Grilled Cheese 2016

Austyn walked into the kitchen a few days ago and saw me chopping up an onion.

“Wahhh, NOOO. You know I hate onions. WHY? Why?! Why are you doing this to me…?” (Instantly bursts into tears)

This is a daily occurrence. It could be steak, tuna and noodles or even spaghetti. The kid hates IT ALL.

I gave up. I threw in the towel. I looked at her and told her I was done. Moms kitchen was closed to her until further notice. It was time for Austyn to make her own damn meal. Also, she was going to need to raid her piggy bank to pay J & I for the groceries that she would use to make said meal. Horror. Pure sheer terror on her face. She threw herself to the ground.

Jon, Huntley and I sat down at the table to enjoy the homemade pizza that Austyn declared to be “disgusting” and “icky” whilst lamenting that Morgans mama would NEVER do such a thing to her. Opps. I guess if she could, she would be calling social services on me now.. (Do you remember being littles and threatening our parents with that? “I’m gonna call social services on you!” As a parent I now think, “Please do! I need a BREAK!”)

Our spunky 7 year old has never shown much interest in learning how to cook or put together a meal, so this task was challenging to say the least. I laid down the ground rules. She can only make something simple so as to not burn down my house, No, there would be no ordering of food.. ie.. DQ or Godfathers and she must do it all herself.

Princess Sassy Pants set out to make a grilled cheese.

WOW.

I never knew what a production buttering a slice of white bread could be. Also, have you ever seen a child attempt to use a cheese slicer for the first time. MIND. BLOWN.  Jon is and will always be the better parent, more nurturing, more comforting and less willing to let our kids fail in an attempt to have them learn a lesson.  He stepped in a few times to give helpful hints that would illicit inappropriate hushed threats from me.

She buttered only one slice of bread and tried to put her slice of cheese upon the buttered side of said bread. One slice of Velveeta was apparently enough to make her sandwich divine. Also, she cooked that thing for 20 mins on low… it was ridiculous. BUT, lo and behold, she made her own meal and chocked it down…

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I was very proud and only a little annoyed. You see my plan had been that she would fail at her first ever endeavor into cooking and realize that it would just be easier to eat what is served. NOPE, she has asked every night since to make her own damn grilled cheese…

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Also, please ignore the messiness of my kitchen, you see… I just don’t care…

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Anxiety and Me

What is “normal”?

Are you “normal”?

I don’t think I have ever been “normal”.  Even as a small child I remember being scared and wrecked with worry about the littlest of things. Every glance from a teacher meant I was in trouble or that I was going to repeat the 2nd grade. Of course, none of those things happened, but it didn’t stop me from constantly re imagining the scenario over and over again at different stages of my life.

I spent all of my teen years and early twenties with anxiety. Not a lot of anxiety, but enough to keep me on my toes. I hit 26, married to a fantastic man, we had a beautiful red headed toddler. I went to bed one night, totally “normal” and I woke up the next morning a different person. Anxiety had jumped up and grabbed hold of me in a way I never had thought possible. Suddenly a headache meant sure death, a body ache meant an incurable debilitating disease. All the things that could go wrong suddenly were pushed to the front of my brain. I couldn’t dismiss them like I used to do. My every thought was consumed with what would happen to my daughter when I died or how much of a burden I would be to my husband when I could no longer care for myself.

I sank into a deep deep depression. I could no longer get out of bed. I was scared to be left alone. JJ was my saving grace. He stayed home with me, working from his lap top while sitting beside me in bed. I stopped sleeping. I went days and weeks without sleeping more than an hour or so a night. My chest hurt. My jaw hurt. Surely I had an un-diagnosed heart defect, I thought I would drop dead at any moment. I was lying in bed night after night with my heart beating so hard, I could feel it in my eyes, in my fingertips, in my toes. I was shaking all the time. I couldn’t even hold a glass of water. I went to the doctor, looking for relief, only to be dismissed. I felt like no one believed me. “Get more sun, drink more water, exercise more.. There is nothing physically wrong with you..” – several doctors said.

