A Toast to Extraordinary Simplicity

New Year’s Eve is always an interesting holiday for me. There’s the excitement for a brand new year. Then there’s the nostalgia of looking back on everything in the past one. There’s usually a little sadness involved, what with Christmas being over and the anticipation dying down. And don’t forget the electricity in the air when everyone begins to feel like reinventing themselves.

I’m usually a pretty big supporter of ringing in the New Year in overly fabulous ways. But not this year.

My New Years’ plans started out in the vein of throwing a huge cocktail party with a close friend, Danae. But when Christmas travel plans prevented us from planning early and then Danae and her husband both got sick, we decided to nix the endeavor two days before. So now I wasn’t sure what I was going to do. Bill had to work until 11:30 p.m., which meant he would just make it for a midnight kiss on our first married turn-of-the-year. I had been invited downtown, but that makes it especially difficult for him to drive from work, park, and get passed the line, in the bar, through the crowds, and next to me in the 30 precious minutes after he clocked out. We tried that two years ago, and it wasn’t the best experience for either of us.

So I had a few options. I could go downtown with a large group of some of the most fun people I know, but risk missing Bill at midnight. Plus, no matter how hard I tried, I would probably end up hungover on New Years’ Day. (No thanks.) The other option at this point would be to stay home with the dog, in my cozies, watching movies, and drinking champagne. Alone. I found myself excruciatingly torn, and I couldn’t figure out why. I didn’t want to be alone,  but I also didn’t want to fight a sea of drunk people all night long. I didn’t want a dead house, but I could not wrap my head around deafening bass thumping and party screaming either. I felt like my former party girl self was at war with my new wife persona, and I didn’t like it. I don’t want to be lame. I really don’t. So I didn’t say anything, and I wrestled with my decision and spent the last few days of 2013 stressing about it.

But then I realized that one of the things that I wished I could change about 2013 was how anxious I felt, the composed show I put on, and the feelings I hid. I spent a lot of time struggling internally with how others would view me and what they would think, and the shoulds and the coulds and the have-tos took over. It made for some unnecessary unhappiness, and I didn’t want to do that again. 2014 is going to be different.

So I put on my big girls pants, and I owned up to my true feelings in a text to Danae.

“So I’m feeling really weird about tonight… I’m almost feeling like this year was so crazy that I want something more mellow and less crowded with college students than downtown.”

I held my breath. I had officially entered the zone of marriage decreptitude I had been violently denying and fighting tooth and nail since July. I’m only 26. That’s too young to die on the inside, right? But to my surprise, Danae’s response echoed mine.

“Oh I totally feel the same way! I’ve been going non-stop and then this cold kinda killed it for me. Honestly, I’m happy watching a movie and drinking champagne. I know I’m a party pooper, but I really don’t want to go out.”

If she’s a party pooper then I’m a party pooper, because that sounds like exactly what I had been hoping for over the last few days. I just wasn’t brave enough to say it out loud… until now. And guess what? I said it, and I felt SO MUCH BETTER. We explicitly decided to spend this New Years’ Eve in a way that would set the tone for the year to come, and the result was beyond spectacular. A simple night celebrating good friends manifested in Danae and I in sequined dresses and drinking peach champagne… while watching comedies and putting together a good old-fashioned puzzle in the company of her husband, her siblings, and – at the end of the night – Bill.

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Not only were the activities of the night a perfect mix of simple and glam, but the company was just as fantastic. Danae was such a wonderful addition to my life last year as our wedding stylist/coordinator with her company Danae Grace Events, but more importantly as a friend once the nuptial craziness died down. As you can see, she has an uncanny ability to make simple things beautiful, without second thought. I am constantly inspired around her.

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Simple does not have to mean ordinary!

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A snapshot of the season. (I often say my favorite food is champagne, but even more so when it’s enjoyed from gold-rimmed flutes in front of a Christmas tree.)

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The husband and I just after midnight, looking forward to what’s to come!

So in the end, we wore our sequins, drank our champagne, and shared a glamorous night in. Our night was quiet. It was cozy. It was comforting. Oh, and it was marvelous, of course.

Just like I hope the next year is – in every way, shape, and form.

There’s Something About Inner Peace

Bill said something about a week ago that really stuck with me.

We were in the car about 6 hours into a 7-hour drive, heading home to my family’s house for the holidays. He was driving, and we were tired. We were both in our go-to traveling clothes – his idea of comfort being unshaven and wearing warm-ups and a sweatshirt and no shoes, mine a faded plaid flannel shirt and stretchy skinny jeans and boots. My initially straight-up posture had evolved into the slouched posture of a slob with my butt almost off the seat and one knee up on the door. The dog had been climbing all over us in the cramped space, and we were covered with her obnoxious and persistent black fur. The sun was just about to go down to the left, and for some reason Bill kept looking over at me from the driver’s seat.

