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By Rachel, on January 14th, 2011
Have you missed me? I haven’t blogged for a whole week. Trust me, I thought about this blog and writing and all that jazz, but I just couldn’t bring myself to write anything. Why? Well, any post I’d currently write would just sound like one big long whhhiiiiinnneeee.
For instance, as I mentioned before one of our cars broke down on Christmas Eve. Turns out it was the transmission which is like, the worst news ever because even if you don’t know anything about cars (such as myself), you know that a transmission will cost you an arm and a leg or perhaps your firstborn. Fortunately they let us keep our limbs and our child, but they demanded $2,200 instead. And, uh, we do not have $2,200 to shell out, not even close. So there’s that. And it took them 3 weeks to fix the car, only for us to drive it home and hear a strange clinking sound as we drove, so today the husband had to trek back downtown 30 minutes away to have it looked at again. I have not heard the verdict on the car because we are attempting to watch our pennies (see above: $2,200 transmission) and the husband is already over on his minutes for the month and almost at his text limit, so we go most of the day without any communication save for the occasional email. It’s quite odd.
Had enough whining? No? Good, I have more! So, the husband started school again recently, his last full semester (wahoo!) and it is a killer. The man is stressed out of his mind. He has school every morning, Monday through Friday. I work, every morning, Monday through Friday. This poses a problem since we have a darling dependent. In the past we have employed kind and generous neighbors with children of the same age to watch her one or two days a week, but I can’t in good conscience impose on anyone 5 days a week. I cannot tell you how much I LOATHE begging people to watch our child, I feel so guilty. We have tried to recruit two (2) paid babysitters to help us out, and both have fallen through. I am at a loss. I have looked into daycares, but hesitate due to two factors: 1) We have no money (see above: $2,200 transmission and start of new college semester); and 2) our once-independent child has hit an exceedingly clingy stage, and it pains me to drop her off in a sea of children while she is crying. Still not quite sure what to do about the whole childcare thing. Ideas?
And can I just say January sucks big time? Fer reals, I cannot wait for this blah month to end. We all have cabin fever and are desperately longing for the warm summer days. We’ve all been sick thanks to the glorious cold and flu season that dominates this time of year and we’ve all turned into cranky-pants because we’re cooped up in a snow-covered house. Boo.
All this complaining is exhausting, I’d better wrap this up. If anyone is still reading this obnoxious and pathetic little post, my sincere apologies for the negativity. The good news is that when you’re at the bottom, things can only go up, right?
Oh hey, I do have a tiny tidbit of good news that is keeping me going. Those few extra pounds I gained over Christmas are gone, hooray! I feel much better now that I’m not double-fisting Christmas cookies and fudge (even though it was soooo tasty…). I’ve also found some great workouts to do at home and my muscles are good and sore (but not too sore), a feeling I actually rather enjoy because it means I did something. Hopefully I can keep this up and be all toned up when summer rolls around 
Have a good weekend everyone, next time I hope to write a post full of butterflies and sunshine and rainbows!
By Rachel, on January 7th, 2011
Last night I gleefully thought to myself, “tomorrow is Friday and the week hasn’t even felt long! Wheee!!” and life looked rather rosy.
This morning my alarm went off at 6:00 like it always does, and as I inexplicably seem to do lately I hit the snooze button 5 times and finally dragged my sleepy bones out of bed at 7:00. I reveled in the fact that the 8:30 AM sales meeting that has been held EVERY MORNING for the last four months is now only held on Tuesdays and Thursdays and that I didn’t have to worry about rushing to work. I took my sweet time getting ready (relatively speaking, anyway) and left my warm home at 8:15 am to be greeted by the cold, hazy air outside and happy that it was the last day of the week and I had no morning meeting. Hooray!
I got on the freeway as I always do, anticipating the 25-30 min drive to Workplace and BAM!!! Holy mother of all traffic jams! Still feeling somewhat optimistic and rosy because, hello, it’s Friday, I figured there was just a fender-bender up ahead and once I got past that things would be smooth sailing.
 source
Then I realized there was no accident. There were orange barrels shutting down lanes for as far as the eye could see- during rush hour traffic.
