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...