My Fashionista

Written by Shannon Leigh

So my Project Runway buddies will get a serious kick out of this.

Yesterday an old episode of Project Runway was on tv, specifically the one where Chris made clothing out of human hair. (If you are a Project Runway buff like me you will distinctly remember the episode, but then how could you forget it?).

So Ruby and I were reading a book with the tv on in the background and I wasn't really paying attention. All the sudden I hear Ruby shout "MONKEY, MONKEY" while pointing at the tv. I looked up and saw a coat that Chris had crafted with human hair all around the collar.

HA, I laughed and laughed. It really DID look like a monkey.

Ahh, the innocence. I love that little girl.

Shirtless

Written by Shannon Leigh

Many years ago Matt drove to my parent's house for the first time.

It was June after my freshman year of college and Matt's first year of law school. We had only been dating since the very end of March. He had met my parents once before but he was about to meet the rest of the clan (extended family, aunts, uncles, cousins, etc). It was going to be intense.

I already knew that I was going to marry him.

That weekend was the first time he told me he loved me.

In fact he said: "I have always had a picture in my head of the girl that would walk down the isle to me. She was blonde & tan (yes, I USED to be tan). Now that girl has a face."

However sweet THAT was, that really isn't the point of this post.

Back to my story.

So it was June and Matt was driving from STL to my parents house outside of Springfield, about an hour and a half drive.

It was HOT, really hot.

Matt drove a red Ford Taurus that was all kinds of ghetto.

It didn't have air conditioning.

Did I mention that it was HOT?

So what did the love of my life do?

He drove an hour and a half in a red Ford Taurus without air conditioning... SHIRTLESS.

Yes, you read that correctly. Shirtless. As in he didn't wear a shirt, at all.

He didn't want to sweat through his shirt so his only option was to go SHIRTLESS.

Can't you just picture it?

Talk about classy.

Luckily I didn't witness this debacle since he put his shirt on before he got to our driveway.

Thank goodness.

I might have wanted out. :)

{all pictures from Matt Debackere, October 8, 2010}

All I know is that it was true love way back then and we're even more in love now.

I am one blessed girl.

{Picture of us on that fateful day. June 13, 2004}

About the flu

Written by Shannon Leigh

Yesterday I had the flu.

I wasn't convinced that it was the flu at first.

I thought it was just indigestion so I took some tums, laid in a ball, etc.

It wasn't until the 7th time I threw up that I was convinced.

I proceeded to throw up 15 times, pulling a muscle in my back and breaking a blood vessel in my neck.

I was basically tossing large intestine sludge (term coined by my sister, Brooke).

Awesome.

I even had to cancel a shoot, bleh.

I've never had to do that before.

Matt had a busy day so I was home alone with the baby.

I thought I was going to die.

Seriously, the flu is WORST.

I decided to take a nice hot bath to relieve the nausea.

I let Ruby (and Izzy for that matter) play in the water by the side of the tub because I was desperate.

They were both soaked.

I also let Ruby watch LOTS of TV.

I think her brain is mush now.

I now have lots of sympathy for those poor women who have really bad morning sickness. I don't know how they do it.

I feel much better today. Still a little woozy and weak.

I'm praising the Lord that yesterday is over.

MISSION DISINFECT is now in full swing.

I'm getting a massage tomorrow.

And because it's my blog and I don't think I ever posted these...

{Taken in the Secret Garden August 8th, 2010}

P.S. - If you follow my blog you should go LIKE my Shannon Leigh Anderson Facebook page :)

You know you want to.

About today and pacifiers

Written by Shannon Leigh

I was dreading today.

Today I was going to take the Rubster to my hair appointment. I am still not sure what I was thinking. I don't even know how that would have worked. It would have been miserable, ending with both of us in tears covered in hair. That's really the only way it could have gone down. It would have been a real low point in my mothering career thus far.

Matt had a hearing in Chicago this morning and then another one in the afternoon. He couldn't pick Ru up from MMO like I had planned so perfectly.

I would ordinarily reschedule but my hair lady is out of town for like 3 weeks and my poor roots couldn't wait another second. And NO, I am not risking trying someone new, can I get an amen ladies?

Anyway, at the last second Matt called me and told me he could pick her up because his second hearing was CANCELLED. And then the angels sang, no really, I heard them, I think. I haven't been so excited probably since the last time photo equipment came in the mail (which, come to think of it, happens all the time, photography is an expensive business, especially with being SUCH a perfectionist).