“What?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why do you keep looking at me like that?”

“You… you just look like a wife.”

Huh? “What does that mean?”

He thought about it a second. “It means you look happy, and like yourself, and like you’re not out trying to chase boys or impress anyone. You look beautiful.”

I looked down through my aviators at the made-for-comfort-not-for-impressing-boys outfit I was sporting, surprised. First that he thought I looked even remotely attractive, but then because he was right. I haven’t consciously felt fully like myself in a long time, maybe ever. There was always some motivation to be on my toes, someone to impress, or a reason to worry or feel insecure. But here I was, with the person I would most want to impress on the entire planet, and he was appreciating me as I am right now, this second. And it wasn’t the outfit, or the makeup, or the clever quip, or the funny story, or the playing hard-to-get, or even the smart anecdote that shows off an ability to converse intelligently about anything you might throw at a person. It was the rare moment of peace I didn’t know I was feeling on the inside, and Bill saw it from all the way over on the other side of the car.

I’ve been thinking a lot about that exchange in the last 8 days. How strange it was that even though I was the one experiencing the moment, it took Bill bringing it to my attention for me to truly see it. It’s sad that a feeling of calm and contentedness with ourselves is such a foreign feeling. What is it that makes us worry and stress and keep up with the Jones’, when what we really want is already there within us everywhere we go? All that other stuff that we continuously inject into our lives is actually just getting more in the way as it builds and builds, not helping us reach our happiness. So just for this second, no matter how fleeting it is – and it is fleeting – I’m going to vow revel in that feeling. And the next time it happens. And the next and the next. Maybe then it will become a more frequent realization, and ultimately, a habit.

For now, I’ll just have to use that memory from last week and let it soak in as much as I can. That memory of when my husband glanced over at me and told me I looked like a wife, and for the rest of the drive, I couldn’t help but look over at him, with our little monster of a dog on his lap, and think of how grateful I am for what I had.

Driving

That memory of when he looked like a husband, and the dog looked like a dog, and I felt like me.

2014 Inspirations: I Might Implode

With the end of the year fast approaching, I’m finding a familiar feeling creeping back in. Now, I’ve been known to frequent bouts of inspiration over the tiniest and most mundane of daily occurrences. (Just ask Bill how I feel about Thursdays.) However, the prospects of a brand new year always seem to elevate that to an unbearable excitement that must either be released immediately in a frenzy of creativity and fevered passion… or the alternative – namely, imminent implosion.

I don’t know about you, but I don’t like imploding.

That leaves me with a problem. How do I completely reorganize the house/workout like a maniac/dominate my finances/cook gourmet meals daily/redecorate/overhaul my life/Pinterest the shit out of everything RIGHT NOW IMMEDIATELY?!?!

You might tell me I can’t, but I won’t hear it. Save your breath, you downer.

So what is inspiring me this second? (I better not take too long to write this or the list will fall off the bottom of your screen and into your lap.)

1. Queen Bey, Mrs. Carter, Beyoncé Knowles Herself

Can we just talk about this woman for a second? She is just beyond. JUST. BEYOND. Dropping a completely new art form with her visual album with absolutely zero promotion ahead of time, only for it to be one of the most stunning works to ever have existed. It’s such a beautiful portrait of feminism, love, art, and life. And then this shows up on my newsfeed.

I am floored by this woman. And Taylon.

2. The December Issue of Glamour Magazine

This issue is my favorite every year, as it includes the Glamour Women of the Year Awards. This year, they had the honorees and the presenters write down their life mottos, so here’s a little sneak peek of the compilation, which can be found at http://www.glamour.com/inspired/blogs/the-conversation/2013/11/women-of-the-year-life-mottos.html.

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I especially like Seth Meyers’ little gem in there. How’s that for inspiration?

3. The Likes of Women Bloggers

There is a new club on the internet, consisting of family women who have taken their previously unrecognized talents of beautifying their domestic worlds and just living, and creating their own careers by writing, photographing, and inspiring us about it all. And when I say all, I mean ALL. There is some backlash that these women are furthering the anxiety and need for perfection in our already susceptible female population, and that is true in some cases, speaking from experience. But following the lives of these women has given me, a newlywed domestic disaster, a sense of camaraderie and that ever-elusive permission to be myself. For instance, my personal home-life idol, Jordan Reid of Ramshackle Glam, who readily owns up to “the occasional mini-disasters that come along with… the idea that true personal style is all about constant experimentation”. Then there is Jen of IHeart Organizing, a mother of three boys who constantly dominates the chaos that is life at home with affordable and innovative solutions that put Martha Stewart to shame. And, of course, Sherry and John (okay, okay, I threw a husband in there because husbands are great too) of Young House Love, who turned their love of both home renovation and the documentation of it into a full-fledged online following. All of these women are extraordinary for the very reason that they are ordinary. Yes, they are beautiful and talented, but they are also smart and hilarious and educated and RELATABLE. They have children and families – do not miss the inspiring story of how John and Sherry’s daughter Clara came into the world here: http://www.younghouselove.com/2011/04/claras-birth-story/ – and they have made their own careers out of celebrating much scrutinized path of mother and homemaker. But the best part is that they see your ideals and raise you REALITY, thereby making it okay to mess up, to take risks, and hell, to be a hot mess if you so please, damnit.

