And the winner is ...

Thanks to all who participated in the 100 Follower Giveaway! Coincidentally, there were also 100 entries. How funny is that?

I used Random.org to generate the winner of a $25 Visa gift card. The result:

Comment #79 from Amy!

Congratulations, Amy! E-mail me at momtheintern @ gmail dot com with your contact information!

Thank you again to all! I really do have the best readers a girl could ask for. :)

The shirt that keeps on giving.

Here's Day 18:

Actually, this was really really Day 19, but I forgot to take a picture of the real Day 18 so I guess that means I have to wear it again and take another one.

Look how long my hair is getting! I can actually curl it! And check it out, I put on lipstick for you.

I'm a good trophy wife.

(Pretty sure I've maxed this shirt out, but I LOOOOVE it. Can't help it.)

When you're angry, go to bed!

My safe place.

Sometimes, when I've had a really long day and haven't gotten out of the house in a while (that can happen when it's regularly 110+ degrees outside), I like to go to Hobby Lobby all by myself and wander the aisles looking for nothing in particular. It's quite therapeutic, I must say. Though, it is a bit weird they already have their Christmas decor out. I mean, it's not even Labor Day yet! Hold your horsies, Hobby Lobby.

Anyway, yesterday was just one of those days (two words: teething toddler) so when 6:30 rolled around, I told Dill I needed some Hobby Lobby time. He nodded sympathetically and off I went. As I drove, I imagined how serene the store would be -- organized perfectly and smelling sweetly of potpourri, its shoppers (always few in number) blissfully strolling along while subtle smooth jazz or elegant piano music floated overhead. I couldn't wait. I practically jumped out of the car and ran inside once I arrived.

Upon entering: Ahhhhhh. Sigh of relief.

(Hobby Lobby has that effect on me.)

Even though it baffles me, I browsed all the Christmas decorations, then made my way back to the clearance section. Finally, the thought dawned on me that my bedroom could stand to have a little greenery in it, even fake greenery. So I headed over to the fake flowers and plants section to see if anything caught my eye.

I was perusing the half-off floral stems when suddenly, my reverie came to a screeching halt. A clearly disgruntled woman was standing at the register, verbally assaulting the cashier. At first, I thought it was a joke. It had to be. What adult yells at the top of her lungs at the cashier in a craft store?

I hurried to the end of the floral section where I had a better view of the goings-on. Lo and behold, it was no joke. There stood a woman, probably in her mid- to late 30's, repeatedly yelling, "You are being SOOOOO RUDE. Get your manager! No, do NOT speak to me; get a manager! I am SOOOO writing a formal complaint!" The cashier forlornly picked up the phone and said over the intercom, "Code 7, register 1."

I don't know exactly what "Code 7" is, but I surmise it means "I'm about to get my head ripped off, help."

(I imagine it works if there's a werewolf on the premises, too.)

Soon enough, the slight-but-spunky manager appeared at the scene. Some hushed dialogue was exchanged between she and the cashier; meanwhile Angry Lady continued to interject loudly: "I am a BOUTIQUE OWNER and I spend $900 a month at this store!" "She was so RUDE to me! She's always RUDE!" "I'm writing a formal complaint!"

Not gonna lie, it was really embarrassing and uncomfortable to witness. A knot quickly formed in my stomach. I'd suddenly forgotten what I'd come for. Tense situations tend to do that to me. This is why I routinely forget at least one item every time I shop at Wal-Mart.

(And to think I came to Hobby Lobby for some relaxation. Psh.)

While standing amidst the floral stems, trying to watch the scene unfold without looking like a total gawker, another woman passed me and we exchanged that look. You know, the one that says, "That woman has totally lost her marbles." We had a mutual understanding: some crazy shenanigans were going down in the Hobby Lobby tonight and we we had the privilege of witnessing it.

Eventually, the manager followed Angry Lady to the back of the store to resolve the price dispute she'd had with the cashier. I wandered aimlessly through the fabric section in an attempt to escape the her continuing boisterous claims of "RUDE" and "$900 A MONTH" (she did mention that four times; I counted). But alas, her ranting was so loud, it carried through the whole store and could not be avoided. I caught a glimpse of them a little later and noticed the manager handling it very professionally, nodding and smiling amicably, while Angry Lady carried on.

Soon, Angry Lady left the store. Peace was restored. My "friend" from the floral section checked out shortly thereafter and I overheard her vocally supporting the cashier. "You know, SHE was rude to YOU. She was a total b!*@#. I mean, I can be b!@#y too, but I'd never do something like that. I mean, it's a freakin' craft store. Lady needs to get some air conditioning in her car or something."

It was pretty awesome.

Of course, I couldn't help but replay the scene in my mind after it was over. There's this saying in retail and dining -- "The customer is always right." And yeah, I value good customer service and I get pretty cranky when I receive poor customer service. But sometimes, customers can be downright mean, treating store employees like trash when they don't get their way. And that's just not OK.

Throughout my life I've been told, "You catch more flies with honey than vinegar." That proverb kind of paints a sick mental picture -- not to mention, who wants catch flies? -- but it serves its purpose. And it's true! Maybe the cashier WAS rude (if so, she was very quiet about it). But how does it help to be catty right back? It just ticks people off further and annoys all the lucky passersby who must suffer through your immaturity.

In the end, my Hobby Lobby trip was nearly ruined by this woman's antics, but I did get a stem of some very realistic-looking poppies for 50% off! And I learned a lesson: when you yell in a craft store, you look crazy. So don't do it. If an employee is rude to you, just be pleasant in return. Kill 'em with kindness. Or take a mental note of the cashier's name, go get some sleep and call the store in the morning to complain about how you were treated. But by that point, you'll have likely realized how trivial it was and it'll suddenly drop like 10 spots on your priorities list.

Which leads me to the best marriage advice I've ever received. Most people say, "Never go to bed angry." But someone once told me, "When you're angry, go to bed!" I've found it to be effective so that's the marriage advice I always dole out when asked. Being tired and stressed only amplifies problems. So when you get in a tiff with your spouse or the cashier at Hobby Lobby, just lay down, maybe take an Advil and let your mind wander off to Dreamland. Nine-and-a-half out of ten times, the problem is miraculously gone in the morning. At least, that's how it always works for me!

P.S. Don't forget about the giveaway! It ends tonight at midnight!

Recipe: Easy Lasagna

It's so good, YOU might eat the whole pan, too!

Do you like to make dinner? No? You say, "It takes too long. It's hard. And then, everyone complains about it."

Well, folks, you can quit yer bellyachin' now because I have a tried and true lasagna recipe for YOU to add to your mealtime repertoire! You will love it! Your family will eat it up and won't complain (hopefully)! And it only takes about 10 minutes to prepare and an hour to bake!

(Was that enough exclamation marks for you?!?!)

My mom taught me how to make this before I went to college and I've been cranking it out ever since. I still make it at least once a month. It's a hit and it's SO. Easy. I like to serve it with garlic toast, fresh fruit and a leafy green salad. If you make this, I guarantee your kids will suddenly become obedient and your husband will buy you some jewelry!*

*Results may vary, but it's still some freakin' awesome lasagna.

Ridiculously Easy Lasagna (so easy, a caveman could do it!)

