tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-67501763050189889682024-03-14T11:49:36.323-07:00Yippee! It's MLEEmilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162996244974904431noreply@blogger.comBlogger521125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6750176305018988968.post-86155078461923382642020-04-15T05:57:00.000-07:002020-04-15T06:28:36.860-07:00on perspective There's a lot of our trying-for-a-baby story that isn't so pretty. I spent a lot of hours in my therapist's office. I picked up my antidepressants prescription every month. We cried so. many. times.--In the kitchen. In the car. On the closet floor. On the phone. At doctor's offices. To family. To friends. To one another. We spent lots of time on the phone with insurance trying to understand what was covered and what was not<span style="font-size: x-small;"> (when somebody becomes fluent in the foreign language that is Insurance, please let me know!) </span>We rearranged finances. So many negative tests with even less answers. So many doctor appointments. So much hope slowly pushed down by greater grief and sadness.<br />
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I spent a big portion of that time convinced I'd never experience a pregnancy. I certainly never thought if and when I did get to experience one that it'd be in the middle of a global pandemic. But now, on this side of it. the fact that I GET to be safe in this little ol' apartment with Rick and Lupe while feeling this baby kick me non-stop feels like I got the best early Christmas present e v e r. <i>Don't get me wrong, there is still plenty of COVID worry and What will life look like after this? anxiety floating around here, but silver linings. </i><br />
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I've started writing about our infertility experience, especially the IVF part, so many times. At the end of the day everything that has come out sounds dramatic and sad, and ultimately that's not how I want to present the story. Because while it was sad and so crushing, it was a fight through which we fought hard to keep some light shining. It was a big life lesson. And<span style="font-size: x-small;"> (perspective!) </span>it also wasn't as even close to as bad as things that go on daily around this big Earth, and maybe wasn't even as bad as life storms we may face later. <i>That's not an invitation for something crazy, Universe...</i><br />
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I have read so many accounts of couples going through IVF and how traumatizing they found it to be. The needles, "stabbing" yourself, the endless ultrasounds, etc. I am NOT trying to discount anyone's feelings, but that wasn't our experience at all. In fact, moving forward with IVF was probably the least traumatized we had both felt in almost a year of other infertility treatments. We felt hopeful again. We felt like we were making a positive step towards finding out something--whether it be an answer to the unexplained part of our infertility or the joy of a long-awaited positive pregnancy test. With each injection I felt like physically I was truly doing the most I could to prepare my body for the egg retrieval and eventual embryo transfer. With each monitored ultrasound and bloodwork visit we got to see the progress of the injections, how they were actually doing something, and how my body was responding. And of course we tried to make jokes with the whole <i>Freddie getting to stab me with needles multiples times a day</i> thing.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">The first full day of injections</span></div>
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**I realize lots of people don't care about the ins and outs of making a baby via IVF. That's great! You don't have to. Once we decided to move forward with IVF <span style="font-size: x-small;">(and really any fertility treatments we tried), </span>I headed straight to the internet hoping to find as many blogs or accounts of it that I could. So while yes, I am writing down all this for my brain dump and journaling purposes, I'm also writing this to share just in case someone else going through IVF or any other treatment stumbles across it and can use it for a brief period of calm.**</div>
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Our first injection was on the evening of November 13. I had been monitored for several weeks up to this point. We were out eating dinner, expecting to get a call telling us to start injections that next day; however, we got a phone call telling us to start <b>that night</b>. We frantically got a prescription for a few syringes and needles sent to CVS so we could get started. This whole, "Wait, then GO!" process repeats itself a lot during our IVF weeks--lots of waiting and monitoring, followed by phone calls informing us something needed to get done QUICKLY, and our frantically trying to get it done. Repeat repeat repeat. </div>
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In the following two weeks, Nurse Rick did most of the injections. I finally got up the courage to start doing some myself since, you know, we still had to work and weren't always together during injection time. Two weeks of injections in public restrooms, our parked car, backstage during theatre shows I was working, and several more appointments later we had a date for our egg retrieval and embryo transfer. Everything ended up happening on Thanksgiving week which was a big hit in the head to show us how grateful we should be for what we were going through. </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Thanksgiving Day--we were right smack dab in the middle of the egg retrieval and the embryo transfer. As of this day we still had four growing embryos. </span></div>
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<b>For those of you interested in the nitty gritty of it all </b><span style="font-size: x-small;">(for those of you who aren't, feel free to skip ahead ;)): </span>They retrieved 22 eggs. Mother Hen Em up in the house. The day after the retrieval I got the call that 19 of those eggs were mature. They fertilized all mature eggs; however, only 4 fertilized "normally." For the five days after the egg retrieval you typically get a call every day or every other day updating you on the progress of the embryos: how many are remaining, and how it looks to move forward. They usually like to see the number of embryos gradually decline <span style="font-size: x-small;">(which is normal) </span>so our sudden drop right off the bat from 19 fertilized to only 4 growing embryos was a little worrisome. Usually the embryos grow for 5 days until what's remaining is considered a blastocyst. There are lots of options one can take from this point--the most common is freezing the # of embryos you have on day 5, having them genetically tested, and then doing a frozen embryo transfer during another cycle. We had already been planning on going straight into a fresh transfer <span style="font-size: x-small;">(no freezing or testing)</span>, and since we had the sudden drop in growing embryos our doctor encouraged us to keep with that plan and transfer an embryo as soon as possible. There was talk of not waiting until day 5 to do an embryo transfer and instead doing one on day 3, but we ended up waiting. Out of those 4 remaining embryos, 2 made it to the blastocyst phase! That was such as relief of a phone call to receive. One little embryo is currently frozen, and the other is this growing kicking human inside of me. We went back in for the embryo transfer on November 30. They gave us a picture of our little 4A-B embryo <span style="font-size: x-small;">(the coolest part in all of this, in my opinion, is having the picture of our embryo)</span> and then we waited our turn. We both got to be in the room for the quick procedure. They used an ultrasound to guide them as they transferred the embryo. It usually makes a little bubble once it's in and that was so cool to get to watch on the screen as it was transferred. <i>Even though I was high on some good relax-your-uterus sedatives. Freddie says seeing the bubble was cool ;)</i></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Lil' embryo Weiss</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Pops Rick and Mom Em waiting for the embryo transfer</span></div>
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The most fun part begins next: the booty shots! <span style="font-size: x-small;">Insert your favorite song about butts here. </span>Up to this point all the shots were in my abdomen. Now, in addition to the ten-day wait to find out if the embryo implanted and I was pregnant, we started the lovely progesterone-in-oil shots. If this round worked and I did become pregnant, we would have to do these nightly backside shots through the entire first trimester. If this round did not work, we would stop the progesterone injections the day of the pregnancy blood test. At the end of this <span style="font-size: x-small;">(our last shot ended up being on Super Bowl Sunday)</span> we clocked in at doing 32 injections leading up to the egg retrieval and then 68 PIO injections. 100 shots later, here we are. </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Had a few guest nurses shoot me up throughout this whole process</span></div>
