So what? I am a rockstar.

Bug's Uncle Tommy sent her a sassy black t-shirt in the mail, and gave us the perfect excuse to play rockstar for the day.

 Check OUT the leg warmers Bug's Grammy Lu got her for Christmas. Grammy is so much cooler than Bug's mom. I suppose it's just as well she learn that while she's young. I could no more wear leg warmers successfully than fly to the moon on a purple sparkley unicorn.


Channeling her inner Madonna



Can we talk for a minute about those chunky little knees poking out the bottom of her skirt? On second thought, let's not. Let's all just imagine what type of delicious snack she'd be if she were a dessert.

And I would be lying

If you asked me if Schmoopsie and I played Rock, Paper, Scissors in an extremely questionable-looking Mexican restaurant to determine who had to take Bug out to change her diaper in the Jeep, I'd probably say no.

If you further asked me if I lost the traditional round of best of three, and then naturally demanded a single winner-takes-all round and lost that, too, I'd also probably say no.

I'd probably admit to eating about a billion of the very authentic tacos, though, because they were DELISH. That part is not a lie.

P.S. Also, I washed my hands. Again, not a lie.

Oh what do you do on St. Paddy's day when all the world is green?

Nothing much at our house since I had to scoot off to work about the same time my Paddy got home. I did make some delicious green pancakes for dinner

which my little leprechan seemed to enjoy.

It always sort of weirds me out when colored pancakes still brown when I cook them. In this case, I somehow figured they would cook to a darker green instead for, you know, asthetic reasons.

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

Lifestyle overhaul

It all began on the girls trip to California. That's when my life changed. Well, the organizational part of my life, at least.

Here's a little something about me: I don't like clutter. For the most part, I like my house full of clean, open spaces and straight vaccuum lines. While I certainly fall short often as a busy mom, I prefer things neat and organized. Bug is even learning to help; she puts the shoes in the shoe basket, her toys in her bucket, and her books in a great white plastic drawer that sits on the floor in her bedroom for easy access.

For some reason, this cleaning philosophy has not carried over into my own bedroom.

It's not that I don't want it to look nice, it's just that when I start cleaning the house, our bedroom tends to be low priority. By the time I make it around to the bedroom, I'm out of steam or time, or often both. Clothes end up scattered on the floor and (gasp) piles of accessories and just plain garbage accumulate on the dresser.

Anyway, on the plane ride to CA back in January, I sat next to my (possibly obsessive compulsive) sister-in-law, Ashley. Her house is perfect all. the. time. She told me about her rainbow-inspired clothing arrangment, with everything neatly hung by item type and then in color order. She hangs most everything, using drawers for only the basics.

I was floored.

I teased her at the time, and then I thought about the often-disaster that is my dresser/closet. And that's when I changed my life.

Behold:



Guess I don't wear yellow, like, ever.

 Looks pretty smashing, huh? I'm thrilled with the new arrangement. I imagine this organization would get a little more complex with prints; luckily, my personal 'style' basically consists of a solid cardigan in every color. I learned things about myself-- I wear a lot of black, brown, and white, and apparently I don't like orange. It is much easier to get ready this way, too. I can see everything easily, and hopefully don't fall into the rut of simply wearing what is at the top of the drawer over and over again.

All in all, I'm pretty pleased with my new life. I considered doing the same thing to the closet where Paddy's work clothes live, but then I decided arranging all of his white, blue, and white-and-blue dress shirts would lack the pizzazz at the end that is my reward. Besides, his tie section gives me heartburn just thinking about it.

Perhaps a tie rack for Father's Day?

I think I lost a Bug.

I'm pretty sure someone accidentally took my baby and left me with this big kid, instead. Somewhere out there must be a big kid family looking for their adorable child in a green pea coat, and wondering where the chubby, bald baby crawling around their house came from. That has to be what happened, right?

Listening (softly) to her beloved Taylor Swift.

Kindly ignore the growing purple goose egg on her forehead (those cracks in the sidewalk can be a real hazard) and instead focus on the french braid she's rockin'.

It's a BIG salad. Tomatoes like volleyballs.

Bug is not a picky eater. She mostly eats whatever is put in front of her, including green beans and spinach. What we have reached is the independent stage, where she wants to feed everything to herself by herself. What we have not reached is the stage where she can do this well with a utensil. Yesterday, she put her bowl of macaroni and cheese right on the top of her head. Which she has never done before. And she had just had a bath.

Still, she has her favorites. (Do not show her the pink and white Grandma's cookies if you want her to eat anything else, ever.) If Bug had free reign of her mealtimes--and also long enough arms to reach the pantry-- this is what her diet would consist of. Pretty sure the American Academy of Pediatrics would dig this:

I should've left a spot for elecrical cords. A spot near the bottom.

Rock-a-bye Mommy

I'll admit it-- maybe the reason I can't generate a fabulous blog post today has something to do with the fact that I keep staring at those pictures of Bug from her daddy-daughter date night to see Disney On Ice (for free!) I mean, really. It's a paralyzing level of cute.

So here's the deal. I know, I know. I have the sad, stringy end of the Chia Shrek to show you. It's just that first I'd like to talk about my junior year of college.

That's when I didn't sleep. My junior year of college was awesome. I worked two jobs, and went to school full time and, oh yeah, had a semester long group project. (Why do professors DO that? Luckily, I was assigned great group of talented people, but STILL.) Plus Aggie basketball. Plus my best friend (minus the roomie, of course) regularly worked until midnight, which means that's when I wandered over to his house, quite often with dinner.

Basically, my body stopped expecting sleep or food on any sort of schedule, and just did what I told it to do. For the most part, I managed to feel great.

That summer was more of the same. I stayed up all day caring for my grandfather who had just had surgery, and stayed up all night messing around with friends. I can't believe I'm about to admit this on a space Bug might someday read, but more than once I left Utah County for Logan (oh yeah, 2 hour drive) after 10 pm and returned home the same night. Morning, I guess.

I was not the best version of myself that summer. In my defense, I was reasonably sure that the returning missionary I had been head over heels with for years was no longer in love with me, and it left me spinning. (Imagine how happily surprised I was to find myself marrying him a year later!) For our purposes, though, that's neither here nor there. The point is that I didn't sleep, and I was still a rockstar.

And the reason that I'm bringing all of this up is to point out how old this makes me feel now that I can no longer do this. My new job-- which I love!-- requires that I work until 1am 4 nights per week. Twice this week, it ended up being an hour or so later because we were just so swamped. And boy oh boy do I feel different. My body now requires food and sleep on a more regular basis. Imagine that!

All of that being said, Bug is down for her nap. And I'm headed for mine. Happy Friday!

Date Night

Out

on

the



town

with

Daddy!

Any opposed?

In church today, several members of our ward were released from or called to new callings. As is customary, we all take the opportunity to show our thanks and support by raising our hands in unison. Schmoopsie and I were also busy doling out fruit snacks and pieces of string cheese in order to keep the Bug quiet during the meeting, which, for some horrible reason, is at the end of our three hour block (read: nap time.)

After a series of these releasing and sustainings, the second counselor in the Bishopric reached the end of his script.

"Any opposed?" he asked.

On the bench next to me, a chubby little hand shot neatly into the air, tiny cheeks full of teddy grahams and face as serious as a heart attack.