And then I sat. in. one. place. on. the. freeway. FOREVER! With no escape! We weren’t even creeping along, just idling in one place! “Well!” thought I, “so much for keeping our driving to a minimum to help the condition of the awful haze in the valley. What the heck, UDOT? Why close lanes now? WHY DO YOU HATE MOTHER EARTH, UDOT???”
I did find some entertainment for a short time from the woman in the car behind me who was talking on her cell phone and gesturing vigorously with her hands. Was it a fight with her spouse? An important business call? A phone audition for a soap opera? I will never know. But then an old guy cut in front of her and proceeded to pick his nose, which less entertaining and much more disgusting so I was back at square one.
After an entire hour I had managed to go the distance that it normally takes about 4 minutes to cover and I came upon two things: 1. The orange barrels were now narrowing the highway down to one (1), yes one, lane of traffic (have I mentioned it was rush hour? What were they thinking?) and 2. There was a freeway exit. Two roads diverged in a cold and gray haze, and I took the one that resembled freedom. I high-tailed it off that exit thinking I would finally make some progress.
Wouldn’t you know it, that cold, cruel mistress known as the morning commute was not done with me. I spent the next hour fighting my way through the congested surface streets fraught with accidents and long lights and all manner of mayhem. I finally rolled into work 2 hours after leaving home.
Friday had officially lost its glow.
But on the bright side, grandma offered to watch the little one for a few hours which means a HOT DATE with my man! We will be having enchiladas at home and then going to a dollar movie.
I know what you’re thinking-
Those people totally know how to party.
Maybe this Friday has a chance after all.
By Rachel, on January 5th, 2011
I have never lived by the beach (which is a sad, sad thing) but I’ve always felt as though that is where I belonged.
And then I went here, and thought that this is surely where I belong:
 (Picture not taken by me...obviously)
But I don’t live near either of these places. I live at the foot of the mountains. And this last year, I’ve come to discover that I love my mountains just as much as I love the big city and even the beach. However, my love for the mountains was grown in the summer when we could do all manner of outdoorsy adventures such as biking, hiking, and roasting marshmallows. Then the snow came down and all our mountainous fun was ruined. And yes, skiing and snowboarding are always popular winter sports and I live among the best snow on earth, but that sort of activity takes $$$$. (And it secretly has always kinda scared me, even after taking lessons.)
A couple of days ago we went up into the high Uintas with my family to stay at a cabin and go snowmobiling.
 And you know what I discovered? I love the mountains in the winter too. (As long as I’m wearing 40 layers of clothing)
 I was overwhelmed by the sense of solitude and peace…and the beauty!
I also discovered that a bundled up two year old in winter clothes is adorable:
You see this picture right here? You see that look in her eye? PURE MISCHIEF:
Now if only some billionaire wanted to give me a cottage on the beach, an apartment in NYC, and a cabin in the mountains, my split personality could finally be at peace.
By Rachel, on December 30th, 2010
How was everyone’s Christmas? Good, yes? Ours was nice.
As usual, we pretty much ate our way through the holiday (new year resolutions, here I come!) and enjoyed time with the fam. We visited, we cooked, became enraged over cooking disasters (me), we talked, we opened presents, the car died on Christmas Eve and had to be left on the side of the road. You know, that old song and dance.
And oh, the driving, driving, and more driving!
The holiday was nice, but e.x.h.a.u.s.t.i.n.g. Each night over the weekend I think I fell face first into bed and had dreams of future Christmases on an isolated tropical island.
I always enjoy the time with family though, and we all got spoiled by Santa. The little one sure had fun this year opening presents! Having her get to an age where she can appreciate it has brought a whole new dimension to Christmas.
PICTURES!
Mmmmm….whipped cream…
I’ll look at the dude, but don’t you dare make me sit on his lap…
 Oh hey, I really didn’t take many pictures over Christmas- nor did I really get any good ones. Too hectic.
Anyway, hope you and yours and a great holiday!
By Rachel, on December 21st, 2010
Well, the good news is we finally got the Christmas tree up:
 The bad news is the 2 year old just can’t resist the ornaments, hence the velvet rope. It just makes the tree seem so off-limits, don’t you think? *Sigh*
Ok, FINE, that’s not our tree. I took this picture at the Joseph Smith Memorial Building in Salt Lake last week when we went to eat until we couldn’t breathe dine at The Roof for my birthday.
