This and That Thursday!

Thursday, December 20, 2012

This week has been a blur of to-do lists, gorging myself in pizza and chocolates (it's the holidays, right?), and boxes. Gracious me, if I pooped right now cardboard would surely come spewing out (gross). I'm up to my eyeballs in it.

Not only have we (and by we, I mean me: Jena = 37 boxes, Grahm = 0. . . because I'm OCD, not because he's as lazy as the lazy Susan in your grandmother's house . . . ?) been unpacking ourselves into an oblivion and making decisions that are wonderful and life-changing like "Where should the silverware go? Here it's closer to the dishwasher, but there it's closer to the table" but we've also been wrapping presents for Christmas. . . or at least trying to get ready for our 15-hour road trip to Nashville. (We better get extra presents for this century-long drive, mom.)

Grahm is actually some kind of oragami master sculptor. What this kid can do with some Scotch tape and cheap wrapping makes my measly attempts look like Helen Keller went to town on the present. It's naked-baby-picture embarrassing.

My only job was to pick out the dang wrapping paper. Epic Dollar Tree fail. That red crap is completely see-through. And this "silver" stuff turned out to be a giant roll of Seran-wrap . . . seriously, who wants to wrap their presents in invisible wrapping paper? Not cool.

So if the world ends tomorrow, Grahm and I will be somewhere between Mexico and Nashville with a car full of unwrapped presents and house full of cardboard. That merits a mega whale face

Link up with the lovely Katie and me!
Recently Roached

vlog: new house tour!

Monday, December 17, 2012

The videography is splotchy. The lighting is terrible. My editing is like a kindergartener with a color-by-numbers book, just can't stay in those lines. The commentary is just a lot of silliness. Pretty sure I point out the "pretty windows" in every room. But you get the gist. Here's our new home.

Thanks to my wonderful parents who paid for movers, the sweet people on Craigslist who gave us free boxes and packing paper, anyone who remembered and sent a nice text message, and my sweet in-laws who came over to celebrate with us/provided our first meal in the new house (pizza, duh).

Merry Christmas to us!

the ache in our hearts

Friday, December 14, 2012

I'm heartbroken for Newton, CT and the small school of Sandy Hook. It's overwhelming, really. I found myself physically shaking while watching clips of news segments and Obama's touching speech. How awful. How gut-wrenching. How absolutely terrifying.

My mind whirls with so many thoughts: sin, darkness, children's screams, my teacher friends, unopened Christmas presents, empty desks, confused siblings, mournful parents, lostness, brokenness, hurt. It's incomprehensible.

Here I am safe and sound in Texas, and yet I find myself angry with God. How did You let this happen? Why are innocent people, young children no less, being killed? Where were you, God? Why didn't you stop him?

Some will blame a lack of/too much gun control, insufficient mental health care, poor school security, and, of course, a psychotic gunman with emotional instability. These may be true. But they do not still our anxious, questioning hearts. We still have hurt; we still have questions; we still want to know why.

We live in a broken, sinful world filled with people just like Adam Lanza, people just like me. Yes, he did the most heinous crime imaginable. Yes, he will forever be remembered as a mass murderer who stole the lives of so many young people.

But friends, without Jesus, we are all just as lost, crazy, and depraved as Adam. We are all just as capable of such despicable crimes. Our God does not love us because we haven't shot someone. He doesn't love us because we're good people. He love us in spite of our sinful selves. Jesus is our only hope, the only Savior who can turn our wayward, ugly hearts toward Him. The only one who can heal the ache in our hearts.

There are no words of comfort any of us can offer those families today. I wish there were. I wish we could take away the pain for them. We will never know why such a tragic event happened today, but we can trust that His thoughts are higher than our thoughts. We can trust that He is with those families, that He didn't abandon those children in the school, that He has a purpose in suffering no matter how absurd that seems to us.

This day, as my friend so clearly put it, makes me long for heaven--to be free from this broken world.

