Dear Monday

Monday, January 30, 2012

Linking up with Megan!

Dear Bed, thank you for providing me with warmth and plushness for way too long this morning. Also, thank you for not judging me that I rolled out of bed at 11 a.m.

Dear In-laws, y'all are just the best. Today you're celebrating 30 years of wedded bliss. I can't imagine being married for even one of those years, so props to you guys for being together much longer than I've been alive. I'm especially thankful since you popped out my husband. Good jobs, you guys!

Dear baby Grahm, you are/were the cutest handful in the world. Thank you for providing lots of laughs for us all last night when we watched home videos of you screaming on the side of the street "LEMMMONADDDE!" so the entire town would know about the deliciousness you were selling. What a salesman.

Dear Hair, you're at the awkward not-long-but-not-short stage and I'm not loving it. I'm tempted to chop you off, but I know my husband would cry. So if we're gonna get along, this whole static thing has got to stop. I'm running out of dryer sheets to rub all over you.

Dear Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close, you actually followed the book! So amazed. One of my favorite reads last year, and I was excited to see you and my favorite, Tom Hanks. Grahm thought you were snoozecity, but I enjoyed you. (This is my version of being Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close.)

Dear Molly and Bekah, I miss you trolls more than you probably know. Grahm can only handle my ridiculousness so much... I enjoy all our random 3-way texting conversations that make life better. Looking forward to seeing you in a few weeks for my birthday weekend.

Dear Grahm, thanks for being amazing this weekend and helping me with all our projects. You're a real trooper and I appreciate your knowledge of a hammer and saw. Also thanks for putting up with me wanting to take a million pictures last night. It's not every day that I straighten my hair... it's gotta be documented.

Dear Panera, thanks for being my office today. Free wifi and unlimited Dr Pepper, umm yes! I'm doing some freelance editing for a novel this week. Very exciting stuff. I absolutely love my job. (Also, thanks guy sitting next to me for not judging me for taking this picture... cause let's face it, you totally knew what I was doing.)


Saturday, January 28, 2012

There's nothing I love more than Grahm. And crafting. Put the two together, and I'm a happy duckling (not the ugly, unhappy one... her pretty, optimistic sister).

Today has been project day in the Roach household.
We finally got our couch (after two weeks of waiting for the dang thing to come in). And because we're so frugal broke, we skipped the $150 delivery fee and brought our new addition home with us all by our elfinwhiches. This was easier said than done.

It was come and go there as to whether or not we were gonna be able to get the new beauty inside. (I kept yelling at Grahm, "Pivooooot!" like Ross did at Rachel in that classic Friends episode. He wasn't too amused.) Somehow we succeeded. I proved to Grahm that I'm strong and capable of carrying lots of weight (not a good indicator for extra midlife poundage), and now we have a comfy place to plop our buns at the end of the day.

Today we went to Habitat Home Center, which is my new favorite store (I still love you, Hobby Lobby). We bought five doors. It was such a fun hunt. There were hundreds to choose from.

I've got the ideas (pinterest), Grahm has the know how, and Papa Roach has the tools to make it all happen! We're the perfect crafting team. Can't wait to show you what we're up to with these doors, which were all a whoppin' five dollars each!

The Breakfast of Champions

Thursday, January 26, 2012

If you walked into my kitchen right now, you would get a nice whiff of the lingering aroma of bacon (kind of).

Last night I thought I'd make Grahm some delicious brinner (breakfast for dinner) cause that kid loves pancakes more than his delightful wife (only half true). This is funny because he's skinnier than a rail (seriously, there's no differentiation between his thigh and his calf). The fluffy goodness of pancakes doesn't go to his fluffy parts (because he doesn't have any) like it does with me. So I try to limit the number of pancakes and bacon I make in our household.

Confession time: I do this mainly because... I really struggle with making breakfast food.

Now we all know from past POSTS that I'm a class act when it comes to serving up meals. It's like I have the golden touch when a whisk (I own no such thing) is in my hand. Delectableness effortlessly pops out of my oven every night. (I sit on a throne of lies, my friends.)

But bacon is deceitful.
Everyone likes bacon so you're easily swayed in the grocery store to buy it. You whip it out of the fridge  thinking, "Oh, I'll just throw this on the stove and call it delicious."