Our tree is a lot smaller. And older. And kinda musty smelling since it was a hand-me-down artificial tree from Grandpa. And it’s kinda leaning a little, no matter how many magazines I shove under the stand. OH, and all of the ornaments on the bottom third of the tree are in odd groupings displaying giant gaps in the “foliage”, thanks to the aforementioned 2 year old. I don’t think velvet ropes would help, even if we did have them. That tree (or the kid?) needs to be in a cage. But despite the fact that our tree isn’t exactly magazine-worthy and is constantly under attack from flying stuffed animals, I figured it was the best way to bring the Christmas spirit into our home and therefore worth it.
After our dinner at The Roof we wandered around Temple Square to take in the lights, one of my favorite holiday/birthday traditions.
 To me, it’s always one of the best ways to get into the Christmas spirit.
Tonight I plan to wrap some gifts, drink some hot chocolate, eat some cookies, alternately admire and give the stink-eye to the piles of fresh snow outside, and pretend we have a fireplace with a toasty fire burning away.
Despite the associated stress, when it comes right down to it I love Christmas.
By Rachel, on December 17th, 2010
Back when my little girl was still a twinkle in my eye and a squirming fetus in my belly, my kind friends and family members showered me with gifts. They were most generous and gifted me (us?) with all manner of soaps and lotions and washcloths and soft blankets. Most of all, they gifted us with clothes. Darling little polka-dot leggings with teeny-tiny matching tunics and cozy pajamas and pants with ruffles on the rear and all sorts of things that made the other ladies ooh and ahh and squeal with delight. This young fetus was going to be a well dressed one, indeed.
I loved the new wardrobe for my soon-to-appear little darling, but while I appreciated that she would be a little fashonista, a part of me wanted to holler, “But what am I going to DO with her?”. I mean, it’s nice to sit around the house looking adorable, but at some point she would need some degree of entertainment, no?
I was hungry for children’s books, and the books that were given to me by friends and family became some of my most favorite gifts in history. There are so many books for little ones out there with varying quality in both story and appearance. Over the last couple of years, my daughter has received some wonderful books, both in story and illustration that she and I can both enjoy. (Because, let’s face it, if you’re the one reading the story, shouldn’t you find it enjoyable as well?)
Since I’m always on the hunt for good books for little kids, I figured you might be too and will be periodically listing some of my favorites.
To kick-off this series I wanted to share one of the most stunning books in our collection:
Mary Engelbreit’s Mother Goose: One Hundred Best-Loved Verses by Mary Engelbreit
It has been my belief that all children should know at least some of the classic nursery rhymes of old. Little children love the melody and rhyming of the silly words. Even though many of the nursery rhymes seem like nonsense, children are able to pick up valuable reading, writing and listening skills as they hear similar sounds and patterns presented in nursery rhymes that wouldn’t normally be presented in regular speech.
This book is one of my favorites because not only does it have 100 nursery rhymes (did you know there were so many? I didn’t!), it has the most beautiful illustrations from the talented Mary Engelbreit. Seriously, look at these drawings! Amazing.
Claire loves reading this book. Ever since she could talk she would look up at me with big eyes and implore, “Mudder Goose?”. The short, rhyming verses and beautiful illustrations of animals and children are perfect.
If you’re looking for a classic book that can be loved through the years, this would make an excellent gift for your children, nieces, nephews, grandkids, students…whomever! Hopefully you enjoy it as much as we have.
**Not a paid advertisement- Madeline Engelbreit has never heard of me in her life. I just really like this book!
By Rachel, on December 15th, 2010
It became apparent to me on Monday, after a quiet dinner of sushi with the husband in celebration of my birthday, that I may be losing it. I’m not certain what “it” is, but I think it is slipping away from me. You see, I used to be so on top of things. I could proudly and with certainty put on a resume that I was a multitasker, because good golly was I ever! Always aware! Always planning my next move! Always on the ball! (more or less…I mean, I’m not perfect, but you know…)
But now,oh, now it is a sad state of affairs. My internal mental checklist seems to have disintegrated right before my eyes and is gone- GONE! FOREVER! I can’t remember anything. Conversations, apparently many of them rather in-depth wherein I had all sorts of involvement….how to spell certain words….tasks that need accomplishing…Sigh.