I WAS crazy. I had to be. I had medical professionals telling me I was basically a headcase. I sunk so much deeper into my own head and worries. I cried everyday. I stopped eating. I didn’t take care of my daughter. I ignored my husband. I stopped talking to my friends.  JJ removed the guns from our home when I told him one night that If this is what everyday of my life was going to feel like, I no longer had the will to fight through it. He sat on the floor and held me as I rocked back and forth screaming at the top of my lungs.

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I tried CBT (cognitive behavioral therapy). It did not work, not even a little bit. I don’t visualize. I can not picture myself in a forest near a babbling brook. I can’t meditate, or chant or any other self healing, feel good mantra. After several sessions of me repeatedly telling her that “THIS IS NOT WORKING!!” she finally said “Well, I don’t think this is working…”

REALLY?!?!!?!? YOU DON’T SAY?

I gave up. I was a lost cause, I had lost hope. I was crazy. I was also pregnant.

My sweet, sweet new reason to keep fighting on. The second baby I had wanted for so long had come into my life at the perfect time. Huntley gave me hope. But she also gave me a whole new set of worries and traumas. I had good days and bad days. Mostly bad. I wanted my baby to be healthy. I refused to take any type of anti anxiety or depression medication. If I could get through a year and a half of pure hell without a doctor caring or believing that I needed help, surly I could make it through 40 more weeks. IT WAS HORRIBLE. I had constant panic attacks, feeling certain that my baby had died, or was about to die. I spent more time in the doctors office than any one person should care to admit. I was placed on bed rest after they worried that my placenta was detaching.

The night Huntley was born, I finally began taking Zoloft. It worked for awhile, but I didn’t want to be on it. I didn’t want to admit that I had a problem. I felt like I should be a stronger person, a better mother. Through all of this time, Jon and I kept our battle private. We didn’t talk about it to our families. I didn’t want to hear that if I prayed more, or tithed, or put more of my faith into Jesus Christ that I would be healed. I had done all that. I also didn’t want to hear that it was all in my head and I should just try harder to get over it and not think about it. I had told myself that enough, I didn’t want to hear it from my conservative family. Being on the Zoloft, to me, was proof that I wasn’t strong enough, that I didn’t believe enough, that I wasn’t a good enough person.

My world was collapsing in on me again. I went back on the Zoloft at JJs request. It didn’t work this time. We tried other meds, no dice. At best, I was a zombie walking through my life, not really engaging with my husband or my children. At my worst, I was a horrible person, screaming at random strangers for bumping into me in the store, breaking down in tears if Hy Vee didn’t have my oatmeal. Effexor was the worst. I had never been such a spiteful angry bitch than when I was on it. It may have curbed my anxiety, but it turned me into a horrible human being. I stopped taking it.

I stopped taking anything at all. I started working out – running, lifting weights, eating better. I looked better on the outside, but I was still a wreck on the inside. My doctor had told me that it would help, that a healthier lifestyle would all but cure my anxiety. It did not. What a joke!  I was running mile after mile as fast as I could, trying to outrun something that was living in my own head.

I have finally landed on a medication that, when combined with working out and eating right, has kept my anxiety at bay for several months. I’m happy now. Happier than I have been since the morning my anxiety won over.

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I still worry everyday that the darkness will creep back up and find me again. That the anxiety will pull me under and push me back down into a tidal wave of fear.

Anxiety is so very real. It is not made up. It’s not just in your head (or mine). There is no shame in it, don’t be afraid to ask for help. Know that it is nothing that you have done. You are not being punished for not being a good enough person. Anxiety is an illness, just like any other illness. Just because people can’t see it, doesn’t make it any less real or scary. It has taken me a very long time to come to terms with my illness. I often feel alone and isolated, wondering if anyone else in the world is feeling this way.

Why don’t we talk about it? Why don’t we admit that we are not perfect? Why is there so much shame placed on being a person living with a mental illness? As a society, we need to talk about this. We need to help the men and women suffering everyday, we need to let them know that they are “normal” and that asking for help is okay and not a shameful or embarrassing action.

