NYC Birthday, part 5

8. Spending the day at the Guggenheim Art museum – taking in architecture and art of Zaha Hadid, lesser-known pieces by Vasily Kadinsky and Jackson Pollack and a fun exhibit of children’s art. Oh, and the spiral-y-building was cool too.9. Staying dry – fortuitously missing a rainstorm that started after we were in the car and on our way home.
10. The Jersey turnpike? NO!!!! We opted for a return trip through Pennsylvania. And enjoyed lovely red tongues courtesy of the great Cherry Icy.

Bright Spot

Sunbeams, sunbeams, sunbeams...

Sunbeam: [hickup-ing] "I'm sick, I think I'm broken."
Teacher A: "You're sick?"
Sunbeam: [wrinkled face] "I think my daddy broke me." [another hickup]
Teacher A: "Do you want to sit on my lap?"
Sunbeam: "Yeah." [five minutes later - hickups subsided, spirits visually lifted] "I'm better. I'm not broken anymore. I'm not broken anymore."

Another Sunbeam who is unusually smart for his mere four years on this earth was counting with me in Spanish. We reached cuarenta y ocho (48) and he stopped, shouting, "Sister Becky, that's you plus you," (indicating that 48 is my age plus my age). How does he know this stuff? He also taught me that a score equals 50. Maybe they should reconsider who should be teaching this class!

Lightning Crashes

Sunday night we pulled out our LoveSac to watch a huge electrical storm. The crane in the foreground started swinging after it was struck by lightning and our building shook with the accompanying thunder. Thankfully, none of our electronics were fried. Nothing like natural "fireworks" to set the mood for July 4th!!

What happens when you tick off your wives?

Next time you see Chris and John, make sure you ask about their recent trip to Six Flags. Let's just say that we all learn from our decisions. And their decision to abandon baby and loving wives for an hour-and-a-half earned severe consequences, including public humiliation and a girls-only shopping trip! At least now we're even.

Misadventures on the Metro

chapter 14
My internal temperature creeps higher as beads of sweat well at my temples. I blink, adjusting to the spotlight, and squint to make out the figures in the black abyss. Something inside reminds me to unlock my knees to keep from fainting. I clench and release both fists at my side, heart beating heavy in my ears.

I know this will happen. The mere thought of a performance induces these anxiety-ridden symptoms. Some comfort can be found in a big stage with hot, blinding lights and no view of the strangers staring back. I can pretend to be anonymous, in my own shower, no one watching.

The more intimate venue in regular lighting, especially among friends and acquaintances, can cause more severe stage fright. I feel exposed, stripped, metaphorically naked, susceptible.

There’s something to be said about the people who take it upon themselves to provide entertainment for Metro riders. I’m not talking about the dreadlock-wearing guitar player or sitar-like-instrument-strumming Yoda guy at the station. I mean the performers ON the Metro.

I’ve only seen it a few times. My first encounter happened during the Christmas season. As per usual my head was buried in a book when a middle-aged Asian man stepped on board the crowded train. Suddenly he began singing Silent Night. As if by a choreographed pop-and-lock move, all heads turned to catch a glimpse of the man with enough courage to not only speak, but SING on the Metro. His melodic rendition of the hymn was lovely, if not without a few “heavenry” and “Siwent” pronunciations. After the five verses, I felt warm and fuzzies and was thankful for the good Christmas feelings he inspired (at least within me).

The experience was a far cry from last night. The Metro has been miserably crowded and slow, forcing me into extra grumpy and annoyed mood swings. After three very crowded trains passed, I boarded and even found a seat. One stop later, I noticed a young teenage kid joining our ride home.

Back to my reading, I blacked out most surrounding noise listening to Sigur Ros on my husband’s IPod, when suddenly I overheard a sound, which, after yanking out my ear buds, I quickly traced to the unsuspecting teenager. I couldn’t help staring. He had his own set of ear buds plugged into what must have been a karaoke tape. Swaying back and forth, he was half singing, half screeching, lost in his own universe. I noticed my fellow passengers stealing glances at the performer. For six of the eight stops between my house and work, the young man continued his performance, oblivious to his surroundings.

It takes guts. I just wish it also took talent. Unfortunately, the stage-fright-free singer sounded more like William Hung than Clay Aiken. Blast American Idol anyway – it’s inspired too many talent-less people to pursue their dreams, some even on the Metro.