1 lb. lean ground beef (I prefer using lean ground turkey)
1 jar Prego Flavored With Meat sauce (I've found this is the best variety. Feel free to experiment with others.)
1/2 - 3/4 c water
1 16 oz container of cottage cheese
2 cups grated mozzarella cheese
10-12 lasagna noodles, uncooked

Preheat your oven to 350 degrees F (I know, Arizonans, I know). Brown the beef or turkey in a pan on the stove top; drain. Return to pan. Add entire jar of Prego sauce and water; mix well.

In a 9 x 13 pan, layer the ingredients as follows:

- 1/3 of meat sauce mixture (just eyeball it)
- Dry lasagna noodles laid flat (you may have to break some in half -- try to cover as much of the meat as possible)
- Half of the cottage cheese
- Half of the mozzarella cheese (Cover the cottage cheese liberally.)
- Another 1/3 of the meat sauce
- Dry lasagna noodles
- Remainder of cottage cheese
- Remainder of mozzarella cheese
- End with the remainder of the meat sauce (Mom's rule of thumb is, "Start with meat, end with meat.")

Cover with aluminum foil and bake at 350 degrees for 1 hour. Let stand 15-20 minutes before serving.

Enjoy!

Also, don't forget to enter the giveaway! It ends TOMORROW at midnight!

Bubby's birth: Why I choose hospitals.

A few days ago, a high school friend (and favorite photographer) of mine had her first baby. She gave birth at home, in water, with no medication. She posted on her Facebook page that it was the best decision she's ever made. I applaud her for taking matters into her own hands, reading up on various birthing methods, choosing the one she thought was best and sticking with it. I am sure it was a beautiful experience and I can't wait to see the pictures her sister (a budding photographer) captured during her labor and delivery.

Remember when I watched The Business of Being Born a few months ago? That documentary cited lots of reasons not to have babies in hospitals. Lots of sound reasons backed by stats and logic and all that fun stuff. But while I do NOT think home births are weird or crazy or irresponsible, they're still not for me. All the evidence in the world will not change that.

My opinions (just like everyone else's) are formed based on the experiences I have had in my life. For instance, I will always try to eat a 50% raw diet because doing so has majorly improved my health and well-being. I also think breastfeeding is great but formula feeding is a wonderful alternative if you can't. And if you're feeling blue and/or panicked all the time and hate being alive, you should get professional help (that post is coming soon).

I will never choose to have my babies outside of a hospital. I know some of you are shaking your head, thinking, Why does she feel this way? She can have a home birth! She's even had a VBAC! Yeah, you're right, I did, and guess what? That was scary, too. But this post is not about my VBAC; it's about coming thisclose to losing my first child. Nothing puts that chilled-to-the-bone fear into you like seeing your daughter's heart rate plummet to the levels of death. At that point, I wanted nothing more than to save my baby. That's why I signed the waiver and allowed the doctors to cut me open to remove her from the dangerous environment of my womb. I would have rather risked dying myself than lose her.

Did the hospital cause my need for a C-section, as The Business of Being Born purports? The short answer is no. In fact, when I got to the hospital that fateful Thursday morning, the nurses almost sent me home because I wasn't even dilated. But one nurse had the sense to monitor me for a bit, just to see how things were going in utero. I'm so glad she did, because this story might have had a tragic outcome had she not. Within minutes, it became very obvious something was already wrong. Fetal heart rates are normally between 120 - 180 beats per minute; Bubby's was around 100. I was nearly a week late and had been contracting irregularly for weeks beforehand. The complication had already been underway long before I arrived at the hospital.

The on-call doctor asked if he could break my water, another sensible move that confirmed things were unstable: he found a decent amount of meconium in the fluid. Meconium equals fetal distress. Things were quickly adding up. My heart screamed, "Get this baby OUT!" But the doctors -- caring doctors who didn't want to intervene beyond what was necessary -- said, "Let's let you labor on your own for a while."

So, I got an epidural and tried to sleep while my body did its thing. And nothing happened. Irregular contractions, a low fetal heart rate and no dilation. After a few hours, they started me on Pitocin, a labor-enhancing drug that makes contractions a lot harder and more frequent. All the while, I'm thinking, This baby needs to be born and QUICK. The thought of a C-section loomed.

The Pitocin did nothing but confirm the one thing I'd suspected all along: a complication. The strong contractions produced by the medication were causing little Bubby's heart rate to dip even further. The labor nurse felt around Bubby to see if the umbilical cord was around her neck -- it was. And at the very moment she confirmed this, Bubby's heart rate suddenly dropped into the low 60's. Mine shot up to stratospheric levels.

My baby is going to die.

The nurse called -- shouted, really -- for assistance. Some other nurses ran into the room and quickly turned me over. One of them stabbed my arm with a shot of terbutaline, a drug that stops contractions. Another asked for my husband's cell phone number -- he'd left to get breakfast just minutes prior. It took me a minute to recite it for her; my mind was obviously on other things. I was shaking, crying, my heart pounding.

My baby is going to die.

Things calmed down and after a while, Bubby's heart beat recovered enough not to incite panic. A new doctor, Dr. Glenn, came in to tell me it was time for a C-section. Tears ran down my face as I listened to his prognosis. I didn't want to be sliced open, but more than anything, I didn't want my baby to die. And as it was, she was dangerously close. So it had to be.

Dill came back to this scene of chaos and confusion. He was asked to put on scrubs. I was given a strong (and disgusting) antacid. Then, they raced me down the hall to the OR.

It was time to get the baby out. No one had to tell me this; I had known it all along. I was relieved to be in the frigid operating room, but still nervous. Anything could happen. I would not breathe easy until I heard her first cry.

Soon, my little baby was pulled out of my womb. Dill watched as they performed the surgery. He told me the umbilical cord was wound tightly around her neck a few times and had been laying against the top of her head. I imagined little Bubby trying to descend down the birth canal, her only source of blood and oxygen being clamped each time she moved down. That had been her struggle for the past few weeks. It broke my heart to imagine it. But thankfully, it was over.

She let out a healthy and much-anticipated cry. They dropped the curtain so I could take a peek. I gasped when I saw her: she was beautiful. Pink, chubby and healthy. She was a carbon copy of me, only she had chipmunk cheeks and huge feet. I smiled and sighed with relief. She was here and she was fine.

One of my favorite pictures.

The truth: a C-section saved my child's life.

I know many, many mothers throughout the world have babies at home, often without assistance, and their babies are born completely healthy. These mothers laud their births as the best experiences of their life, incredibly empowering, moving and spiritual. That is wonderful. But I feel incredibly blessed I was able to have my baby in a hospital where doctors used necessary medical interventions to save my baby. My situation was not normal; I am aware of that. And it isn't likely to happen again. But it happened. And as such, the hospital is where I want to be when I'm having my babies.

However, after my second birth experience and all it entailed, I do believe the way we labor in hospitals is not helpful to the delivery process. We lay flat on our backs, we don't get to change positions as needed. When it's time to push, we're flat on our backs, forcing our bodies to defy gravity. This just doesn't work. I have the scars and damaged goods to prove it.