I was pumped and promised Matt that I'd make him a very happy man...

by cleaning the house (get your mind out of the gutter).

So I went to my hair appointment, chatted with my adorable hair girl (Megan) and thoroughly enjoyed getting my scalp scrubbed WITHOUT a paci-less toddler screaming on my lap (or eating hair on the floor).

My scalp is still tingling.

That leads me to paci-less Ruby.

Yes it's true. We are approaching the 72 hour mark being paci free.

Here's the thing folks, I don't think Ruby was nearly as addicted to the paci as I was. I LOVE the paci (note the capitalized, bold, italicized LOVE). You see it was a surefire happy/quiet maker. When things were bad, the paci would make it all better.

Ruby came home from the hospital loving the paci. Some babies never take one, some babies suck their fingers, my baby LOVED her paci. Ruby was putting herself to sleep in just a few months without fussing because of that paci. God bless you mr. paci (may you RIP).

We planned to do it at 12 months but I drug my feet. I just couldn't part with it. We were going through lots of transitions around that time, like weaning her off the bottle and then we were concentrating on crawling/walking, plus we were traveling a lot (and there is SERIOUSLY nothing worse than a screaming toddler in the backseat, it gives me a neck ache).

Then Ruby started throwing her paci and I was SO tired of retrieving it. We also aren't traveling for 2 weeks so we decided to bite the bullet and give it a try. It has actually gone rather smoothly. The first time I laid her down for a nap she cried for an hour, boy was she mad. The second time she fussed for 20 minutes, the 3rd time 10, and now it's just a few seconds. Point for team mom.

If I would have known it was this easy I might have done it sooner but then again, maybe not. I feel like all of the "baby" is gone in my little gem. I TOTALLY understand why some 3 year olds are walking around with a bottle. It's hard to let them grow up, but grow up they must.

And just because I love this picture:

{Taken March 31, 2010 on her first trip to Chicago}

Grab a Mattress, Quick!

Written by Shannon Leigh

Somehow, I live in a house without a basement.

Basements are kind of hard to come by in these parts, especially in our little town.

BUT, COME ON!

We live in tornado alley. WHAT was I thinking?

As most of you know, the midwest experienced some nasty storms tonight.

I was actually really proud of my composure when the sirens went off.

I calmly gathered Ruby and went straight into the garage and had Matt remove the step to the crawl space.

We dropped Izzy in, put down a blanket and I had my computer on my lap tracking the storm. Ruby was as happy as a lark and Izzy didn't move from my side.

We only stayed in the crawl space for a few minutes but we stayed close by for awhile. Overall I stayed pretty calm.

In fact Matt told me later that he was very proud of me.

I haven't always been so calm. It must be my motherly instincts kicking in.

Which leads me to a story, which I really need to get down on paper because it's just too funny.

A little background:

I grew up in the middle of the country, outside of a town called Pleasant Plains. It was flat, REALLY flat (hence the name).

We could sit on the back deck and see the fireworks on the 4th of July at the state capital, which is about 25 miles away.

We could see storms coming for MILES. The clouds were just so ominous and terrifying as they came rolling down the plain.

If there was a funnel cloud within 3 counties we could see it coming.

After one particularly memorable funnel cloud my mom had to slap me because I was screaming so hysterically. I then proceeded to beg my sisters to ask Jesus into their hearts... I was sure we were goners.

You catch my drift... so fast forward 15 years.

Shortly after Matt and I moved into our current house we had a nasty storm. We had only been married for a few months at the time.

The sirens sounded and I completely lost it. Izzy was a puppy so I scooped her up and made a B line to the garage to get into our crawl space.

I tugged at the step and to my shear terror it wouldn't budge. I looked at Matt with desperate eyes filled with panic.

(Apparently before we took possession of the house the builder had screwed down the garage step with 1 million 50 inch screws).

Matt, sensing my desperation, promptly grabbed our Wal-Mart electric screwdriver and began unscrewing at the speed of a tortoise on a stroll.

Obviously I wasn't going to wait for THAT so I told him to forget it and rushed into the bathtub in the middle of the house while holding Izzy on my lap.

Matt followed me through the house with eyes wide, poor guy.

Hearing the wind and rain slamming against the side of the house made the panic rise up in me again. "Matt grab a mattress, quick!"