Misadventures on the Metro

chapter 13
This weekend it rained buckets. Literally. The nightly torrential downpour was choreographed with jagged lightning spears and constant rolling thunder. Though it was “fun” to watch, the storms prevented a much anticipated trip to the beach and made for a soggy morning commute.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again – severe weather of any kind handicaps travel in this city, be it by Metro, car, bus or cab. I personally believe it also acts as a cloning device – multiplying the amount of people trying to get from point A to point B. As I swiped my SmartTrip and headed toward the platform, I was met by a swarm of commuters. Plus, it’s summer in the city, translation: humidity. With excess people filling the station, a wave of sticky heat quickly enveloped me, causing my freshly applied make up to melt.

Weaving through the crowd, I managed to locate a waiting spot. I opened my girly indulgence of a book, which is just getting good, and tried to ignore the annoying intercom voice enumerating the multiple morning Metro delays. After 10 minutes a train came, but I wasn’t feeling brave enough to sweat it out squished between who knows who.

Finally, another train approached. I found my way inside, planted my feet next to a pole and continued reading. The ride wasn’t terrible as our train seemed less crowded than I’d anticipated. But after two stops, the driver announced we would be waiting at the station “until further notice.”

The words “until further notice” inspired a wave of eye rolls, sighs and watch-checking. Some people exited in search of a cab, which I briefly considered before quickly coming to my senses that it would just be a very expensive alternative form of waiting. Eventually we were moving again, but by the next station, we received the same “until further notice” announcement. More eye rolling, sighs and watch-checking commenced. A girl in front of me even fainted at one stop.

Essentially the entire trip was a cycle of traveling, “until further notice” messages and annoyed passenger reactions, repeated over and over. As if the cycle wasn’t frustrating enough, some people began using their cell phones to inform their employers about the delay (which I’m sure was unnecessary since it is unlikely anyone made it to the office yet). And there’s nothing more annoying than peaceful reading silence interrupted by a noisy cell phone user, especially those who speak as though they aren’t surrounded by strangers overhearing their weekend re-cap to so-and-so co-worker.

After about 90 minutes I made it to work. My stomach is a little queasy from the stop-and-go ride. Luckily, until further notice, I’m not riding the Metro. Not until I have to head home anyway. Ugh.

**Sidenote: Best quote from news reports about the weather-aflicted ride:

WASHINGTON POST: RECORD RAIN WREAKS HAVOC FOR MORNING COMMUTE. MUDSLIDE CLOSES PART OF BELTWAY EARLY THIS MORNING. METRO DELAYS--SOME STATION CLOSINGS. BEWARE OF HIGH STANDING WATER ON ROADWAYS. TURN AROUND, DON'T DROWN.

Thanks for the tip.

Top 12 best things about camping with Em & Phil

In no particular order:

The tent that Em and Phil built - and generously let us crash in since we couldn't find ours.

Camping in a remote rainforest? Nope, just rural Maryland. Oh, and no shortage of firewood.

Not caring about making a fool out of yourself - something about camping makes it okay.Watching Phil ATTEMPT to fulfill a dare of eating bacon cooked over flames. Uh Phil, a nibble doesn't count! You lose the dare!!!!

Packing food in ghetto coolers - notice the Wickstrom's shopping bag method. That's what happens when you live in tight quarters and can't remember where the camping stuff is stuffed.

Boys being boys - playing with sticks and watching the fire that boy scout Chris built.

Again with the "roasted" bacon. Good idea in theory, maybe, but not in practice.

Campsites spaced half a mile apart - no one to overhear our wierd and lively conversations!

Packing like you're staying for a week and not changing your clothes once.

Watching Phil "roast" bacon over the fire and then swear it will taste good.

Camp food - yum! Oh, and being around friends who don't care that you didn't change your clothes once, let alone brush your teeth. That's true friendship!!!
Imagining the look on the groomer's face upon seeing Fenway, the cutest dog in the world, covered in dirt, leaves, bugs and anything else caught in his fur.

Misadventures on the Metro

chapter 12

I am suffering from a case of the blues – the Summer Metro Blues. Last night was a repeat of this, spiced up with a little added drama.

I’m not usually fortunate enough to ride with my handsome husband, but yesterday was my lucky day – after work he stopped by my office and we trudged to the Metro hand-in-hand. Though we were traveling an hour-and-a-half later than usual, the scene as we approached the platform was a hoard of people waiting impatiently for a train. I can’t say we were surprised since summer tends to impair train functionality and an onslaught of tourists makes for many a night cramming against strangers just to get home.