It seems the best way to for me to have a baby is in a hospital with the security of a nearby operating room and the ability to perform an emergency C-section, yet with the naturopathic aide of a certified nurse midwife who will permit more freedom during labor. Best of both worlds, right?

(No, this is not a pregnancy announcement.)

What's your preferred method of baby delivery? Are you still trying to figure out what's best for you, or have you already zeroed in on your ideal birth experience?

P.S. Don't forget to enter the giveaway here! It ends Friday.

THIS JUST IN.

Smush got a buzz cut today and is no longer a baby.
(sniff)

But the good news is he's still adorable and has a perfectly round head.

Outfit remix photo explosion!

It's been a while since I've posted any 30 for 30 (or I guess, 20 for 30 in my case) outfit pictures. Sorry about that. Between date night, a birthday party, helping a sweet friend make party favors for said birthday party and setting up for a Pioneer Day extravaganza for church, I've been a little busy.

Also, I am really digging that ban.do heart clip. It adds just the right amount of sparkle to any outfit!

Yes, I have the same hair in each picture. Don't judge! I told you, if I grow my hair out it WILL end up in a ponytail 9/10 times. This might be a problem. I should just hack it off again, right? Oh how I miss my pixie cut.

What say ye? Cut or keep growing?

P.S.: Don't forget to enter the giveaway! $25 could be yours. Ends Friday night!

What you can do with $25.

Hey, peeps! Did you know I'm giving away a $25 Visa giftcard? I am!

See that column over there? >> It's my sidebar. And at the top is a nifty little link that you can follow which takes you to a funny/silly/weird/choose-your-own-adjective video of me showing you my go-to dance moves. Watch it and laugh/cry/stare incredulously with your mouth wide open. However you choose to react is fine with me.

After you've indulged your senses with that little ditty, become a follower of my blog (if you haven't already). Then, leave a comment on that post and voila! You're entered into the giveaway! If you want additional entries, you can like me on Facebook, follow me on Twitter and share about the giveaway in some way (tweet, Facebook, blog, write and direct a musical, whatevs). Just leave an extra comment on the giveaway post for EACH ADDITIONAL ENTRY. This Saturday, July 30th, I'll choose a random winner from the comments on that post, and that lucky winner will get $25 from me to spend however he or she wants! It's that easy.

So, in the spirit of this giveaway, I decided to come up with a list of some ideas of how you can go nuts with $25:

1) Go to P.F. Chang's with your hunny, order some lettuce wraps and an entree (I like the Shanghai Shrimp) to share. Add a decent tip. Cost: roughly $25! (We did this Friday night so I know it's true.)

2) Buy this adorable top!

DownEast Basics: Sea Flower Tee

3) Go to the movies with your hunny or your best gal pal and get a popcorn to share! (If you live under a rock and still haven't seen Harry Potter by next Saturday, that would probably be a good idea.)

4) Get a pedicure! I'm wearing this color now and I HEART it:

Austin-tatious Turquoise by OPI

 5) But this really sweet rug ... 

GISLEV rug, IKEA

Or approximately 50 of these bad boys!

Teeny stuffed toys from IKEA. Love that place in an unhealthy way.

The possibilities are endless, really!

So, if you haven't entered my giveaway yet, what are you waiting for? Get yourself over there and make a comment already!

Reblog: Is your baby bald?

For a long time, I had another blog. It was a family blog where I used real names and talked more about baby stuff. After I got pregnant with Smush, I got sick of updating two blogs so I mercifully let it die. It still exists, but no one reads it. One of these days I plan to print it for posterity's sake.

Anyway, I do have some good entries over there, so I've decided to repost some of them periodically. This one was from March 2009. Enjoy!

Is your baby bald?

Well, we have a solution for you!

Before

After

(Probably) From the people who brought you Bump-its ... it's Baby Bangs!

(Yes, this is FOR REAL. I can't make this crap up.)

Here's what people are saying about this state-of-the-art invention:

'I absolutely LOVE the Baby Bangs! concept!'--"Very cute and apropos in our image-conscious modern world. I will be getting these as shower gifts for any of my friends having a baby girl.' Julia Baker, Designer, Boulder, CO

Julia Baker, you are NOT invited to any of my showers. But I totally get the 'apropos' thing -- using Latin terms to sound super-smart is my modus operandi, too.

''GOOD LUCK SELLING THEM! -- THEY REALLY MAKE A BIG DIFFERENCE ON THE BABIES. I CAN'T BELIEVE THE CHANGE IT MADE IN EMILY. THANK GOODNESS SHE HAS HAIR NOW. BEAUTIFUL BLONDE RINGLETS. I WILL SEND YOU SOME PICS. WE SHOULD BE GETTING HER THREE YEAR OLD PICS DONE SOON." MAR Happy Customer & Grandmother St Louis, MO

Yes, All-Caps Grandmother. Thank GOODNESS Emily has a fantastically-real head of hair now! The pictures will be beautiful (if you can get past the fake Barbie hair look. But I'm sure no one will even bat an eye).

Take that, genetics!

To the makers of Baby Bangs: what are you smoking and where can I get some?

It bit me in the buttocks!

First, here's Day 13.

These shoes aren't part of the 30 for 30 collection:
They were given to me by my Aunt Mar-Jo a few years back.

Where's Day 12, you ask? It was not really worth photographing. Purple V-neck + black bermudas + gold sandals. Nothin' special. Trust me. However, it WAS special that I wore my hair in a ponytail that day! That means my hair is growing. Go hair, go!

Oh and don't forget about the giveaway! All you have to do is leave a comment on the giveaway post and you might win a $25 Visa gift card! The odds are ever in your favor. See the link at the top of my sidebar.

And now, the tale of Jenna and the Ferocious Beast.

It all started late one Friday afternoon in the middle of the merry merry month of May. The kids were upstairs (probably watching Dora) and I was downstairs in the kitchen, making dinner, talking to Dill on the phone during his commute. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw some movement outside. I looked out the window (and what did I see?); sure enough, a dog was sauntering down the road, just outside my front door.

A little back story, here: I have a thing for lost animals in the street. My family's dog ran away when I was in third grade and it was awful. Luckily, we found her at the pound later, but it was a very long and tragic three days. So now, when I see a leashless dog walking around, I think about the poor owners and how distressed they'll be when they find out their precious pet is long gone. So, if I'm able, I try to catch them. Dill thinks this is hilarious. I think it's called being a Good Samaritan, but WHATEVER.

Anyway, back to my original story. I see this dog -- a beagle -- walking around in the front yards across the street, sniffing every bush and rock and twig he encountered. I told Dill, "There's a loose dog outside!" (he probably snorted then, I don't remember) and I opened the door to get a better look. Sure enough, Fido's not on a leash, no one's in sight. That little combination = dog on the loose. However, just across the street I also noticed an opened backyard gate. I put two and two together and determined THIS dog escaped from THAT house. I guessed this was going to be a fairly easy rescue -- shoo the dog into the backyard and close the gate. Nothing complicated. One-hundred percent fool-proof.