This and That Thursday, v. 2

Thursday, December 13, 2012

So THIS happened. I have this condition, and I have for a while now, it's called: I'm as blind as an elderly cyclops bat. Staring at a computer all day to edit grammar is hard on these old crusty crusts of mine; I found myself swimming in contact solution only to still feel like my eyes were pooping itty gritty cement turds all day.

So, glasses! It brings me back to THAT horrifying time in my sixth-grade years where blue-rimmed spectacles were my jam. I got these digs from Firmoo, seriously one of the best eyeware sites ever. They're having this amazing deal right now where all first-time buyers get prescription glasses for free! Check it out here, and you too can embrace your inner hipster, Einstein, nerdy, I-should-probably-have-a-cup-of-jo-in-one-hand-and-a-copy-of-Hemingway-in-the-other shades. (Phew, hyphens!)

THIS guy may or may not have taken a solid ten minutes to notice his new four-eyewinkered wife. Pretty stinkin' cute. It used to bother me when he didn't notice things like big ol' brown things on my face (that sounds like poop, doesn't it?), but now I just think it's part of his quirky charm that I love so much. 

Here's one of 12879 failed Christmas card attempts. ("I am the Walrus," anyone?) I don't know, guys. I feel like a Grinch who's taking a dump on holiday cheer cause I'm just not THAT into Christmas cards this season. Our first Christmas together, I was all about it. Remember ours and my father-in-law's awesome pop-up card featuring us? With the move and our inability to take a decent picture, I'm about as motivated as Lindsay Lohan is to clean up her trollish ways. Besides, who wants to go to the post office at this time of year anyway? (Ohhh, she's an angry elf.)

Link up with the lovely Katie and me today!

Recently Roached

a home

Tuesday, December 11, 2012

As a little girl (and even now as a big buns grown-up), I dreamed about what my house would look like way more than I ever fantasized about my wedding day. After all, the wedding is just a day. Just a celebration. Our home, however, is our life. A place where we will grow and share and laugh together.

I pictured the curtains. The elegant dishes. The comfy couches. The hardwood floors. The colorful decorative pillows, though I never thought I'd have a husband who absolutely loathes them.

And most importantly, I imagined a warm home full of love and laughter. I thought about the man with whom I'd share this wonderful place and my future children creating lasting memories in our home.

And now, here we are, just a few days away from closing on our first house.

It's scary, nerve wracking even. It's a lot of money and a lot of responsibility. But it's exciting. And wonderful. And such a blessing. Grahm and I can't wait to make this beautiful house a home, our home.

All that stands between us and our house is three days, a down payment, and a crap ton of packing. God is an incredibly good Father, and we are incredibly blessed.

letters FROM Santa

Monday, December 10, 2012

This time of year, everyone always focuses on letters to Santa. What they want, reasons they've been a good kid this year, etc. But what about Santa's responses to our ridiculous requests that may or may not put a Christmas cookie up his otherwise jolly buns?
There's gotta be some letters that gets Santa's stockings in a wad and makes The Claus come out.
(Thanks Kristene for the cute idea!)
Happy Holidays, Becky:
Last year's cookies gave Rudolph the trots all the way to Miami. And I chipped my front tooth on those mysterious nut things. Here's an Easy Bake Oven. Learn something.
Cheers, Santa 
Merry Christmas, Victor Randolph III:
Twelve years in a row on the Naughty List? That's a record, kiddo . . . even Hitler made it to the other side a couple of times.
Your biggest fan, Santa
P.S. Enjoy scrubbing a colonel's pot with your toothbrush at military school. I dropped the hint to your parents.

Hello again, Daniel:
Don't bother unwrapping this magical, elf-wrapped box; it's as empty as your cold, little heart. That's right, I see you. I see everything. Stop stuffing your sister in the closet, jerkwad.
Best wishes, Santa

Dear, Jennifer:
Stop asking me for scandalous pictures of Brad Pitt. It's creeping me and the elves out.
Love, Santa

Hi there, Mrs. Claus:
I've told you a hundred times; I can't take Christmas Eve off. Tell your mother she can bite me in my plump, holiday buns. Be home late. 
Warmly, the Kringel to your Chris; the egg to your nog


Friday, December 7, 2012

I'm in a long-distance relationship with almost everyone I care about.