So my adorable husband grabbed the queen sized mattress off of our bed and tried to squeeze it through the bathroom door. Just to be clear, our bathroom is the size of a postage stamp, there is no way a queen mattress could fit. I meant the twin mattress in the guest room. The queen mattress couldn't even turn the corner.

Once the storm passed and I regained my somewhat normal nerves I climbed out of the tub and put our the beds back together.

Matt looked me square in the face and said "You turn into a different person when it storms." Yes, honey, yes I do.

Bless him for sticking by me.

We have since removed the nails in the step that leads to the crawlspace, which eventually led to the this.

{taken January, 2011}

Since that picture was taken we have secured the step to the wall so that I can avoid slippage.

That being said I would certainly take a bruised thigh over death and disfigurement.

I rest my case.

Oh and just because I mentioned Izzy as a puppy, feast your eyes on these. I know. I love her too.

{Taken May 11, 2008}

{taken the night we brought her home, May 10, 2008}

{taken May 19, 2008}

This Morning's Events.

Written by Shannon Leigh

Woken by a sick baby at 3am.

Hold sick baby for most of the night.

Baby is feeling better this morning.

She is playing while I am on the phone.

Turn around and she is playing in the dog's water bowl.

She is soaking wet.

Water all over the place.

Wipe down mess.

Take soaking wet baby to changing table to change her soaking wet clothes.

Baby is flailing arms.

Baby knocks over my coffee to the floor.

Luckily it's on the rug.

Rush rug to the sink.

Decide baby needs a bath because of dog water incident.

Take baby's clothes and diaper off and sit her on the bathroom rug while water is running.

Pick baby up to put her in the tub.

Notice she peed all over the bathroom rug that I washed YESTERDAY.

Must wash rug AGAIN!

Give baby a bath.

Almost finish with bath.

Baby POOPS in the tub.

In my clean tub that I just washed YESTERDAY!

Clean up poop.

Clean up baby.

Feed baby breakfast.

Baby sneezes all over my face.

The blast from the sneeze startles me and I drop the spoon of baby food on my clean clothes.

Baby-6, Mommy-0.

Ain't too proud

Written by Shannon Leigh

To show you THIS.

It was supposed to look like this.

FAILURE.

I was going through the pictures on my phone.

Some of the pictures/videos had me rolling.

Kind of like my utter failure cake.

A month ago I fell into our crawl space (long story).

I thought I broke my leg.

I didn't.

I did get a NASTY bruise though.

It got WAY worse before it got better.

It still hurts and it's still bruised.

It might be permanent.

Good thing my short shorts days are over.

Martha has my Husband

Written by Shannon Leigh

Apparently my husband loves Martha Stewart.

After 3 1/2 years of marriage this came as a complete shock.

How do I know?

We sat on the couch a few nights ago watching Martha Stewart's Holiday Open House. She made golden bow cookies with Jennifer Garner and turkey egg ornaments with Claire Danes, all while not making a single mess. She then made a holiday cassoulet with like 6 different kinds of meat in a pot the size of my kitchen table. I'm fairly certain that's what sold him.

I told Matt that the show was making me depressed and that he could change the channel. Glued to the TV he said "that's ok, she kind of sucks you in." Thus her multimillion dollar corporation.

Throughout the rest of the show he kept saying "whoa, she really is amazing..."

"How'd she do that?" "She is so good!"

When we went to bed that night he was laying flat on his back, eyes open, staring at the ceiling. I asked him what he was thinking about and his answer? "All I can think about it Martha's holiday Cassoulet."

I am not sure if I should be thrilled by this or utterly mortified.

Thrilled because he really does like creative-do-it-yourself-ers like Martha or mortified because she is the ultimate-do-it-yourself-er and I could never live up to her, especially in the mess department.

If he ever gets frustrated with my crafting I'll just remind him that if he wants me to be like Martha he better step off.

How to Clean a Stove: According to my Husband

Written by Shannon Leigh

{This picture has NOTHING to do with this post- I just like it}

Matt and I have a gas stove. Gas stoves are notorious for being grimy. Or so I'm told.

You see, gas stoves have lots of parts. The knobs, the pan support, the flame tube, the flame cover-upper, etc - you get the idea. You can't just wipe it down like those fancy flat top electric ones. Gas stove tops are much more complex in the cleaning department.