So anyway, back to Monday and my post-sushi dinner adventure. The husband and I met at the restaurant since we were both coming from our respective workplaces and heavens, life is complicated, isn’t it? The exterior of the restaurant was floor to ceiling glass windows, so you could see right into the restaurant. My car was parked directly in front of the windows, so when I got in the car by myself to leave, I only turned on my, um…not the headlights, just the level of lights before your headlights actually click on? You know, the orange ones to the sides of the headlights? (SEE??!! LOSING IT!!) Anyway, I didn’t turn on my headlights all the way in an effort to be considerate and not blind all the nice people in the restaurant and was going to turn them on as soon as I exited the parking lot.
Here is a map of my drive:
 Allow me to decipher:
You’ll see where it says “Start” on the left. I turned right out of the parking lot and took another right, heading north. Up at item #1 there was a slight back-up of cars at the train crossing because of a train that NEVER CAME. Flashing lights and guard rails down and the whole bit for such a long time, but no train. So I flipped a U-turn and headed back in the other direction. At item #2 you’ll notice yet another traffic jam due to some ridiculous construction, so being the smarty I am I turned down a side street and wound my way through a neighborhood to avoid the mess.
At this point, as I was cruising through the neighborhood streets, I remembered thinking to myself “Goodness! This is a dark neighborhood! They have street lights…they must not be as bright as other neighborhood street lights?” and I continued to squint my way through the side streets and back onto the main road. Once there I had to navigate a few more construction barrels and thought to myself again “Man, even this street is dimmer than normal. I know my night vision is bad, but it really must be getting worse!”
At one point I saw a car behind me flash their brights, causing me to panic thinking a cop was nearby.
Finally, at point #3 on the map above, after many turns and crossing more than a couple of miles and nearly at my destination, I realized I had never turned my headlights on to begin with. I mean, can you imagine? The foolishness!
I read recently that stress can cause memory loss (it’s amazing I can even remember that). That has to be the explanation. Either that or… or what? I hesitate to ponder any other reasons, for they are all a bit frightening.
Maybe I could also tell you about failing to do up the zipper on my pants all day at work and other such nonsense, but I think the point has been proven, don’t you?
These are the days of my life, people. It is quite pathetic. Take pity on me.
By Rachel, on December 13th, 2010
Today I turn 27 years old.
I know, I know, it is so totally not old. But really, “late 20′s”? It doesn’t really have a nice ring to it. Last week I was walking into the Old Navy I worked at in high school and explained to my little girl, “this is where mama used to work…ten…years…ago…??!!?!” How has an entire decade passed???
Birthdays are funny things, aren’t they? We make this big hoopla about the day we were born and attach all sorts of meaning and expectations to it. As adults we know it is just another day and that the whole world won’t (and shouldn’t) stop just because it is our birthday, but that doesn’t stop us from subconsciously being aware of all the injustices the world heaps upon us on this ever-so-special day of celebration and joy all about MEEEEEE!!
For example, this is pretty much how my thought process has gone so far today, despite my attempts to squash my inner narcissist:
5:40 AM- (Alarm goes off) I can’t believe I have to get up so freaking early on my birthday!
6:20 AM- (Alarm goes off for the fourth time) I still can’t believe I have to get up in the freezing cold on my birthday!
7:40 AM- I can’t believe I am eating boring toast for breakfast on my birthday!
7:50 AM- I can’t believe I have to scrape the most stubborn frost in the world off my windshield on my birthday!
8:25 AM- I can’t believe I have to work on my birthday!
12:45 PM- I can’t believe I’m eating this sad little piece of reheated lasagna leftovers for lunch on my birthday! I should be treating myself to steak and lobster for lunch, shouldn’t I? Wait, scratch that, someone else should be treating me to steak and lobster!
Etc., etc., etc.
The world is so cruel, isn’t it?
But right now, here I sit, eating a delicious homemade peanut butter cookie and drinking hot chocolate and not feeling even the teensiest bit guilty about it (despite the excessive numbers of desserts I have consumed lately) because after all… it is my birthday.
