a half later, I had a text from her that said, 'Don't go in - I'm closing the office.' Basically the best boss in the history of the world.

Monday is traditionally Ryan's day off, and as someone who needs her alone time in order to not become a raving lunatic, I was very concerned about 'crashing' his time off. Fortunately (for a lot of reasons), he is a much better person than I am and was happy to share his time with me.

We are both incredibly competitive (one of us, who shall remain nameless, once yelled 'In your face!' when their bag filled up the fastest at a charity blood drive) and we love games so we decided to make this a day of playing. We started with Monopoly, a game that I have yet to win. Here's my theory on why: I'm too nice. I get very sad when the other player doesn't have very much money, I always agree to trades that help my opponent, and though I own Park Place and Boardwalk almost every time, I can never bring myself to put up hotels because I feel bad charging others so much. I'm an intelligent, successful woman and yet I cannot convince myself that this is make believe money. Much like I once got into a VERY heated conversation with Ryan about how we were going to spend the $625M lottery jackpot (that we didn't even have a ticket for), I sometimes have a hard time separating reality from fantasy. Even after getting a pep talk about how it is okay to win at Monopoly because it's just a game, I can't in good conscience participate in a scheme where the rich get richer while the poor have to mortgage pretend properties to pay me.

After realizing that I am never actually going to win at that game, we set out for our weekly date night. We decided to try bowling, as I have no ethical issues when it comes to winning that game. What I failed to take into consideration is that in 3 years worth of date nights, I've never actually beat him in bowling. Nor did I account for the fact that we choose which alley to frequent based on who has a 7 lb ball that I can use, because my girlie arms can't throw 8 or more pounds with any sort of regularity. Needless to say, there were no victory dances done on my part. Out of 4 games, I broke 100 once.

Down 0-2 on the day and not knowing when to cut my losses, we headed to Toys R Us to pick out a new game. After browsing a few aisles and getting over the initial shock of the going rate for board games ($35 each?!? Really?!), we settled on a $6 pack of Uno and another reasonably priced card game, Rack-O. The moment we walked in the door, I was opening Rack-O and rapidly reading the instructions so I could prepare my winning strategy. The basis of the game for those of you unfamiliar with Rack-O is that you get dealt 10 cards and have to place them in the holder in the order you are dealt them. Then you take turns swapping cards from the deck for cards in your hand in an attempt to get all 10 cards in numerical order first. There is a point value associated, and the first to 500 wins. My mom was a math teacher for 17 years...you'd think I'd have this in the bag. Well, after approximately 6 rounds, I was down 200 points and did what any self respecting adult would...I quit and then texted his mom.

That's right, I told on him. Unfortunately, she apparently can't ground him for winning. Down 0-3 on the week and unable to convince Ryan to re-download Words With Friends (I RULE at word games), my last hope is that sweet, sweet beacon of draw fours. And if I lose at Uno tonight, we're going to a blood drive for next week's date night!

Love is...(a sappy Valentine's Day post)

1.)A first trip out of town:

2.)Wearing flannel:

3.)Our first Valentine's day:

4.)Cardinals baseball:

5.)A picnic in the park:

6.)Matching shirts:

7.)Being goofy together:

8.)Kissing like no one is watching:

9.)Feeling like the only two people in the world:

10.)Being in your arms:

If You Need Me, I'll Be Sleeping

There are two types of people in this world: those who can function without a lot of sleep, and those who cannot. I am unabashedly in the latter category. Ryan and I know each other's triggers pretty precisely these days - if he is cranky, it's because he is hungry. If I'm cranky, it's because I am tired.

I have ALWAYS loved my sleep. When I was a teenager, I made it very clear to my very best friend Ashley that if she EVER called me or showed up to my house before 10am, we would no longer be friends. And 10am was me being generous, because I loved her. I'd really prefer not to be woken until noon. And I went to bed early! If I made it to 11pm on any given night, it was a big deal. Word on the street is that even as a newborn, I didn't want to wake up even to eat...I've literally always loved my sleep.

