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Just wanted to show off my new camera!
The colors don't look as amazing on this blog because of my hazy template. They are actually vibrant and beautiful! You'll just have to take my word for it. These pictures were taken at the botanical gardens by my house.
This is my dear friend Megan and her angel baby, Molly. The color in these pictures is actually pretty awesome (trust me), but you can't tell because of my hazy blog template. Oh well.
Bad haircut. Told you so.
Good thing I'm so dang cute.
So, I realize that this is a gigantic spider and not a human. I just wanted to brag about how cool my camera is! I was way super far away from this evil creature and you would never know. My zoom is the BEST!
The cutest boy in the WORLD!
Doug splashing away in the water fountain! Look at the water droplets! They were made possible by my cool new camera!
If you know me, really know me… then you would know that I have priorities. And these priorities are basically the framework for my life. My priorities are—and in no particular order—family, the gospel, and hair… but especially hair.
When I get the thought that I need a haircut—it must be done. It becomes an obsession. It is all-consuming. The problem is that I’ve been trying to grow my hair out. And I’ve been doing a great job. My locks almost reached bra-strap length… which in my world is billowing. But then I got the itch.
In most moments of weakness (such as this) I would just call my sponsor (my mom). I’d tell her that I was about to falter and she would lovingly, but firmly, talk me out of it. But this week my mom was in Europe and unreachable. So I blame her completely for the haircut.
I gave the hairdresser what I thought was pretty good direction. I pointed to the picture and said “I want this haircut exactly.” Then, in case she had cataracts or over-dilated pupils, I verbally outlined exactly what expected from this haircut.
Snip snip snip. I could tell that she was doing it all wrong but it was too late—the damage had already been done.
I looked down at the piles of my once luxurious hair. At first I was glad to be rid of it. I felt like shouting “I’m free! I’m free!” and running naked around the salon. But then I looked in the mirror. This woman, this so-called stylist, had stripped me of all that was feminine. She had maimed me. She had given me “the mom haircut.”
“I love it. Thank you,” I said and gave her a generous tip. I got in the car and cursed my mother.
Yes, I'm a very spoiled girl. Spoiled-rotten. I just got my second new very cool toy this month. My first toy was the Rav-4. It is the best car in the world and I would bathe it in kisses if I wasn't already married.
The second cool toy was a birthday/Christmas present for me and Ryan from my in-laws (Thank You!!!!). Our current camera is has never given us satisfactory pictures and is now producing more offensive images than ever. I look fat in every picture... oh wait.
So I did a lot of research and picked the perfect camera. It's an advanced point and shoot with about a bazillion mega-pixels and a generous zoom. I've always wanted to learn about photography and now have the perfect equipment to start.
Ryan was a little hesitant about my choice. When we got married we agreed that Ryan could be in charge of all the Best Buy purchases if I could be in charge of all of the Crate and Barrel purchases. This arrangement made a great deal of sense at the time. Ryan hated shopping for anything that was not a gigantic TV and I claimed an allergy to any product with wires and an instruction manual.
It was only natural that Ryan was concerned about my health when I told him I wanted this slightly expensive and slightly complicated equipment. But I pulled out the big guns. I asked Ryan how important it was to him that we choose a basic point and shoot (which I admit are very cute and very little) over a better-in-every-way camera. He rated it a seven on his scale of importance. I then informed him that it was a nine on my scale. I needed that camera. I had to have it. I loved it.
Ryan agreed that we could get the surperior camera. He said it was a ten on his scale if it made me happy. Which makes me happy. Which in turn will make him happy... but I'll not go into that.
Thank you, thank you, thank you to the Lee's for this amazing present! I'm still trying to figure out how the dang thing works, but once I do I'm going to take some brilliant pictures of your grand babies and send them straight to you!
A stake high counselor spoke to our ward on Sunday about how the way we speak reflects who we are inside. Perhaps I liked his talk so much because I love words… especially writing them. I can say the exact thing I want to say in the exact way I want to say it. If I write something illogical or grammatically odious I can backspace until all evidence is destroyed.
How I wish real life was like that. When I say something mean or muddle up my words, wouldn’t it be nice to right-click delete? I am a far less graceful in person than I am on paper. Sometimes I feel clumsy when trying to hold an actual conversation. And on the cell phone… a downright failure.
But really, how does the way I speak—or more importantly the words I choose to use— reflect who I am inside? I remember in high school a few of my girlfriends and I experimented with a few naughty words to prove that we weren’t as Mary Tyler Moore as we looked. I’m sure any person lucky enough to catch us mid-blaspheme would be more inclined to howl with laughter than be offended. We could never make the words sound convincing enough and eventually tossed the cause. We were trying to be something we were not.
This does not mean I shun all bad words. I find a good “damn” or “hell” appropriate and even necessary if used well and sparingly. I have a friend who is the picture of Clorox clean. She was an EFY counselor and a missionary, but also one of the more hilarious people I have met. She was relaying a story about how she was on a date and accidentally peed her pants in the middle of a goodnight kiss (I could relate more than I care to admit…. but I’ll save that for another blog). Anyhow, I was doubled over laughing as she was reenacting the episode and narrating what was going through her mind mid-stream. When the “d-word” slipped out of her mouth I hit the floor. It was the crowning glory of the chronicle. It was unexpected. It was brilliant.
So I admit, I mix a little dog poop in with my brownie batter. Don’t tell anyone (or sample any of my baked goods). But for the most part I try to radiate who I am with the topics I choose to speak about or the words that leave my mouth. There is a great deal of room to improve, though.
The Sunday speaker also talked about how it is easy to identify if a marriage likely to fail by the tone of voice one spouse uses to another. If one partner consistently sounds reproaching or superior when speaking to the other, chances are that the marriage will end in divorce. This had been statistically proven. Scary, huh? Sometimes it is not what one says but how one chooses to say it that makes all the difference. I am so grateful to a husband who speaks to me lovingly and kindly (and often relentlessly teasingly) and I hope that I do the same. It’s something for me to watch for when the inevitable differences arise.
Speaking of words… I think I’ve used my quota for this entry.
I did it! I purchased my first baby girl outfit! Isn't it the cutest thing? You can't tell from the picture but it is itty-bitty.
Girl's clothes are about twice as expensive as boys clothes... but notably twice as cute. I am half-way terrified to buy girl stuff and find out that it is actually a boy. The temptation, however, is too huge and shopping for my new baby is so fun.
We are thinking about the names Kianna and Evangaline. I am interested to see which name everyone likes better so please feel free to express your opinion.