4. The Lorna Jane Philosophy

Love LJ

That’s me, loving life and LJ.

I used to describe this activewear company as the Australian Lululemon, but now that they are here in California(!), I don’t have to! The philosophy behind this company, started by Lorna Jane Clarkson, is all about active living. Their logo is three symbols next to each other, and they stand for Move. Nourish. Believe. I let Lorna explain in her own words:

Active Living

Not only is the message behind LJ incredible, but their marketing and their blog MoveNourishBelieve are amazingly motivating. I am so inspired by this company and their founder Lorna Jane Clarkson, and my life, my happiness, and my health are benefitting. This New Year, go ahead and start with their Self-Love Contract, and just be better for it already, okay?

Self-Love Contract

5. And lastly, THIS.

Sunshine and Laughter

And maybe tomorrow too.

(Image found via Pinterest via iheartinpiration.com)

Happy New Year! You can find me loving like Beyoncé; dominating like the Glamour Women of the Year; celebrating like Jordan, Jen and Sherry; and living my most active life. Wanna join? ❤

A Well-Read Woman

I have a problem. I love books.

A Well Read Woman

Or maybe it’s the world that has a problem.

(Couldn’t help myself… Image found via Pinterest via la femme d’à côté)

Okay, I hear you saying that that isn’t so much of a problem, but you might be wrong. Case in point:

  • My bedside is completely unnavigable due to the stacks and piles and mounds of books, constantly teetering to the point of impending avalanche.
  • I spend an obscene amount of time and money at Barnes & Noble, and I was born hardly capable of walking past the entrance to one without going in.
  • When I start reading a book (although starting just one is unlikely… I’m usually reading four), I think about it ALL THE TIME. Like, completely engrossed. Like, I wonder what this character is going to do next. Like, I can’t wait to get home/on my lunch break/wait for that meeting so I can devour a few more pages.
  • I had eye surgery in August, which put me stuck inside in the dark for a week. One of my top concerns was not my health, not my tan, not my social relationships, but more along the lines of I CAN’T READ FINE PRINT.
  • The single.most.annoying.thing.ever is when you are reading the last 10 pages of any and every book you’ve ever invested yourself in and any interruption that can occur most definitely will. EVERY. SINGLE. TIME.

Life and Reading

Now I won’t go into how overloaded my Amazon wishlist is, or the fact that my upstairs hallway has built-in cabinetry that is overflowing with paperbacks and hardcovers that I can’t bear to let go of, or that when anyone asks me what I collect the answer is quite obviously “books”. And shoes. But books.

So imagine my amazement when I realized that I had not even vaguely heard of GoodReads.com. The purpose of the site is well-explained by their tagline: “Meet your new favorite book.” Yes, please. You can connect with your friends through your social networks, which (don’t you roll your eyes at me) I was surprised to find that apparently no one wants to willingly own up to their nerdiness because a full 59 of my Facebook friends have GoodReads profiles. FIFTY-NINE. And I was utterly incredulous about a few of them, but I won’t name names. My favorite part, though, is that you can pick your favorite genres, scroll through lists and lists (if you so choose) of books in those genres, and rate the ones you’ve read. The site will then generate recommendations for you based on your ratings for your personalized to-read list, with the option of saving those that look the most interesting to you with the click of a “Want to Read” button.

I’m beyond excited for this. If reading is not your jam, then I’ve exposed a part of myself that may make you feel slightly less cool when in my presence. If this IS your jam, you haven’t even thought about how your social status will plummet when we hang out and probably stopped reading half a blog post ago to sign up for your own account. (Ahem, Mom.)

Happy Friday, all! I’ll be spending the holidays with my nose stuck in a book. But in the meantime, leave me your favorite reads in the comments! I’m always looking for recommendations.

Obviously.

Thanksgiving Domination

Soooooo Thanksgiving happened.