I stayed on the phone with Dill as I ventured outside, barefoot and in my brother's 8-year-old high school gym shorts (which also have bleach stains on them). The dog seemed pretty docile, plus it was a beagle, not a Rottweiler or pit bull or anything. It looked tame enough to me. I approached him nonchalantly and as I did, he trotted merrily into the backyard with the open gate. Perfect, I thought. I'll just walk over there, shut the gate behind him and --

"GROWLBARKSNARLHISSCHOMP!"

"EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!"

Oh yes, that innocent-looking beagle lunged right back out of the yard and SANK HIS TEETH into my upper thigh! (Ok, so it wasn't my butt. I admit, I bait-and-switched you).

In that moment, I had no idea what to do. I went from "What a nice dog I'm about to save!" to "Ohmygosh get the EFF away from me you killer MONSTER!!!!!" in about a half a second flat. I froze in panic and stared the thing down. Was it going to maul me to death now?  Was this how I was going to die?? I didn't know. I didn't want to find out. But something deep inside me said not to run because it might chase me. And that would be far worse than standing as still as a statue in ratty gym shorts on someone else's driveway, barefoot.

Remembering I still had the phone pressed to my ear, I told Dill, "It attacked me! Oh my gosh it attacked me!" He said that he'd gathered as much from the loud shriek I'd emitted seconds before.

Suddenly, the realization hit me: I'd been attacked by a strange dog who may or may not have rabies and it's STILL STANDING TWO FEET FROM ME.

"What should I do???" I whimpered, on the verge of tears (when am I ever NOT?).

"Go back to the house," Dill calmly stated. You know, in the same way one might say, "You're due for a tetanus shot."

Well, duh, of course I was going to go back to the house, but how? I decided the best way was to go slowly, so as not to spark any reaction from the obviously ticked-off dog. So I tip-toed right past the thing, shaking like a leaf (do leaves shake?). After what seemed like an hour, I passed through the doorway, turned around and slammed the door shut behind me. Good riddance, FOOL! I glanced out the window to see the mangy mutt walking down the street again as if he hadn't just tried to eat me alive.

Time to assess the damage.

"Did it break the skin?" Dill asked on the phone. I carefully peeled back my gym shorts and saw there was no hole in them. NO HOLE in my antique gym shorts! Blessed day! But the skin underneath was red, already bruised, and it looked as though there was a laceration. I carefully touched it for blood; it was dry. Just pinched. It looked like ... well, see for yourself:

I know, my white legs are far scarier than that flesh wound.

I decided the best course of action was to then call Animal Control, which was unhelpful.  Turns out they don't answer their phone past 4 p.m. on Friday, so if you're going to get bitten by a loose dog, try to make sure it happens during the week (I'd also avoid the noon hour since they probably don't answer their phones during lunch, either.) I sat through an automated system and was eventually directed to a voice mail. Of course I left a slightly exasperated and freaked-out message for them. Theatrics is what I do best, especially when provoked by automated systems.

They returned my call on the following Monday at which time I gave them a detailed report of the incident (I left out the part about wearing ratty gym shorts). They said they'd send someone out to the dog owner's home and help them secure their gate, and they'd call me back in a few days to let me know if the dog was up-to-date on his shots or not. Ok cool. I'll try not to foam at the mouth in the meantime. Later that week, they called back as promised and said Fido had all his immunizations and I should be OK! Yay!

So, I had a really pretty (ugly) looking bruise/blood blister thing (I guess the dog merely pinched my juicy thigh without puncturing it) for a few weeks but now I'm as good as new. Physically. Emotionally, though, I'm kind of terrified of beagles now.

And that's the story of how I survived being bitten (er, pinched) in the buttocks.

Unstyled: My kind of 'style'.

Don't forget to enter the giveaway! Click on the link at the top of my sidebar for more info.

Have you noticed that current trends in decorating and fashion pay no attention to color or texture schemes? I sure have, and I am loving it. I called it "unstyling" (if you're someone important and you've already coined this term, I am unaware. I swear).

Here are some examples of what I'm referring to:

via

via

via

 Random fabrics, bright colors, a mixture of textures (ruffles, quilts, chevrons, damask), a hodge-podge of design. It's lovely to me.

I've always taken pride in styling my living space. I remember when I was a little kid, I felt pressured to have a room that "matched." I wanted all my pictures and knick-knacks to go with my comforter, curtains and furniture. I would even put my favorite porcelain dolls away if they didn't coordinate well enough. You don't match the bedding? You're sleeping in the closet, Rapunzel!

Yeah, it was really like that.

When I was 15, my mom repainted the whole house and bought all the kids new bedding. My younger sister and I shared a room and muted patriotic quilts became our fate. I immediately felt tons of pressure to color-coordinate all the furniture and decorative items in my room to match this theme (which I hated, by the way. I envied my other sisters' blue and canary floral print). With decorative fury that can only be described as American, I refinished all of my frames and dug through my mom's 4th of July decorations for any wreaths and knick-knacks I could scrounge up. If we made a decorative craft in church youth group, mine was red, white, and/or blue. All other colors: banished. Hot pink? Be gone! Canary yellow? Off with your head! Nothing could come between me and my Americana theme. NOTHING.

That was back in the late 90's - early 2000's, back when you had to pick a color scheme and stick with it if you wanted to be "in style." And not only a color scheme, but a fabric/texture and time period scheme, too. You could never mix denim with ruffles, or stripes with florals, or vintage with modern. NEVER. It was seen as bizarre and crazy and ... even trashy.

Around the same time my room looked like Uncle Sam exploded inside it, my great-aunt Mar-Jo built a cabin up north. This "cabin" was actually a darling cottage nestled in the woods of Heber-Overgaard, complete with designer cabinets, flooring, fixtures and a delightful front porch. Before I go on, you should know my great-aunt Mar-Jo is just about the coolest lady around. She always looks put-together, but she has the quirkiest sense of style: chunky jewelry, bright colors, odd textures. It really matches her personality (the personality that often so generously gives my mom a check for no apparent reason and requests that she split it with her kids).

Anyway, of course Mar-Jo's cabin was decorated with such whimsy and cuteness you felt like you could curl up in a ball and be lifted up to Shabby-Chic Heaven in there. But the one thing I noticed about the decor was how random it was, and how, despite this fact, it worked. Really well. She decorated her home with pieces that had meaning to her, things she liked. She paid no attention to color schemes or what "matched," she just went with whatever she wanted and threw it all together to make a masterpiece of unstyled brilliance.

I realized one summer at Mar-Jo's cabin that I wanted to adopt her style. I fancied her unstyled flair and I was ready to jump right on the bandwagon. Except at the time, it wasn't all that cool to be mismatched. People were still coordinating their colors and prints very meticulously. If you paired striped pillows with a floral print couch, you looked crazy, not chic. (That is, unless the stripes were burgundy and hunter green and the flowers were, too).

Well, I am happy to see that this mindset has changed. Unstyling is all the rage and I love it. I'm relieved that I can throw a ruffled tank over a striped top or put purple shoes with a yellow blouse. I love that I can toss pillows of several bold prints and colors on my couch and it looks good. And color scheme? What's THAT?

ban.do sequined heart clip I won from Mandy!

I am totally eating this trend UP, you guys!

What current decorating trends inspire YOU?

My thoughts on The Boy Who Lived.

