moosh in indy.

10 Christmases.

2 apartments.

1 house.

6 different addresses.

10 bishops.

4 cars.

1 bed.

3 couches.

8 different jobs.

6 different schools.

5 graduations.

1 bed.

5 TV’s.

4 major surgeries.

2 hospital stays.

18 different states.

23 birthdays.

1 pregnancy.

1,000s of tries.

18 pillows.

28 curtains.

5 objects thrown in anger.

2 speeding tickets.

4 accidents.

120 lbs. gained.

100 lbs. lost.

50 lbs. gained.

12 in-laws.

5 nephews.

1 niece.

8 computers.

8 phone numbers.

1 close call.

283,824,000 seconds.

4,730,400 minutes.

3,285 days.

468 weeks.

108 months.

9 years.

phew.

Hi PR Person!

I just came across your company website, what a great font you’re using! I noticed that you represent stuff I like so I’m reaching out to you because I know you’ll appreciate my blog, moosh in indy. I’m working to improve how much stuff I have, my online visibility and get my name onto every major PR list out there and I’m contacting you to help me do it!

moosh in indy is probably the best blog on the internet and when you visit you’ll be excited to find:

• pretty pictures!
• very few swear words!
• blunt honesty!
• all sorts of information about my life!
• funny stories!
• links to all my favorite stuff!

You are also probably going to want to check out my photography blog, caseymullinsphotography.com. You can also follow me on twitter! Subscribe to my blog and check out my fan page on facebook!

Your fellow PR friends will love to read my blog! So tell everyone! I of course have no intention to do much for you in return, I’d love to send you some of my business cards! Just think how lucky you are that I told you about my blog and that I’m giving you the opportunity to read it! People love my blog! You will too!

Take care and feel free to throw my blog name around liberally and be sure to email me when you’ve got your press release on how awesome I am written up and published! Thanks!

-Casey Mullins

master of my own domain

Indianapolis, IN

318-836-1736

Remember my story about Anna? Consider her showered. (more photos here.)

I have really comfy couches, have I ever told you that?

I like to be on them in the evenings. Hanging out with Cody, maybe some popcorn.

Last night I was not on them. Instead we were standing in a little club in the hipster area of Indianapolis known as Fountain Square. I was full of bangers and mash (not so much for me thanks!) Cody was full of meatloaf (mine is better!) and Emily and Michael were full of good spirits (see, beer!) seeing as this was their first real night out since Mr. Rage hit the scene.

We were invited to be guests of the band One EskimO (who if you’ve never heard of them, do not fret! you are not the only one, but I assure you will be hearing more about them quite soon because they are lovely. Pandora puts them in with Ingrid Michaelson, Passenger, Dave Matthews and Joshua Radin. ( Also? The desire to put the lead singer in my pocket and take him home was very, very strong.)) and guess what? It was the first concert Cody and I have been to since Collective Soul back in, oh, 2001.

I quickly remembered why Cody and I are not huge concert people. We prefer our ears not ringing. That and given the fact I barely break the 60″ mark this is generally my view at concerts.

Emily and Michael on the other hand are big concert goers, and I’m going to say it has something to do with Michael’s view being more like this.

Needless to say Emily and I were happy crowd shopping. (You know, where you get bored craning your neck to see something or with the general activities around you (see, basketball) so you look around at everybody and decide what looks could or could not work for you.) There was a very lovely blonde with a fedora but Emily and I wrote that one off because neither of us are tall enough (or blonde enough) to handle a fedora.

Emily and I had been debating watches. I am a loyal Fossil watch wearer (they last forever!) and there just happens to be a Fossil/Michael Kors twinner watch that Emily has been coveting for a while.

We debated the bling factor, the expense, the teething baby…

Suddenly a watch pops up right in front of us, one that fits the exact description of the watch Emily wants. As true crowd shoppers, we asked her about the watch.

“It’s Michael Kors.”

Part of me was like “WHO NAME DROPS THEIR WATCH AT A CONCERT?” while the other part of me was all “IT’S A SIGN FROM THE WATCH GODS!”

I’m not sure what Emily’s ultimate watch choice will be, but…crowd shopping FTW! You know you do it too.

It was fun to go out with Cody, we both really liked the band, we just didn’t like the whole hot/being around other people/not on our couches/late night thing. Lame. I know.

Know what else is lame? Put a point and shoot in my hands and I have no idea how to take a proper picture.

(We did receive free admission to the concert thanks to my (unpaid) partnership with One2One network.)

Two years ago I gave myself a challenge “Learn to love this stupid state.”

I was ready to just settle for like. Or even complacent regard.

I tried to take pretty pictures of Indiana. The barns, the corn the poor excuses for sunsets.

All the while grumbling to myself. “Stupid state, grow up and get some terrain or something.”

I even started a flickr photo set titled “Around Indianapolis” and just below it says “One of my goals is to fall in love with this city through my lens.”