Here's the problem. Grahm likes his bacon crispy ("Babe I just wanna know the pig's dead when I eat it.") not chewy like me. And crispy bacon is infinitely more difficult to cook.

There's a terrifying line of burning the pig and it comin' out with the perfect crunch factor. I decided last night that I'll never be able to master it. I tried looking for the "signs" that it was ready to come out of the greasy pan, but I got distracted with flipping the pancakes.

Let's just say I tangoed with the line of burnt or perfectly crispy, and I tangoed too long. The meat started curling into a blackened mess to a point where the bacon was no longer recognizable.

The smoke alarms may or may not have gone off.
"Babe what are you doing!?"
"WAHHHHH. I'm trying to make delicious bacon but it's SOOO hard!"

He still ate the few edible pieces I was somehow able to save from a greasy death, even pretendeding to like it the cardboard-like meat. (I tell ya, I picked a winner.)

I thought the night was over and I couldn't possibly embarrass myself anymore...
but then I make or may not have poured bacon grease down the drain, which (according to Grahm) you're not supposed to do.

So needless to say, the Roaches will not be partaking in brinner anytime soon. Darn you, pigs.

Deep in the Heart of Texas

Tuesday, January 24, 2012

Let's talk about San Antonio.
(No that picture has nothing to do with this post, but it's some delightful eye candy for your viewing pleasure.) I've been here for almost three weeks, so I've pretty much got this whole Texas thing in the bag. I've even found and set my radio stations to the four channels not in Spanish. Ganando! (Winning!)

It's warm. Like let's go jump-in-the-pool-naked-and-eat-ice-cream-every-day-and-keep-the-AC-on-all-the-time warm. (Please, Jena, more hyphens.) Any place that demands I slurp down ice cream on the reg. was destined for me. It surely doesn't feel like January. This might be the first year in a long time that it won't snow on my birthday in February, which would seriously be a a present in and of itself. (Snow is overrated. It's cold and scary to drive in and it gets ugly in .0006 seconds.)

I've always said that I would rather be drenched in sweat than frozen like a popsicle. So again, Texas was made for me. However, I did commit one major fashion faux-pas on Sunday. I wore a scarf to church (because the outfit was begging me to) ... let's just say people thought the foreign fabric around my neck was a thick purple noose.

It's mostly friendly (except for drivers, but we'll get to that). Because I have a lot of Oklahoma Pride (or because it was the only thing clean), I wore my BEAT TEXAS shirt to Hobby Lobby yesterday. It was the wrong avenue for a reaction though. Middle-aged women with crafting problems do not care about football rivalries. I'll have to run into a bar and yell "Texas sucks" to really get a response. (Don't worry, I won't do that; I wouldn't want my 5'1''/106 lb. body to have to inflict all kinds of pain.)

We haven't gotten to meet just a whole lot of people, but those we have are super nice. We're hoping to get more involved in the church we visited on Sunday, that or start knocking on doors at our apt. asking people to be our friends.

HEB. The grocery store to beat all grocery stores. I didn't think produce could get this good.

It's busy. San Antonio is the 7th largest city in the USA. That's a whole lot of bodies. And people (apparently) gotta a lot of crap to do in Texas. One highway isn't good enough. Nope, we have like twenty. Annnd they have six lanes of traffic. Count 'em, six. That's four more than I'm used to. And they're all windy and curvy and will change up on you any ol' time, so you better be paying attention instead of doing this:
...Or yelling at Siri for the millionth time. Why is "Directions to JoAnn's Fabric" so hard to understand? I swear that girl gives me a headache faster than it takes Grahm to make the bed. (He just throws the decorative pillows on top and calls it made.)

I never thought of myself as a small town girl, but when you're accustomed to two lanes on one highway and ample warning for each exit, I guess the shoes fits. I'm pretty sure I stick out like a sore thumb when I'm driving. It's like a big sign is plastered over my car saying, "Texas Noob!" Definitely gotten my fair share of honks since I've been here... but I would probably lay on my horn to the frazzled blonde girl going 50 so she can be sure to read every sign, too.

Those are just some fun facts that 99% of you probably already knew about SA. I'm sure more revelations will come my way after a few months of being here. Til then, the Roaches will continue relying heavily on our GPS, the in-laws, and the ice cream shop down the street.

Wedding Whoops, Link-up party!