LDRs suck more than the buttload of liposuction Joan Rivers had on her trollish face. They're difficult. Frustrating. Disappointing. It's hard not to feel so disconnected since I'm at least ten hours away from all of them here in Mexico. No matter what, I can't help but feel like everyone is slowly slipping away from me like Wilson, the volleyball, in that tragic scene of Cast Away. Damn ocean.

Keeping up can be hard. We're all so busy. So absorbed in our own lives. I hate that. I want to be there, where they all are. I want to be involved. Lately that seems about as possible as my buns ever looking Kim Kardashian's (not that I'm trying or anything, yikes). It seems nearly impossible to avoid.

This been a hard year for many reasons, but mostly because of these LDRs. Distance is just the absolute pits. I wish traveling was as easy as flushing myself down a toilet to arrive wherever I wanted to go, Harry Potter style.

I miss all of the beautiful women who stood beside me on the best day. They're all wonderful people who have so enriched my life. I miss my family, laughing with them and being overly competitive with board games. I miss them all.

We're all where God wants us, I know. But sometimes I just need to wallow.

This 'n That Thursday, new link-up!

Wednesday, December 5, 2012

Yay for new things. And blog friends. And my first weekly link-up.

And for the record, I think I became a genius last night. Like... that button down there was all me, y'all. Miracles happen. After 2.5 billion questions to the sweet Helene, who just so happens to speak Blonde (my language), I can finally put on my big-girl blogging panties and make my own button!

Recently Roached

This: Jerkwad apartment complex. Mama ain't happy. Thanks for NOT telling us we had to give you a 60-day notice to vacate. You're a real peach. Thanks for extending the lease another freaking month, so that we have to cough up 1100 bucks we weren't expecting in January. Ridiculous. This only makes me more excited to move next week. Si-a-freakin-narah.

I hope Santa stuffs lumps of coal up your knickers and everyone mistakes it for poop.  

That: Packing. We haven't really met this go round, which is a problem. We have the boxes, just not the packing paper. It's astounding how much crap we have acquired this year; we're like those freak garage salers. Kinda terrifies me to move into a 3,000-sqft. home. We'll have too much space to fill. I don't exactly want to wind up on the next episode of Hoarders.

This: Can we just take a moment to think about how "Never Ever Getting Back Together" and "Call Me Maybe" are both nominated for a Grammy? Holy buckets, batman. What is WRONG with America? That's almost as bad of a decesion as Khloe Kardashian hosting the XFactor.

Grab a button, link up with the fabulous Katie and me, and give us a little this and that from your week.

An Ode to Jillian Michaels

Tuesday, December 4, 2012

Jillian Michaels, you beastly woman, you:
You frighten me.
I'm pretty your biceps could crush me with the force of a thousand dragons.
Don't get me wrong, it's inspiring . . . in a please-don't-eat-me kind of way. At times, I'm almost certain you're going to jump out of my computer screen and sit on me, forcing my buns lower to the ground for push ups. My muscles are already crying like someone took a sledgehammer to them in my sleep, thank you very much.
I'm confident I'll never be as ripped as you, no matter how many times I complete this 30 Day Shred. Ten push-ups to you is like a stroll in donut park (Ha. Just kidding. You've probably never eaten a donut in your life.), but for me, I'm sighing and snorting like a slowly dying walrus. 30 Day Shred? Try 30 Day Dead.
As much as I'd like to crush steel with my inner thigh, I don't exactly want my future babies to shy away from their Amazonian mother. I also don't ever want to be able to beat my husband in an arm wrestling competition. . . for his sake. Embarrassing.
Like the aftermath of chilli cheese nachos, you're pushing my body to places it has never been before. (No trots yet though. Buns crossed!) I'm almost as sore as I am after running marathons as I am with your twenty-minute workout.
You scare me, Jillian, but I kinda love you anyway. I'm enjoying working out with my goofball husband who may or may not have been forced to take these pictures last night.
Only 23 more days to go!