As you already know, I was pretty nervous about cooking my first big meal. So when I pulled something incredibly intelligent like slice my left ring finger open while trying to cut a bagel with a brand new extremely sharp steak knife the night before Thanksgiving, I not only worried about the outcome of the meal, but now about the safety of everyone in a 1-mile radius as well. I thought I needed stitches, but decided to let Bill quell my anxiety for once in my life. I cried for a while, put pressure on it with a paper towel until it finally stopped bleeding, let Billy doctored me up, and then moped for a decidedly finite period of time, absolutely sure my efforts the next day would be futile. I was done for. The turkey had already won, and it was strictly my doing. Not a great start.

In the morning, however, it was ON. I was determined to throw down. And despite the misstep the night before, here is how THAT turned out.

BOOM.

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You GUYS. I did that.

I don’t have the faintest idea how it happened, but it was awesome. Getting started was tough since I get easily overwhelmed by too many things going on at once and couldn’t quite figure out where to begin. So I started by making breakfast, sitting down with a magazine, and taking a deep metaphorical breath. I highly recommend this first step to everyone. Take notes.

After that, things went smoothly for the most part. Well, besides not having any idea how to stick my hand in a turkey to pull out the neck and giblets. Or loosen the skin from the flesh. Or tuck the wings under. You know.

There was only one moment that I started to panic, thinking I bit off more than I could chew, and that, of course, was during the hour before dinner is served – that magic chaos period my mom has always talked about as if it were a swarm of locusts descending over both the kitchen and whoever pulled the short straw when deciding who was cooking dinner. But my friends, thank goodness for Bill. He has proven me wrong yet again, this time by being the best sous chef a lady could ask for. And for the second time in less than 24 hours, he managed to calm the wife-beast just as things started to spiral out of anxiety-ridden control – all while trimming the green beans, pureeing the gravy, and carving that god-forsaken bird.

As there is no way that I could give you what Bill would call the “play-by-play” of the day, because 1) I don’t think you need a tedious detailed run-down on this fine Tuesday, and 2) I most likely blacked out multiple times throughout the day just to get through it, here are the highlights:

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Those are fresh cranberries. I mean, really fresh. Like, so fresh I they needed to be rinsed and drained and smashed and blended.

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It took me a few minutes to figure out the pan… Yeah, just the pan.

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That was grosser than I anticipated, but…

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DOMINATION! I’ve been getting the “What’s in the bottom of the pan?” question a lot, and the answer would be halved pears and onions to flavor the drippings to make the gravy. (Find the recipe from Cooking Light here: Oil-Basted Parmesan Turkey with Walnut Gravy)

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Now that’s a man. You carve that turkey, Billy. (We all grew up a little that day.)

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Butternut-Bacon Stuffing from Cooking Light: Delish, especially as leftovers reheated in the toaster oven!

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Green Beans with Sherried Mushroom Sauce from Cooking Light… We cheated and put the fried onions on top anyway. Don’t tell my arteries.

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Maple-Pecan Sweet Potatoes from, you guessed it, Cooking Light! Made with real maple syrup and vanilla, these puppies are GOOD. Bill’s self-declared favorite.

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A relatively clean production area, obviously post-chaos hour.

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And homemade – 100% from scratch – Cranberry-Orange Relish. This was surprisingly easy, but for some reason telling everyone you made your cranberries from scratch is really impressive. Probably because they are so easy to buy at the market would be my guess! Anyway, this is an awesome recipe. It includes a whole orange and the zest of an orange rind, so the tangy citrus kick gives it a little something extra. It’s so great to eat straight out of the fridge as well, and it feels like a grown-up version of applesauce. Which is, obviously, rad.

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And here it is… the finished product! (In true do(hot mess)tication, notice the one little drip of sweet potatoes chilling on the edge of the plate. Polished presentations are for cowards.

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Happy husband with turkey hands!

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Okay, so I’m PROUD. I’ve never felt like a chef before, and until Thanksgiving, I never felt like cooking would be something I would ever be good at. There’s hope, everyone! There is HOPE.

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One more presentation pic for good measure.

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So this is how I celebrated. A much, MUCH deserved glass of wine.

All in all, I feel like the day was successful, and the biggest success was probably that despite the difficult decision to be away from my family of origin for the first time on such an important day, there were many more “best parts” than I expected. Bill and I had our first major holiday together. We got to take on the challenge in the kitchen and conquer that turkey. We proved that we are a great team, even when we have no idea what we are doing. We sat down in our sweats, fully intending to change into nice clothes and do our hair but deciding we were just too exhausted, and we ate a huge meal, just the two of us, and it was AMAZING. And lastly, I thoroughly passed out on the couch, fat and very happy, at around 7:30 p.m. in the middle of one of my favorite shows like an old grandma. It was SO worth it.

I do, however, have one main piece of advice for you when embarking on your first Thanksgiving meal. Do not – I repeat, DO NOT – slice your hand open the night before. Raw turkey juice is not pleasant to begin with, and it is even less so when it seeps into unnecessary wounds.