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The thought of a ten-day wait seemed so daunting<span style="font-size: x-small;"> (and, looking back, still does)</span>, however life does this funny thing in which it doesn't stop, and the wait was over before we knew it. Since we knew the date that we would be finding out the news <span style="font-size: x-small;">(December 10!)</span>, we both decided to take half days so we could be together when we got the phone call from the office. I went in to the doctor at 7a for bloodwork and then went to teach until lunch time. We usually got lab result calls around 2p so that's what we assumed would happen for this. I had only taught one client that morning when I noticed I had a voicemail form Emory. <i>Deepbreathsdeepbreathsdeepbreaths.</i> I ran outside to listen to the voicemail. It was our doctor herself calling because she <b>"wanted to be the one to share the good news with us!"</b> I still have that voicemail saved, and I like to go back and listen to it every now and then because !!! Through shakes and tears I called Freddie who immediately thought the worst since I was crying. Once I got out the whole "I'm pregnant!" part his response was, <b>"Holy. Shit."</b> Word, Freddie. Word. </div>
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Now let me be sure to say this: had our first round of IVF had a different outcome I can't say I'd have the same "this wasn't so bad!" outlook on it all. Who knows. I still have so much anxiety and fear about if and when we want to try to have more than one child. I'm so glad to be on this side on our journey with our first child, but the thought of doing it all over again with no answers and no certainty<span style="font-size: x-small;"> (and no infertility insurance money left) </span>makes me want to scream. So, instead, let's leave it here for today. </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">The day we graduated from our fertility clinic + our 8 week ultrasound</span></div>
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I was recently talking to a maternity nurse on the phone, and she was recounting our infertility days and asking if we had a good support group that helped us then and is currently helping us now through pregnancy. That just might be the part in all of this that's the most overwhelming to both of us. The amount of love and support and prayers--from close friends and family, but also just from people who had been following along and sent us some good vibes along the way. My mantra through a lot of this was, "This isn't okay. But Freddie and I--we're more than okay." And we were and we are. We've got each other. We've got this web of love and support, and now we're going to have this baby and tell it about how it's got the best group of humans in its life. </div>
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Perspective is a funny thing, isn't it? When you're in the middle of some crisis or some hardship, the last thing you want someone to say is, "It's going to be okay." Or, "You'll look back on this one day and it just might make sense."<span style="font-size: x-small;"> (actually it's always the last thing you want to hear, but we can save a post on toxic positivity for another day) </span>But this is kind of the ebb and flow of life. The storm comes <i>and sometimes it stays WAY too long</i>, but eventually it is blown away. Only eventually to come back around with some new fun to throw your way. Once the storm passes, and you can see the 6 inches of space in front of you more clearly, things usually do feel better. They do feel like they're going to be okay. </div>
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I will forever and always be so grateful for modern medicine and how we were able to financially make this round of IVF happen. I try so hard not to take these days of pregnancy for granted, and instead focus on the true miracle and privilege of it all. So as <i>not pretty</i> as our story was, it was kind of <b>beautifully messy in its own twisted way</b>. Baby Weiss, you're already the best thing and we cannot wait to tell you that in person every single day. </div>
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Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162996244974904431noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6750176305018988968.post-76150923761262053142019-08-23T09:49:00.001-07:002019-08-23T10:04:47.112-07:00she's so controllingHave you ever heard someone describe someone else like that?<br />
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<i>They're just too controlling...</i><br />
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But don't you think that description is a little hypocritical? I mean, no one wants another person controlling them, but also everyone wants <b>control</b>. Whether it's control over what you eat or what you wear, how many coffees you consume in 24 hours or if you're drinking enough water, and bigger things like where you live or with whom you decide to live. Sometimes we even like it when others around us acknowledge our "good" decisions and shift some of their decisions to align with ours. We all want control--we just don't want to admit that we're the ones who don't actually have it.<br />
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Hey. What's up? It's me again. Emo Emily is back at it ;) I realized <span style="font-size: x-small;">(with the help of my therapist, we'll talk more about that coming right up) </span>that for me, writing and sharing are both very healing. In fact, the three times recently I've finally hit publish on posts here were three of my most peaceful moments in the past two years. The entire process of getting to the point of hitting publish? Not so peaceful. Pretty desperate, in fact. Because of that I'm working on something where I don't wait until I hit my lowest point of desperation to write, but instead I write all the time. Maybe I share once I feel myself slipping, but also no pressure to share anything. Boom.<br />
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So therapy. Ooooo such a spooky and sometimes triggering word, right? Except not right. That's such an uninformed way to view therapy and the art of working on and caring for your own mental health. I've spent the past handful of years so proud of my friends who are putting in the work through therapy, yet never actually going myself. Recently I got to a point where I couldn't get out of bed. Sometimes I could get out of bed, but I couldn't get out of my car and go into work. I couldn't do it. I couldn't imagine being able to smile and pretend I was okay anymore. I couldn't handle the thought of accepting that this is where my life is right now. I couldn't do it <span style="font-size: x-small;">(yes, I am taking care of my anxiety and depression. No, I am not telling you this as a cry for help). </span><br />
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**This is the part where I post a picture to break up all the words. It's also the part where you and I both insert just a simple and understood nod to Rick. I can't and won't try to explain it more than that, but just know with whom you choose to spend your life and get through the shit together is really, really, <i>really</i> important.<br />
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So I made an appointment and went to therapy. And went again. And again and so on and so forth, and you know what? It's been this amazing and absolutely <i>terrible</i> thing. Yeah, I said terrible. I've been in my head more than ever. I've been ping-ponging between my not-so-healthy thoughts and my new tools of getting outside of those not-so-healthy thoughts. I've been happy. I've been sad. I've been relieved. I've been panicked. I've been peaceful. I've been exhausted. I've been a lot of things.<br />
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The most overwhelming of which: I've been <b>angry</b>. Flames coming out my ears, wrinkles searing in between my eyes, and a scream waiting to come out audibly kind of angry. It's taken me several weeks of writing, several weeks of angry weaving, and several weeks of letting that anger sit there and stew (<span style="font-size: x-small;">and several very dramatic cry fests...)</span> to realize just at whom I am angry.<br />
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I'm angry at myself. Well, the me from two years ago. I'm so pissed at that Emily who, even though knew about fertility issues and had watched some friends go through infertility treatments, just assumed she'd have a baby quickly. I'm so mad at that Emily who could so easily and joyfully picture a baby Weiss. Who they would be. How they would snuggle with Lupe. How they would feel in my arms. I'm so angry at that Emily who often sat and thought about herself and Freddie as parents. <b>I'm so mad at Emily for the blind hope she had. </b>That Emily spent a lot of time planning or not planning certain events/trips/activities because she <i>knew</i> she'd be pregnant by X, Y, or Z. Now I spend all of my time telling myself I won't be pregnant by any date, near or far. Now whenever I go in for more testing and it comes back fine/normal/great/above average like all of our tests have I want to punch the wall. I want to turn into the Hulk and have my anger visibly take up space. I want answers. I want <b>control</b>.<br />
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Guess what? Somewhere in between that past Emily at whom I am so mad and this present Emily who is so angry there's space for me to actually live. There's space for me to be happy and sad. There's space for me to feel joy and to feel grief. There's space for me to be grateful that we're both healthy and to be angry that we have no answers as to why we don't have baby Weiss. There's space for it all to be. I can be okay and not okay. And so can you. We can all just <i>be--</i>whatever emotion or whatever step is happening in life. <b>We can be there. We can be okay and not okay.</b> This whole paragraph feels like a written-out deep breath.<br />