I am lucky. I have JJ, my unwavering lighthouse in all of the fog and darkness. A lot of people don’t have that. They suffer alone and in silence, feeling like an outcast. Feeling like they don’t belong, wondering how much longer they can just go through the motions. Seek out those people – help them, love them, share my story with them. Let them know it gets better. Tell them God has more in store for them than just suffering through their life. Be the voice they feel like they no longer have. Hold them tight and don’t let go.

Believe them. Listen to them. LET THEM KNOW THEY’RE NOT ALONE. Give them my name, direct them to my blog. If you don’t know how to relate to them or what to say, I do. I have been there. I have struggled through it.

I ask God everyday to show me his purpose for me. To tell me what his plan is for my life.

Maybe this is it? Maybe I’m meant to share my story so others can find the light again also…

Life can be good again.

 

http://nami.org/#

http://www.suicidepreventionlifeline.org/

http://www.adaa.org/tips-manage-anxiety-and-stress

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Divorce – A Four Letter Word

My marriage is not perfect. Not even close, but we are happy as hell.

J & I have been married for over 8 years, having tied the knot after only knowing each other for 1 year. I was 22 and J was 24. We were babies, really.

My parents have been married for over 30 years and Jon’s have been together even longer. So when I brag on my 8 year union, it doesn’t sound so monumental, but believe me, it is.

I scroll through my Facebook or Instagram feeds and see pictures of friends or even friends of friends who are celebrating divorces or planning second weddings already. I see the jokes posted about the “first marriages” or “starter husbands” and I cringe.

What?! When did marriage become a joke or a punchline? At what point in our vows did we add the line “Tell death do us part, or we change our minds”? Why don’t we fight like hell to keep our unions sacred? Marriage is not two perfect people together being perfect, living a great life and never fighting or yelling at each other. Marriage is messy. It’s hard. It is two imperfect people fighting, disagreeing, yelling, laughing, joking and eating ramen noodles together.

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I don’t know what makes most marriages “work”. I do know that Jon and I have agreed that divorce isn’t an option, death yes, but divorce no. I suppose it helps that we are both Catholic and brought up in homes with two parents. Or maybe it is because we are both really weird, either way, I can’t imagine just not wanting to be married to my husband.. ever.

I can tell you what makes  OUR  marriage work;

We laugh… A LOT–  We make each other laugh everyday. We try to find the humor in every situation, no matter how unfunny. Most husbands wouldn’t be able to find the humor in their wife getting drunk and amazon prime-ing a butt load of swearword coloring books, but Jon can. And has.

We agree on Sports– Somewhat. We both hate Nascar (with a passion) and both think that golf is better with a cart and a stiff drink in our hands. Football is king in our household, though we disagree on the teams. I LOVE my Packers while J cheers on the perpetual underdogs, The MN Vikings. Basketball does nothing for us, but Baseball and the MN Twins are Love.

I’m a basket case, he is not– I have severe anxiety and panic attacks. J is cool as a cucumber. He never panics, never yells, never worries. He is my safe place and my voice of reason. He balances out my crazy. Sometimes I try and goat him on, just to see if he will fight back. He won’t.

MONEY – Now this is going against every other marriage article you have ever read, but we don’t agree on money. I don’t deal with the money. I don’t handle it. I can’t. Jon is in charge of the accounts. Only he knows what goes in and what comes out. It is easier this way. If I need/want  a pair of jeans, I ask J. If it fits in the budget, I buy them. If not, I wine and cry about it and eventually move on. But, I give Jon the power to control the money. We rarely talk about it. I don’t ask and it keeps my anxiety at bay.

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Parenting – I’m the hard ass, the yeller and the one to enforce the rules. I like silence. Jon is the good cop. He is an amazing dad. He encourages the girls, gets down on their level to play with them. He watches all the Disney and Pixar movies that I don’t have the attention span to sit through. He is always the pretty princess while I am usually the wicked witch or villain. He is caring and nurturing when they fall or skin their knees. If they come to me with “owies” I usually will say something deep like, “Rub some dirt in it.” or “There’s no crying in Baseball.”