Can I eat pizza now?

The Language of Love

Monday, December 3, 2012

If you were in a Christian sorority like me you've probably heard more than you ever want to about love languages. I swear every chaplain we had dissected these five languages like a frog in biology class (ick), inspecting its innards and squishy unmentionables. Because of this, I know these languages like the back of my thigh (unsightly cellulite, in case you were wondering).

Quality Time
Physical Touch
Words of Affirmation
Acts of Service

When we were dating, I was definitely a QT and Physical Touch-er. (Essentially the top for every MAN... greaaaat. What's the manly version of Jena? Jenar? Jen-ster?) I loved spending time with Grahm Cracker, and I loved when he held my hand or put his arm around me for no real reason.
I've been thinking about these lately and how, after a year and a half of marriage, my love languages have drastically changed. Like I'm talking MJ's before and after pics. Black and white. 
I just took this quiz (below), and my results were kind of shocking. Acts of service blew everything out of the water, cannonball style. For me, I feel the most loved when Grahm does little things for me to show me he cares. I shouldn't really be surprised by this; I grew up watching my dad do sweet things for my mom every day.
Grahm has learned this about me. He never wants to clean (who does?), but he frequently picks up a toilet brush and scrubs himself into an oblivion even when I don't ask. Granted, I still am high in the Physical Touch. Nothing says "I love you" like a spontaneous make-out sesh during the commercial break of one of our shows. (Classy, right?)
His languages are words of affirmation and physical touch. Grahm's lowest (acts of service) is my highest. It's fun and sometimes challenging to learn how to love your spouse well, in the ways he needs it the most. It's something to be aware of and to pray for.

But isn't it awesome how God created us all so uniquely? We all love, but we all love differently.
What's your love language?

Cara Box

Wednesday, November 28, 2012

One of my favorite bloggers, Kaitlyn at Wifesessionals, hosts a monthly box exchange called Cara Box. Super fun. This month I got paired with her! Lucky me! Who doesn't love brown paper packages tied up with strings and blog friends? Sign this sister up.
I'm convinced Kaitlyn is half Martha Stewart, half ninja oragami master. Her wrapping is adorable and flawless. I almost didn't want to open all my little gifts.

 The theme for November Cara Box was childhood. Kaitlyn asked a few questions about my life and concocted a box accordingly. She sent so many fun things to remind me of growing up.
Cupcake cards? Too freaking cute. I did eat a heck of a lot of cupcakes as a kid. Let's be real though; I still devour those tasty snacks like a champ.
She made me this super cute printable for Oklahoma, where I was born and raised! It's definitely brightening up my ugly cube at work.

These little stationary cards are way too cute. And who didn't love new markers as a kid?
Had so much fun receiving and sending Cara boxes this month! Head over to Wifessionals to see what I sent Kaitlyn. Sign up next month to receive your own special box!

make. it. stop

Tuesday, November 27, 2012

Guys, it finally hit me. The bug. The fever. The plague (as my friend so affectionately named it). I thought I was strong; I thought I'd be different... but nope. After almost a year and a half of marriage, visions of nurseries and plump baby buns are dancing in my head.

This is a problem. I promised Grahm when we bought the house that we wouldn't have a little Roach baby for two years. So I've got to nip this is in the uterus, my friends. And fast. Maybe I should slap on some maternity pants and hook my skeeter bites up to a breast pump to get a real mental picture of motherhood. Maybe I should offer to babysit octuplets. Maybe I should get a puppy.

Or maybe I should make a list of reasons that babies aren't always ... easy breezy lemon squeezy.

1. Liquids of all kinds: Poop, milk, and puke -- oh my! I'm not ready for poop to be the topic of everyday conversation. How much did she go today? What color? Texture? Just... no. I'm also not fully prepared to sniff another human's rumposaurus like it's totally normal. Then I have to actually handle the party in my baby's diaper. Like every day. Ghastly amounts of it. No amount of wipes, cloth diapers, or Huggie Supremes will ever make that an acceptable situation.