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I'm so controlling, am I right? Insert a smirking emoji here. It's not a proper emotional blog post if it doesn't come full circle! As I'm starting to realize and s l o w l y starting to accept, I have very little control. I can't control what is happening. I can't control my body. I can't control anyone else or their lives.<br />
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But I can control how I treat others. I can control if I use my desperation for pity parties or eff-yeah-we-can do-this-thing-called-life parties. I can control the legacy I am creating on this Earth because as much as I feel like my life has such little meaning right now, deep down I know it has such a BIG purpose and meaning. Just like your life does, too. And really, these things are the greatest to be able to control.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">**I'm posting this, as always, when I'm feeling only halfway down that scale of desperation. I have not been okay recently. I've been at such a low point, and I know there are going to be a lot of days coming up through which I will continue not to be okay. I have reached out for help. I have discussed medications. If you are feeling yourself on that downward slope of the desperation scale, <i><b>please please please</b></i> don't be afraid to reach out for help. One way I heal is by screaming about my pain on the rooftops of social media, but you don't have to. You have to do what is right for you. Life is too short not to take care of yourself. </span>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162996244974904431noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6750176305018988968.post-28998225981054227582019-04-25T09:13:00.001-07:002019-04-26T04:16:44.956-07:00on empathyIt's National Infertility Awareness week this week, did you know that? Some of you probably did. In the past I never knew when this week was, much less that there even was an infertility awareness week. This year this week of awareness feels like it's written in Sharpie, forever marked on my inner calendar.<br />
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Why is that? Why does a week of awareness, a week of educating others about this so-called disease, a week of acknowledging these trials feel like something harsh? Bringing awareness to certain issues is a great thing! As humans we should spend more time 1) creating awareness and 2) being open-minded and accepting of information we learn from others.<br />
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However, I still have this lingering dread about acknowledging this week. By acknowledging that I know this NIAW week exists <span style="font-size: x-small;">(get AT me, acronyms!)</span>, I'm acknowledging that <b>infertility is officially part of our lives</b>. There. I said it. Freddie and I are dealing with unexplained infertility--that is what is written in Sharpie, forever marked on my life. Until recently, in my brain I've been able to separate our not conceiving by telling myself things like, <i>Oh! It's just taking us awhile longer than most people.</i> Or <i>Life has a lot of stressors right now. Next month will be the month!</i> But then the months keep passing by, and we keep seeing the same negative results. I don't think I started accepting that there might be more going on until we started working with a Reproductive Endocrinologist this past January, and it wasn't until our first unsuccessful IUI that the potential reality of this really started to sink in.<br />
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So I cried. A lot. A lot *more* I should say. I've already written a post on this here blog about how I've been crying a lot lately, but I started crying a lot more. I started trying to make sense of it all <span style="font-size: x-small;">(rookie mistake! We as humans can't make sense or control basically anything)</span>. Of why couples around us can conceive fairly easily, yet Freddie and I can't <span style="font-size: x-small;">(another rookie mistake! don't compare, Emily!).</span> Of why couples who had been struggling along with us were starting to conceive and we still were not. Of what else we could do to make it happen. Of why our tests can keep coming back normal and healthy, but we keep seeing nothing. Of how yet another cycle could be unsuccessful through medication and insemination of millions of sperm<span style="font-size: x-small;"> (Yah, I just said sperm. You're welcome)</span>.<br />
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Of why my body was <b><i>failing </i></b>me.<br />
Of why my body wasn't doing one of the most natural things it <i><b>can </b></i>do.<br />
Of why our love wasn't <b><i>good enough</i></b> to make a child.<br />
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And you know what's crazy? Freddie and I are almost two years and a few "invasive" treatments into this, but two years is only a blip in time compared to a lot of couples dealing with infertility.<br />
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So...we're all on the same page, right? That all those past few sentences ^up^ there are ridiculous. On my good days I can very easily and logically say I know all of that up here is malarkey and this just happens, but on my bad days I spiral deep into this mental circus of negativity, sadness, and anxiety. To the max. Add on more xxx's <span style="font-size: x-small;">(and I don't mean the baby making kind of x's. Wink).</span><br />
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Enter now. I've wanted to come back to this space and write something for a while. The two recent posts on which I've clicked "publish" have been therapeutic in a way, but when I pulled up this tab I just sat here watching the cursor <i>blink blink blink</i>. How do I start writing about our journey without making it sound like a woe-is-me party?<span style="font-size: x-small;"> (uhh we're about eight paragraphs too late on that...)</span><br />
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Because here's the thing--the biggest gift I feel like this journey is giving me is <b>empathy</b>. I don't share snippets of our story because I'm throwing a pity party <span style="font-size: x-small;">(read that about three times more)</span>. I share snippets of our story because it is the BEST reminder that 1) I'm not alone, 2) You're not alone, and 3) Life is hard for everyone. On days when I am so far lost at sea, drowning in my own built-up sadness, I look around and realize there are a lot of other heads bobbing up and down around me in the water.<br />
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Let's say on a normal day in one of my Pilates classes there's an average of twelve clients. One is probably dealing with an aging, sick parent. One might have a special needs child at home. One might have a terrible boss who is constantly crossing lines of what is and isn't appropriate at work. More than one probably has some past trauma that still haunts them, and pretty much everyone is dealing with some kind of loss in their lives. Yet they show up. They come to move and better themselves. They practice self-care. Sometimes they might not show up and sometimes the self-care might fall short on their to-do lists so when I see them I want to connect. I want to share some light and positivity. I want them to know that they aren't alone so I can remind myself that I also am not alone. I want my gut instinct to <b>always include kindness</b>. I know not everyone can share their struggles, with infertility or any life event, but for me I have to share. I just have to. My head will most definitely go underwater if I don't share it, so I'm sharing it for you and for me. So I can maybe help your head stay above water, too.<br />
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I'm not okay. Not in the least. I'm still feeling so sad and still trying so hard to process whatever might come our way, no matter how long our journey is (or isn't!). I think about this 24/7 and feel like I can't escape it, even when I'm laughing or out with friends and family. But I know you might not be okay either. I know my life suck isn't any worse than your life suck. So how about we're more <b>AWARE</b> of others. We're <b>AWARE</b> of hardships. We're <b>AWARE</b> of our words and the power they have. We're <b>AWARE </b>that listening can speak louder than talking. We're <b>AWARE </b>of things we can do to help shine a little bit more light throughout this world. We can do this, and I'm <b>AWARE</b> of that.<br />
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<b>How's that for an awareness week?</b><br />
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p.s.--I shared some of these screenshots on my Instagram stories <span style="font-size: x-small;">(like, who ever are you if you aren't stalking me on Instagram?)</span>, and they are too good not to share again. A friend introduced me to the account @whatthefertility and they had some great responses about shining awareness on certain parts of this infertility journey.<br />