We shimmied past the throngs to a waiting spot and, well, waited. Three trains passed, including a short, four-car train which I think the Metro powers-that-be sent down the track to mock us. By the fourth train, we were determined to get on, no matter how stuffed the car. The train approached and by a small miracle we squeezed on board.

In spite of foreign arms, backpacks, overheard Ipod music and the feeling of someone else’s breath on the back of my neck, the ride was somewhat uneventful.

I should say it was uneventful until the next stop. As the doors opened on cue with the “Metro lady jingle,” it was obvious no additional passengers could fit on the train (I know because Chris and I were the last to squeeze in at the previous station). A large woman in the front of the crowd on the platform started yelling, “Move to the middle of the car, move to the middle.”

No one moved.

“Move in, move in.” [exasperated sigh, looking at me like I’m responsible for the situation] “I’ve been waiting for the last 20 minutes. Three trains have passed. Come on, move in. I want to get home.”

Chris’ departing words to the lady, “We’ve been waiting, too. A train will be coming in 7 minutes.”

“Yah right.” [exasperated sigh]

As I tucked in my limbs to avoid the crushing doors and we sped away leaving the lady where she began, a new idea entered my mind. All aforementioned evidence would seem to fuel my Summer Metro Blues. But I couldn’t stop giggling. The sight of the large woman yelling at a Metro car full of people who couldn’t even scratch their noses without hitting someone in the face was hilarious! I leaned over to my husband and recounted the situation. We laughed. Then, every time we looked at each other we laughed. I developed a full-blown case of the giggles. So did he.

The moral of the story: when you’re feeling sad and frustrated because of a crappy Metro ride, look around – there’s bound to be an idiot making a fool of themselves. Laugh at them. It will make you feel better.

Add four more to the list

I watched the Tony Awards last night (don't let him fool you, Chris loves it too, although I do get overly excited about the Best Musical nominee performances and start philosophizing about why Broadway, and thus theatre in general is so captivating...yada,yada, yada).

Anyway, I've added four more shows to my must-see list (let's hope I don't have to wait until my birthday every year, hint, hint). Chris is particularly excited to see the current revival of Sweeney Todd since he memorized the choreography during last night's performance and was running around with imaginary razors calling them his "friends" and swirling his arms in the air. It's quite the sight, really.

The list:
Jersey Boys
The Drowsy Chaperone
The Pajama Game
Oh, and even though it's not new, Monty Pithon's Spamalot

Bright Spot

Here's my bright spot of the week from Sunbeams:

In the middle of Sacrament Meeting, which is the first hour of church on Sunday before everyone splits up for classes, this cute little girl from my class came up and tapped me on the arm:

Sunbeam: [totally serious] "Hi Sister Becky. I'm really sorry but I'm not going to be in class today. We are going to visit my grandma so I'm leaving early. I just wanted to say sorry."
Me: [using all the restrait I could muster to avoid sweeping her up in my arms and gushing about how darling she is] "Your grandma's? That will be so fun! We'll miss you, but we'll see you next week."

Funniest comment from our class about feelings:

Sunbeam: [during a beanbag game where everyone took turns saying what makes them happy] "I am happy when my new Sunbeam Taylor makes angry faces."
Me: [confused, trying to recover] "I'm happy when you make funny jokes."
Sunbeam: [giggles]

(side note: I drew faces on the chalk board and the kids guessed what feelings they represented: angry, sad, happy, excited. They started offering suggestions about what faces to draw. Try drawing "peaceful.")

Wicked Rad

I cannot wait any longer. I was going to surprise everyone (ironic, you'll see), but I'm already counting the seconds until my birthday. It's not that I'm particularly thrilled to turn 25, it's just that Chris spilled the beans on how we're celebrating.

So...drum roll please...we're seeing Wicked on Broadway!!!!!!! And I don't mean a repeat of our Fall driveby:

If you haven't seen it, GO. NOW. Drop everything you are doing. Pawn off your car or classic records. Buy tickets. See it, love it!

Below is the copy of an e-mail to a friend and fellow Wicked lover. I was feeling very clever (if you don't get it, you need to see the musical. TODAY!)

Me: So, Chris spilled the beans on what we’re doing for my bday! And I’m freaking out!!!!!!!!!!!!! You have one guess. And yes, I am searching for an emerald dress!!!!

Wicked Fan #2: No way! Could you possibly be going to the most swankified place in town?!

Me: Um…YES!!!!! We’ve got 5th row tickets.