Sunday, January 22, 2012

It's funny the things you remember from your wedding day. The whole day is one fantastic blur. Meeting faces you will quickly forget, panicking over the details, praying for perfect weather, trying to be your absolute prettiest (how does one actually go about doing that?) but mostly you're in a whirlwind of bliss where nothing can get you down.

Let's face it though, no matter how long we have meticulously planned for this day glitches are bound to happen. It's the most important day of your life AND you're wearing white... which basically means you're setting self up for disaster.

I thought my very first link up should be all us gal sharing our funny stories of what went wrong on our big day. For all my single ladies I bet you've got some good stories from being in/being at weddings, so share those! Link up below and share a funny Wedding Whoops that you experienced/know of! (Thanks, Sarah for your help!)

The picture above is just after Grahm did the garter toss, and his mischievous groomsmen decided to go for his face with hands full of shaving cream instead of the ring of lace flying through the air. As funny as that was (to everyone but my new husband) our Wedding Whoops happened a few minutes later, just before we made our not-so-grand exit.

Our DJ had nicely urged people to go outside to light their sparklers so we could get on the road. We could have had a fancy escort to our hotel, but we Grahm declined so the guys could decorate the car. He knew they had some excellent Bible references up their sleeves, and wanted to see their fruit of their labors. Bad decision, but we wouldn't know that til later.

All of our guests were outside, except me. And Grahm... but he wasn't with me. I had no idea where he was or what I was supposed to do in the empty room with the DJ still blasting music for everyone waiting on the bride and groom.

So picture it. I'm standing in the our empty reception room, wondering where in the world my new husband is while I can see everyone lining up outside, sparklers aflame.

Minutes later, Grahm comes sprinting to me.
"Where have you been??" I asked.
"I had to pack!"
"You weren't packed??"
"No..." (We got married in a lodge that he had stayed the previous night.)
"How were you not packed? Where you planning on wearing that suit the whole time in Hawaii?"
"I just didn't think about it! I didn't have time."
"It was the first thing on your list I made you."
"Well I think I got everything, so now we can leave!"

We quickly hugged our parents and ran to the car, which now contained BOTH of our bags. Turns out, the groomsmen had hands full of shaving cream for a reason... they had entirely covered my car with it, leftover Oreos, and toilet paper. Even on the inside, toilet paper covered everything... Not cool.
Because someone had packed my bags in the car for me, I had no idea where my phone was. Which was bad because we needed the GPS on it to make it to the hotel.

Once on the road, we had to stop several times to wipe away the shaving cream so we could SEE. The windshield wipers smeared the cream around, making it even more impossible to see out of the windows let alone maneuver through downtown Tulsa in search of a hotel we had never been to. We also got to hear the pleasant sound of cookies falling off the roof every time we had to turn.

We were frazzled, to say the least. Trying to be happy because we just got married, but also not wanting to die (a very untimely death).

Forty-five minutes later, we somehow made it to the hotel without having a wreck. [That would have been the shortest marriage in history. Move over, Kim Kardashian.]

When we got there, Grahm realized he hadn't given any of his groomsmen their gifts... and that he had forgotten most of his clothes/toiletries in his frantic attempt to pack for the honeymoon before sparklers.
So the next morning before we took off to Hawaii, we had to meet both sets of parents at the lodge to get the rest of his clothes before (once again) leaving for our honeymoon... a bit awkward to say the least.

What were your wedding whoops?? Link up and share!

A conversation with myself

Saturday, January 21, 2012

1. I apologize in advance for this post.
2. I promise I'm not schizophrenic. (That's a hard word to spell.)
2. I really need a job.
3. Yes, my life is actually this exciting.
4. Did I mention I need a job?
Hey, Jena.
Good day, mate. What can I do for you on this fine top of the morning to ya?
Remember that one time you said you were gonna start running again? I think it was like January 1 or some other goal-setting day in your life, since you have those quite frequently. You're so aspirational.

Running? That doesn't really sound like me.

Yes, you're right. But you still made the resolution, my little recently-expanding friend. We were all here to witness it.

La la la chocolate ice cream la la la.

Ice cream is liquid cellulite, my friend.... Besides working out is good for you.

But I'm too pretty to sweat.

Says the girl with the Michelin Man arms.


Don't make me go all Jillian Michael's on your flabby buns. Now, go put on a cute workout outfit. The kind that makes you feel way more legit than you actually are.