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<br />Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162996244974904431noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6750176305018988968.post-25976669155071636532018-10-05T05:10:00.000-07:002018-10-10T05:00:04.887-07:00the upside down One night last year when we were in Venice, Freddie and I got lost (as one should in Venice), and ended up at this little bar. There were only about four tables set up really close together--good ol' intimate Italy. We ate delicious food, ordered some of our favorite drinks, and <i>talked</i>. We talked about how we were both finally ready for kids. We talked about what that might look like--having kids and being parents. We took guesses about which parent from <i>Modern Family</i> we felt like each of us would be most like as parents ourselves. We sat there and laughed, opened up about our potential fears of having kids, and connected for what felt like hours. That night will be one of the nights that I think I'll always remember when I think back to my mind's top five featured life moments. Click. Save. Forever.<br />
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Of course I was wondering if that let's-have-kids conversation was spurned more from a vacation high rather than reality, but once we got home we were still on that high so the baby making began. <i>Whoa, sheesh Emily, TMI. </i>Fast forward to today. We're now thirteen months into that initial excitement of baby making. I'm not sure if you've noticed, but I still have a glass or four in my hand in most pictures. That's not a cover--there's no Weiss baby hanging out inside of me, so I'm still allowed to have that glass of wine hanging out in my hand.<br />
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I wasn't going to write about this topic because the thought of sharing it so publicly feels like A) we want people to read this and go, <i>Awwww no, poor Weisses! </i>or B) I was just another twenty-first century human, oversharing on the internet. <span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Let's not all pretend like we don't live for the vague, yet oversharing Facebook posts though.</i></span> You see, I'm not writing out this because we want sympathy. Sympathy is the last thing we want. Sympathy makes me feel like something is wrong with us, and the sympathizing person knows it and we don't know it. I don't think I'm strong enough yet for that. I'm also not writing out this because I'm interested in oversharing our lives. There are a lot of emotions to this story that I could never even begin to share. I even asked Freddie if he was okay with me hitting publish on this post because sharing this seems like sharing a very private part of our lives that isn't <i>supposed </i>to be shared.<br />
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But I want to share this struggle in case this story is able to <b>be the realistic support </b>to someone. Because in times when I have felt like something bigger is going on with me and Freddie and that I couldn't possibly dig myself out of a dark hole, I haven't found very many places to which to turn. When I turn to the people who have had little-to-no issues conceiving, they're so wonderful and sweet, but they don't really understand. When I turn to the internet, I mostly only find stories of this timeline happening when there <i>is </i>something bigger going on. When I turn to friends who have gone through years, sometimes a decade, of trouble conceiving, it's hard for my mind not to go to a place of worry that Freddie and I are about to embark into many more years of this, and that's scary. I say all of this really just to say that I know there is at least one person out there also struggling feeling like this. Like there's no place, with no <i>real</i> story, to turn. Maybe you're feeling like you're not allowed to struggle with something, and not allowed to worry. Maybe you feel like you could control your feelings if only this one thing would work out. Maybe you feel like you don't understand anything. <b>I am right there with you.</b> I have felt all of the feelings this past year, and I am still going through all of these feelings almost every single day. I am learning how to rely less on others to pull me out of that dark hole, and instead use my own tools to pull out myself. Some days I'm really good at using my own tools, other days I cry in public in front of strangers. Sharing part of my struggle is for you, and it's also for me.<br />
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I've spent the last several months struggling. Big time. In fact you probably read about it <a href="http://mlemoore.blogspot.com/2018/08/on-crying.html">here </a>when I wrote about how I couldn't stop crying. I wrote about how I found myself questioning everything. Seriously, <i>everything</i>. <span style="font-size: x-small;">(Everything except my Ricky Rick, duh)</span>. You see, I've always felt like my purpose here on Earth was to be a mom. And no, it hasn't been because I'm a woman and other than being in the kitchen, being a mom is the only other thing I'm good for---right?! Gag. Me. My purpose came from the fact that I think kids are the greatest. Hands-down, any day I would rather be in a room full of kids than a room full of adults. I've taught kids, I've nannied, I think my sister Ann is still five-years old---I just found my niche with kids, and I've known being a mom would be something at which I'd be good. When you think you've found your purpose on Earth you don't often stop to think, <i>but what if that isn't my purpose on Earth right now... </i><br />
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There's this yoga class I've started to take on Fridays. It's kind of the highlight of my week. By kind of, I mean it is <i>without a doubt</i> the highlight of my week. At the end of class the instructor reads a quote/some words/a proverb/something for you to take with you into the post-yoga class world. Every single week that I've taken the class, these words have eerily lined up with things I am needing to hear and pound into my soul that particular day or week. It's gotten to the point where the more frequently this keeps happening, the more frequently I find myself leaving the studio on Fridays going, <i>Okay God and Universe, I hear ya loud and clear. </i>This past Friday's words were no different:<br />
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<i>Do not worry that your life is turning upside down. How do you know the side you are used to is better than the one to come? -Rumi</i></div>
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When speaking with my doctor last week, I said something that I now realize is utter and complete bull you-know-what. After giving her our spiel of the past year she stopped me and asked, "Okay, but how are <i>you</i> doing?" I responded with my gut response which was that I'm miserable. I'm sad all of the time, and that I've never felt as lonely as I have this past year.<br />
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But you know what? My gut response to that question is <b>bullshit </b>(there I said it!). It's total and complete crap! I am sad, miserably sad. I do have a lot of days in which I feel extremely lonely through this, but that's not the complete truth. The complete truth is that I'm finding that by my life turning upside down this year <span style="font-size: x-small;">(I realize how dramatic that statement sounds)</span>, that this new upside down side is much better. (side note: we're all on the same page that by saying <i>upside down </i>we're all thinking of <i>Stranger Things</i>, yes? Yes. Cool, moving on).<br />
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So you win, God and Universe. Freddie and I are becoming stronger because of this. We are becoming more mindful because of this. We are becoming more well-rounded human beings because of this. We have had <i>so many</i> emotional conversations that we would have never had if this wasn't happening to us. And I wouldn't trade that aspect of this past year's sadness for anything. I wouldn't trade the heartfelt conversations while standing in the kitchen. I wouldn't trade the time we've taken to look at our lives and figure out how to better our lives. I wouldn't trade the tears, the hugs, the support, the holding of each other. I'm trying to cherish my time, cherish this life I've been given, and maybe dare I say this, but <b>cherish the struggle</b> a little bit more. We are so completely different than the Freddie and Emily last year who sat down at that Venice bar and talked about Freddie and Emily as parents, but I think we're better than that Freddie and Emily.<br />
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And lonely? That's my own issue. Just as I stated in my last therapeutic blog post, I have the greatest people in my life. Friends and family members who are also struggling with their own things, but somehow manage to show up for me and show up for Freddie. Friends who listen even though they might not understand. Friends who watch me cry or cry with me even though crying makes some people so uncomfortable (i.e.: Emily 1989-2017).<br />
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So ::insert small screams:: here I am sharing a snippet of our lives and our struggles because being vulnerable brings much more happiness to my life, and that happiness overtakes the suffering. I'm not anyone from whom you should take advice, but! But but but! I will say that every now and then if you'll just let yourself be a tiny bit vulnerable, I promise you're going to get so much in return. We have people are our lives for a reason, and that reason isn't just to say <i>How are you? Good? Good.</i> and move on. We have people in our lives because we're meant to <b>hold up each other</b>, <b>push each other along</b>, and <b>just laugh</b>. Because if we aren't having at least a little bit of fun then what's the point of it all?<br />