So it's quite unfortunate (for me and those who must deal with me) that I am on day #10 of getting little to no sleep every night. Ryan calls me an 'anxious' sleeper, and says that at times I roll over every 10 - 15 seconds trying to get comfortable. Recently, during one of these gymnastic routines, he laid his arm over me and I settled down for a little while. The next morning, I said 'that was so sweet when you tried to comfort me last night', to which my sometimes too honest husband replied, 'actually I was trying to pin you down so I could get some sleep.'

I say all of this to set up a case for my defense: Lack of sleep turns me into a completely different person and I cannot be held responsible for what I say or do while tired, including, but not limited to:

1.)While in a sleep deprived state, I recently spent several minutes trying to start my car before finally summoning Ryan to the garage to help. He got in, took one look, and asked me where my keys were. They were in my hand. I forgot to put them in the ignition.

2.)Once actually asleep, I was having a terrible nightmare about a murderer who had killed all of my co-workers and knew I was still alive in the building. I was hiding under a desk and could hear the bad man's footsteps getting closer. I was holding my breath trying not to make noise, and apparently I was holding my breath in real life, too. Ryan reached his hand to my chest to make sure I was still breathing, and I, still thinking he was a murderer, sprang up and started trying to beat him up.

3.)My alarm went off for work and I immediately started weeping. The ugly cry. Ryan held me for a good 5 minutes, gently pulled away to assess how badly I was still in need of comfort, and I started sobbing harder. He kept asking me what was wrong and all I could say was, 'It's not time yet! I'm so tired! It's not time yet!'

4.)At the Starbucks window, I tried to pay for my coffee with my Kohl's department store card. When that didn't work, I handed him my driver's license. Neither of those things buy coffee, apparently.

5.)My boss proactively handed me tissues, told me to clear my calendar, and offered her house up as a place to take a nap.

And like any good wife would, I can't let this post come to an end without also throwing my husband under the bus (while being fully aware that his sleep deprivation is 100% inflicted by yours truly):

In the midst of a rare but peaceful slumber, I woke to Ryan's face thisclose to mine while he was tugging at the pillow under my head. Teeth clenched and eyes glazed over in that universal 'sleep walking/talking' look, he growled 'I told you I NEED this!' and ripped the pillow out from underneath me. He then promptly rolled over, and threw my pillow on the floor.

If you see me in the next few days and I don't seem quite like myself, please remember the following:

Dumbest things we (mostly Heidi) said in 2013

I forgot to post this earlier in the month -

After deciding that if we were to write a traditional end of year letter to update our friends and family on our lives we would bore them into a winter slumber, we've decided to use this forum to let others laugh at some of our favorite exchanges of 2013. Hope this brings cheer and thankfulness that you are smarter than Heidi.

Scene: Listening to an artist Ryan loves, Gary Clark Jr.:
R: What do you think of him?
H: I don't like that instrument that sounds like Lenny Kravitz.
R: You mean the guitar???

Scene: St. Mark's family retreat, sitting with 5 year old twins:
H: I can't get over how much they look alike!
R: ...
H: I mean, I know they're twins, but still.

Scene: Phone call - Ryan at home and me out running errands:
R: Hey honey, where do we keep the cheese?
H: The what?
R: The cheese.
H: Like mozzarella and cheddar? We keep that in the fridge. In the door that says 'cheese'.

On a related note...
Scene: Getting ready to host a gathering:
H: I think I'll go cut the cheese...
R: (Uncontrollable laughter)
H: What?!?
R: You know that's a slang term for a bodily function, right?
H: It is not!
R: Take a poll when they get here and we'll see.
Turns out 'cut the cheese' is, in fact, a slang term for a bodily function.

Scene: While momentarily watching the celebrity diving show, "Splash":
H: That guy looks like he should be a basketball player.
R: He's only the all time leading scorer in NBA history.
H: Really??
R: It's Kareem Abdul Jabbar!!!!
H: Oh, I thought he was Louie Anderson's diving coach.

Scene: H leaving for work in the morning:
H: Love you, Boo.
R: Did you just call me 'Boo'? Like 'Boo & Shawty?'
H: Yeah. I'm trying something new.
R: Well, it's not working.