Just a thought.

Turkey vs. Fem-Beast

You guys.

LOOK WHAT I BOUGHT LAST NIGHT.

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WHAT?!?

So who would of thought that I would get so worked up standing by myself in front of the massive wall of roasting pans in Bed Bath & Beyond? As it turn outs, cooking my first Thanksgiving dinner is apparently a really big deal to me.

Weird.

Because of Bill’s work schedule, we won’t have the opportunity to travel and see family for Thanksgiving this year. Even though it will just be Bill and I in our quiet little starter home on Thursday, I feel like that makes it that much more important to celebrate the day. What I didn’t expect was that making my first turkey would feel like a huge responsibility. I’m determined to make it from scratch because if I’m going to take on this rite of passage into wifehood, I’m going to go big and stare it down in the face like the fem-beast I am. Turkey, hear me roar.

But really, I’m pretty nervous. I have been putting a lot of thought into our menu, scouring over websites and blogs and magazines and Pinterest, trying to pick out the perfect combination of healthy and traditional. Oh, and when I say “putting a lot of thought into”, what I’m really trying to say is something more akin to “obsessing”, or perhaps “researching thoroughly in a state of suppressed-and-consequently-simmering panic”. Need proof?

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The two of us are going to be eating Thanksgiving dinner all the way to Christmas.

I think all this is coming from watching the pre-holiday planning and preparation, as well as the intensive day-of labor, that my mom and grandmother took so seriously growing up. One year I helped, taking on all the gross de-necking and what have you that my mom was clearly disgusted by, but other than that my turkey roasting skills are as underdeveloped as one’s turkey roasting skills can be. However, if there was ever a time to be grateful for the first year of marriage – you know, when the honeymoon isn’t over and the adoring husband pretends he doesn’t mind a disaster of a house and enthusiastically chews tough/burnt/undercooked dinners – well friends, this would be it.

So in conclusion, here goes nothing! That Caphalon box you see above is here in my kitchen as a glaring reminder of the character-building to come in the very near future. And let me say that this year, along with my family, friends, and a wonderful life, what I am thankful for is this blog. Because if this all goes to hell, as is entirely possible, at I’ll have some material to write about and you’ll have a good laugh at my expense.

Here’s to solidifying my status as a domestic hot mess, and I think we can all agree that there aren’t too many feelings as grand as validation!

xo

Make Your Home Happy

The single best piece of advice I got on marriage came from a coworker at the bridal shower my office threw for me a few weeks before our wedding. This instruction came from a particular coworker who is someone I look up to greatly: she is always fun, doesn’t take life too seriously (in the best way), lives in a constant state of utter fabulousness, and is generally the life of the party, whether you like it or not thankyouverymuch. Her advice, which I have taken to heart is simple.

“Always try to make your home happy. Do something, no matter how small, every day to make it that way.”

Every few weeks, she comes up to me at work with the sole intent of asking me, “Ashleigh, are you making your home happy?” The anecdote that came with this question on the last occasion really shed some light on just how central this practice is to her marriage and just how well it works. “Even just lighting a candle. Sometimes when my husband and I are fighting and we can’t solve it, we stop talking, light a candle, and just sit in silence. It totally works.” Then she fell into her contagious little fit of laughter that seems to convey just how little she cares about how absurd she thinks she’s being. Well, oh-role-model-of-mine, I don’t think you are absurd at all. I think you are quite marvelous.

Putting this into practice is not always easy, and the simple things are often the ones that fall through the cracks. This is even more true due to the fact that Bill and I have opposite work schedules, and it is quite the bummer. I work a normal 40-hour work week from 8 a.m. to 5 p.m. Monday through Friday. Easy enough. But layer on top of that Bill’s schedule of Friday through Tuesday from 2 p.m. to midnight, and things become tricky. We almost never have a full day off together. Case in point, from September 3rd to December 24th, we will not have had a single day off to spend together. So basically, as newlyweds, we are not only trying to figure out this whole marriage thing, but we’re trying to figure out this whole marriage thing with very limited time together. I find find myself wanting to put a lot of effort into making the moments we do have a little extra special, but life often gets in the way and the “important” things take over.

This Sunday, an autumn-themed breakfast prepared while Bill was still asleep meant that he woke up to a home warmed with the smell of pumpkin and cinnamon, and we spent a very rare quiet morning sharing a lazy breakfast at our dining room table. To bring the spirit of fall inside, I pulled one of my favorite things out of the cupboard.

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This stuff is to die for. Pumpkin plus cinnamon, ginger, and nutmeg is QUITE the combo, let me tell you.

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I decided to add a little something extra in the form of honey and chopped pecans in place of the traditional butter-and-syrup staples. Great decision.