I'm a messy person. I can't help it. I've tried, I've truly tried. I'm not the type that gets something out and puts it away. I'm the type of person that gets something out, uses it, forgets that I got it out and moves on to something else. Then I glance at the clock and realize that my "I hate messes" husband is getting home in 30 minutes and I do a whirlwind cleaning. What can I say? I need a little pressure.

I'll tell you what, when I do clean I do a bang up job. I am very thorough and quite particular. None of this mopping business, I scrub the floors on my hands and knees. I usually pile everything up in the middle of the room and then put each item away in its rightful place. I'm a messy perfectionist. Is that possible?

However, when it came to the stove, I had a lot to learn. About a year ago, we were having quests stay with us so I cleaned the house the best I could before they got there. Dusted, vacuumed, washed the floors and toilets, you get the idea. I also cleaned the stove.

Matt got home from work and said "wow the house looks great!" I was beaming with domestic bliss. He then walked over to the stove and said... "ohhh and you tried to clean the stove." Tried? TRIED? I didn't try, I DID clean the stove. But clearly not to his specifications. My domestic goddess bubble had been burst.

Over the next few months I completely gave up on cleaning the stove. Clearly I wasn't the Stove Master like Matt was. But the day I went into labor with Ruby (2 weeks late) I decided I HAD to clean the stove before she got here. So giving up all pride, I called Matt at work and asked him how he made the stove shine like the top of the Chrysler building.

The phone conversation went something like this.

Matt: You're really going to clean the stove? (I could hear the excitement in his voice) It's really easy and it only takes 10 or 15 minutes!

me: 10 or 15 minutes? That's ridiculous. I can wash the whole floor in 15 minutes.

Matt: You'll need 4 different cleaning products.

me: 4 different cleaning products? That's ridiculous. I don't use that many products to clean the whole house.

Matt: Ok. This is what you do.

1. Fill the sink with soapy water. Take all of the loose parts from the top of the stove and soak them in the soapy water.

2. Wipe down the top of the stove with soapy washcloth to get all of the "junk" off.

3. Once all of the junk is off the top of the stove, slather with soft scrub and let it sit for a few minutes.

4. Wipe soft scrub off with wet paper towels.

5. Once the soft scrub is off of the top of the stove, spray the top of the stove with 409. This reduces any greasy residue that is left over.

6. Wipe down top of stove with paper towels until 409 is wiped off. The stove will be streaky.

7. Spray windex on stove top

8. Wipe down with paper towels to remove any streaks.

9. Scrub each stove part that is still in the sink soaking.

10. Dry each part and put back in the appropriate place on the stove.

I think I laughed pretty hard but was sick of Matt being unimpressed with my stove-cleaning abilities. It was time to learn.

So I cleaned the stove using the crazy clean-freak-Matt-method.

I have to admit the stove was spotless and shiny and looked brand-spankin new. Later that night I went into labor.

I will always attribute my laborious stove cleaning for putting me into labor. Thanks honey.

Most couples fight about money or how to raise their children. Matt and I hardly ever argue about those matters. But the neatness of our house is a CONSTANT battle. I don't mind a mess, Matt can't function with a mess. See, with marriage you gotta give a little. So if it means I have to clean the stove using 4 different cleaning products I guess it's worth it. Man I must really love that guy.

Down with Bill the Bus Driver

Written by Shannon Leigh

I "commute" to work.
I park in a parking lot, that I pay for, and then wait for a crowded bus to pick me up. I am then squished with students in sweats, whom I envy, and am carted to the middle of campus, where I then sit in a cubicle all day. Did I mention I dress up everyday? To sit in a cubicle?
I know it's not like those poor people in Chicago and London and New York, but it's a commute none-the-less.

Being 36 weeks pregnant has it's challenges. Being 36 weeks pregnant in the winter presents a whole new set of challenges. Being 36 weeks pregnant in the winter AND dressing up everyday is daunting (trust me). Being 36 weeks pregnant, dressed up in the winter AND commuting on a bus available to 30,000 students is just plain insane. And today, Bill the bus driver ticked me off.

I used to work in research park, an area that is technically "off campus." I didn't know how good I had it while I was there. But boy, I would sell an organ to be able to park in the parking lot directly outside of my building (and have very little interaction with students). Granted I was traveling a lot back then and training people face to face. I didn't really mind dressing up back then. But then, I wasn't pregnant.