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*I'm hitting publish on this after several weeks of writing it. Hitting publish today because today feels like a good day. Not every day feels so good, and that's okay. Give. Yourself. Grace. In the wise words of one of my best friends, accept that some days you'll feel shitty and embrace it.Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162996244974904431noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6750176305018988968.post-43197653755947718932018-08-15T09:51:00.002-07:002018-08-15T10:14:24.289-07:00on cryingI cried at my parent's house last week.<br />
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You see, I do that a lot now. Crying, that is. I also happen to be at my parents house a lot now too, and that's a great thing--it's just the crying thing that I've always thought was not-so-great. While I've dealt with different levels of anxiety and worry throughout life <span style="font-size: x-small;">(some warranted and some very unwarranted)</span>, I've never been one who cries often. <i>Minus when watching the movie <b>Up</b>, obviously.</i><br />
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So there I was, last week, sitting on the couch down in the den at the Moore house with my brother next to me, and my dad standing across the room from me. My dad had just said something along the lines of, <b><i>Well, maybe your purpose here is to be a light to others.</i></b><br />
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I'm with my family who I love beyond words, in my childhood home that is filled to the brim with the best memories, listening to my father say something nice to me and about me, and yet I was crying. Weeping, in fact. I think eventually in the conversation my father got teary, too. That's the thing--the week prior to this I somehow acquired the talent of A) crying often and B) making those around me cry with me. I cried with my parents, my siblings, my husband, and several of my close friends just in the span on several days. But <b>why?</b> Why, when I've got a supportive family/uplifting husband/hilarious friends/roof-over-my-head/more than I could ever want or need in life, do I feel the need to get weepy so often lately?<br />
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That question ^^ of <i>Why?</i> is just one of many questions floating around in my head lately. Much like my newly acquired talent of crying, I seemed to have also acquired a talent of questioning things. Everything. Big or small. Doesn't matter, if it's an ideology or a thought or even a fact, I will question it.<br />
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This is a story for which I don't really know where to start because I'm not really sure where the beginning is. If we're getting really introspective, which is oh-so-fun, then this story could start all the way at the beginning of time! Whether you believe that that is from day 1 of God creating the world, or if you believe there was a bang and now we're here into existence, my biggest question(s) right now is WHY are we here? Why are we on Earth? What are we doing here? What's the purpose? Why do we have to suffer here?<br />
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For purposes of a semi-readable blog post that doesn't take five hours to get through, let's have the beginning of the story be the beginning of this year, 2018. 2018 started with deaths and funerals, a lot of them. There was a span of time at the beginning of the year in which three deaths/funerals occurred in two weeks. I vividly remember crumbling into Freddie's shoulder one night saying <i>It's just too much. Too close together. </i>in between gasps of air and get-the-snot-back-up sniffles. Somewhere in that timeframe I wrecked our brand new car and Freddie got pretty sick, but you see, it's not really anything through which I'm personally going that brings me to this current weepy/questioning stage (although, come on Baby Weiss. We all want you here one day.)--it's watching those who I absolutely love and adore have to learn to live with and through grief while all I can really do is watch and learn from them.<br />
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It's not understanding why these great people have to deal with terrible things. Seriously, I have the greatest people in my life, and what has happened to them just isn't...fair.<br />
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It's not knowing the right thing to say to comfort others in their time of need.<br />
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It's not wanting to accept that maybe my timeline for life isn't the right timeline.<br />
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But you know what else happened at the beginning of 2018? One of my best friends had her baby. Her most precious baby who knows just when a smile needs to be broken out. Then another friend had another precious, perfect baby. Then I had several amazing job opportunities come up. Then Freddie and I got to take a trip to one of our favorite places, and spend time with yet another wonderful friend. There's been so much good in this year. Dare I say, the good has outnumbered the sad. I've asked/sobbed about all these <i>Why, Why, Why</i> questions a lot to people this year, and I've gotten some really wonderful answers.<br />
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Which leads me to now. To today. I've spent the last month really trying to get out of this poor me/poor you/woe-is-us mentality, and get into a healthy mindset of gratitude, service, and proactive changes. I've tried to reach out more to friends, and let them know what badasses they are. I've tried to listen more, even when it's to Freddie explaining some work thing to me in which I understand every third word. I've tried to show my love and appreciation to every single person in my life because Heaven forbid anyone in my life not know how grateful I am for and to them. I've tried to stop getting caught up in myself and my minuscule problems, and instead get caught up in others. <span style="font-size: x-small;">Shout-out to the moment in time in which I deleted Facebook off of my phone. #noregrets and my cleaned out house and hand-lettering practice book are thankful to that moment. </span><br />
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And you know what? I think I'm slowly starting to realize that it's okay that I'll never get one, tried-and-true answer to all my <i>Why?! </i>questions. Because through all of the uncertainties that the past year has brought, I've found the<i><b> greatest </b></i>certainties of all.<br />
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It's bursting with pride at my friends and their grace as they deal through unending grief.<br />
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It's listening to my husband share his story of losing his mother in an attempt to help heal others' wounds.<br />
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It's opening my mind and heart and emotions, and receiving so much more in return through friends and families being willing to be vulnerable and share their stories of struggle.<br />
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I am <b>certain</b> that the relationships I have in my life, and the people with whom I get to share all experiences, good and bad, are reasons enough for being here on Earth. And maybe I will keep crying until the end of my time here, but I promise the tears will be happy tears that I get to know and share my life with so many strong, courageous people. I get to!<br />
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Be a light to someone. Touch the lives of others, and make a difference in this world.<br />
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Do it.Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162996244974904431noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6750176305018988968.post-48791355526308723702017-10-13T04:08:00.001-07:002017-10-13T04:08:03.828-07:00on eating a weekday lunch with my motherThere are certain activities that, when accomplished, make you feel like you've<i> really </i>got your life together. Cleaning a car <span style="font-size: x-small;">(yourself)</span> is one of those activities.<br />
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So obviously I cleaned my car last week.<br />
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I know, I know. Yay me. Just try to even get at me, Life! I've got vacuumed car mats, wiped down coin holders, no more Lupe snot infested windows, and dust-free AC vents. What now?<br />
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Oh I know what now. How about now I dust off this ol' keyboard and get to type-type-typing?<br />
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You don't know how many times in the past<span style="font-size: x-small;"> lots of</span> months I have sat down to start writing. <i>And that clean car bit was the best I could come up with!</i> I would stop attempting to write because where should I even start? What was so interesting about my life that it needs to be shared? I felt like I had no words. No muse. No reason to write. Mostly because I was/am still trying to sort through my thoughts and feelings about so many things so how could I write on topics about which I had no idea how I felt?<br />