Scene: Watching RedZone:
H: This is an awesome idea - just showing the best parts of the game and none of the filler.
R: Yeah. They're called 'highlights' and ESPN came up with them twenty years ago.
H: Yeah, but these clips of the really good plays are different than highlights, right?
R: No, actually, that's the definition of a highlight.

Things Men Don't Have To Deal With: Volume 1.

I don't know much about vehicles of any sort. I'm the first to admit that. When I hit a deer a couple years ago and blew the radiator, I jumped out of the car screaming because I thought it was on fire. Two weeks ago, I had to have my husband get in my vehicle and help me figure out why it wouldn't shift into reverse so I could leave for work. Turns out I hadn't put the key into the ignition. After countless Google searches, I still don't understand how trains work. And every single time I get on an airplane, I'm tempted to ask 'If after every single plane crash, the black box remains intact, can someone PLEASE explain to me why we can't just make the whole plane out of the same material?'

I'm not sitting by the phone awaiting a call to be featured in 'Popular Mechanics' any time soon. My understanding of the inner workings of my vehicle are limited to filling the gas tank when the meter is closer to 'e' than it is to 'f', and calling a professional when any one of the array of warnings lights up. Having listened to the 'change oil' notification chime for the last month, I finally made an appointment to take it in. I normally tend to my car with a little more concern, but after driving my first vehicle for two years before learning that you're supposed to get the oil changed (oops!), I don't get too worked up over being a couple weeks behind.

Being that vehicle maintenance isn't my field of expertise, I typically trust the professionals. To a fault. They could tell me that my snuffaluffagus was leaking and I would hand over all my money to have it fixed without question. But something about the little-too-friendly guy at Midas today who ignored my every attempt to ignore him while mentioning my husband in every possible sentence (not even if you were literally the last guy on earth, dude) made me want to call Dateline to break the story that mechanics everywhere might be taking advantage of ladies who appear to have no knowledge of auto maintenance! Before you send me an e-mail, let me say that I know that not ALL mechanics are liars, but this one definitely was.

After completing my oil change (or so I trust), he walked in all Charmy McCharmerson and we had the following exchange:

Liar Face: 'Alright, Miss Sloan, you just need to replace the air filter and you'll be set.'
Me: 'Mrs. Sloan. And I've replaced the air filter the last two times I've been here. How long do they last?'
Liar Face: 'Hmmm. We don't show any record of an air filter on your file, but they should last several months if not a year. I'd be happy to show you how dirty your current air filter is...'
Me(All Erin Brockovich-like): 'Hmmm. This receipt I have from three months ago shows that I was charged for an air filter. So did you charge me and not replace it, or are you using sub-par parts that don't last?'
Liar Face: 'You know...we did just change computer systems and it looks like that air filter got erased somehow. I'm going to go look at it again.'

Miraculously, upon further review, the air filter is projected to last another 5,000 miles or so. Not that I believe anything he said at that point.

I may not know how auto parts work, or where they go, but I do know the last time I purchased one. I'm disgusted that a woman in a designer dress and high heels can't walk into an auto shop alone and ask fifteen questions about the difference between oil and anti-freeze without getting scammed. If you do know the difference, please clear your calendar for three months from now - you're going with me next time.

My Personality Type AKA Why I Might Murder You

Despite my post from earlier this week, I do actually have a resolution for 2014: blog more. I recently ran across an article from Huffington Post that characterized the top 16 traits of a Type A Personality. Depending on how well you know me, the following results may or may not be shocking.

Here are 16 signs that you're a little (or a lot) Type A:

1.)Waiting in long lines kills you a little bit inside.
KILLS me. If I am anticipating a possible line, I make it a point to leave a minimum of 20 minutes early. Make me late and therefore cause me to leave 19 minutes early, and I might murder you.

2.)You've been described as a perfectionist, overachiever, workaholic or all of the above.
I literally used to turn down dates that I was actually interested in by saying, "I'm married to my job. If you're okay having a relationship with my voicemail, we can have dinner." People didn't think I was serious and then would get upset when I dumped them for being too clingy. I mean, did they really expect me to make more than an hour a week to see them? I had work to do.