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One of the things that makes home happier for me is having flowers in plain sight, so these autumn lovelies took center stage on the table.

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A surefire way to measure success when it comes to Bill and food? A severe lack of eye contact while said meal is present. This quick little spread took about 20 minutes to prepare but made a huge impact on my week. I easily could have poured myself a bowl of cereal and called it breakfast, but it was much more rewarding to hear the grizzly bear upstairs awaken from his slumber to the whiff of something delicious coming from the kitchen and subsequently follow his nose, stumbling loudly down the stairs. The payoff that resulted – the look of utter surprise followed by hungry anticipation followed by genuine appreciation followed by complete mutual contentedness in our full, happy bellies – will always be worth the effort.

Sounds like a happy home to me! This is officially my mission from here on out.

Get Your Cute Butt Out the Door: A Working Girl’s Musings on Exercise

There is a question that I get asked often, and that is how I manage to motivate myself to go to the gym after a long day at work. It’s a topic that comes up frequently in the following forms:

  • Friend: I was going to go to the gym tonight, and then I decided not to… Now you’re making me feel bad.
  • Coworker: You’re so good.
  • Husband: I can’t imagine having to go to the gym after work. I don’t know how you can do that.
  • Friend: YOU’RE GOING TO THE GYM TONIGHT?!?!
  • Another friend: I’m going home to sit on my couch and watch TV. I’m exhausted, and I don’t know how you do it.

It’s true. I go to the gym a lot, and it’s often after a full(+) workday. But don’t get me wrong: this is not something that has come easy. I used to go months without working out. In fact, if you had conducted a close study of my health and self-care habits in college, you might be utterly disgusted. After class and work and meetings and rehearsal and dates and friend time and on and on and on, the last thing that I wanted to do was stand up, change and exercise. No thanks. But now that I’m older and much more educated, I just wish I hadn’t wasted so much time.

Now there are definitely some life circumstances that contribute to making it to the gym so often, but I want to make a huge disclaimer. This is not your out. Yes, I do have a husband who works most nights, leaving me at home to do as I please. Yes, I don’t have to cook a dinner for a family of four. I am able to put off chores until the weekend if I so choose. If you have those things, I genuinely congratulate you, but they are not to be used as excuses. Dictionary.com offers the definition of an excuse as “a plea offered in extenuation of a fault or forrelease from an obligation, promise, etc.”, and in this case, that obligation or promise is to take care of yourself. Excuses are for someone else. Working out is for yourself. If you are legitimately too busy, or have a family, or can’t physically get there today, fine. But take a minute to think about how taking care of yourself actually benefits your mind, your family, and your relationships, and I think you’ll realize that excuses are not accepted here. Sorry.

I used to be captive to my excuses. I would tell whoever would listen and hope that it would make me feel better, that this little feeling in my stomach that felt like I was doing something wrong would go away. Want to know how I made it go away? I started doing what I was supposed to, but all the reasons I was telling myself were bullshit. True, honest-to-God bullshit. I was the only thing holding myself back, and it turns out that the real trick to exercising on the regular was to change my MINDSET, not my circumstances, This took a lot of initiative and a swift kick in the proverbial pants to start educating myself and becoming aware of my body, my thoughts, and my self-talk. And then on top of that, I had to change it. Like I said, not an easy task.

But here I am today, hoping to make it a little easier for you to get your cute butt out the door and in shape by giving you some of the tips that have helped me get to the amazing place where I have (shockingly) found myself, Getting out the door is no longer as hard as it used to be, and the payoff is incredible. Here is what personally changed my mind, my body, and my life.

1) I’ve fallen in love with my gym.

Notice I didn’t write “I’ve fallen in love with THE gym”. That’s because I have tried a few in my area, and they never quite fit. All throughout college, I had access to a huge recreation center right on campus, and I hardly ever went (except for hip-hop class – that was great) because despite strict dress code rules of no tank tops or super short shorts, it was an absolute meat market. I went to a huge state-of the art gym in the community for two years, but I had to wait in line for cardio machines, for weight machines, for classes, for everything. I spent $50 a month to stand around. Oh, and it was a meat market. After all that, I finally settled on the one that was right for ME. I go to Equilibrium Fitness for Women, an all-women’s gym less than a mile from my house. Everyone here is supportive, welcoming, stoked on life, and okay – yes, female. I never wait in line, the girls at the front desk no my name, and I’m surrounded by badass empowered women every time I walk through the door. I found where I wanted to work out, and now it feels like my other home.

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2) I turn my excuses to skip my workouts into reasons to exercise.