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I still feel that way. Suddenly I have found myself in a season of life where I question things. All the things. Everything.<br />
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<i>Did we make the right choice to move? On all moves?</i><br />
<i>Does Lupe need to switch up his food to the seafood flavor?</i><br />
<i>Do I keep eating chocolate until I turn into an oompa loompa or stop now when I'm halfway there?</i><br />
<i>Why does Rick put up with me?</i><br />
<i>Is it time to start a family?</i><br />
<i>Do I learn all the words to the Moana songs or just the one line?</i><br />
<i>Is it okay to start The Office again for the fifth time?</i><br />
<i>Is happiness a choice and am I doing a good job at choosing it?</i><br />
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^^^listen, that's not even scratching the surface of the inside of my head recently. It's as if the characters from <i>Inside Out</i> crossed over with the leads in <i>Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.</i><br />
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But one thing I've come to realize is that I don't necessarily need to have the right words or feelings---I just need to start type-type-tying through everything and I will possibly <b>find</b> the right words. So here we are.<br />
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Hi! I'm Emily. Nice to meet you. Yadda yadda yadda.<br />
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Want a quick rundown of what's been going on? Cool. No big deal, Rick and I moved <span style="font-size: x-small;">(again)</span>, but this time it was back <b>home</b>.<br />
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This means a lot of things. For instance, just this past week I had lunch with my mom on Monday, my siblings-in-law came to dinner Tuesday, my sister spent the night Wednesday, on Thursday I taught a new client who remembers watching my grandfather broadcast on TV in Atlanta, and by Friday another new client realized she knows my father-in-law and even helped him set up my rehearsal dinner. </div>
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All in a week's work, my friends, all in a week's work. Lupe spends just as much time, if not more, at my parent's house playing with their dogs, and Freddie and I often end up at places we frequented while dating. It's all so weird, so deja-vu-y, and <b>so wonderful</b>.<br />
<br />
But I have to be honest, it's also been <b>hard</b>. I was talking to a client who has moved many times throughout the past twenty years, and I asked her if the moving and starting over was difficult for her. She thought only for a second before responding with, <i>You know, it wasn't. I really tried to <b>bloom where I was planted</b>, and I enjoyed every place we were. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Bloom where you're planted. </i>I love that! Freddie and I have really have enjoyed each town and each apartment where we've been. We became fluent in being beach bums in Charleston, walked miles up and down King Street, and picked out fun little bungalows in the Old Village. We also became fluent in Texas cowboy, went to fifty million Rodeos and are ready to go to fifty million more, and biked miles<span style="font-size: x-small;"> and miles and miles</span> around the city of Houston.<br />
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Each place has really left a deep impression on our minds and hearts, and I feel like in return we've kind of left pieces of ourselves in each place. Charleston Rick and Emily were different than Houston Rick and Emily who are different than Atlanta Rick and Emily.<br />
<br />
Here's where my fun brain comes into play: <i>did we bloom too much where we were planted? Did we get our roots too deeply in too many places? Are we making things harder on ourselves by having to start over every few years? Which Rick and Emily were the best Rick and Emily? </i>And the big one:<i> <b>did we make the right choice to move?</b></i><br />
<i><br /></i>
I might not know the answers to most questions I create on a daily basis, but on that last question ^^^ up there I know the answer.<br />
<br />
When I get to see and hug our families on a regular basis, when I get to visit my grandfather in the hospital, when I get to teach in the Pilates studio where I fell in love with Pilates ten years ago, when we get to spend a Tuesday evening cooking with old friends and a Wednesday evening playing games with siblings, when I get to go to bed knowing that the next week will bring all those familiar feelings and people again then yes, I <b>know</b> we made the right decision.<br />
<br />
What I'm trying to say is <b>A)</b> obviously I need to be medicated, right? ;) <b>B)</b> a lot has been going on, but being Georgians again is fun and <b>C)</b> remember the whole cleaning your car bit from earlier? I guess what I was trying to say there is that coming home is much like cleaning out your old car: a little refresh and shine are all you really need to spruce up things and make something old and familiar feel new and exciting again.<br />
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Shoot! I knew I was going somewhere by starting this post with a clean car story. Wink.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">pee-sss: I have a very big respect and appreciation for anyone, military or not, whose job requires them to move often. You are my hero. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">pee-pee-sss: Chucktown and HTX friends, we miss the bleep out of you. </span></div>
Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162996244974904431noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6750176305018988968.post-20275843578623163912017-04-13T05:30:00.000-07:002017-04-13T05:30:52.442-07:00famous last words<i>I'm going to the bathroom to read.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>A party! Let's have a party!</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Mozart!</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>I'm bored with it all.</i><br />
<br />
<b>Famous last words.</b> If you Google<i> famous last words</i> you'll find some of ^these^ along with many, <i>many</i> others. If you stalk my blog, you'll quickly learn that I am a frequent famous last word-er. Not sure if there's a support group for us FLWs, but if so A) let me know which church basement I should be going to for this problem, and B) do they serve donuts?<br />
<br />
A little over four years ago Freddie <a href="http://mlemoore.blogspot.com/2013/02/in-sane.html"><b>left Atlanta for Charleston</b></a> and never really looked back. Well, he looked back long enough to grab me by my left ring finger and <strike>bring me with him</strike> marry me. Whenever we were asked if we'd move back to Atlanta or Georgia one day we'd always laugh and say <i>Probably not! </i>Because duh, we had lived in that area our entire lives. Come on, people asking questions, get it together! We wanted to explore, to travel, to be in our own bubble. So we did. We explored, we traveled, and we started building our own little Rick n' Em bubble.<br />
<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">side note: I used to babysit a boy who couldn't say <i>bubbles</i> so naturally instead he called them <i>boobies</i>. It was the <b>greatest</b>. </span></div>
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Which is why right at two years ago when Freddie got the opportunity to <a href="http://mlemoore.blogspot.com/2015/04/bigger-news-for-bigger-state.html"><b>work in Houston</b></a> we said <i>Yee-freaking-haw!</i> and traded in our bathing suits for cowboy boots <span style="font-size: x-small;">(uh, still my most favorite rhyme ever).</span> Freddie never really looked back after that move either, but I sure as <i>word-that-rhymes-with-bit</i> did. Not living in the town of Chucks was a hard pill to swallow, but once Rodeo Rick and I experienced our first taste of Texas BBQ and watched our first round of Mutton Bustin', we were hooked on all things bigger and badder in the Lone Star State. Still we'd pretty frequently get asked when we were coming home or when we were moving back to the Peach State, and still we'd give people the <i>oh puh-lease</i> chuckle. No. Thank. You.<br />
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And now I present you with an intermission story of </div>
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<b>Freddie and Emily: Through The Years Of Moving</b></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Blurry bar pic of Freddie's last night in Atlanta circa 2013</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">The freckled Lowcountry Weisses circa 2014</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Texas Weisses with the addition of Lupe Tortilla Weiss (and his tongue) circa 2016</span></div>
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Being away from family is such a strange feeling. Some days it's nice to have distance and make whatever time you do have together that much more precious, but being away slowly started to feel more like a punishment. Why couldn't we get more than just quick holiday catch-ups with our families? Why, Delta flippin' airlines, do I have to pay $600+ for a plane ticket if I want to go see my family on a trip that wasn't planned 3-4 months in advance?<br />