We care about the same things– We both hunt. We both eat meat. A lot of meat. We both love the movie ‘Tommy Boy‘. We are Republicans (this one is important, because I’m loud and outspoken). We surround ourselves with amazing people. Agreeing, that we have the best and most supportive circle of friends and family. If you ever want to see the mark of a great friend, travel to another country with them, get attacked by fire ants and share crazy funny details of your life. If they still want to hang out with you after they have seen you hyperventilate in the Atlanta airport for 3 hours, KEEP THEM AROUND! Oh, and If you treat their children like your own and vice versa. We love the Page Family, FYI.

We still date– Our dates are probably not like yours.We rarely go out to eat or to the movies, but we still make time for each other. Sometimes it is as simple as putting the kids to bed and watching Sons Of Anarchy together, or discussing (and laughing about) our “lists”. You know, the celebrity you are allowed to sleep with if given the 0ppertunity.. Mine would be – Zac Brown, Opie from SOA and Tom Hardy (notice a trend here?).. Jon has Carrie Underwood and Sophia Bush on his short list. Both very hot, respectable choices. Sometimes our dates are child free, sometimes they are are simple and quick like taking a few minutes to make out in front of our kids and grossing them out. Often its more mundane, like me running on the treadmill while J lifts weights.

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No matter what, we always put each other first. We talk about everything, sometimes we talk it to death, but we make sure we are on the same page with every decision. We know and acknowledge the sacrifices that the other person makes and we make sure to thank them for that. Jon works so hard so that I can stay at home with our kids, but he appreciates that most of my conversations are with children and that makes me crabby come 5:30 and he gives me time to be without the kids.

I can’t predict the future. I can’t see that far down from my high horse, but I can tell you that if it ever comes down to it, we will both fight like hell to keep our marriage intact. Marriage is sacred and important. If we want our children to grow to be in healthy, happy and successful marriages, we must model what that looks like to them, icky make out sessions and all.

 

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Today We Rant

Imma gonna rant.

If you hate reading through random ramblings of a thirty year old adult toddler, you’re going to hate this.

First of all, I get angry crabby when I’m hot. If the temperature inside my home exceeds 70 degrees, the shit will hit the fan. As in, I’m threatening J with a butter knife and screaming at the goldfish just for being alive. When I have reached this state of annoyance, the worst thing another human being could say to me is “Oh, I don’t think it’s that bad” or “It’s not hot in here”… REALLY? REALLY? REALLY?

Why didn’t you say that hours ago? If only you would have told me that earlier? Well now that you have told me that you think it feels fine in here, I feel SO MUCH BETTER! I have instantly cooled down. Suddenly it’s as if I have my own personal AC blowing just on me!  AMAZING! Your opinion of the temperature that I am feeling has changed my entire life… Or not. But now, I like you a little less.

You lost 30 pounds in 30 days?! I can do the same?!! Simply amazing! Please, please, please continue to inundate me with your get thin quick, don’t eat, don’t breathe, wrap yourself in tin foil and climb into your oven at 350 degrees diet pills, Thrive patches and cellulite reducing flesh colored waist trainers. I’m SOLD! If only I had received your countless messages months ago I could have just skipped right to the thin part of life and not wasted all my time on working out, eating well, and just generally trying to be healthy. GAH! To think of the things I could have been doing while I was busy, ya know, trying to be healthy.

You’re kidding me? You sell Rodan & Fields? I would have never guessed from the EVERY SINGLE STATUS THAT YOU POST ABOUT IT. Thank you so much for sending me an email to let me know that the wrinkles under my eyes, and the smile lines on my face could be easily removed with a few hundred dollars worth of  night cream, day cream, eye patches, cheek patches and never having an actual facial expression again. The fact that you send personal messages directed just to me is not helping your case. If you want to sell me something pointless, don’t start your sales pitch by pointing out my flaws.. I will cut you. If you are selling something that I want, I’ll find you.