3.)You bite your nails or grind your teeth.
While not a nail biter, my dentist told my mom when I was seven that I had already rubbed off 75% of the enamel on my teeth because I was constantly grinding them. Sometimes I do this without noticing it, and other times it is my coping mechanism so I don't have to murder you.

4.)You have a serious phobia of wasting time.
Few things in life take my rage-odometer from nice to raging maniac faster than wasting my time. When in a meeting, I believe that we are there to work, not to chit chat. And whatever you do, do NOT be even one minute late. I live and die by the motto 'if you're early, you're on time. If you're on time, you're late.' And I HATE tardiness. So much so that if I am ever arrested for murder, it's probably because someone didn't respect my time.

5.)You're highly conscientious.
I stress over EVERYTHING. If the house isn't clean, I go into a tailspin. If the centerpieces for an event are even slightly imperfect, my face gets red and my breathing becomes uncontrollably fast. If you forget, break, or otherwise ruin any part of the plan I have been anxious about for however many weeks leading up to this moment, I might seriously consider murdering you.

6.)You've always been a bit of a catastrophist.
In connection with basically every other bullet point in this post, I don't subscribe to the idea of rating every problem on a scale of 'inconvient to Titanic level disaster'. If anything goes wrong, it is a full blown iceberg situation. I've crumpled into a sobbing mess when the wind blew over some tablecloths at an outdoor event I was putting on because it meant the whole day was 'ruined'. I've refused to speak to my husband for days at a time because he missed emptying a garbage can on his trash rounds and threw off the trash cycle 'forever'. *No husbands were hurt in the writing of this blog, and no, there's NOT trouble in paradise.

7.)You frequently talk over and interrupt people.
Here's the one item on this list that I cannot and will not accept as a truth. Interrupting me has always been in my top 3 pet peeves, if not #1. From the time I was old enough to talk, if someone interrupted me, I'd start my entire story over. Even with insistance from my audience that they remembered where I was in my tale, I would immediately start from the beginning. Now I just pout and refuse to finish my point, because I'm silently plotting how I will murder you.

8.)You have a hard time falling asleep at night.
I'd add to this one, 'or staying asleep' because on the nights that I do fall asleep quickly, I'm almost certainly up in the middle of the night for several minutes or hours thinking about any variety of things running through my mind. Sometimes I have to get up to make sure that we turned the oven off, and then start tidying up. Or sometimes I just lay there staring into the darkness making a mental to-do list for the upcoming day. I've had a boss e-mail me at 2am to say, 'Go to sleep Heidi' because I'd woken him up with my 4th e-mail to him in an hour regarding policies I wanted to revise.

9.)People can't keep up with you -- in conversation or on the sidewalk.
My extremely short legs make keeping up with me on the sidewalk quite easy, but I bet I could take down just about anyone in conversation. No matter the topic, I have lots of ideas and antecdotes to share. When it is my rightful turn in the discussion, of course.

10.)You put more energy into your career than your relationships.
See bullet point #2. The one and only time I was ever dumped was when I received a text message from someone I thought I'd broken up with six weeks earlier saying, "I know you're very important in your field of work, but I'm important in this relationship. If you ever find time for me in your schedule, give me a call." I seriously had no idea we were still even dating!

11.)Relaxing can be hard work for you.
This one is a biggy. I struggle with it every single vacation. I'm cranky and spend days before our departure thinking up ways to get out of going. The thought of being away when something might happen at work and having no way to help/fix it/be there gives me anxiety. Every single vacation day I take, I have to make it a conscious choice to only 'check in' once a day. And I still find myself glancing at my phone several more times a day just in case someone from the office needs me. If it weren't for my husband asking me on a particular vacation if I planned on spending any time with him during our trip (while I was using the hotel paper & pencil to jot down some thoughts for when I returned to the office) that I realized my brain NEVER actually goes on vacation with me. This one is still a work in progress, but it will probably always be on the list. And yes, I realize that it makes my vacation mates want to murder ME.