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I remember when Atlanta and thoughts of the potential to live there again one day started creeping back into our heads. We'd casually mention it to each other, and then as if we knew we were saying something wrong we'd take it back.<br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>But we always said we'd never go back! </i><br />
<i>But it's Atlanta! </i><br />
<i>But it's where we grew up. </i><br />
<i>But there are so many other fun places.</i><br />
<i>But but but...</i><br />
<br />
**It's important to note when I use the pronoun <i><b>we</b></i> that 85% of the time I am talking about <i><b>me/I</b></i>. I could be in a corner having anxiety attacks about going back on my word while Freddie would be sprawled out across the two patio chairs, beer or cocktail in hand, already having moved on and/or completely forgotten about whatever he said that may sound crazy. Let's all be more like Freddie.<br />
<br />
Anyways, who's still with me at this point in the story? Mom? Dad? Good because here's the point of this long butt story:<br />
<br />
Georgia or Bust, am I right? East coast, best coast?<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>We are moving back home!</b> Back to Hotlanta. It's scary, stressful, super quick, but it's oh-so exciting! I hope you inserted your proper response of <b><i>::squealing::</i></b> right about ^^there! A job opportunity for Freddie came up, and next thing you know we were out champagne toasting Freddie accepting said job opportunity and us planning a move.<br />
<br />
Houston was a big <i>bleeping</i> deal for us. We didn't have much money, stability, or even much of a support system when we moved here. It felt a lot like starting from scratch, but we did it. We figured it out. We spent a lot of time just the two of us. We made the <b><i>best of friends</i></b>. We budgeted. We found the coolest dog ever (our biggest accomplishment in life, thanks Reddit). We <i><b>lived</b></i> here. Here I'm using the verb <i>live</i> not in the <i>yes-we-have-a-Houston-address</i> way, but more in the <i>we-got-through-the-sticky-<wbr></wbr>times-and-created-the-party-<wbr></wbr>times-here</i> way. Because that's what living is really all about, right? Life shouldn't be all butterflies and rainbows, but it sure should be about finding the butterflies and the rainbows even on the cold, dreary days.<br />
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<i>Ugh, I hate myself for that analogy. My b. Eye roll. </i><br />
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I will finish by quoting the great T.I. feat. Rihanna, <i style="font-weight: bold;">So live your life (Hey!) </i>Go be, go do, just <b>go.</b> One of my close friends recently moved back home and although her move was for different reasons than ours she shared with me a simple, yett powerful sentence from one of her friends: <b>You will never regret going home. </b></div>
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So on that note...<span style="font-size: large;">we're gonna go to Jawjuh!</span><br />
Over<br />
and<br />
out. </div>
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Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162996244974904431noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6750176305018988968.post-77702703287911255182017-02-27T05:11:00.001-08:002017-02-28T05:41:20.282-08:00on being distinguished <div style="text-align: left;">
I have this note on my phone where I jot down just about any thought that comes in my head. The purpose of this habit is, of course, to use these genius ideas as blog posts one day. </div>
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<i><b>Will our future children be as cool as Lupe?</b></i> I should blog about it, but obviously the answer is no.</div>
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<b><i>Peanut butter&jelly + traffic</i>.</b> Not sure where I was going with this one, but obviously needs a post. </div>
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<i><b>0 and 5 years old + laughing.</b></i> Kids? Laughing? That is nice. Needs a post. </div>
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<b><i>Changing name.</i> </b>Banana Hammock or maybe I meant last name? Who knows. Needs a post. </div>
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<b><i>Two types of people: like gasoline smell and don't.</i></b> Right on, right on. Important stuff. Needs post. </div>
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Wait! I need to stop giving away all my good potential blog material! </div>
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^^But first, let's go back to that last idea up there. Seriously people, how can some of you like the smell of gasoline? My nostrils and I just do not understand this. Please explain. </div>
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Moving on. </div>
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<b>I found a grey hair</b>. Let me rephrase that, I found grey hairs. Plural. Emphasis on the <i>ssssssss </i>part of that word.<br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OQxbKJMMkzc/WLQk3gMMzLI/AAAAAAABCgo/4y53W58E9qsyyxJabpvJ8hfhm_ijAwRMQCLcB/s1600/IMG_1650.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OQxbKJMMkzc/WLQk3gMMzLI/AAAAAAABCgo/4y53W58E9qsyyxJabpvJ8hfhm_ijAwRMQCLcB/s640/IMG_1650.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">a sampling</span></div>
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<b><i>side story:</i> </b>if you ever say, <i>I am going to get my hair cut</i> around my grandfather he will undoubtedly respond with <i>You're only getting one of your hairs cut? </i>Obviously the hilarity in our family is unreal. Wink. </div>
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<br />
This whole grey hairs things kind of all happened fast. One morning after teaching I went to wash my hands. I looked up in the mirror, and my eye was drawn to this one rogue hair sticking up like Alfalfa. I pulled it out and went on with my day. But as I was showing Freddie later, I moved my part over farther than I normally do and wham bam thank ya old ma'am, there were <i>so </i>many little grey hairs just hanging out on my head. Like they'd been there forever. Like I'd lived on this Earth forever enough to have grey hair(s) grow.<br />
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Now I'm not freaking out, and I haven't scheduled a hair appointment to dye the bleep out of all my hairs, but I do find it<i> amusing</i>. I've never considered myself a distinguished person, but suddenly I'm viewing the world through my new grey hairs glasses. I feel taller. I feel cooler. I feel like I can hand out advice. I feel like I've lived. I feel like chuckling at the teenagers throwing candy at the movie theater instead of wanting to hurt them. I feel like sipping straight liquor and reminiscing on the good ol' days.<br />
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<i>**it's important to note I only have found about 10 grey hairs, and yes, like always, I am exaggerating things. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>**it's also important to note I am not really feeling or doing any of those things. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Anyways, now that I'm all distinguished and grey and stuff, I decided to cook dinner the other night. This really proves that I am a changed woman because I think I can count on one hand the number of times I've cooked dinner for us. And by one hand I mean three fingers. Don't even need a whole hand to do this math!<br />
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BUT WHO IS COUNTING?!<br />
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I'm not counting. Well, that's not true. I am counting. My grey hairs. Every time I stand and look in the mirror. One, two, three, four...<br />
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Along with being a changed woman and having gone grey (as they say!) (who says that?) (no one) and cooking dinner here are some other new tricks I've got up my sleeve:<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>Buying a new duvet cover and changing out bedding. Big things are happening here. </li>
<li>Taking recycling to our old complex since our new complex doesn't recycle. </li>
<li>Getting my master's in full time Pinterest planning of our upcoming Italy trip.</li>
<li>Teaching Pilates to children.</li>
</ul>
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<i>pondering the meaning of grey hair</i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
<i>I've always wanted to sleep with an older woman.</i> -- Freddie on my grey hairs.<br />
<i>But I don't even have that many grey hairs!</i> -- My mother. Thanks for giving me your genes, Dad.<br />
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And with that I'm <b>over and out</b>.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">I'm glad we could both completely ignore the fact that I haven't posted in a million months. Or just two. But anyways, thanks for ignoring that! Wink.</span> </div>
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Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162996244974904431noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6750176305018988968.post-52156429238764766282016-12-09T04:57:00.001-08:002016-12-09T04:57:33.809-08:00friday favorites: the all things tex-mas edition<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><i>Deck the blogs with lots of Christmas related posts</i></b></div>