And then there's the whole thing with my chest becoming the "land flowing with milk and honey." Mooo, Jena, moooo. Yes, it's beautiful... it's just so... awkward. What if I have TWINS? Mooo.
2. Lack of sleep: Sleep is really the only thing I'm talented at. Give me a warm blanket and a couple of hours, and take some notes on how a real woman naps. Take that away from me and what will I be? A wrinkley, crab-apple who opts for fifteen more minutes of sleep than taking a shower (wait, that's true right now).

3. Babysitters: As if the little rodent wasn't sucking your wallet dry already, they even cost you money to spend some time away from them! Spontaneous trip? Movie date? Gotta pay extra for some kid to watch the kiddos, and then you'll spend the whole time worrying that the babysitter is making out with a boy on your sofa while little Jimmy plays with the kitchen knives. Good thing we've got in-laws in town. (Yes, Papa Roach I'm volunteering you. Hope you didn't make plans for two years from now.)
4. Stretch marks: Now, I'm not saying this busted can of biscuits is looking really good these days. But at least under all the flub, I know there ain't no permanent scars. Wounds of love, I know. I'll carry those with pride one of these days, but until then... maybe I should just enjoy bikini season and not being compared to a used rubber tire?

5. Did I mention poop yet?

This list didn't work. I still want one... even if I'll forever be labeled a butt-sniffing, stretch-marked, hygiene-questionable cow who hasn't had sleep or a shower in months. It'll all be worth it for a little boy who looks just like his sweet daddy did.

Someday, guys. Someday.
Until then, my grubby hands will avoid holding chubby chunks of love.

food babies and families

Monday, November 26, 2012

Well, my love handles have officially transformed into beastly sacks of burden. The food baby in my belly (and thighs) is super impressive. (Thanksgiving, you are the father!) Commence operation return to normal size.
Grahm and I headed to the middle-of-nowhere Texas on Wednesday for his biannual family reunion. We had a blast. The ranch was beautiful. The family was fun. And the food was abundant (just how I like it). We participated in eating, skits (please see Grahm's blonde wig), football, eating, kickball, arm wrestling, eating, singing, etc. with over 100 family members. Huge reunion, lots of fun and food. The Roach family knows how to eat, people!

Friday night, we drove to Oklahoma to see my crazy family for the day. We ate, played several games of Wahoo (the most intense marble game you'll every play), loved on baby Olive, ate some more, watched the Bedlam game (Go Sooners!), and chatted with the grandparents. It was short, but incredibly sweet.
I love them all and miss them so much. So thankful we got to see both sides of the family this year!

 Hope everyone had a fantabulous, finger-licking, fat-expanding Thanksgiving!
I'm gonna go try to cram and jam into my skinny jeans.


Tuesday, November 20, 2012

My heart is full today. (Probably not as full as my stomach will be in 48 hours. Greetings, food baby.)
I'm not really sure why I'm so happy today. Maybe it's the Dr Pepper in my hand. Maybe it's the Christmas tunes ringing in my ear. Maybe it's the fact that my boss offered to keep me beyond my temporary position. Maybe it's my sweet husband who makes me laugh every morning by forcing me to stay in bed even after the alarm has gone off four times. Maybe it's the lovely friends in my life who try to keep up with me despite living millions of miles away. Maybe it's because I get to see my wonderful family this week. Maybe it's the fact that I get to hug my sweet grandparents, laugh with my dad, kiss my joyous mom, and catch up with my fun siblings.
I'm incredibly blessed. Incredibly happy. Incredibly loved.
Incredibly undeserving of it all.


Monday, November 19, 2012

When I walked out to my little Toyota Yaris on Saturday morning about to head to a church meeting, I wasn't expecting to find Dink looking like he'd had a wrestling match with a garbage truck and the Invisible Man.

Trash was everywhere. All of my compartments were open and empty. We had been robbed.