Bill, the bus driver, made me step in a big, icy puddle as he sped up to the bus stop this morning and was RUDE to everyone who stepped foot on the bus. He was condescending and took the corners WAY to sharp. Peanut's foot (the one that is permanently lodged in my right ribs) was holding on for dear life. The poor little thing probably thought we were riding the Beast at Kings Island (arguably the greatest wooden roller coaster ever built). I might have given a scowl, which is NOT generally like me. But then I've never been 36 weeks pregnant in the winter, dressed up and commuting. I'm really a very gracious pregnant lady after all. I swear.

The only thing that redeemed my morning was the jelly-filled doughnut that I ate. Yes I actually LIKE jelly-filled doughnuts. Apparently not very many people do. I wonder what percent of the population actually enjoys them. I bet Homer Simpson does. This particular jelly-filled doughnut wasn't as good as the one's I used to get from Mel-O-Cream as a kid, but it did the trick. My sisters used to make fun of me for getting jelly-filled doughnuts, they thought they were gross.

My eyebrows are out of control. I'm tempted to go to the salon and have them waxed but then I ponder all of the things I would RATHER do with $15, like buy 15 jelly-filled doughnuts. I get the unruly eyebrows from my dad who literally has caterpillars over his eyes. They are endearing on a man, not so much on a woman. You can always tell if I'm taking care of myself by the state of my eyebrows. Being 36 weeks pregnant in the winter and being exhausted from dressing up and commuting doesn't bode well for them. I'd take a picture but I'd be too embarrassed to show you.

Good thing I had that jelly-filled doughnut to make my morning better. I wonder if Bill, the bus driver, likes jelly-filled doughnuts?

If he does, I think I'll give them up.

A few things on my mind...

Written by Shannon Leigh

• Oh how I am dreading the students coming back to campus next Monday. If only they could stay away for 6 more weeks. Yes, I realize if there were no students there would be no job.
• Our poor dog Izzy had to get stitches under her eye as a result of a freak snow shovel incident. She now has to wear a cone when we are gone so she doesn't scratch at it. Every morning I am forced to put it on her. I feel like I am torturing her. She runs into things constantly and last night panicked with it on and ripped the outlet off of the wall. I'm not sure how this happened as I wasn't there. (Story & pictures to follow).
  
• Matt's very enthusiastic explanation of why Mark McGwire's admittance to steroid use has a profound affect on his past career and his future. I was more interested in who he is married to now. She is a blond pharmaceutical sales rep who is 15 years younger than him. I was shocked.
  
• Matt's detailed description of the movie District 9 which he rented while I was gone last night (thank goodness) and his hope that there is a sequel.
• How to find time to finish Peanut's baby quilt.
• How much I appreciate my mom making the crib bumper in her free time and putting up with my demands.
• How to love Jesus more and identify his grace and his will.
  
• Thinking about how and when Peanut is going to make her grand appearance.
  
• The rocking chair debacle. Long story.
• Valentine's Day.
• Everything I learned in my childbirth class on Saturday. Now I know that if Matt sings "She'll Be Coming Around the Mountain" while I'm in labor there is a 98% chance that I'll punch him in the face.
• My wardrobe is getting very slim as I'm getting bigger. I refuse to buy more maternity clothes. Get used to the same 3 shirts for the next 6 weeks.
  
• Lost.
• Frumpy doesn't really describe the way I feel. Mack truck might come closer.
• My career as a photographer and where it is going.
• How I am going to take care of another life when I can barely take care of my own.
• The foot in my rib cage.
  

To my Lover: I Will be Your Soda Bearer

Written by Shannon Leigh

Matt is on a mission trip this week with the junior high youth group from our church. Although I miss him dearly I am glad he got to go and I know he is being stretched/sharpened in more ways than one. I'm jealous actually. If we weren't smack dab in the middle of training at work I would have gone with them. I think it would be such a blessing to see what God is doing in all of our little Sunday schooler's lives. For some of them this might be their first experience helping out the less fortunate and sharing the gospel. I hope you all will pray with me for the work that God is doing there.