Thank you all for indulging me and watching my dancing vlog! Be sure to enter the giveaway before Friday, July 29th. All you have to do is follow me, then leave a comment here. Leave additional comments (separate) for "liking" me on Facebook, following me on Twitter and sharing about the giveaway. You could win a $25 no-strings-attached Visa gift card!

Ok, now it's time for a serious discussion ... HARRY POTTER! (You probably shouldn't read this post if you haven't seen the movie.)

(click for credit)

Dill and I are pretty die-hard when it comes to The Boy Who Lived. We have seen a few midnight premieres of the Harry Potter movies. The last one we went to was for The Order of the Phoenix, back in the summer of 2007. I was six months pregnant, beyond exhausted with a raging case of heartburn and I could not sit for long without becoming extremely uncomfortable. Needless to say, I didn't have much fun at that movie. Sorry, I didn't.

Since then, we have always opted to see the movies the day after they come out. It's a lot easier on us tired old people with kids, and I find that we enjoy them more. Not that I don't love the thrill and excitement of midnight showings -- I was dying to get dressed up and go to Part II at midnight -- but I always end up regretting it a little.

Instead, we re-watched Part I on Thursday night and then headed to the theater first thing Friday morning to see Part II. Dill took the whole day off of work just for Harry Potter (that's dedication right there). I was really, really impressed with the film. I find myself thinking about it a lot and there's not much I would change. I thought the director, producers and actors did J.K. Rowling proud. Yes, there were a few incongruities between the book and the movie, but it's inevitable in book-to-film adaptations. It's just the nature of the beast and I came to grips with that a long time ago.

During the movie, I was in a constant state of flux between enchantment, disgust and pure astonishment (it was actually a bit exhausting, in a good way). I loved the little goblin tellers at Gringotts. I loved the decor at Shell Cottage. I loved the snippets of humor thrown in here and there. My favorite part, though, was when Harry explored Professor Snape's memories in the Pensieve. I was just grateful to have a whole pack of tissues in my purse -- it was terribly heart-wrenching and moving. So beautifully filmed and produced, too. That sequence made a really good movie epic.

I also thought Helena Bonham Carter was GENIUS as Hermione-disguised-as-Bellatrix LeStrange. Any and all accolades of her acting skills, no matter how glowing, are an understatement. She was amazing as expected, but especially in those scenes. Every detail was right on.

I thought the epilogue at the end was executed well, too. I was worried the kids would look like teenagers playing dress-up, but they didn't (though Malfoy's receding hair line was a bit strange, but the shot was brief enough not to be distracting). The children they chose to play Harry's and Ginny's were kids were spot-on, especially little Albus with his Bieber hair. Loved that.

Since the movie debuted, I've been seeing lots of dialogue and musings on the web, asking, "Where were YOU when you first learned of Harry Potter?" So I guess I'll throw my two cents into the pail.

I was 11 years old. I was at a friend's house for a sleepover. We swam and played around with her family for a few hours, and then it was time for bed. After we got our jammies on and settled into bed, my friend asked me if I had heard of Harry Potter -- no, I hadn't. It had just started to become popular in the States. She was reading the second book at the time and was obviously anxious to get back into it before going to sleep for the night. Wanting to get me hooked as well, she handed me the first book: Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone. "You'll love it; you won't be able to put it down," she said. And she was right. I was immediately sucked into Rowling's carefully-crafted fantasy world of wizards, witches and magic. I couldn't turn the pages fast enough! The hours went by in a blink, and at some point I realized it was probably time to go to sleep. In that moment, I was officially a fan.

For various reasons, I took a hiatus from Harry Potter after reading the first book. I got back into the series as a teenager. It didn't take long for me to get sucked back into the Harry Potter vortex. I plowed through books 2 - 4 in days. When I got all caught up, I couldn't WAIT for the next book to come out.

Harry Potter carried me through adolescence into adulthood. He was there when I was in junior high and high school, trying to figure out who I was and how I fit in with my peers. He was there when I met Dill and after we got married (I remember fondly picking up books 6 and 7 at midnight on their release dates with Dill). He was there when I was pregnant with my children and got me through the seemingly endless days of morning sickness. He was there when I was barricaded in my apartment, potty-training Bubby while hugely pregnant with Smush.

Now I'm a mother of two and the Harry Potter saga is finally wrapped up. I never thought I'd see this day, but it's here, and it's a little sad. But, the series isn't really done. As I've gotten older, I've noticed different things when I reread the books. I see symbols I didn't notice the first (and second, and third) times. I find myself relating to the older characters. As a mother, different things tug at my heart. It's a series that grows old with you.

Today, I had lunch with Mandy and we both agreed that the best books in the history of the world are the scriptures, followed by Harry Potter. Nothing even compares. Unfairly, I find myself comparing other book series, even really good ones (like The Hunger Games) to Harry Potter and being disappointed. I have put Harry Potter on a pedestal, but he deserves it. Not only is the series highly entertaining, but its message is clear: with loyal friends, inspiring mentors and enough gumption, you can accomplish anything. You can triumph over evil. You can change the world.

I can't wait for the day when I can share the magic of Harry Potter with my children. I have no doubt they'll fall in love, too. These books are timeless classics that will brighten the lives of children, teens and adults for ages.

J.K. Rowling, thank you for bringing magic to the Muggles.

It's the weekend! Yo!

I'm so glad it's the weekend. Things that make this one too cool for school:

1) The amazingness that was Harry Potter 7 part 2. (Um, when can we discuss this without ruining it for others? Can't wait!)
2) Lunch with Mandy of Dash It All at this cool restaurant (pretty sweet-lookin', huh?).
3) Church tomorrow, followed by my whole family coming over for dinner. Love my sissies!

What are you up to this weekend?

Also, don't forget to enter my giveaway! Be sure to leave a separate comment for each entry. In other words, if you share the link on Facebook, be sure to come back here and tell me! Same goes for liking me on Facebook or following me on Twitter. But don't do it on this post -- do it HERE. You have 'til July 29 at midnight.

Oh yeah, and here are some more 30 for 30 pictures. I actually mixed stripes with floral on Day 8. Weird and not like me at all, but it worked. As for Day 9, check out the mess behind me. I was too lazy to clean it up for the picture. And yeah, I totally wore the same jeans twice in a row. And shoes. I do that sometimes. A lot. Don't call the fashion police!

I like to give away money and I like to DANCE! -- Giveaway CLOSED

It's the moment you've all been waiting for! Forget Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part II* -- It's all about Jenna's Dance Vlog 2011. Yes, this is happening.

*Not gonna lie, though, HP 7.2 was pretty much the most amazing movie I've ever seen. Holy cow. Mind sufficiently blown. More on that later.

Not only will this video inspire you to find your inner dancing maniac, but it will tell you all you need to know to win a $25 Visa gift card from moi. That's right, free $$$$$! I love you all and I'm not afraid to show it! Leave your entry comments on THIS post. You have until July 29th at midnight, Arizona time.

And now, ladies and gentlemen ... let's get this party started!

No one was harmed in the making of this film ... as hard as that is to believe.

Also, by "share" this giveaway, I mean Facebook, tweet, blog, sing, choreograph a musical about it, etc. I'm not picky! Just make sure you post a link in your comment.

Mom fashion.