I almost laughed. Poor guy. He clearly picked the wrong little car to burgarlize. I didn't have any money, fancy gadgets, or anything else (in the car anyway) that you can sell to the bum down the street for a quick buck. Clearly, his time would have been better spent plundering the nearby trash bin.

I felt totally violated, like someone looked up my skirt searching for a pot of gold.

And then I started remembering things in my car... Two pairs of earrings. A leather jacket my sister gave me. Car charger. Sunglasses. Work badge. Apartment key. Car title and insurance. And my Bible.

I know, Petty Betty. You were crying over a ten-dollar pair of earrings and a Bible? To be fair, they were my favorites. You know the go-with-everything pair almost as valuable as a go-with-everything bra.  And the Bible was the first thing Grahm ever bought me. It had all my notes from the past three years, and its pages held favorite picture of a 6th-grade, glasses-wearing Grahm that a sweet friend gave me at one of my bridal showers. None of it was actually valuable, but it was sentimental to me.

We had to change the locks. This guy knows my name, my address, where I work. It's creep-tastic, to say the least. I may or may not have slept with my eyes open last night and a butterknife under my pillow. Just in case. (Dangerous is clearly my middle name.)

Moral of the story: Don't be lazy. Take your crap inside the house. And for the loves of Moses, lock the damn door.

I hope your girlfriend likes my earrings, pal. And next time, don't smoke in my car and leave the cigarrette on my floorboard. Love, Pilfered and Second-hand Smoked


Thursday, November 15, 2012

It's time for a 500-follower giveaway! I'm not sure why y'all stick around this little blog of mine, but I am so glad you want to read about my failed recipes, fart jokes, and crazy-lady ramblings.

Diane from BlueBirdBride sells these fabulous bubble necklaces. She has graciously offered up a $20 giftcard for one of her lovely pieces. I wear my necklace all the dang time. They're super fun! She has all kinds of sizes and colors. Do yourself a favor and check out her Etsy shop here!
If you know me at all, you know I love Modcloth almost as much as my thighs love ice cream. I shop there entirely too often, much to Grahm's chagrin! Here are just a few snapshots to some of the adorable shirts I've purchased there. (I don't know how girls get their husbands to take pictures of them every day for their blogs. It was so awkward. I felt like it was my first day of school or something.)

I'm offering a $20 Modcloth giftcard to shop around their site full of gazillions of fabulous clothes. Go ahead, get addicted like me.

And I don't know about you, but I have so many albums I want to buy! Mumford and Sons, Neon Trees, Imagine Dragon, etc. So here's a $15 Itunes giftcard to go crazy with!
This giveaway ends Monday, the 26th! Good luck!!


Wednesday, November 14, 2012

They say it takes the average couple 8 seconds to decided whether not a house is "the one." I think Grahm and I are more like 3.5 second-ers. Scrolling through houses online was easy peasy; I nixed gobs and gobs of homes. Blinding neon tile? Nope. Linoleum? Gross. Washer in the kitchen? Heck no, techno. I was kinda like King Henry VIII with his unfortunate wives, "Off with its head!" (What?)

You can't really blame me though. I mean, the pictures people put online in hopes of selling their homes are absolutely ridiculous. Poor quality, unmade beds, dirty bathrooms, deer heads everywhere, and babies in the corner of the shot. ("Nobody puts Baby in a corner!") You ain't gonna sell your house like that, people . . . especially to this Picky Phyllis.

This process has been incredibly frustrating, but fun. At times, I thought we were searching for a magical unicorn that could poop chocolate and play the ukelele. Finding a home in our budget that didn't look like an out-dated troll cave seemed impossible.

After our foundation fiasco and boo-coos of tears, I was sure we weren't going to find anything we liked as much. But then we found this one... and we love it one million times more than the first house. It's more beautiful than we could ever have imagined for our first home. Bay windows. Hardwood floors. Crown molding. And the best part? The inspections this time were clean as a whistle, a huge answer to prayer.