Since hearing the news I feel as though I’m defying gravity. I’m trying to curb my loathing toward the one-month wait, but Chris has become the most popular person in our family! I have the distinct impression that because I know Chris, I’m changed for good, especially considering this gigantic surprise. As long as he’s mine, I’ll spend the rest of my time dancing through life.

Misadventures on the Metro

chapter 11
Today I resolved to keep my Metro qualms to a minimum.

Therefore I will not complain about the 1.5 hours I spent commuting home from work last night. I won’t dwell on the fact that I live only 5.1 miles away from my place of employment, which Google Maps estimates as 12 minutes of travel time. I’m going to focus on the extra 40 pages of my book I read while waiting for a train instead of the five too-crowded-to-move trains that passed before I could board. I am skipping the opportunity to rant about how my bum was nearly squished by the closing doors because so many people were crammed into the train (I was wearing white pants). I’ll even pass over the lady whose bag kept poking me in, well, a not so nice area as I rode wedged between her and another gentleman.

So I guess I have nothing to write about.

Misadventures on the Metro

chapter 10
I’ve become one of “them.” I don’t know if “they” entered my brain through osmosis or if I’ve been unknowingly subjected to subliminal messages.

Either way, it’s done. In retrospect, I’ve felt a subconscious paradigm shift during the past few months. But I thought my resolve was deeply rooted. I thought I was immune to “their” influence.

This morning, reality ran me over like a speeding freight truck as I tried, unsuccessfully, to endure my morning reading routine on the Metro. Although the seats were filled and I was standing, I found myself swept away in the 19^th century romance of my novel – English countryside, long gowns, proper diction. I mentally mimicked the character’s accents and mannerisms, blissfully disconnected from the real world.

Frequently, when people enter or exit the train, I peek over the pages of my book to skim my surroundings. And even today, though I was mentally sunning on a faraway island, I automatically glanced up a few times. At the third of seven stops on my trek to work, three intern-age girls boarded the train.

Just as I diverted my eyes down after a quick scan, one of the girls grabbed the poll I was holding and stood directly in front of me, forcing me from my stable spot. Annoyed, but not altogether surprised given the frequency of this type of Metro conduct, I moved back and white-knuckled a lower, less stable horizontal bar on the seat beside me.

Then, as if the train wasn’t full of silent strangers, the three commenced loud, annoying girl talk. The ringleader who usurped my spot must have been perfecting her stand-up routine while the others practiced their high-pitched girlish giggles. I read two or three pages, which I will have to re-read tonight on my commute, before realizing my attempts to concentrate on anything other than the three distractions were fruitless.

I shut my book and unleashed a hole-burning, crusty stare in their direction. I also let out a few over-emphasized sighs to be sure they understood the degree of my disapproval.

They didn’t notice.

But my behavior forced me to confront my personal belief system. Three months ago I would have smiled, wished they would be quiet and ignored them. Now, even though it’s been six hours, I’m still annoyed. Don’t they get the “no talking” rule? Look around, girls, you’re the only ones gabbing!

Yikes. It’s true. I’m one of “them” – impatient, grumpy, falling prey to the unpublished Metro guidelines. I’ve become the very person at which I formerly rolled my eyes and silently mocked. Honestly, the Metro is not a morgue or a funeral home or a church. You can talk all you want.

Well, you can talk, but you’d better not force me from my spot or interrupt my book. Got that?

I have come to realize...

...that my life, and therefore my blog, may not be as interesting as I had heretofore believed. I fancy myself clever from time to time, but even I cannot escape the fact that pictures of my apartment and Chris making weird faces and other people's kids and various randomness are not all that exciting. Even my Metro musings are sometimes lacking in the entertainment factor.

I just wanted you to know that I am aware.

So read anyway. And feel good about yourself and your more exciting existance.

Have it your way

Phil and Chris insisted on pictures of themselves holding self-selected props. For Phil it was an ENORMOUS blue cheese-stuffed burger. Chris opted for Fenway, the dog wonder. There was no "Emily, lean in, I want a cute photo with you" or "Becky, you look so cute in your 'You have died of dysentery' shirt,' come take a picture with me."

Forgiveness is a gift so consider this your birthday present, boys. Actually, the props are a good representation of our time spent in Baltimore this weekend. We toured Em and Phil's awesome new abode, played with the dog and ATE. A lot.

Tell me about it...stud

This is the most emotion Derrick showed the entire time I was in Colorado. Apparently he only performs for the camera.* I was under the mistaken impression that when he came home from work and saw me sitting in the kitchen chatting with mom and dad (I flew into town as a surprise for his graduation) he would freak out - tears, jumping, break dance moves, possibly an expletive or two - but no. He just said, "Wow," in a rather monotone voice. Eh, whatever. It was fun anyway.