UGHHHHHH. (that's how I express my frustration in writing.)

Yesterday, I spent about an hour shooting my dancing vlog for you guys, and then I got it on my computer and realized it's blurry. BLURRY. And in my world, blurry video is not acceptable. But I guess that's what happens when you have to shoot all your video on a crappy point-and-shoot camera. You get what you pay for.

So, I'm going to try again today and hopefully have it posted tomorrow morning. I know, you're more excited for this than Harry Potter!

Shirt: F. 21, skirt: Goodwill, belt: F. 21, shoes: Kohl's

I threw this outfit on yesterday morning and decided I like it. Not a risk I would have taken in the past, but the 30 for 30 Challenge is ALLLL about risks! Have you joined up yet? You don't have to have 30 items in your closet to participate -- the idea is to work with what you have to make 30 unique outfits. As long as your number of tops multiplied by your number of bottoms is greater than or equal to 30, you're good! (I guess I learned something in high school math after all.)

My awesome blog friend Meredith over at Yours, Mine and Ours (you have to check her out if you haven't yet) blogged about moms and fashion yesterday. She asked, "Is it less important, the same amount of important, or even more important for moms to have style?" I thought about this for a minute and came to some conclusions.

First, I don't think style and fashion are that important in the grand scheme of things. It's fun to be stylish, but it's not crucial to life. God doesn't care if your clothes are vintage or designer or even if they fit well. But I do think that looking put-together can do wonders for a person.

When I was in college studying broadcast journalism, I appeared on camera quite frequently. I noticed on days when I was wearing an ill-fitting or ugly outfit, I was nervous to conduct my interviews. I looked distracted and unsure on camera. My creativity was stifled. But wouldn't you know it? All my best resume tape material was captured on days when I was wearing my favorite outfits, clothes I could be both confident and comfortable in. When I looked good, I was sure of myself. Instead of wondering how others perceived me, I was free to focus on my work and interviews. My mind was open to inspiration and ideas. Interesting, huh?

I've found that as a stay-at-home mom, it's easy to wind up in Frumpsville. There are many days when I know I'm not going to leave the house and I feel justified not getting dressed or fixing my hair and make-up. And you know, those are the days when I'm least productive and most depressed. It's pretty hard to muster up the energy and enthusiasm motherhood requires when you look, feel (and maybe even smell) like you just rolled out of bed. Heck, it's hard to muster up a bowl of cereal in those conditions.

I'm all for an occasional do-nothing pajama day. But I've noticed that when I feel better about myself, I do better. I think about Sundays, when I put on my best dressy clothing and go to church to worship God. Doing so helps me feel like the daughter of God I know I am. Why should the other days of my week be any less important? My whole life, everything I cherish most, is here in my home. I owe it to my precious children and wonderful husband to look presentable every day. I owe it to them to maintain my self-worth and confidence. They're my world and I don't ever want them to feel like I don't value my career as a mother.

So, to answer Meredith's question: Is style less important, just as important or more important for mothers? Well, I can't speak for style, but I can speak for self-esteem. And for mothers, it's ABSOLUTELY important.

If you need to look cute and get fixed up to feel good about yourself, please do it. If you need to exercise or have dancey-dance parties, knock yourself out. If you need to make crafts, decorate, bake, garden, volunteer, teach, create, build, work -- DO it! The world needs more mothers who know their self-worth, more mothers who know how to escape feeling rotten all the time. Mothers who use their energy not to pity themselves, but to teach, empower and enrich future generations.

Motherhood does not mean you have to spend your life as a scrub. Don't feel guilty about looking cute. Obviously, you shouldn't spend too much time or money on hobbies and interests -- other things are more important. But please, don't forget to put your own oxygen mask on first. Your family is counting on you!

And also, you don't have to have a lot of money to pursue your interests. Like the 30 for 30 Challenge suggests, work with what you've got. True expression of talent isn't about how much money you can spend. It's about making something out of nearly nothing, using only the skills God gave you.

Purple shoes and cute kids make me happy.

Today's your LAST DAY to vote in my poll. What should Jenna vlog about? It's kind of funny that I graduated in broadcast journalism and you haven't seen a video of me. Well don't you worry because YOU WILL! Soon!

Here's my "style" for the day. Tyra would call this the amputee look. Where'd my right arm go? Never fear; it's behind me.

Shirt: Kohl's, necklace: made by my sister-in-law, Lisa, jeans: Banana Republic, shoes: Payless (last season)

 Here's the story about my pillows: I got a big brown couch (see above) and wanted to jazz it up with some fun pillows. I quickly learned, however, that "fun" pillows cost a million dollars. And also, you should know I don't sew, so I couldn't easily fashion my own. Anyway, the answer to my prayer came in the form of IKEA, as it often does. They have a ton of pillows and pillowcases to choose from in various sizes, colors and prints. These cute pillows cost next to nothing, and they practically scream "FUN!" don't they? So if you're broke, can't work a sewing machine to save your life and need pillows in colors other than forest green, beige and burgundy, get thyself to IKEA. It would also be pretty easy to further jazz them up with rosettes, sequins, etc., if I wasn't crafty-challenged.

Also, aren't these shoes fun? I always feel particularly sassy when I wear them. Seven buckaroos at Payless last season.

Speaking of sassiness, here's Bubby last Sunday. I love when she wears this tutu-skirt to church. She adores pink and photo ops. Surprised?

Yesterday evening, I caught sweet little Smush cuddling with his bear, completely enthralled with Dora the Explorer. Smush really likes Dora, more than his sister, I think. Dill finds this a wee bit worrisome, but I don't. He's a baby. He likes animated characters with huge heads that talk in loud voices. This does not automatically mean he is going to be cross-dressing in 15 years. Try not to read into things too much, mmkay?

Hope you're getting pumped up for my dancey-dance blog and giveaway! We're gonna PAR-TAY.

Bauer 2012.

I seriously loooooove the show 24. Dill and I didn't start watching it until it had already been under way for several seasons, so we caught up on DVD. Um, suffice it to say we quickly became addicted. It was like this every night:

"Hey, let's watch an episode of 24!"

"OK."

(Epsiode ends)

"Hey, let's watch another one!"

"OK!"

(Repeat three more times, ending around 1 in the morning.)

(Yes, this was before we had kids. Obvi.)

I was so depressed when it ended. I even got a little misty when Jack said his last farewell to Chloe on the drone camera. So naturally, when I saw this hilarious shirt at the International Spy Museum in D.C., AND it was marked down to $10, I couldn't pass it up!

Shirt: Spy Museum, D.C., Shorts: Dickies, Tilly's, Shoes: Candies, Kohls.

Yeah, Kiefer Sutherland is on my boob. Lucky guy. And I know, I look a little ticked off. An exhausted toddler that refuses to nap and dirty hair will do that to you. I had planned to wash my hair (it's been four days now) but it just didn't happen. But never fear -- I washed it this morning.

You know, I bet Jack Bauer never has to wrangle wound-up toddlers. That should be a mandatory part of anti-terrorism training, methinks.

P.S.~ The polls are indicating you all want me to dance for the 100th Follower Vlog. I'm all for letting the people have a voice, but you should know, this could be dangerous. Universal health care is the least of your worries.

