genetically sandy shore.

There’s this song that the little kids sing in church about the wise man building his house on a rock and the foolish man building his house on the sand. When the rains came down and the floods came up the house on the rock stood still while the house on the sand washed away.

My self esteem is established on sand for at least a dozen different reasons. It doesn’t take much to knock it over or even rattle it for that matter. I don’t talk about it much (if at all) because it’s a stupid thing to concern myself with and whenever I do talk about it I get the clucks of friends telling me how crazy I am for seeing myself as anything less than beautiful.

My sister was in town the last few days. I love her. Wouldn’t trade her for anything.

But how we share the exact same DNA and yet I ended up 40 pounds heavier and at least 10 inches wider than her is beyond me. She of course tells me that it doesn’t matter, I’m healthy, I’m smart…blaaaah.

If I were to envision someone I know as Mother Earth, it would be my sister.

But my sister has never seen her bellybutton poke through a shirt, had a roll come up over her jeans or been brought to tears because of the way she looks in a picture. She has never had to buy bigger jeans or had Wii Fit call her obese. I can still remember the day she came home from the doctor when I was 12. She was turning around in the mirror asking “The doctor said I only weigh 98 pounds, do you think I look too thin?”

I weighed a lot more than 98 pounds two years younger than her. And yet I was not even close to overweight.

My mom is the same way. Naturally tiny and thin with curves where it mattered.

These were the girls I grew up with, the ones I compared myself to daily.

And I always came up bigger.

This is my sandy shore.

It never mattered that I wore the smallest skirt in my cheerleading squad.

It still doesn’t matter that Cody confuses my clothes for Addie’s clothes.

I have always been “the big one” in my immediate family, not to mention the awkward one.

I never learned about true beauty being on the inside during my youth, I was too busy finding attention from all the wrong people with the supple superficial beauty on on my outside that I was far too willing to give away to anyone who would notice me.

I’m not sure how to go about getting a rock as my foundation. Or even more, building Addie on a rock so she never has to hate what she sees in the mirror.

But I’m trying. Hard.

turtle time.

Look! Addie drew me a picture for my birthday…it’s her!

“MOM! I’m sixteen and I have a baby! HAPPY BIRTHDAY!”

Then there were the turtles.

there's a very distinct shell clicking sound when turtles do it. you know, in case you were curious.

Allow me to subtitle the scene for you. “Click. Click. Click. Click.”

Only it was more well. turtle-ish.


She clarified later that she was “just babysitting.”

But the turtles still never explained themselves.

It was a good week.

(turtle photo from my lovely Sarah, who hopefully recovered from, you know, that…up there.)

my golden birthday.

it's my birthday. 4.28


a sort of birthday palindrome.

today I turn 28.

28 on the 28th.

my golden birthday.

For the third year, I will ask you for a comment cake full of the best things that have happened to you over the last month.

Naps, jobs, babies, friends, sunshine.


I look forward to it every year.

The only difference is this year it will be gluten free.

28 is going to be good.

I can tell.

straight up frigidaire review. word.

I wrote a review on my Frigidaire Professional Series Range and Microwave.

A review as if we were sitting at lunch and you asked me in all honesty if I liked my appliances.

I wrote it how I’d answer you.

And then I compared my microwave to a shouty NYC cab driver.

I love them. I really do.

Click through to read the review.

my last 24 hours.

“No, there is no ghost in the woods with a bloody chainsaw that cuts people in half.”

“No, that’s not a ghost, it’s just geese fighting on the roof.”

“Please don’t milk your (stuffed) puppy, it won’t work the way you think it will.”

“Take off on your bike again without asking and I’ll cut off your feet.”

“I’m pretty sure the magicians coat was not made out of colored bunnies.”


I find myself saying weirder things in perfectly normal situations everyday.

send help.

dance class.

Let me set the scene.

A ballroom dance club in what we always thought was the shady side of town.

Dimly lit, white Christmas lights outlining the dance floor.

An average guy with fancy shoes comes over and attempts to teach Cody how to lead me, raise the bridge and check his watch. The same guy teaches me to walk around a puddle in six steps and keep my feet on a hundred dollar bill.

People file in.

We are welcomed with applause and introduced as the new kids.

The dancing starts.

Tiny old couples, stooped and wrinkled, foxtrot around the floor.

Schoolteachers dressed in heels and rhinestones turn into tango dancing minxes.

Cody and I are instructed to stay in the middle of the floor “where it’s safe for the new dancers.”

At the start of every song Cody squares me up to the wooden laminate on the floor, finds someone to watch and begins, quick quick slow, no. wait. Slow, quick quick. Crap. Something’s wrong. Okay. One, two, three…four? No. Shoot. OUCH. Sorry. *ahem* Okay. One. Two. Quick quick. NO! Don’t talk! We have it! Oh crap. Sorry.

For almost three hours we giggle and fall all over each other, the new kids stumbling in the middle of the floor while others literally dance circles around us.

We left with sore feet and still no clue what we are doing.

We spent the night happy and tangled up with each other.

I love him.

i find the glow of Christmas lights horribly romantic

I really, really do.


Addie will be in the graduating class of 2023.

It said so on her Kindergarten registration packet.

I was expecting oh, you know, Kindergarten starts at 7:30 (!!). No open toe shoes. Bring some crayons.


Too much.

2023 isn’t that far away. I graduated in 2000.

Between today and 2023 I will see her ride without training wheels. Hear her first swear word and “I HATE YOU MOM!” Watch her leave on her first date. See her come home with her first broken heart. Pick out a prom dress. Puberty. Drivers license picture. Bras. Zits. Mean girls. Tryouts. Recitals. Deaths. Births. Trips. Tears. Smiles. Graduations. College. Moving out.

I’ve always known this stuff was going to happen. But I’ve never thought about a date.


The good news? We had her first parent teacher conference today. The one I was panicking about.

My kid is a rock star. A super star. Wicked smart, kind, adaptable, emotionally stable and smaaaaaart.

Five years down. We haven’t screwed up yet!

But there’s still plenty of time between now and 2023 (for screwing up, there will never be enough for growing up.)

i am a mormon. on purpose. and i like it.


I need to say something and I hope you’ll listen with an open heart and open mind.

I belong to the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, LDS or Mormon for short.

I believe in Christ. In God. In Jesus Christ.

I know He is my Savior and He died for my sins.

I would never ask you to look to me as a perfect example of an LDS woman. Nor would I say I’m a perfect Christian.

But oh how I try. Oh how I want so badly to make my Heavenly Father proud.

I say prayers with my family every night, I say prayers with my husband every night and I say my own prayers every night and in my heart constantly. I pray for my friends. I pray for my family. I pray for my little kid. I pray that I won’t screw up. I pray that I’ll be safe. I pray that I will be able to help even one person that comes into my life.

Talking about God makes a lot of people uncomfortable. It makes me uncomfortable.

I didn’t grow up talking about God, let alone talking to God. When people brought religion up around me I always looked for a way out. Even now I assume that this is how other people feel about religion.

So I stay quiet unless someone asks me.

It doesn’t seem very fair to God. He’s given me all these blessings and I keep quiet.

I am happy.

I am so, so happy.

And it’s because I have my church and its teachings in my life.

I’ve known since the moment I hit my knees to pray for the very first time that there is a God.

And I could never, ever deny that He knows me and loves me.

Thanks for listening.

As you were.