*Notice the Paris Hilton lookalike in the background. I wish you could see the fushia platform flip flops pulling her entire look together.

I feel OLD

Am I the only one who can't believe it's possible that DERRICK GRADUATED HIGH SCHOOL? Not that he's incapable, I'm just having difficulty sucking down the you're-old-and-you-graduated-a-long-time-ago-and-your-high-school-glory-days-are-long-gone pill. Alas, the graduation ceremony was great and Derrick is off to college. All the ladies better prepare themselves for a big fall--when he gets to college they'll all be falling in love!

Photogenic

This is how I want to forever remember my dad and grandpa (not that they're going anywhere) - at sunset, in the mountains - perfect!

Dad using his manipulation tactics

I never thought of my dad as a manipulator; I've always considered him the manipulated ("Daddy, please, isn't this so cute? Wouldn't I look great in a new dress? I need this dress, p-lease!")

I'm having second thoughts, though, after my recent surprise trip to Colorado. My dad, grandpa and I drove to the mountain behind our house to watch the sunset. Doesn't get much better than this, right? And yes, dad, Colorado is the most beautiful place ever - you don't see sunsets like this everyday. I totally agree with you. You're completely right, it is great to drive into the mountains and feel like it's just you and mother nature. Yes, I do miss it. But I Must. Be. Strong. I have to go back to Washington where my house, belongings and husband currently reside.

You had some good ammo, dad, but you forget who you're dealing with here!

Not sew simple

Why on earth I thought it wise to put my non-existent sewing skills into practice for Mother's Day, I'll never know. When I started I was really excited (ordering fabric from a specialty eBay store, loading up with "tools" at my local craft mart, selecting the perfect pattern). But the project became a lot of sew--rip out stitches--sew--rip out stitches, repeated over and over. I did finally finish. And despite the resemblence of the final product to a circus tent (I had much higher hopes for the fabric), I successfully graduated my first-ever sewing project.

Chris deserves major brownie points for his assistance deciphering the Greek/Swahili/Mumbojumbo pattern, but also earns demerits for requesting that I make his clothes from now on. Message to Chris -- no, I will NOT make your clothes because

a) I don't sew men's clothes,
b) I've only completed one solo project,
c) homemade clothes will not pass the straight face test at your law firm (let alone anywhere else),
d) I don't have unlimited free time,
e) do I really need more reasons?

Misadventures on the Metro

chapter 9

Open letter to Metro riders

To Whom It May Concern:

I understand, really I do. Riding the Metro is becoming a very economical travel method for commuters – especially considering the cost of gas! I mean $3+/gallon –ouch! And while there are certain drawbacks (see Misadventures on the Metro Chapters 1-8), overall the Metro provides a quick, convenient and reasonably comfortable commute. In general I can put up with grumpy riders, stop-and-go trains, an occasional offensive odor and a host of other Metro variables. Even the delays allow me to peel through a few extra pages of my novel.

But standing in a packed car today was not my idea of a good time. My usual 20 minutes on the train turned into an hour of torture. And as the time ticked away, I became more and more exasperated.

Alas, I digress.

The entire purpose of this letter is to warn all who may have a propensity for motion sickness or are feeling under the weather, no matter how slightly – STAY OFF THE METRO! The Metro is not an infirmary. And just because paramedics are available in emergencies doesn’t mean you should meet them face-to-face just because you are too cheap/lazy/dumb/thick-headed/oblivious to refrain from public transportation when your health is not 100 percent.

Before you board a Metro train, especially during busy commuting hours, ask yourself:

- Am I feeling queasy, light-headed or faint?
- Is my blood sugar at an adequate level?
- Have I tossed my cookies in the past 24-hours and do I feel any residual uneasiness?
- Is my post-nasal drip upsetting my stomach?
- Am I comfortable with small spaces and traveling underground?
- Do I have ready access to Dramamine? Have I taken my daily dose?

Perhaps most importantly, ask yourself if you really want to bear the guilt of causing thousands to be late for work just because you did not adequately evaluate your health condition before boarding the Metro.

Thank you for your time and for observing these helpful, healthful tips in the future.

Sincerely,


Late for Work in D.C.