It is so easy to make excuses to skip workouts, and one of the best things I’ve done is commit to getting honest with myself. For example, I HATE getting ready (i.e. showering, blow drying my hair, doing my makeup) more than once in a day OR any time other than in the morning. Lunchtime workouts just do not work for me. I can’t do it. Therefore, since I’m going to get a workout in, I know I have to plan my them as either my first or last public outing of the day. That way I can make myself presentable for the rest of the day after getting sweaty, or I can shower right before I hibernate for the night. I also hate washing my hair every day, and the truth is, I don’t need to so I tend to go the every other day route. But when I work out, I SWEAT. So how do you get to the gym a majority of your days when it would just be so easy to say, “I don’t want to have to do my hair” tomorrow? Well, I do my hardcore workouts on hair-washing days and then plan a yoga class and light cardio on the others. Easy-peasy. Maybe this sounds ridiculous to you, but we all have those excuses we are secretly ashamed of. You know, those ones we rationalize in our heads, but know that if we said out loud we’d get an eye roll to put us in our place from the nearest person, no matter stranger or closest friend. But who cares?!?! OWN YOUR EXCUSES. Once you do, you can turn them into reasons. Now I always try to workout on hair-washing days, because that to me is a reason to get a weight lifting session in, not skip it.

3) Do what you FEEL like doing.

The key here is not to ask yourself whether you feel like going to the gym. By then you’ve already given yourself “NO” as an option. But if you ask yourself instead, “What kind of workout do I feel like doing?” then you’ve eliminated the possibility before you even realize it. Too tired for cardio? Yoga or Pilates. Want to get outside? Go for a run, or if that sounds like it sucks, walk your dog. Have a bad day? Take a combat class, and get out your anger. Feeling like turning your brain off? Find a magazine and park yourself on an elliptical. Hate even the thought of working out? Go dance your ass off, for God’s sake. The truth is that ANY workout is a workout, not just the hardcore ones. If you don’t feel like leaving your house, give yourself permission to do push-ups on the stairs or pop in a Jillian Michaels DVD. It doesn’t matter how long or short your workout is. It doesn’t matter what anyone else is doing right now. Comparison will do nothing for you. Check in with your bad self and do what you feel like, because as long as you’re moving, I’ll count it. So move!

4) Find what gets you pumped.

ONE new song on my iPod = Instant change in my mood about working out. The new issue of Women’s Health magazine in my mailbox = Four to seven days of inspiration, depending on how fast I devour it. But the thing that really gets me excited? (And disclaimer, I am totally unashamed for what I am about to reveal.) NEW WORKOUT CLOTHES!!!! I love the way I feel in brand new exercise gear. And yes, I am that girl rocking neon in the worst way in the corner of the gym. I don’t care if it’s obnoxious! I LOVE it. My highlighter yellow Nikes got me through my first half marathon. I feel like a boss in the purple UnderArmor tee my sister-in-law got my for Christmas. I kick ass when I wear all black in my combat class. Once I figured this out, I started to spread out my purchases. New yoga pants here, new sports bra there. It keeps me excited, no matter how weird it sounds. My newest obsession? THESE BABIES.

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I can’t wait to put them on! So find your song, your subscription, your hot pink leopard print kicks, and rock them. Whatever gets YOU out the door.

5) Most importantly, make your working out about getting, being, and staying HEALTHY, and nothing else.

This one takes work, and the effort is two-fold. First, you have to start educating yourself on health and wellness. For instance, you know that the sticky stuff you lick on an envelope to seal it? Well, that’s called gum arabic, and they put it in M&M’s and marshmallows. Gross right? I don’t want to put stuff like that in my body, but I would have kept doing it had I not just chosen to read about it. There is so much information out there, and it’s just waiting for you. Whether you prefer blogs and websites or magazines and good old-fashioned books, it’s there, and it will change your life. The second part of this is you need to decide what being healthy means to you. To me, it’s not just a state of being, it’s a lifestyle. It means exercising and eating right, yes. But to me, it also means getting 8 hours of sleep, reducing my stress level as much as possible, having supportive relationships in my life, maintaining a healthy weight, going to all of my doctors regularly, and generally living clean. So why do we each have to define “healthy” when we could just look up the definition the easy way? Because once you take the initiative and define it yourself, you’ve just found your ultimate motivation. You will not get off the couch unless you feel compelled to, and once you attach real meaning behind your action, you will do just that. Promise.

There is a quote from Dr. Wayne W. Dyer that goes as follows: “Don’t die with your music still inside you.” Well, there is a whole lot of potential living inside your kick-butt self right now, just waiting to be set free. Don’t just let it sit there! Go out there and release your energy into the world. I’ll meet you at the finish line.

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P.S. Check out my sick new Lorna Jane jacket. That puppy has already gone on a run, on a hike, AND to yoga class since I got it with my step-sister a week ago. No shame.