Like this?

Perfect. Those jazz hands are top-notch. Now show me the guns.

Sheeesh. Well, we'll get to those dinner-lady fun bags later. Right now we need to work on your face. You look like someone is about to give you a puppy. I need you to look like you're about to eat it.

The puppy?!

No, gross. I'm talking about the pounds, the sweat, your laziness. EAT it!


A little too Captain Hook, but I can work with that. Now it's time for stretches. You need to put a quality stretch in before you run that ONE grueling mile. 

You look like a cheerleader on crack.

But look how high my leg goes!

I'm only slightly impressed. Now get loose. Try movin' around. Shake what your mamma gave ya.

What in the name of your foopa was that?

I was trying to do the Superman dat Ho dance.

I'm going to choose to ignore that. Now go charge up the ol' ipod and pick an exhilarating song, preferably one that doesn't have the word "HO" in it.

There goes my Christmas playlist.

This Aerosmith song just really makes you think about all the potential creepers out there watching people sleep.

Just get into it.

"Just to seee you dreaaaammmmin!!!"

Not that into it. You're scaring people.
Before you leave for the gym, don't forget to fuel up! A runner's best friend is his water bottle.

Got it!

Umm. That's not water.

It's only got 10 calories. Same thing. 

**********************16 minutes later***********************

The treadmill hates me. So does that wrinkly old lady who was next to me. I've got more fat in my left butt cheek than she has in her entire body.

They hate you because it took your rump that long to run 1.5 miles. But hey, good job. You actually started your resolution.

Oh and Jena?

Now what?

Next time you force me to have this conversation with you, don't take pictures of yourself in the kitchen. The world already knows you're a fatty, no need broadcasting it. 


Little joys

Thursday, January 19, 2012

Today I decided that I need to put my big girl boots on and realize that life is beautiful, and more importantly it's what you make it. Sometimes I need to remind myself of how blessed I am. It's easy for me to get down in the dumps and feel like an old fart with no job and no friends since I'm so far away from everyone I know in Oklahoma.

But I have so much to be thankful for.

Yesterday I had my first job interview here in Texas. I somehow managed to maneuver through downtown traffic without killing anyone (who invented the one-way street, anyway?). Grahm and I ended up deciding it would be more beneficial for me to pursue another job. Even though I didn't take it, it was a good reminder that something good is bound to happen.

Last night my favorite trolls and I spent 30 minutes on Skype trying to figure out to do a three-way video chat. We still have no clue how it's done. Grahm said he got a kick out of listening to us yelling our confusions. "What?! Nooo why??? It won't work when I press this button?"

I ended up Facetiming with Molly, Skyping with Bekah, and trying to hold my phone at just the right angle so everyone could see each other. Much harder than it sounds. (Don't worry about the scraps of fabric/extra wood on the table. Just another DIY project, or two. Man, I need a job.)

Currently I'm listening to David Gray's "White Ladder" goodness (I know I'm like 10 years behind), and reading a good book on my Nook. I didn't think I would ever like an electronic reader because I love flipping pages and the smell of old books, but I love this thing! I'm reading The Night Circus which is proving to be an interesting read despite it's point-of-view issues (there's a bit of professional writing snobbery for ya.) Books always make my heart happy.

It's 74 degrees outside. Nothing puts in me in a good mood faster than warmth and sunshine. How many people can say they're wearing a tank top in January? I love it and my pasty whiteness flabbing all over the place.

And last but definitely not least, I'm so grateful for Grahm. Sometimes I wonder (pretty much every day) why the kid married such a hot mess... but I'm glad he did. Last night we sang Selena Gomez's "Love you like a Love Song" (we have problems) while I was making dinner. After the years of sibling scorn my lovely voice had to endure growing up, it's nice to be able to burst into song and have someone want to join in and harmonize instead of begging me to shut up. If anything, he scream sings more than me. A real miracle, people.

Grahm also did the dishes after dinner, because he's that wonderful. Ladies, if you can't reel in a man who will cook for you, you better get one that is willing to get his fingers nice and sudsy for ya. Trust me, it's the best thing in the world (besides foot massages).

The little things are sometimes what make life the sweetest. I'm reminding myself today just how sweet my life really is.