12.)You have a low tolerance for incompetence.
I don't even want to tell you how many times I've wanted to murder someone for this. At one point, I actually had to write on a post-it that I kept in my top drawer where I could see it often: "It is illegal to stab someone for being stupid." And I've been told by several supervisors that 1.) I don't have the authority to fire anyone, and 2.) Even if I did, "Being an idiot" is not an HR-approved reason to terminate someone. I stand by my statement that it should be.

13.)You'd be lost without your to-do list.
If anyone ever wanted to ruin me, this would be the way to do it. Not having a list is my kryptonite. At work, at the grocery store, while packing for a vacation where I'm not going to relax, lists are my lifeline. And when I occasionally do complete a task/buy an item/pack something that was not originally on the list, I can't do anything else until I write it on the list and check it off. It's a sickness. A really helpful, organized sickness. And Heaven forbid someone do something to my list, I'm not sure I could go through with murdering that person without retrieving said list and adding 'kill list thief' to my tasks.

14.)At work, everything is urgent.
EVERYTHING. People are amazed at the lightning quick speed with which I send responses/edits/help/whatever they need. And they become significantly less impressed when they realize I expect the same from them.

15.)You're sensitive to stress.
This one is so true that I begged the man who is now my husband to elope because I was stressed out just thinking about the stress that planning a wedding would cause. I know myself very well, and I know that I was a monster to deal with for those four months of wedding planning. In my defense, having 212 people RSVP and 315 people show up that day would send Ghandi into a meltdown. Now every single time we go to a wedding, we both look at each other and say in unison, "Glad it's them!"

16.)You make it happen.
Damn right I do! I don't even feel bad for saying that. Unless my mom is reading this.

New Year, New Me. Sort of.

I've always been a big idea kind of person. Graduate college a year early so I can start my career at 20? Easy. Run a half marathon after attending 4 out of 18 trainings while being as round as an actual butterball? Did it & have the medal to prove it. Spend an entire year without buying any new clothes, except that $6 football shirt from the drugstore? Owned it.

I must have used all of my brilliance on the aformentioned ideas because as we start the second full week of 2014, I still can't decide on a resolution. Here are the bright ideas that I've talked myself out of so far:

1.)Give up caffeine. As a Starbucks and Diet Mountain Dew addict, I know that I would be much healthier if I could start an addiction to water. But water doesn't turn me into a nice person the way 20 ounces of the nectar of the gods can. Gateway drug, schmateway drug. The compromise I've come to is that if caffeine single handedly keeps me married, employed, and with friends while simultaneously keeping me away from heroin, I'm going to call it a win.

2.)Work out more. Again, I know, health benefits. And the gym my husband frequents has televisions attached to the machines. I would LOVE to work out more, but 1.) I don't like sweating, 2.) Watching television is much more comfortable from the couch, and 3.) I don't want to. But I'd still like six pack abs. Anyone know how to get those without setting my lungs on fire?

3.)Stay up later. I love sleep. I've always loved sleep. And it's a very close second to caffeine on the 'making me a nice person' scale. But I married a man who, unlike me, is not ready to go to sleep every night at 9pm. He usually manages to keep my whining at bay until 10pm, when I physically can't keep my eyes open any longer. In an effort to spend more time with him, I have extended my bedtime. Last night I made it to 10:03pm. Rome wasn't built in a day, people.

4.)Try some new recipes. In preparation for an afternoon of cards with my sisters, I found this seemingly delicious and easy three ingredient recipe on Pinterest, the website that I now refer to as "Liar Liar, Pants on Fire".
Picture on the recipe website:

Picture of my finished product:

5.)Become a spider slayer. Okay, so I was sort of forced into this one as an arachnid tried to eat me this morning. After half a can of hair spray, an entire roll of toilet paper, a 20 gallon trash bag, and TWO flush attempts, I succeeded. If the Mr. hadn't been sleeping on his only day off, I would have either woken him up and made him do it, or revisited my single days and sucked the eight legged monster up in the vacuum cleaner.

Since I'm fresh out of ideas, this can only mean one thing. Clearly, I'm perfect and there's literally nothing for me to improve. I think I've earned 2014 as a reprieve year. If you have any ideas that aren't hard, uncomfortable, tiring, messy, or gross, I'm all ears for 2015.