I have earned those wrinkles and I am damn proud of them. You can see my life story in my face. I love to laugh and make silly faces. I enjoy camping and sitting outside with my friends,  my kids and their friends. Why would I want to erase the freckles that say so much about myself?  You don’t like my stretch marks?! So sorry I’m a human being and that I carried two amazing children. Let me know the fastest and easiest way to remove them so that you don’t have to EVER SEE THEM AGAIN. For your sake, I swear to never wear a tank top or shorts again.

You’re a vegan? You don’t say! Amazing how I had NO IDEA! I applaud you for constantly posting pictures of slaughtered cows, pigs and chickens. It’s murder, delicious tasty murder.

I live in South Dakota. I eat meat, I hunt, I support our local farmers by consuming the meat and crops that they break their backs for every damn day. I love all animals, I really do. I also dislike seeing the horrible pictures of the slaughter houses and the chickens that live in tiny cages. It sucks. If I could change it, I would. All animals have a right to a humane  life, but c’mon guys!

Do you know what I find funny? Hard core vegans who are pro choice. Clearly this pig has a purpose in life besides being a pig and helping to feed the population after its death but THIS HUMAN BEING WITH A BEATING HEART IS JUST A CLUMP OF CELLS WITH NO PURPOSE AND NO RIGHT TO LIVE. Please continue to argue with me. Word to the wise, I’m going to win.

Please imagine if you will, that your living or dying depended completely on how another person felt about you. I will never apologize for being pro life. I will however apologize for the 99 cat pictures I post daily, that is a little out of control.

You don’t like my husbands beard? You constantly tell him to shave it or call him a caveman or a hobo every time you see him. Good for you. Guess what? I think it’s hot. I dig it and love the way it looks on him. But please, tell him how you would love to see him clean shaven and that it would be much cooler for the summer. He really wants to impress you, random person in the grocery store. I’m sorry that you or your husband can’t handle a beard. The weight of manhood is too much for a lot of men.

My house isn’t clean enough for you?  Perfect, don’t come over.

My cooking isn’t as good as so and so’s?  I don’t give a flying monkey fart.

Your 1 year old is already potty trained?  Well, my 2 year old is not. I refuse to force her. Don’t lecture me on it.

I should really get rid of some of my pets?  Okay, I’ll get right on that.

You think I’m too loud and blunt?  Well, in that case, get bent. My poor heart is just so broken now.

There you have it. Of course, everything I have bitched about above is to be taken with a grain of salt. These are MY OPINIONS and MY FEELINGS. If you have found yourself offended, don’t be. Don’t take it personally. I don’t take your posts personally. I’m not referring to anyone specifically . These are the thoughts and feelings I have developed over years of being professionally annoyed. If I contacted you first regarding a fitness group or a make up product, I like you. You don’t annoy me!

Also, I have been guilty of some of the infractions listed above in some form or another. Life is funny that way, rub some dirt in it and move on.

FYI, I love JESUS and I LOVE TO SWEAR. If you can’t handle a person who does both, you can’t handle me. We lead by our actions, not our words.

And right now, I could use a fuckin’ drink.

The Story Of Nothing

I have no original thoughts.

Before I began a blog, I often would joke with JJ that our lives would be hilarious fodder for reality TV. I usually would say this as I was putting a onsie on a cat or super gluing my thumbs together. Now… nothing. My mind is a blank space – not unlike a Taylor Swift music video, as I typically have crazy hair and mascara running down my face.. not from crying, but more so from sweating, but same thing, right?

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I can’t think of anything to write. I could grace you with the story of using my new Cricut to put swear words on coffee mugs or swear words on water bottles or on pallet boards. I could tell you the story of falling face first off my treadmill because Fat Matt hopped on for a jog whilst I was running at a 6.5.. But I won’t. I also won’t tell you about Huntley getting in the girls jeep and driving into the house and then backing up and driving into the road. That’s all too boring.