You say pitch it, I say paint it

Wednesday, January 18, 2012

My philosophy since we've moved to Texas has been, "Let's paint it!"

We have a ridiculously small collection of furniture, if you can call that. Our guest bedroom and living room are still basically empty (we're working on it!). The stuff we do have is all for our bedroom, so that's where I've been doing my latest project(s). Early on I decided we can either pitch the stuff we have [cause none of it went with what we (I)] had been envisioning, or it change up! And you know me, I'm all about a good DIY project.

I thought Grahm would be all for this cost-effective option... but have you ever tried to explain to your husband what shabby chic means? Good luck with that one, my friends (especially if you're planing to do this to your/his bedroom).

Me: I just really want our bedroom to be all whites and creams.
G: Wait, what? No color at all?
Me: Cream is a color.
G: Well our bedroom furniture is wood, not white.
Me: I know. I'm gonna paint it!
G: What? You can't paint furniture. It will look sooo bad, babe.
Me: No, it won't! I'm going for shabby chic look. I have a vision!
G: Nothing with the word shabby in it sounds like something I want.
Me: It's like a worn/ wear-and-tear kind of look, but super adorable.
G: But our furniture isn't old.
Me: I know, I'm going to age it myself! Our bedroom will be fabulous.
G: Darn you, Pinterest.

Here's the thing about painting. You kinda have to know what you're doing. I was determined (despite my lack of skills with a paintbrush) to prove Grahm (and all men who have a phobia of painted wood, which is most according to my mom) that painted does not mean worse. I mean what did we have to lose, right?

It was real come-and-go there for the first two coats, but by the third I knew they weren't going to be shabby stink like Grahm predicted.

Here are our night stands, originally part of Grahm's bachelor pad.
And here are is the finally result. Gotta love Anthropologie and their speciality knobs!
I should get a medal for getting through all those nooks and crannies. Seriously.

This is a dresser I've had in my bedroom for years. I think my parents bought it for me when I was a freshmen in high school, so this baby has seen some serious action. Since I'm married now and I don't exactly want my bedroom to be the same teeny bopper room it once was.

Solution? Paint it!

Much more grown-up girl appropriate, yes?
This may not be the expensive shabby chic furniture I've been scouting out, but I think it's a nice consolation prize. Good news, Grahm doesn't hate it! (Of course he could quite possibly be lying since he knows how much time I spent on them). You also can't beat the forty bucks we spent on supplies.

On the down side, I don't think I'll ever get all the paint off my body. I found some on my elbow this morning. No idea how it got there.

Little by little, this place is starting to feel like home!

A long, but fond memory

Monday, January 16, 2012

Today, most people [normal people] think of Martin Luther King Jr. and his unwavering passion for African American equality. Me? Well, I think of baby swings.

Twelve years ago was the most eventful day of my young, boring life [up to that point]. Like every other ten-year-old, I was enjoying the freedom of no school. My mom [oh so wisely] took all of us to a popular park in Texas where we could properly embrace this freedom without 
breaking anything, or killing anyone.

Once there, I decided it would be fun to slide my child-like thunder thighs through the small holes of a baby swing. The nostril-size holes were from one of those old-school swings, the ones that look like giant brown diapers.

Image found on
A few seconds later [or however long it took me to realize a ten-year-old in a baby swing really isn't that funny] I decided to ditch the swing and move on to bigger and better things. But there was a slight problem with that.

You see, I couldn't move. No amount of wiggling could get me out. I was horrifyingly STUCK.

My eyes grew big as I realized I was trapped. I started thinking  "OH my gosh! They are going to have to chop my legs off! I'll never be able to walk again! Dad is gonna be so mad at me!" Keep in mind, I'm ten. (This is also a point in my life when my father thought I was going to be really tall and be awesome at basketball. Sorry, dad.)

I yelled at Blake to find my mom. She, of course, took her sweet time because I "did this kind of thing all the time." (Two times I pretended to be stuck in a tree and suddenly I'm the girl who cries "stuck!") By the time she finally made it over to me, I was convinced my legs were turning purple and would fall off at any moment.

It didn't take her long to assess the situation. This time, I wasn't faking it. She gave my body a few jerks, trying to free me from my  diaper chamber. But nothing. She ended up calling 911, because what else could be done? I'm sure they loved getting that call, "Yes, we have a juvenile stuck in a baby swing..."