This is my lucky dress.

Pearls: F. 21, Dress: Buffalo Exchange, Shoes: Payless

(I know, I'm standing in front of the same background AGAIN. I just really like my wreath. And door.)

So, this is my lucky dress. It found me (yes, it did) at Buffalo Exchange in Tempe. If you live in Arizona and have never been to Buffalo Exchange, you are missing out. There's one on University just west of Mill, close to ASU. It's a clothing consignment store where you can get practically brand new designer jeans for less than $20. Not even kidding. I usually pay between $10 - 18 for the jeans I get there. Sweet! At that price, you don't feel bad if you need to get them tailored (which is common for most human beings).

Anyway, we went to Buffalo Exchange for my birthday back in April because I was searching for a decent pair of jeans. Remember that? And I did find some (the Banana Republic pair featured in Day 2). But as we were leaving the store, the beautiful print of this dress caught my eye, standing out amongst a crowded rack full of dresses. It practically called me over. I decided to check it out.

Whenever I come across a dress, I first ask myself three questions: 1) does it have sleeves? 2) is it long enough? and 3) is it cheap? Well, this beauty has some awesome flowy sleeves, perfect for Arizona's hot summers. And it's definitely long enough to be modest, but its at-the-knee hem is flirty and summery. And the best part? It only cost $14! Can't beat that.

So there you have it. My lucky dress. Some things are just meant to be.

As for YOU -- we reached 100 followers over the weekend! Wahoo! Apparently my own Dill was #100. How strange is that? You'd think he would have been my first follower. Oh well. Better late than never, I always say.

In celebration, I'm going to do a giveaway AND a vlog (video blog). Be sure to vote on what you want me to vlog about! (The poll is at the top of my sidebar.)

Posing.

How to pose like a model (ANTM hopefuls, take note):

1) Throw your hip out. Way out. Like, enough to balance a cup on it. (not that I have ever done that.)

2) Stare contemplatively at the cobwebs taking over your chandelier.

Top: DownEast Basics, Skirt: Gap, Belt: Kohl's, Shoes: Kohl's

Wow, I kind of match my wreath. Cool beans.

Hope you have a rocktastic weekend! I have something big planned for when we hit 100 followers. Eeeee!

"Buddy the Elf, what's your favorite color?"

(Oh how I love that movie, in an almost unhealthy way.)

If I were the recipient of such an enthusiastic (and equally hysterical) phone greeting, I'd have to answer, "Purple."

So, I know, I'm totally wearing a V-neck and jeans as I told you I too often do. BUT! The V-neck is tucked in, the jeans are dark wash, and I added a touch of dressy with the gold pointy-toed flats and necklace. I'm not completely sold on this look, but at least I tried something new, right? I'm going boldly where I've never gone before!

One thing I decided NOT to limit myself on for this challenge is accessories. My newest reader Trininista (who has an awesome blog by the way; check it out!) suggested some summer scarves. Brilliant! I have two large gingham print ones that might be cool. We'll see. I might just end up looking like a picnic.

Today is going to be fun! Fun! Fun! Fun! as I take Smush to the doctor for his last round of immunizations until he's 4. Hopefully, he copes well. I hate making my babies endure shots but it's something I feel is right for them.

In other news, ONE WEEK UNTIL HARRY POTTER!!!!! I know, such a geek, right? I've waited, like, half my life for this event. You can get pumped up by watching this hilarious gem. Happy Fridayeee!

30 Day Fashion Challenge: Day 1

Let me start by admitting I have always been a little fashion-challenged. It's not that I can't put together a cute outfit, because I can and have done so on occasion. But I'm always a little too "safe," which is basically a death sentence on America's Next Top Model. Safe is not bad, but it's boring and Tyra doesn't like it. But the truth is, I feel most comfortable in jeans and a solid top, OK? Nothing too frilly or fancy or I just feel like everyone is staring at me, and not in a good way.

A few weeks ago, I came across a fashion blog called Kendi Everyday. Kendi encouraged her readers to take the 30 for 30 Remix Challenge, which entails limiting your wardrobe to 30 items and wearing only those items for 30 days, making 30 unique outfits. I thought this could be fun and I'm always up for a challenge, so I joined. Then, I started thinking more about the contents of my closet and realized I only own about 30 things that I actually wear! I am so boring! I go to my tried-and-true wardrobe staples and I wear the heck out of them. It's how my mama raised me. And I repeat a lot of my outfits. Zzzzz.

Well, after much deliberation I decided I need to do the challenge. But I made it a little harder for myself: I am limiting myself to 20 items for 30 days. Here are my chosen wardrobe pieces:

Notice I tried to add as many patterns and bold colors as possible, and also please observe that there is not one gray shirt in that collection, even though I own three of them.

So, this is what I put together for yesterday. Behold:

 

 

Kinda boring, kinda safe. Hey, it's Day 1. Cut me some slack. Plus, I'm wearing fluorescent yellow. That should count for something.

P.S. The shirt, I'm proud to add, was a $6.50 Gap purchase from the 4th of July. Did I mention it was originally $29.95? Oh yes, I kind of rock at bargain shopping. One of my many super powers, including being able to pee on command.

Aaaaaand I'm pretty sure today was the 4th day in a row I've worn those denim shorts. Maybe even the 5th.

By accepting this challenge, my hope is I'll learn to venture outside of my jeans-and-V-neck box (which doubles as a yoga pants-and-V-neck box when I'm at home) and exercise some creativity with my wardrobe. There's no rule that moms have to look boring, right?

So, who's with me? This could be kind of fun (though I'm slightly scared that I'm probably going to have to mix patterns at some point ...).

Let's get our fashion on!

Stretch marks.

The other day, I took my kids to the pool and met up with some other mom friends of mine. As usual, I wore my knee-length board shorts over a one-piece suit. I was pleasantly surprised to see my friends rockin' their swimsuits fiercely, not covering up their legs and hips. Then I got a little jealous -- why can't I have the confidence to swim without board shorts or wear a two-piece? One little thing is holding me back: my stretch marks.

I vividly remember the day they first appeared. I was about five months pregnant with Bubby, getting ready to hop into the shower. I looked down and saw some red stripes on my inner thighs. I thought maybe it was a rash or something. But I looked closer and noticed this rash was actually a collection of deep, red stripes cutting across my skin like fault lines. It dawned on me then that it was not a rash at all; I had received my first set of stretch marks, the first permanent indication that I was a mother.

My stomach sank at this realization, but I immediately found a silver lining: I have never been comfortable showing my thighs anyway, so my stretch marks would remain a secret to everyone besides Dill. Take that, stretch mark fairies!

But within the coming weeks, I got more. The existing ones on my thighs spider-webbed down my legs, almost to my knees. I got a bunch of deep, red angry ones on my hips. They appeared on my buttocks. And then, my breasts (I actually cried about those). The days of perfect skin and a perfect body were gone.

(And to think I ever complained about a few dimples on my butt. Ha!)

After Bubby came, the stretch marks haunted me. I couldn't bear to look at them, even touch them. I felt ruined. It didn't matter how many times Dill told me they didn't bother him in the slightest -- I didn't believe him. All I saw was ugliness.