Bright Spot

For quite some time (actually since I received the assignment in November), I've been meaning to start a reoccuring column dedicated to the Sunbeam class I teach at church (3- and 4-year-olds). I receive hours of entertainment from the 20 kids (yes, 20!!) I have the pleasure to associate with each week. I am amazed at their sophistication and intelligence, not to mention their keen sense of humor. And I can't think of another thing I do that brings me more joy! These kids are great!!!

Here are some recent tidbits:

In response to a "badge" I made for everyone to wear announcing which church they belong to:

"Wow! This badge is so cool. It looks like a policeman's badge. When I grow up I either want to be a policeman or work at McDonald's."

In response to a discussion about Heavenly Father (and I have no idea what sparked this dialogue):

Sunbeam 1: "Heavenly Father lives up in the sparkle in the sky" [arms waving, fingers "sparkling" towards the ceiling]
Sunbeam 2: "No, he doesn't. He lives in the wilderness!"

Singing time with all of the kids at church:

Singing time teacher: "Okay, is everyone feeling energetic today?"
Excited Sunbeam: "Me! Me! I'm feeling 'ENTERGETIC!'"

Response to my hair-do change:

Sunbeam: "I hate you!"
Me: "You hate me? Why? Is it because I'm mean?"
Sunbeam: [grumpily] "No!"
Me: "Is it because I'm ugly?"
Sunbeam: [grumpily] "No...I hate curly hair!"
Me: "You do? [stifling a smile] But your hair is curly."
Sunbeam: [rubbing hair vigorously] "Now it's flat."
Me: "Would you like me better if I wear my hair straight next week?"
Sunbeam: "Yes!"

Other notable events:
- partial nudity (Me: "Okay, let's put that away.")
- potty training mishap (The little boy's eyes were watering - I thought he put too many fruit snacks in his mouth and was choking...until I looked at his shoe...and saw a drip!)

Sakura

I still remember a song I performed in front of my entire middle school about cherry blossoms. And Sunday, as we checked out these AMAZING trees between sessions of General Conference, I was humming the tune in my head (I actually gave a special performance/re-inactment for Chris). Spring in D.C. is truly magnificent and the cherry blossoms are even more beautiful than I'd imagined.

We love George Mason, yes we do...

...We made these cookies just for you.
Too bad your performance wasn't according to plan,
But we're still proud - we're your truest fans!

They might not have won the title, but beating NCAA powerhouses to make it to the final four: not too shabby! Go George Mason!!!!

On the bright side

I'm trying to be positive, I really am. Forget the fact that my toe just won't seem to heal. Or the fact that I can't wear (let alone purchase) any cute shoes. Not to mention the fact that I really need a pedicure (I could do something about this, but my general unhappiness about my injured toe really puts a damper on the pampering). At least the toe cast was pretty...

Trevan & Chris - together at last

Long lost buddies Trevan and Chris played their own kind of games during our "Gaming Weekend" with John and Holly (see next post). They were easily entertained playing fort and basket spaceship. And they never looked happier.

No babes or booze...

..but this was the BEST SPRING BREAK EVER! In celebration of our one week to keep a social calendar (law school and full-time employment are cramping our sociability), we spent a fun-filled gaming weekend with John and Holly. With the cutest game-themed invitation ever (kudos to Holly), we munched on game-y goodies and played games. We even spent all of Saturday in our pajamas playing more games and watching our new favorite Mormon movie - Sons of Provo. Chris and John were like long lost brothers - doing voices to random TV shows at 2 a.m. Admittedly, we were all like long lost friends - trying to cram all of our catching up into one weekend. We really need to do this more often!

The sun will come up

I'm usually half asleep when I get up in the morning. But recently, as our windows glowed orange through the blinds, I pulled myself out of bed to take this photo. What a way to wake up!!!

Nothing to 'trifle' about

I made this fancy-looking trifle for the missionaries and then a week later for another dinner party. I even bought the special bowl so it would look pretty. The homemade pound cake, fresh raspberries and fluffy whipped cream were to die for! I'm salvating just thinking about it...

Simple pleasures

Ok, I know. I post excessive pictures of our one-bedroom apartment. It's small, but I get very excited when I get a new "house thing." Maybe it stems from the fact that Chris and I had NOTHING for the first two years of our marriage (furnished shoebox apartment in Provo where I slipcovered EVERYTHING). So, here are my latest decorating highlights: new table linens to match the lovely red dishes from our wedding registry (YES!), a beautiful wool rug and basic, yet chic curtains. Life is beautiful!

Twinkling Washington, D.C., Temple

I took this picture while my parents were visiting and forgot to post it. Gorgeous, eh?