Speaking of being sharpened... Matt is addicted to soda. A few months ago he gave up soda for 30 days (he didn't even drink a soda on his birthday... I was so proud). He went from drinking about 3 a day to zilch. He was pretty miserable for the first few days. He had pretty hardcore caffeine headaches. When he left for the mission trip last week I don't think he took his caffeine addiction into consideration. Because you see, this particular mission trip doesn't provide soda at meal time, or any other time for that matter and he's basically car-less so he can't run out and get a fountain soda (one of his favorite pastimes). Apparently, he had a massive headache for the first day and a half.
Last night I received a text from him that said
"By the grace of God..."
At this point I was waiting for a story about an amazing spiritual encounter. But the rest of it said...
"I dunked a basketball and we had soda with dinner."
Man you gotta love that guy. He really has his priorities straight. At least he recognizes that it's by God's grace.

That leads me to the next topic... I was browsing some party planning websites and I came across THIS. It is a gourmet soda bar at a wedding! What a fantastic idea! I mean it's genius really. Matt would have loved that ( & me too).

{photos via Project Wedding}

Anyway, I only have a few lonely days left until Matty gets home. I'm hoping to accomplish a lot before then. That way when he gets here, we can sip on some gourmet sodas and he can tell me all about his trip. Man I miss him.

Scannerlicious...

Written by Shannon Leigh

To all of you who sent me money for my birthday...

I bought a film scanner. 

It's the kind of gift that will keep on giving.

It came in the mail today.

I couldn't wait to open it.

I did.

I was so excited.

But I didn't get to play with it.

I had to do 6 loads of laundry instead.

Maybe I'll get to play with it next week.

Oh... and Izzy has something to tell you....

Have a great weekend!

Hotel Magic

Written by Shannon Leigh

I'm starting to get used to my bed being made everyday and the toilet paper being folded in a neat little triangle.  Pretty sure it's magic. 

 Matty, do you think you can handle this when I get home?  

Outdoor Adventure Party: CANCELLED

Written by Shannon Leigh

Woah, back it up.

Where did the month of April go?
Don't ask me. The last thing I remember was celebrating Matt's birthday at the beginning of March.

Whirlwind is the only word I can use to describe the last 30 days . How appropriate since it is tornado season and all. Have I mentioned that I hate the month of April?

When I was in the 3rd grade my mom agreed to let me have a killer birthday party entitled Outdoor Adventure Party (original, I know). Me and 15 of my closest friends were going to participate in all kinds of outdoor activities including a scavenger hunt around the farm. When we sent out the invitations I could HARDLY contain my excitement. I wanted to be the first to find a robin's nest so stinkin bad.

Anyway, the week of my party finally came around and surprise, surprise it was raining (much like it has been here in Champaign for the last week). Hence the old adage..."April showers..."

By that fateful Saturday, it was downright swampy outside. After some heartfelt resistance on my part the Outdoor Adventure Party came to a screeching halt. I was so upset, stupid April storms.

Luckily my mom whipped up some inside games and we partied our little hearts out while the thunder rolled outside. I remember getting my first dangling earrings at that party (now that changed my life forever).

The Outdoor Adventure Party was a wash(pun intended) and I never really forgave April for that one.

Oh and I never did find that bird's nest.

Only one more day left in April (the one that I turn 24)... maybe we'll see those May flower's soon.
Oh and maybe I should take down my Easter decorations... or maybe not. Jesus is still risen.
Praise the Lord for that one.

I ran 3 miles today.

So I have decided to kick my exercise routine up a notch. After watching my non-blood relatives compete (competitively) in last weekend’s marathon, I decided that I need to get my butt in gear. They might leave me in the dust if I don’t (for real, apparently I’m slow). I mean Pat ran 26.2 miles at a 6 minute 40 second pace. He clearly lived to tell about it so why do I feel like death is around the corner when I run?

I discussed the pain with my lovely cousin, Lesley, who was in town last weekend (cheering on her friend Tina and some Bradley girls). She is a Physical Therapist (well almost, she graduates in May with her Doctorate) and a runner. Can I write a sentence in this paragraph without parentheses (I don’t think so). Anyway, she was telling me that my body may actually contain more fast twitch muscles than slow twitch, hence my speediness. Maybe my cousin Shauna, who has her PhD. in PT, could give me some good exercises to build up my slow twitch muscles.  She is the expert.

My point is it’s not my fault. It’s all hereditary, dang genes. So my new goal is to be able to run 5 miles on a consistent basis before the end of June, especially now that Matty is getting back into running.  He's running another 5K in Springfield this weekend.  Maybe someday I'll run one with him.  I use the term "with him" very loosely.  Most likely I'd be the one crying in the back.