What seemed like an eternity later, the paramedics finally arrived. By this time, a crowd had started to gather. Parents and children all sat around the jungle gym and watched the poor, idiotic girl trapped in the baby swing bawling her eyes out.

The paramedics tried to calm me down, but that effort was pretty futile. First, they tried to cut the swing. But underneath the leather covering was metal, so cutting through the swing wasn't really an option. Then they flipped the swing [me along with it] entirely upside down. One man held my feet, while another tugged on my arms trying to release me. I felt like a  human tug of war. The crowd  as well as my fear that I would never walk again had siginificantly increased.

They then splattered petroleum jelly all over my white legs, much like they would prep a pregnant woman's bulging belly for delivery. Flipping me upside down, they pulled, tugged, yanked... until FINALLY,  I was free!

I stumbled out of the swing, crying from the relief that I wasn't going to lose my legs and the embarrassment that I had just been the playground spectacle for about sixty people. It was a horrific, terrible experience. But now, it's hilarious and I wouldn't trade it for the world. What we wouldn't give for a video camera.

So today on MLK day, here's to freedom. Freedom of all kinds.

On couch shopping

Saturday, January 14, 2012

We got up early this morning, had our traditional Saturday morning asiago cheese bagel and hit the furniture stores in search of a couch. I knew exactly what we (I) wanted, so I didn't think finding "the one" would be too difficult. Right?

Wrong. Oh so wrong.

Naive but excited, we waltzed into our first store. I'd never heard of Louis Shank's Furniture, but the large SALE sign was good enough for us. No one really asked us if we needed help once inside... So we began to meander the store on our own.

The first couch we saw was a Victorian-esque sectional. It was marked for the low low price of $25,000. Grahm's eyeballs almost popped out of his face when he saw the tag. Excuse me, what's with all those zeroes? That's worth more than both of our cars combined! I don't consider myself a cheap skate, but c'mon that's ridiculous.

Obviously we were in the wrong place. We stood out like a sore thumb in our sweats and tennis shoes. We then understood why no one had asked if we needed help... needless to say, I've never felt so redneck in my life. It was hilarious. I made sure Grahm knew not to touch anythinggggg! Just for kicks, we decided to look around some more. The least we could do was drool over the furniture that the buns of the rich and famous get to sit on.

We found this little jewel. A little dog bed. (We probably couldn't even afford that.) Please notice what the ORIGINAL price was before this "awesome" sale. That bed had better been lined with gold and diamonds for that chuck of change. I can get the same thing at Wal-mart for 20 bucks, people. And really, is your dog actually gonna sleep there? Doubtful.

We made a lot of stops. And I was starting to become a negative Nancy.
So many people told us how trendy we were for wanting a gray contemporary couch. "Oh that's so in right now!" Oh okay, then why don't you have it? I'm also convinced that most furniture salesmen are colorblind. "Here's one of our best gray couches." Umm no, that's brown. Or blue. Or green.

Grahm and I were also suffering from opposing tastes.
He loves leather. I can't stand it. I mean, hello? We now live in San Antonio -- aka Sweat City. I don't need my thunder thighs sticking to my couch every time I wanna hunker down and watch the Bachelor. I had to keep reminding him that we are decorating our home as a family, not his ideal man cave.

"Babe, look how good I look on leather. I mean, c'mon."
I was positive we were never going to find anything, or that I needed to start rethinking what color we (I) wanted. But the last place we found had the perfect one! The long end piece is called a chase. We hate it, so we ordered a regular cushion to put in it's place. And of course, I'll be changing out the pillows.

I was so happy with our purchase. Grahm was more excited about how he talked to the sales rep. "Did you pick up on my incredible negotiation skills, babe? Extra cushion fo' free and they went down on the price. Bam! You're welcome."

Couch will be here 8-14 days which is a total drag, but at least it's the one we want! Hooray for first big purchase as a married couple. Now to get the coffee table, end tables, fabric for curtains, etc. etc.

The in-laws got us these awesome cupcakes that we ate in celebration of our new couch... thus explaining my double-chin action going on.

Back in time

Thursday, January 12, 2012

If you missed the memo, we're in the process of settling into our new apartment. With all the unpacking, I came across a treasure trove of old pictures in one of my memory boxes.