A Little Autumn Happy Dance

I woke up yesterday morning at 6:15 a.m., as per usual, and came downstairs for breakfast. Now, I live with this little monster I like to call Indy, and every morning just about the time I’m ready to sit down to eat, she comes tearing down the stairs like it’s Christmas morning. She stands in front of the door, doing a little happy dance, clicking her nails on the laminate floor, until I let her outside to relieve herself on the little patch of grass between the houses.

But this particular morning when I opened the door, it was different. In the dim dawn light, the wind was blowing, the leaves were rustling, and the air was electric.

Ahhh, FALL.

By far my favorite season, I can’t wait for that first fall day every year. Toward the end of September, I get the itch for Pumpkin Spice Lattes, boots and sweaters, and football on Sundays. There is nothing like the crisp air and the changing leaves that mark the last few months of the year. And working at a university, campus comes alive again at the end of September, filled with both new students and those returning to their four-year home. Walking around, you can feel the excitement of the new school year – the chance to make yourself over, get the grade (or the girl/guy), and make this year your year.

Now, where I grew up, you can see, feel, and smell that it’s fall. On the Central Coast, not so much. My autumn giddiness was soon replaced by slight panting and fanning myself while hiking up the hill that is campus in… 87 degree weather. Go ahead, call me a spoiled brat. I know people who would kill to live where I live, which is why I’m not complaining. After all, it’s not the weather or the clothes or the apple-picking that make or break the season (although I do loves all those things like Indy loves to pee outside in the morning, and by that I mean in a happy dance-inducing kind of way), it’s the feeling that comes along with the combination of all those things. Feelings of warmth, of comfort, of home. People say spring is when love comes out in full force? Honey, I say that’s just hormones. True love comes out in autumn, when every day gets a little chillier, and all you can do to keep warm is pull your loved ones a little closer.

So until the beaches sit lonely, until I can pull my scarf a little tighter around my neck, and until Pumpkin Spice Lattes take over my go-to Starbucks order… I’ll keep my friends a little closer, hold Bill’s hand a little tighter, and call my family a little more often.

And happy-dance that fall may be just around the corner outside, but it’s already here in my cheesy little heart.

Kind of like this.

20130925-082714.jpgThis picture is the view from my father’s house on Thanksgiving morning last year…

Soon, darling. Soon.

Sticks and Twigs

A few weeks ago, while Bill and I were snagging a rare moment together eating a late afternoon snack at the dining room table, our roommate Emily came downstairs. Now, having been in a graduate program with a strong cohort model (read: every.single.class.together) with Emily AND living with her since September, I know when she’s a little nervous. As opinionated and strong as women come, the tip-off is generally a subtle look on her face and an endearing quiver in her voice. However, at this particular moment, no warning was given as she bolted down the stairs on a mission, sat herself right down at the table, and blurted “Ihavesomethingtotellyou. I’mmovinginwithBen”.

Ben is her boyfriend. Girlfriend didn’t even pause for dramatic effect.

It took a minute to process what she had just said. Once said processing finally engaged, two emotions went through me. The first was pure excitement and happiness for her, especially after watching their whole relationship spark and take shape over the past year or so. The second, however, was a little crushed. Emily was an awesome roommate. The day we got the idea in our heads was a year prior while writing graduate-level research papers and drinking beers (yes, simultaneously) at her kitchen table, and we realized that we were spending a good amount of time bitching about the exact same pet peeves and irritating behaviors of past/current roommates. I’m pretty sure I’m the one who laughed and said, “Seriously, we should just live together.” She laughed. I laughed again. Insert tentative glances at each other to see if the other was serious or if we were just crazy. She moved in September 3rd.

Our wine and chocolate nights, impromptu dinner parties, and compulsive venting sessions are over. I am definitely going to miss her.

But it was more than that too. If Emily moved out, Bill and I were faced with a few choices. We could get a new roommate, which seems the exact opposite of desirable two and a half months before our impending nuptials and starting our life together. Or we could try and finagle a way to keep it just us. We opted for the latter, at least for the time being.

So we’re trying to make it work financially, which hasn’t been the most stress-free issue inserted into my world, but it’s totally worth it. Now it’s just us. We have started our nest. At the current moment that nest is a giant disaster – really more of a smattering of sticks and twigs we’ve both been collecting in our separate lives until we found each other. It’s cluttered, disheveled, and has no decorating scheme. We have cabinets stuffed to the brim from pre-roommate-evacuation times, and since Tuesday night, we now also have rooms and closets and refrigerator shelves that are stark and 100% empty.

I’m both excited and intimidated to have such a big creative project ahead of me. A WHOLE house. For us. To start our lives together. Slowly but surely, we will begin piecing our sticks and twigs together, with the hopes of it all eventually resembling a nest. Er, home.

Our home.

How fabulous.