I've been going to the gym over my lunch hour for the last few weeks and this was the first time I completed 3 miles without stopping to walk. I was pretty proud of myself.  At the end of the run I glanced down at the calorie counter on the treadmill and it said 350 calories.  I wonder if those things are accurate.  If it is true I can think of lots of things I could eat for 350 calories, 2.25 star crunches to be exact.   The possibilities are endless.  I guess working out does have it's perks. 

WHAT would YOU eat for 350 calories?

Fish Sticks and Peas

I had chocolate pie for dinner.

Actually I had coffee, blueberry pie, fries, AND chocolate pie, oh and a few sips of Pepsi.  

At least now-a-days I only eat like that once a week (Dessert Thursday is a very special occasion) . While in college a meal of Star Crunches and Mountain Dew was a common occurrence.  Throw in a giant spicy pickle from the Grab-n-go and I was set. 

 My parents tried.  They really did.  They always fed me balanced meals.  I guess that if the worst I did with my "freedom" after leaving home was eating Star Crunches for dinner, they did pretty well.  

When we were little my mom stayed home with us.  She took care of all of the housework and the cooking (among many other things).  Every once in a while my Dad had to make dinner for my sisters and I (I think my mom took a seasonal job a couple nights a week).  We love our Dad very much, but if we had to give him a job to do cooking would be last on the list.  Vacuuming the stairs... now that's a different story (he's incredible at that, so fluffy).  Anyway, it seemed like every time my mom was away my Dad would make us the SAME meal.

 Fish sticks and peas!

You can imagine our delight with that combination.  To this day I can't smell fish without thinking about those nights with my Dad (who will deny all of  this by the way).  

I'm going to go ahead and blame Dad for my hatred of seafood.  It was either him or my gag reflex.  Either way I don't think I'm missing out.  

Life: One Giant Story Problem

I don't think I was listening in third grade on the day we learned story problems.
Math is one of those subjects in school that builds on itself. If one day in third grade the sun happened to be shining so bright on the playground that you involuntarily started daydreaming about cartwheeling through the grassy meadow and incidentally missed a giant chunk of math class, you're screwed for the rest of your mathematical life. Looking back through my schooling I am thinking this happened to me quite a bit. My math knowledge seems to be missing large chunks of fundamental building blocks that I am just sure were taught in my math classes over the years.
Don't get me wrong I got A's in math (the advanced math, mind you) all through school but that was partly due to my own anal retentiveness and partly because of my brilliant at math sister Morgan and my best friend Brooke. I would basically have to relearn everything before every test. I'm great at memorizing then forgetting.
I took a whopping 1 math class in college. It was Math 108 (Contemporary Mathematics). We did do quite a few word problems, but I mostly remember learning how to figure out drivers license numbers. It was my dream class. I didn't have to use my brain once and I think I ended up with a 106 % in the class. What's not to like about success without effort?
When I decided to major in photography I thought I had finally escaped the loathsome story problem for good. But unfortunately you can't get through photography 101 without being able to convert ounces into pints and pints into gallons, and don't get me started on sensitometry, studio lighting, and aperture. I spent more time on conversions than I did on actual photography. It only got worse when I started to learn digital photography and photoshop. The story problems just got longer... If I want an image to be this big at 300 dpi, what do I need to set my PPI to?
Most of my beloved photography is problem solving. If you peer through the lens of a camera and a pole is sticking out the person's head you must come up with a another angle. If you're shadows are two dark then you bump up your f-stop. If you meter your whites and they are off the charts you'll lose detail, but if you stop down you may lose your shadows. Do you use artificial lighting? Filters? (This was much more difficult with film mind you). I am not even going to get into printing.
Then there is sewing, one of my new favorites hobbies. Talk about problem solving. I am constantly having to think and rethink the best way to do something. Try doing a bag with a lining, I just dare you. I love it and the strife is worth the brain work but why does everything I love require so much problem solving, especially when I am so bad at it?

Anyway it hit me the other day (while Matt and I were arguing about something or other) that my life is one GIANT story problem. EVERYTHING from cooking to cleaning, from time management to when to start a family. I have to identify the variables, and come up with a solution.  I mean our marriage takes problem solving skills that I long for.  