In case you're wondering, they looked like this:

I took this picture a few months after Bubby's birth because I wanted to prove that my stretch marks would never fade. I planned to take another picture a year later and show everyone that MY stretch marks were an especially horrid breed that would remain red and furious forever. For some reason, I stored this picture in the My Pictures folder on my computer even though my screensaver was set to a randomized slideshow of said pictures. I blame sleep-deprived early motherhood for that act of idiocy.

One evening while living in Provo, we had Dill's cousin David over for dinner. He was also attending BYU at the time and we invited him over often. We were all sitting around chatting after our meal when THAT PICTURE (up there) appeared on the computer screen as part of the slideshow screensaver. When David saw it, his jaw dropped and he turned and said, "What HAPPENED to you?" I could only guess what he was thinking: mauled by an African cat? I'm sure I turned red from embarrassment -- I didn't mean for that picture to be seen by ANYONE. I consider David a close relative, just not THAT close. But the damage was done, the corneas already seared.

With a lump in my throat, I quietly explained, "Those are stretch marks. That's what happens when you have a baby." He accepted that answer without further prodding. The lump went away and the conversation turned to lighter topics. I don't think he knew about stretch marks prior to seeing my picture. Either way, he definitely got an education that evening.

Since then, my stretch marks have faded into silver scars and also shrunk a lot with weight loss. I didn't earn any new ones with Smush -- that's right, I said earn. My feelings on the matter have changed.

Before David saw that picture, I loathed my stretch marks. I thought they were abhorrent, a nasty secret no one should ever know about. But for some reason, having my secret (which really wasn't such a bad secret) exposed to someone else helped me realize they just weren't a big deal. Most mothers have stretch marks -- the ones who don't are among very few. These marks aren't bad -- yes, from a medical perspective, they are an actual scar on the skin, evidence the skin had been stretched beyond its elasticity. But who doesn't have scars? We all do. Our scars tell our scariest and most interesting stories. They are proof that we survived something.

I think of Stephanie Nielson, the famous blogger from Nie Nie Dialogues who survived a fiery plane crash back in 2008. If you don't read her blog, you ought to start now. This woman knows more about scars than anyone. I see the pain SHE has endured and feel awful that I ever let my measly stretch marks bother me. She is proof that true beauty has nothing to do with how perfect your skin is. What an amazing woman to look up to, a woman who doesn't let her scars get her down.

My stretch marks have begun to migrate to the back of my mind. They don't torment me like they used to. Occasionally, I catch a glimpse of them and remember being pregnant, remember those long nine months that ended with the most wonderful gift. Those marks are a small souvenir of my pregnancy journey, and I know more than my fair share of women who'd give anything to acquire those particular scars.

I haven't yet come to a point where I consider them beautiful. But, I do see them as a physical reminder of my greater purpose in life, and that's cool.

And I'm starting to embrace them. Last night, I got up the courage to swim in short board shorts instead of my knee-length ones. A small victory.

Someday, I hope to wear life's badges of honor proudly. My stretch marks, non-existent boobs, C-section scar and sagging, loose skin? They're not ugly; they're just proof of a fact -- I gave two people life.

No shame in that.

We partied like it was 1999. Literally.

Every 20-something girl has a boy-band crush from back in the day. Don't deny it; you do too. When I was in junior high and high school, I LOVED the Backstreet Boys. I mean, loved. As in, my first-ever screen name was "bsbluver4ever." And I am!

In October 1999, the Backstreet Boys came to Phoenix for their Millenium Tour. As soon as I found out about this, I knew I just HAD to go. My mom (also a BSB luver) and I stood in line at Dillard's for hours to get tickets. They had a lottery system to determine who was first in line -- they definitely didn't have enough tickets for all the people who showed up. It was a HUGE deal and sold out in just a few hours.

When the lottery was drawn, we ended up being near the end of the line. We almost lost hope, until my mom came up with a brilliant plan. Each person could purchase up to eight tickets. So she boldly asked a mother-daughter pair at the front of the line how many tickets they were buying. The girl said four, so my mom begged them to let us in on their group (we were only buying three). Worked out perfectly! My mom, 8-year-old sister and I all went. That was only my second concert (my first was Neil Diamond just a few months prior to BSB ... polyester disco pants and all) and it was amazing. I seriously dreamed about it for months afterward. I even wrote about it in my journal and drew hearts all around it like it was the best entry EVERRRRR! (cut me some slack; I was 12.)

Fast-forward 11 years. I was trying to figure out a good way to celebrate my mom's 50th birthday (coming up in August). I heard that the Backstreet Boys were going on tour again, this time with New Kids on the Block. I just knew she'd LOVE it if my sister and I took her to this concert. It'd be like a Backstreet's Back reunion for all of us (ALRIGHT!). So, we purchased the tickets just before Christmas and gave them to her to open on Christmas Day. We saved the gift for last -- three tickets tucked away in a non-descript white envelope. When she opened them, she didn't have her glasses on and couldn't read what they said -- my uncle was sitting beside her and goes, "The Backstreet Boys??" and she immediately jumped up and SCREAMED. She was stoked beyond belief; you would have thought she'd won the Publisher's Clearing House. I knew we'd made the right decision.

Ever since then, my mom has reminded me about the concert nearly every time I saw her. "Only __ more days until BSB!!" she'd sing. We got pretty pumped up about it. My mom was a little sad my two younger sisters weren't coming so she decided to buy them some tickets on our row so they could join us.

Last Thursday, our dreams came true (even though the power was out all day). All of us girls hopped in my mom's car and we went to Oregano's for dinner. Oregano's is this super-cute pizza/pasta restaurant in Mesa that has such delicious food. And huge portions, which is great when you're dining with a group of skinny little girls because you can share entrees!

Mariah (my clone) and Mom

Sarah, Me, Emma

After Oregano's, we headed to the arena. A whole hour early, yes. We were excited!

Our seats were in the very very last row. As in, there was no one behind us. Just a wall. THE wall. But don't feel bad -- US Airways Arena is a fairly small venue, so we still felt like we were close enough. Plus, they had these huge screens  on either side of the main stage that we could watch, too. And the stage was set up so they basically performed across the whole court, not just at one end. There was a main stage at one end, a catwalk which ran down the length of the court and then a small, round stage at the end of the catwalk.

Plus, if no one's behind you, that means you can dance the whole night and not worry about blocking anyone's view or annoying anyone with your moves. So of course, we danced ALLLLL night. That's right!

Sarah and me, with no one behind us!

The hottest ladies at the concert (can you believe my mom's 50? She looks amazing!)

It suddenly hit me half-way through the show that the early 2000's were my "time." My era. Someday, when my kids ask me about the music I listened to and liked as a teen, I'm going to tell them about the Backstreet Boys and Britney Spears and Jimmy Eat World and Linkin Park, and they're going to go, "Ewwww! So lame!" (or something else; "lame" probably won't be a cool word by then). But I've embraced this fact. I come from the era of body glitter (lots of it), too-tight belly shirts, low-rise jeans, partially-crimped hair and bubble gum pop. And that might make me lame, but I love it. 

Which boy band team were YOU on back in the day?

The new Backstreet Boys (minus Kevin)

Joey McIntyre ... whoa.