After looking over a few, I became convinced that Grahm and I wouldn't have gotten married if we had known each other at a young age. He wouldn't have liked me very much. Not many people did. I was a holy terror. The wild child. A cross between the Michelin Man and the Energizer Bunny -- aka a whopper with lots of energy and an unbreakable willpower (except for gum balls which apparently were the only thing my dad had that could convince me to use the big girl potty).

My mother did her best to tame me and my crazy curls, but it was pointless. I was the epitome of a hot mess. She had to call people before we came over to warn them, "Jena's coming. Put away the breakables!" I liked to destroy things, especially my little sister's dolls. (She's still a little scarred from having to witness the head of her beloved Pocahontas doll get stapled back together.)

Not a lot has changed, besides my inexplicable need to destroy everything in sight and my hair. It suddenly went straight when I was five. Go figure. I had fabulous hair with full body and style when I was entirely too young to appreciate it. (Curse the hair gods and their cruel humor.)

If you look closely, there's a boob shot in there somewhere.
Grahm, on the other hand, was a little angel. He never stole birthday cake from his cousin, or destroyed his brother's toys with malicious intent. He was a little shy and a tad nerdy, which is still true. (I love living close to my MiL, so I can look at these pictures whenever I want!)

I don't think this soccer lovin', rock climbin', bottleneck glasses wearin' kid would have been able to handle the hot mess known as Jena Carper. This timid little boy would have run away crying when I came in and destroyed all his legos with my chubby foot just because I could.

While I think it's cute when couples have known each other their entire lives, I'm glad our love story didn't start when I had out-of-control hair and snot plastered to my face, because if it had I think our relationship would've been doomed. Grahm wouldn't have been able to look at me now with anything but confusion and a little bit of fear. 

Time did us well. Not only did we get significantly better looking (it was a close one there for a while, folks) ...we also grew into a more compatible couple. As to our unborn kids, I hope you're like your father. He was/is a much nicer and easier-to-manage person. 

A project, or two

Tuesday, January 10, 2012

Just call me Martha Stewart.

Or her (non)ex-convict crafty twin.

Last night Grahm was being super grown-up and looking over insurance policies and researching a new bank. We are finally getting a joint-checking account. (Grahm's nervous about this. Mwhaha.) I've deemed myself not mature enough to participate in such conversations. More importantly, I don't really care. I mean, c'mon. Bank fees? Interest rates? Snoozefest.

If you're just now catching on, I'm not very good at being a grown-up (like who's running for President? Hmmm. Beats me! I'm a Pan-theorist... it'll all pan out in the end, baby). Don't worry though, Grahm knows enough for the both of us, and he always asks my opinion. Enough with my tangents... (Just call me Paul the Apostle. Or don't, that's slightly blasphemous. But you know what I meant; the man liked his rabbit trails.)

Despite all the organizing I still needed to do and Grahm wanting me to discuss whether or not I prefer vision or dental care packages (really?)... I decide to play with my Christmas present for the first time. It was just sitting there, beckoning my name.

With it, I decided to get my craft on with an old sweater that I was about to toss. The idea came from this fabulous BLOG. She gives an excellent tutorial, even this ol' dumb blonde can follow.

I was pretty pleased with it, since it's one of the first things I've ever sewed, but boy does my hand sewing need work! The bottom right corner looks like spaghetti, the thread is all over the place. Hopefully no one will be examining the needlework (except you, mom). I think it'll look great on our couch (once we get one!).

I love having pictures around the house. Some people (weird people) don't like having pictures of themselves hanging on their walls. I wholeheartedly disagree (no matter how unfortunate your smile may be). Frames are a fun way to spice up your decor, and provide you with a snapshot to your past. On Black Friday Target was having a steal of a deal on their frames. I was all over that like rat on a cheeto. So today (me being me) I decided I had to bedazzle them in some way. With some extra fabric and some of the paper rosettes I took from my dead wreath (remember that sad story?) I brought these boring frames to a newer and more fabulous life.

They're all a teensy bit different, but they still have a cohesiveness about them.  It took all of 30 minutes, and these cheapo deapo frames look much more decoration friendly.

Today, Martha. Tomorrow, Picasso meets Rachel Ray. I plan on painting some of the few furniture pieces we own, and finally getting to use my new kitchen to cook my man a meal.

What's your latest project? Anything fabulous you're working on?