That photo set currently holds 449 pictures. 449 pictures taken in Indianapolis of everything from fried Pepsi to Barack Obama’s visit before the election. Pictures from the track of the Indy 500 share the same space as local WWII vets both alive and deceased.

I even wore a Colts hat and shirt (on purpose) in Nashville around a bunch of Saints fans (including Harry Connick Jr.) the night before the Superbowl.

(Indy girls represent.)

You guys?

I fell in love with Indiana.

And I never even saw it coming.

(I heart Indiana necklace from Tru.che.(For the record? At this moment there’s no I heart Utah necklaces in her shop. So there.))

Hi.

I don’t want to be writing this one. I’m kind of embarrassed and ashamed about a lot of it.

You see, even though I talk openly about depression and infertility? I always harbored this silly little stereotype in the back of my head that said “depression is real, anxiety is not.”

Yep. I figured anxiety issues were for people who just couldn’t handle their own emotions. A sort of made up problem to get people out of social and difficult situations. Much like I used a “sprained” ankle to get me out of running in high school gym.

Awesome right?

It’s been over eight months since my first anxiety attack. And guess what kids? Anxiety is a completely real thing that sucks.

Right now I’m just hoping it will go away. Or maybe that it’s not even real, that it was just something I ate. Sadly the truth is that it was something I had shot into my butt.

Three times.

Lupron.

Why the hell didn’t I google Lupron? Why did I just listen to my doctor?

Why is it that I can google chapped lips to the point where I’m almost certain my lips are destined to fall off from some third world fungus but something serious such as permanently altering my hormones I don’t even type into that little search box up there?

Whenever I google Lupron now, I find stories very similar to mine. “Lupron Brain, permanent mood disorders, loss of cognitive ability.”

It’s both a blessing and a curse that my blog comes up as one of the only real accounts of Lupron.

After a complete meltdown (read: anxiety attack) at church today I wrote nine words to Cody that encompass almost every thought I’ve had lately.

“I wish I could be me a year ago.”

He understood exactly what I meant.

I feel like over the past month I have found part of myself again. Or at least brought to light the new me that I’m going to have to navigate through life from now on.

This girl is gone I’m afraid. (Crap. How great was her hair?)

But hopefully this new girl will find her place and kick some ass while she’s here.

Tonight we let Addie stay up late. This time of year our backyard is magical. Thousands of fireflies. Thousands.

Disneyworld has nothing on our backyard.

I tried my hardest to get even one picture.

Magical right?

Uh. Here’s the thing.

Cody has 24 bug bites.

I have about 14.

To make matters worse, Cody tried to catch a firefly for Addie.

Well. He did catch a firefly for Addie.

A firefly that was being eaten by a giant spider.

Addie couldn’t run away fast enough.

At least she won’t want to stay up late to see the fireflies anymore?

I have felt so much peace since arriving at some sort of closure with my infertility.

However, visiting Utah last weekend was a punch in the gut.

Those of you who live there? You get what I’m saying. Those of you who don’t? Let’s hope you live in a football/college town so you understand my little story here.

Almost all of us like football in some way. At some point in our lives we are invested in the sport whether it’s our dads watching it every Sunday or holding season tickets year after year. We tend to pick a team and stay fiercely loyal to that team through thick and thin. Sometimes your team does really well and you don’t even have to think about how much work goes into being a team that is that good. They just are, whether it be natural talent, coaching or all the money in the world.

Other times you’re loyal to a so called “nobody” of a team but you cheer them on anyway, and sometimes? Miracles happen.

And when those miracles do happen? They are celebrated. Even if they don’t last or happen year after year, we always remember “that one good season.” And we stand behind our team, because we know what they are capable of, we knew it all along.

Other people are loyal to teams that, well, stink. They’ve always stunk and chances are the stink will continue. But they keep coming back.

Other times our team gets so close to victory and blows it, for whatever reason. What you’re left with is a long road back to a championship. It may happen next year, it may happen in 20 years or there’s the reality that it may never happen. But that sting of the last loss stays with us, especially when we’re reminded of it with an innocuous t shirt.

(Sorry Indy. I know it still hurts.)

My uterus had its chance at a Superbowl victory (pregnancy) last year after a surgery and hormone treatments. I was hopeful. But it’s been a year (added to the four failed years before) and sadly my uterus is back on the injured list (endo and PCOS have returned in full force.)

It won’t be playing in any championship games anytime soon, I’ve known this for awhile and it’s okay.

Going to Utah for me is like a Colts fan seeing a 2010 Saints Superbowl victory shirt. Only instead of a t-shirt there’s pregnant bellies. Just as a Saints fan has every right to wear a shirt they are proud of, a pregnant women have every right to flaunt their bumps. Neither of them are doing it to intentionally hurt those Colts fans out there who can still feel the disappointment of their loss. And no Colts fan should ever take it personally.

But it still hurts a little to be reminded.

(I know a lot of you have miraculous stories of pregnancy. I know for myself I am not one of those miraculous stories. I am the rule, and I am okay with that. I’m really okay. Just trying to put words to my feelings, maybe help explain it a little better.)