By Rachel, on December 10th, 2010
I have spent the last couple of hours agonizing over publishing a comment to someone’s blog that may be viewed as somewhat controversial. I still haven’t submitted it. I’m afraid of offending the blogger and receiving negative backlash. Isn’t that rather wimpy of me? I think so.
My entire life I’ve been afraid to “rock the boat”. Some words that could be used to describe me would be non-confrontational, a peacemaker, an accomodator, easy-going, quiet, respectful, nice. I don’t think this is a bad thing, necessarily, because imagine if we were all aggressive loud-mouths determined to prove a point? We’d all have to walk around with our fingers in our ears to keep from going deaf! But at some point keeping my opinions to myself too much can be a bad thing. Eventually, I become a doormat who is afraid to say what I want or stick up for my ideas.
Let me state at least that I have never compromised my personal standards as a result of being afraid to speak up for myself. I would never let someone else talk me into something that I feel is wrong. In the past I have always politely and quietly declined, and then removed myself from the situation if possible. However, I have never really explained why I felt something was wrong or really expressed that I felt someone else was doing wrong. Generally speaking I am trying to be respectful of another person’s opinion or way of life. But really, at some point we as people need to say something, don’t you think? I mean, what if nobody had voiced their opinion that slavery was wrong? Or that not giving women the right to vote was wrong? Of course the opponents received loads of backlash, but they believed in it so strongly that they were ok with it. That’s pretty heroic, if you ask me.
I think deep down I’m afraid of having people not like me, even though on a conscious level I’m perfectly aware that people aren’t always going to like me and I’m ok with it. I need to be less afraid of offending someone. I need to be confident that I have opinions worthy of being said.
There’s a German proverb that says “One does evil enough when one does nothing good.” Simply staying out of things is not necessarily doing good.
As for the blogger I disagree with, she has been posting quite a bit about feminism, especially in terms of our shared religion. While I think she has a couple of valid points, I just can’t get on board with the rest. I’ve come across a lot of articles and blog posts lately on this topic, most of them written by staunch (and somewhat belligerent) feminists. I’ve found myself to be increasingly agitated, and I consider myself a feminist. However, my stance is that men and women should always be treated with equal love and respect regardless of gender, and I feel that many of the authors of recent articles are taking the stance that women should be treated better than men, which seems counter-productive. I’ve found that many of these feminists are trying to find reasons to take offense and cry injustice when there isn’t any injustice at all. To them, equality means everything has to be exactly the same. To me, I think things should be esteemed of the same value, if not exactly the same in nature. It bothers me to see writers ragging on the leaders of my religion, claiming that they don’t really care about women and that they do a disservice to women. Deep in my heart I know this is not true, and I have a hard time with others claiming to be among the faithful publishing posts that may be well thought-out and well-written, but that quite frankly I feel are wrong.
So, now is my big moment. Do I turn a personal corner and express my feelings, risking hurting the feelings of another? Do I keep it to myself and allow ideas that I feel are incorrect gain more momentum? Am I willing to take the heat of those who disagree with me? ….
….*posting comment*….
By Rachel, on December 8th, 2010
The other night I got a text from my sister that read: Hey, we miss Gertie and want to go see her…
This is Gertie:
She was my English bulldog. I say was because she no longer is my dog. Obviously. A year and a half ago we sold dear Gertie to another owner who had a built-in English bulldog buddy named Jada who would become Gertie’s BFF.
She was a cute little doggie, wasn’t she? I mean really, how could you resist a puppy face like that? You can’t, plain and simple. Go ahead and try, I dare you:
 Asleep, standing up on the back seat in the car.
In our younger, child-free and reckless days we were possessed with the idea to purchase a puppy. Growing up my family had a German shepherd who was The Best Dog Ever, and over whom my 20-year old self shed bitter, heart-broken tears when she died. Ever since I had wanted a German shepherd of my very own. However, when the husband and I began our puppy-quest a German shepherd was out of the question seeing as we lived in a townhouse with a tiny yard with no room for running. Also out of the question though was a small, quivering dog of the yappy variety, simply because I hate them. A lazy English bulldog seemed like the perfect fit. Plus, they were just too adorable with all those wrinkles and the waddling and what-not.