If you think about it, God really is the ultimate problem solver.   He took the ultimate problem of sin and created a solution through his son, Jesus.  So I guess it wouldn't hurt to ask him to fill the gaps in my mathematics education.

No Thanks Officer, I don't need your help

Today I started to fishtail on the very icy First Street on a quick trip home over my lunch hour. I said to myself, “Shannon don’t slam on your brakes, don’t slam on my brakes,” so I lightly tapped them, hoping I would be able to get the car back into my control. Apparently this caused the same effect. I spun around and before I knew it, I was headed straight for a telephone pole. I ended up backwards in a ditch with my tail end up in a field and my nose in the bank. I missed the telephone pole by mere inches, thank God!

I gave myself a second, looked around, and began to assess the situation. Here I am on a country road all by myself. It wasn’t like when I was young and I could call my dad with his big red truck and he would come and save me without wasting a minute (or I could call a handful of uncles, cousin, or grandparents for that matter) Everyone had a big truck at home. (That is why Lesley and Kris’s December wedding, even in the midst of a snow storm, went off without a hitch. All but a handful of guests were able to make it, all because of those fab 4x4s).

Anyway, since my little 5 speed died in the course of the mishap I turned the engine back on, then thought better of it and turned it back off. I pulled up the emergency brake and got out of the car. The already loose exhaust pipe was covered in snow and grass, but no additional damage done, I think. I cleaned it out and stood there in boots and gloves, trying to get a hold of my prince charming who would surely leave work and come and rescue me. So what if he works 45 minutes away (on a good day). I would wait.

I was embarrassed and upset, not to the point of tears, but I was frustrated. At home the only people who would have come to help me were the people who loved me, and no one else would EVER have to know. AND I was determined to NOT have to call a tow truck. Since Matt does work 45 minutes away, there really wasn’t much for him to do (sue me because I was mad at him anyway). He asked if I thought I could get out by myself and I said,” if someone could push the front of the car and I put it in reverse, I know I could get out.” So he called our friend Neil who said he could be there in 15 minutes.

While I waited 3 or 4 people, some in big 4x4’s, stopped to ask if I was ok. Although the gesture was nice none of them actually got out of their cars and I don’t think they intended to. I said to them “yes I am ok” and “if someone could just push the car for me, I think I could get up into the field and then get out that way.” Every single one of them said, “no… your definitely NOT going to be able to do that. You’ll have to call a tow truck.” I was annoyed but climbed back in the warm car and waited on Neil.

That is when it happened. I saw flashing lights about a half mile up the road. As the cop pulled up I thought “great, now I am going to get a ticket… but at least he can help me push my car up into the field.” I jump out of the car like an eager kitten awaiting a ball of yarn. But what does my super hero do? He just sits there, (and I am not talking 30 seconds, I am talking at LEAST a few minutes). I am standing out in the freezing cold and he is just sitting there in his warm car looking at me like “haha, you’re stuck.” I may have whispered a few choice words under my breath and pretended to call someone on my cell phone (just so the eager kitten in me didn’t look so pathetic). He eventually did get out the car and came over to me and said, “why don’t you come sit in my car and we can talk about what happened.” Dun dun dun… ticket time. After he took my name and license plate information I just assumed he was going to ask me how fast I was going (which was under 30 by the way). To my surprise he didn’t and I began to explain that I really thought that I could get the car out myself. He looked at me like I was stupid and said “no you’re not going to be able to get it out like that, I will call a tow truck for you. Do you have any preferences.” All I could see was dollar signs. A ticket and a tow truck. This is just not my day. “Please get here Neil, PLEASE!!!”

A few minutes later, Neil pulls up (the only hero I could trust). I, for the 100^th time in a half an hour, explained the pushing/backing up idea. Neil went along with it (FINALLY someone listened to me). With the cops blessing we went over to the car and he pushed with all of his might (on a bum ankle mind you). The whole time the cop sat in his car.

We ended up getting the car out with the use of Neils floor mats from his car, with zero help from the policeman. I think I owe Neil some new floor mats and some sugar-free treats.

Thankfully, I wasn't hurt and there doesn't seem to be any damage to the car. I also didn't get a ticket and I didn't have to call a tow truck thanks to Neil. I have decided that maybe the police have a policy against helping people, or maybe they just don't want to get their pants wet. Who knows...

Anyway... to that cop out there, who ever you are...thanks for nothing.