Even having a conversation with J, we usually only talk in movie quotes. Again, so unoriginal. What happened to me? Where did my stories go? Were they sucked into the blog-osphere never to be heard or read of again? I need a muse.. Sarah Krupke.. HELLP!

An adorable neighbor boy was playing with us today. I love to ask he and his sister questions because they give the best answers I have ever heard. I asked Mr. K if he and his family go camping as our family did this past weekend.. Mr. K looked at me incredulously and said “NOOO! NEVER”.. I thought this was an odd answer as I was pretty sure they owned a camper. I asked him about it. He told me that yes, they do have a camper. Often they will pop it up in their garage and sleep in it or eat supper in there when they get bored of their house. I for the record, think this is the perfect use for a camper. You won’t have to wash sheets as often because you are going between two beds and you cut back on wiping down the table, because, well 2..duh.

I don’t know how I didn’t think of just leaving our camper up year round and possibly moving the girls into it so J and I can have a quiet evening watching SOA.

How unoriginal am I? I just stole the above story from a 5 year old. Like I said, I’m a blank space baby. I thought maybe if I just sat down the words would flow through me. They didn’t. I struggled to get to this point. I have 21 web pages open.. Pinterest, Under Armour, BuzzFeed, Facebook, Gmail, Barbie.com and Amazon among many others. It has taken me an hour to type this. I keep shopping for new workout gear, designing a barbie that looks like me (she’s fabulous, btw) and taking quizzes that will let me know what male character from Gilmore Girls I am most like… Kirk, in case you were wondering. Also, my neighbor is having a bonfire. I’m trying to decide how strange it would be if I just went and hung out with he and his 16 year old daughter like it was NBD (no big deal, for those who are lame like me).

I’m just going to leave this blog post as it is. Very unfinished and kind of like a Seinfeld episode, meaning it is about nothing. There is really no story to it. You stuck with me through the rambling and now you’re just waiting for Kramer to show up.. spoiler… He won’t. But here is the Pledge of Allegiance for your reading pleasure;

“I pledge allegiance to the Flag of the United States of America, and to the Republic for which it stands, one Nation under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.”

 

 

 

Be You

Why do today what you can put off until 10 years down the road?

I’m the queen of procrastination. I don’t much like doing anything. Wash the dishes? How about nope. Take a shower? Maybe in a few days. Feed the cats? They’ll eventually work out an ‘Alive’ situation, right? Watch every movie Tom Hardy has ever made? Sure, that I’m game for.

It’s not that I don’t want to do anything, it’s just that I don’t possess the desire to do anything. Really if you’re going to start something, shouldn’t you give it your all?  My motto is why start something when I know that I’m only going to give it a good 35% of my attention and effort

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I want to be the kind of person that has a “Get up and Go” kind of attitude. I really do. I have visions of a clean home with freshly baked cookies laying upon a plate for my super clean and tidy family to enjoy in moderation, that is after eating all their steamed veggies. I can see amazingly clean windows in my dreams, so clean that the annoying birds that chirp outside my window at 5am would fly head first into one and be forever silenced.

I have left myself motivational notes, pinned motivational sayings on Pinterest and even gone as far as to print off a chore list to hang on the fridge. It makes no difference what I do. Tom Hardy could be standing shirtless in front of me, telling me that I could lick his abs if I  only folded all the clothes on my bedroom floor.. My response would be “Ehh.. maybe later?”.

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I have set alarm after alarm to go off in the morning so that I can run my flat tush down the stairs and hop on the treadmill. I CAN’T DO IT. Instead, I silence the alarm and roll over in bed and dream of the day that I no longer have lunch lady arms (You know, the fat surrounding the upper arm that continues to wave even after you have stopped). Later, I roll out of bed, throw on yesterdays clothes and escort Austyn to school. All the while she is whining that I’m “embarrassing”, “messy” and “homeless looking”.