Finding a bulldog in our area was exceedingly difficult, as it seems 80% of dogs in the state are black labs or yellow labs. After doing loads of research we ended up purchasing a bulldog online and bringing her home with us after our trip to NYC (the plane ride home is a horrific post in itself, which will probably never be posted because I can’t bring myself to revisit that dark place in my mind. Five words for you: dog diarrhea…ON A PLANE. I can’t believe we weren’t placed on the No Fly list after that.)
Gertie was a lover from the get-go and loved nothing more than soaking up attention, eating, and snoring. She was a sweet dog who assumed everyone was her best friend and was obsessed with kids. She often provided plenty of entertainment for us.
Dead asleep…and snoring, of course.
 How she usually looked while sleeping (and snoring, as always)
However, in my efforts to be a good dog owner and train her to be a proper if smelly dog, I discovered something: unlike German shepherds who have all manner of smarts about them, this dog had a rock for a brain. No, let me specify- a STUBBORN rock where her brain should be. I suppose she could learn, as was demonstrated whenever I displayed a treat as incentive. She just simply refused to comply any other time. English bulldogs are known for their stubbornness, and hoo-boy, Gertie was stubborn. It was a never-ending battle of wills.
 Me? Stubborn? As you can see, I’m a perfect angel…
Most the time I could handle this and chalk it up to a bulldog quirk. However, I could not overlook her refusal to not use the house as her personal patch of grass. She would sit by the back door to be let out when nature called and I would happily let her out to do her business. However, if I wasn’t around to witness this, rather than bark to notify me or heaven-forbid, hold it, she would sniff out a prime piece of carpet and leave a gift for me there. What was even more aggravating is that if I put her outside to do her business and didn’t let her back in right away, she would bark her head off to come back inside but for some reason could not figure out how to bark to go outside. I’ll admit I’m no dog-whisperer, but my best attempts could not train this dog to bark to go outside (or shut up once she was out there).
One day when I was almost 8 months pregnant I came down the stairs to leave for work. When I had gone upstairs earlier to get ready Gertie was dead asleep, as usual, so I had nothing to worry about. When I came downstairs…oh anger and despair and weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth!! Gertie had evidently felt the need to use the loo, probably sat by the back door for 30 seconds silently, then gave up and deposited her sick stomach/intestinal contents on the carpet, not two inches from the easy-to-clean kitchen floor. However, in what I can only assume was a moment of sheer panic (or utter glee, you be the judge), Gertie decided to step (with all 4 paws, mind you) in the reeking mess and RUN willy-nilly about the living room, leaving a trail behind her.
By some miracle she narrowly missed being driven to the pound right then and there (keep in mind, these sorts of “gifts” were not uncommon. Normally she had the sense to not parade through the mess, but either way my patience with the situation was exhausted.) My combination of a gallon of carpet cleaner and tears could not remove the stains, so I had to call in a professional cleaning service. The dog-lover in me was forever changed that day. Maybe it was the pregnancy hormones, maybe it was the carnage that was my living room, but a little part of my heart turned cold.
Once the baby was born, life became complicated and Gertie became an afterthought. She was still a lover and wanted to love the new baby to pieces. However, in her attempt to demonstrate her affection for the new family member she would basically try to wiggle her 55 pound body onto the 6 pound baby. Since most of the day was spent caring for baby and not for doggie, and because I couldn’t trust her worth a darn, she would have to be gated into the kitchen where there was no carpet to destroy. Gertie was sad and stressed, which made me sad and stressed, and over time it became evident that maybe a new home would be the best solution for her.
In the end, it was the best thing we could do. She went to a single lady who owned another bulldog and had plenty of love to give. I imagine the two dogs joyously lumbering through fields together, or at least snoring in harmony.
The new owner did say we could visit any time, but we haven’t taken her up on the offer. We don’t want to seem stalkerish or anything, you know? But maybe it wouldn’t hurt to pop by for a little visit (with my entire family in tow…). Would that be weird? I do miss the old gal. What if she doesn’t remember me? (As if she would, she couldn’t seem to remember where to poop and she did that about a hundred times a day.) Either way, I know the husband and I will never forget Gertie. How could you forget a face like that?
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