We are incredibly blessed to have each other and so thankful to serve a Sorvereign Lord who provides for His children. In exactly four weeks, the Roaches will be home (the people, not the bug... fingers crossed).

a long, sad tale

Monday, November 12, 2012

This post was supposed to be about how I rocked my third marathon this weekend. I was supposed to tell y'all how I got a PR and beat my best time of 4:13, despite my buns threatening to fall off of me. Unfortunately, this is not going to be that post . . . except maybe the butt cheek part. That's still very true. Any minute now.
 We all woke up at 4:45 on Sunday to get to the race on time. There were 30,000 runners (yikes), so we braced ourselves for unbearable traffic. We got there an hour early, pumped and ready to run.

Funny side story: After taking a million pictures before the race, I headed to (what I thought) were the public restrooms. While in line, I got asked by a woman holding a tray of hors d'oeuvres and cloth napkins if I had a VIP port-a-potty sticker. Excuse me, what? Of course, I didn't. So I had to wait in a ridiculously long line where all the other "commoners" emptied their bladders.

Finally, I lined up in our corral. While I waited for the countdown, visions of PRs danced in my head. I wanted a 4:10 finish with a secret goal of breaking 4 hours. I knew it was going to be extremely difficult, especially since I had slacked on my training. But I was optimistic. I was ready.

When we heard the countdown, we started running. Gazillions of runners packed like sardines all scrambling for a spot to run. It was such an adrenaline high. I love marathons. I love running with thousands of other crazy people who think 26.2 miles sounds like fun. I love the crowds, the signs ("Run faster I just farted!"), the cheers. It's all so glorious.

Everything was fine... until I hit mile 7.
Two women stopped abruptly in front of me. I quickly had to dodge to the right to avoid crashing into them. And that's when it happened... pop goes the knee. As someone with a history of knee problems (ACL surgery, knee sprains, etc.), I knew this wasn't good.

The pain was excruciating, but what I could I do? I didn't have a phone. I had no idea where Grahm was. Somehow I managed to walk/hobble/run seven more miles; every mile I was just praying to see my husband. Once I saw him at mile marker 14, I collapsed in his arms and sobbed. I knew it was over.

He held my hand, comforted me, and walked with me (very slowly) five more miles. At mile 18, it was obvious I couldn't do much more. I was in so much pain, and we were moving so slowly. It was horrifying and embarrassing. I couldn't NOT finish. I had to... I had to finish.

Grahm very sweetly told me that he thought I should stop to prevent further injury, but offered to walk the next 8 miles with me if that's what I really wanted. I knew I couldn't do it. Once again, I sobbed in his arms...realizing this would be my first marathon to not finish. So much training. So many long days of running. All of it was gone. I felt like a failure. We got shuttled to the finish line with a van full of people crying because they didn't finish either, for whatever reason. It was incredibly depressing company.
I'm not sure what I would've done without Grahm. He comforted me and whispered so many encouraging words. He told me he was proud of me for doing the hard thing, stopping. While I'm still embarrassed and frustrated with my dumb ol' knee, I feel incredibly blessed to have married such a wonderful man. He's my number one fan, even if, for the first time, I didn't get a finisher's medal.

Rock and Roll Marathon, I will defeat you next year... if I can ever move my legs again.


Friday, November 9, 2012

Dear Marathon: You're in two days. 48 freakin' hours. I think I'm going to bite the pavement and die a slow, embarrassing death. My butt cheeks and I should probably just surrender now. Thankfully a few of my favorite ladies are going to be chuggin' along with me.

Dear Daylight Savings: Not a fan.You make me want to sleep forever, something I already struggle with. Driving home in the dark on the San Antonio highways is like defying death every day.

Dear NanoWrimo: Ouch. Writing a book is more difficult than wiggling into my skinny jeans these days. My word count is embarrassingly low. Like lower than my math score on the ACT.

Dear Grahm: Thanks for nixing one of my female character's names this week. Harper Collins. Didn't even occur to me why that's a terrible idea. I like Harper. And Collins is your middle name. Brilliant, I thought! I did NOT think about the huge-mongo publishing company until you laughed in my face when I told you her name.

Happy weekend, everyone!