You know what babydoll? That’s okay with this mama. I’m not here to impress anyone. I don’t need to have makeup on every second of every day. I don’t have to wear expensive clothes to feel good about myself or fit into a size 2 (FYI – I don’t). My self worth isn’t wrapped up in the way I look, and yours shouldn’t be either. Life is too short to worry if you look good enough for someone else. Just look good enough for you.

Be realistic about yourself and your life. I am 5 foot 2 inches tall. No matter how many pilates and yoga classes I go to, my body will not stretch out to that of a supermodel. My brown hair will never look good blonde and my green eyes will never change to brown. My thick thighs fit just fine into a size 9, if they never get any smaller than that, it’s okay. I won’t have to buy more clothes. I work out so that I feel better about myself, not so that some random person feels better about me.

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Just be you. Be happy with the person you are. Be happy with the person you look like. Be happy with the friends and family you have. Be happy that spiders don’t fly. Be happy that you can procrastinate if you want to, and be happy that Netflix is relaunching Gilmore Girls.

But mostly, just be happy with what God has provided for you, you procrastinating, homeless looking, Tom Hardy loving freak.

Me

I think it’s time to write about me. It’s only fair.

I’m 30 years old. The middle child (to a T) with an older sister, Brittany and a younger brother Derek. Jeff & Cecile Zwanziger are our parents. I had always disliked my last name as a child because it was long and no one could pronounce it. But now I often wish that I would have kept my maiden name instead of becoming a Decker, only for the simple fact that Decker is very common and people constantly ask me if I’m related to so and so… Just to make this easier for you- NO I don’t know that person, NO I’m not related to your cousins neighbors dogs groomers nephew. Please don’t ask again. But Yes, if their last name is Zwanziger I probably know them, and yes we’re most likely related. To make this simple -Brittany travels,  Aaron golfs, Adam goes to school, Derek works in Brandon, Brady plays football, Luke is a cowboy(?) and Mason will graduate HS next month. BOOM QUESTIONS ANSWERED!

Jon and I have been married for eight years already!1929596_9330620697_956_n

I guess time flies when you’re busy annoying the other by only talking in movie quotes. We are content to stay home and dream about all the fun things we would be doing if we had motivation and money. Typically, this fantasy involves remodeling our kitchen or getting sloppy drunk on a tropical beach and putting on a good show for the locals.12065758_10153258027625698_7974613018660498761_n

We like to wander through Menards together and gaze up mystified at the lighting fixtures they so gloriously put on display for our purchasing enjoyment. Jon also enjoys meandering through Walmart looking for a great pair of $3 jeans

We have two “awesome” little girls. Austyn will be 7 years old in less than a month and Huntley turned 2 in January. People often ask if there will be more children in our future..HAHAHAHAHAHA NOPE. We adore our daughters but know ourselves well enough to know that baby number 3 would surly put one (or both) of us out of our minds. If we ever get the baby fever itch, we have plenty of friends that will be having babies in the future.  We can just steal one of those one day, that is until it cries or needs to be changed and we’ll just hand it right on back.13055541_10153619763275698_6844150829599622562_n

I hate working out. I do it everyday, but I hate it. Every mile that I slog on that damn treadmill is just one mile closer to a 5 Guys cheeseburger or an entire container of cool whip. I will admit that even if I don’t feel any other benefit from my constant jogging, it does make me feel a hair superior to my husband who doesn’t work out. Like if someone broke into our home I could subdue the perpetrator with my powerful wonder woman thighs.

I’m just going to conclude this post with a list of my likes and dislikes.

I dislike:

  • Mullets
  • Housework
  • Spaghetti
  •  Pop music
  • Beyonce
  • Anyone related to or associated with the Kardashians
  • Plain popcorn
  • Cleaning Pheasants

I enjoy:

  • Zac Brown Band
  • Apples
  • Clean Sheets
  • How To Get Away With Murder
  • Bonfires
  • Wine
  • Zac Brown Band
  • Napping
  • Zac Brown of the Zac Brown Band12376354_10153576253995698_730177757521010589_n

On a side note – Kobe did not rape that girl, Obama sucks, don’t touch our guns and I refuse to watch Star Wars.

Emily