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<b><i>Fa La La La La La La Laaaaaaav-ly</i></b></div>
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If I could just read and write all things Christmas related blogs year-round then you could definitely count me in for the 5x-week posting type of blog gal. But since my following would drop from fifteen to about six I'll stick to just posting Christmas related things for the next <strike>five</strike> two weeks.</div>
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<b>Favorite Christmas Song //</b></div>
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Picking just one would be too hard (okay fine, <i>Silent Night</i>), but I will tell you my Favorite This Is Not A Christmas Song song: <i>My Favorite Things</i>. Yes, the song from <i>The Sound Of Music</i>. And also yes, you are correct, <i>The Sound Of Music</i> is definitely <i><b>not</b></i> a Christmas movie. </div>
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Why in the world did this song get on all the holiday stations? Is it because it talks about packages tied up with string? How did the put-on-holiday-playlists people know that this is a Christmas package that the song is talking about? They don't. You don't. We don't. No one knows that. For all we know they are talking about a birthday package. Or a graduation package. Or a hey-it's-a-Tuesday-so-enjoy-this-package-tied-up-with-string package. </div>
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<b>Favorite Christmas Tree //</b></div>
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Forever and always the giant tree my family gets every year <span style="font-size: x-small;">(pic above, duhz)</span>. God bless weird Brady Bunch looking houses with tall ceilings. Tall ceilings = taller Christmas trees. </div>
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<b>Favorite Santa //</b></div>
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Oooooh, another hard one. If you were to ask Freddie this question he would say the Billy Bob Thornton Santa from <i>Bad Santa. </i>That makes me want to cry and not associate myself with Freddie anymore so for the sake of my marriage we will A) not ask Freddie this question and B) go with either the Santa who gives Kevin Tic-Tacs in <i>Home Alone</i> OR Tim Allen from <i>The Santa Clause</i>. But only once he's fattened up and orders a sundae at his work lunch meeting. </div>
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<b>Favorite Ridiculously Wonderful Christmas Song //</b></div>
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<i><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gLB8PiKZRyg"><b>Aye, Aye, Aye It's Christmas</b></a></i> by Ricky Martin</div>
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I worked at Gap for a holiday season, and this ^^ song would play all. the. time. It's my Christmas jam <b><i>for sure</i></b>. Listen to it once and I promise (with the strength of at least fifty pinkies) that you'll never forget it. </div>
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<b>Favorite Christmas Vacation Moment //</b></div>
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This is the part of the post where I admit that I never watched <i>Christmas Vacation</i> growing up. Never. Freddie views this movie as kind of a rite of passage into the holiday season meaning it's not Christmas until you've watched <i>Christmas Vacation</i> <b><i>at least</i></b> three to four times. Needless to say I've seen it a lot. Probably just as much if not more than I would have seen it if I had actually grown up watching it. This all leads me to my point---my favorite part(s) of that movie are any and all parts in which Uncle Eddie gets to talk. </div>
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The End. </div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Happy </span><span style="font-size: x-small;">Christmas-y</span><span style="font-size: large;"> Friday!</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Linking up with <a href="http://www.sept-farm.com/"><b>Karli</b></a> and <a href="http://meetat-thebarre.com/"><b>Amanda</b></a></span></div>
Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162996244974904431noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6750176305018988968.post-44586037838201938112016-12-07T05:48:00.000-08:002016-12-07T05:48:32.163-08:00a very, merry christmas apartmentIt's that time of year again. The time of year when we Texans go Christmas tree shopping...while wearing shorts and flip flops. So yes, it <b>IS </b>the most wonderful time of the year because the cold sucks, and Texas is not cold. Ten points for Team Texas.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">^^did I really just call ourselves Texans?! Big gasp on that one. </span><br />
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As all normal human beings do, we turned up the Christmas style in the apartment the day after Thanksgiving. Excuse me, we got <b><i>turnt</i></b> on Christmas decor <<<isn't that what the cool kids say these days? <span style="font-size: x-small;">Should I Urban Dictionary <i><b>turnt</b></i> before adding it into a post?</span> We're really big on the $30 live Christmas trees from the Kroger parking lot. Like really big into that. It's kind of our thing, and one day when we live in a real house and not an apartment I'm kind of hoping the sweet Kroger parking lot Christmas tree men let us get one of the 12-foot trees for $30, too.<br />
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A girl can dream.<br />
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8KHhD7m7gj0/WEdn1VPXhrI/AAAAAAAA9KI/fJvenZwb8wA0en1ccCoEvUOrNtG526ZRACLcB/s1600/IMG_0210.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8KHhD7m7gj0/WEdn1VPXhrI/AAAAAAAA9KI/fJvenZwb8wA0en1ccCoEvUOrNtG526ZRACLcB/s640/IMG_0210.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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spoiler alert: this year's $30 tree was definitely under 12 feet. </div>
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If I've learned anything from being married to Freddie it's that fir Christmas trees are <i><b>not</b></i> acceptable. Every year we go through the same thing. Rick wants to get our tree from the Kroger parking lot. Rick doesn't want a fir tree. Rick forgets that almost no one has pine Christmas trees anymore. Rick can't make up his mind about what to do. Rick takes a long time deciding what to do. Rick gets lucky and finds a couple random pine trees in the mix. Rick wins. Fast forward 365 days and repeat all over again.<br />
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I digress. This post is supposed to be all about be opening our home to you so you can judge our Christmas decor, and not about my husband's weird affinity for pine Christmas trees. So without further <strike>words</strike> ado, welcome to our Christmas home!<br />
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-y4ktDuQGpcw/WEdo8tP8YgI/AAAAAAAA9KQ/2ZO7uaVJwxs7Ft84sTjvkzEsSFUJCvJpACLcB/s1600/IMG_0284.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-y4ktDuQGpcw/WEdo8tP8YgI/AAAAAAAA9KQ/2ZO7uaVJwxs7Ft84sTjvkzEsSFUJCvJpACLcB/s640/IMG_0284.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Ab-EOQfSvKo/WEdpDaUK-MI/AAAAAAAA9KU/awMi-k9v2a49iXXweNSusR41J_zEpmUFgCLcB/s1600/IMG_0286.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Ab-EOQfSvKo/WEdpDaUK-MI/AAAAAAAA9KU/awMi-k9v2a49iXXweNSusR41J_zEpmUFgCLcB/s640/IMG_0286.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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Oh what's that? I need more Christmas stuff on this wall? I agree. </div>
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I don't know why it's taken me so many years to throw ornaments in all the bowls around the house, but I'm an ornaments-in-bowl convert. </div>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_5ubh45rjMg/WEdp81RW0vI/AAAAAAAA9Kg/2U3LvQ4HzcEBwfPhAs6-l0mszuojpKO4gCLcB/s1600/xmas1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_5ubh45rjMg/WEdp81RW0vI/AAAAAAAA9Kg/2U3LvQ4HzcEBwfPhAs6-l0mszuojpKO4gCLcB/s640/xmas1.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-KYTIJUlSceU/WEdp8uLJg1I/AAAAAAAA9Kk/IL_fG15Sid0ibEso2oH1pVzK8IEE6VIdgCLcB/s1600/xmas3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-KYTIJUlSceU/WEdp8uLJg1I/AAAAAAAA9Kk/IL_fG15Sid0ibEso2oH1pVzK8IEE6VIdgCLcB/s640/xmas3.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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There are few things in life more peaceful than twinkly Christmas lights.</div>
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-XPRuJca3LgI/WEdrYic4iEI/AAAAAAAA9Kw/4ir3kOZfVTY9GIAZhTQlm3JfIctlY5HHACLcB/s1600/IMG_0300.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-XPRuJca3LgI/WEdrYic4iEI/AAAAAAAA9Kw/4ir3kOZfVTY9GIAZhTQlm3JfIctlY5HHACLcB/s640/IMG_0300.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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Well, a present with a bow tie under the twinkly lit tree is also peaceful.</div>
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-PFhePjIXE9I/WEdryvNjKxI/AAAAAAAA9K4/L-bXl2qS52YPODEM4ARFaaAYw4cn79k8wCLcB/s1600/IMG_0301.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-PFhePjIXE9I/WEdryvNjKxI/AAAAAAAA9K4/L-bXl2qS52YPODEM4ARFaaAYw4cn79k8wCLcB/s640/IMG_0301.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OBf09fTP1M0/WEdrygFmZyI/AAAAAAAA9K0/lE31-aQx75YGD8J3c1RyStJyLBmAlyMMwCLcB/s1600/IMG_0308.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OBf09fTP1M0/WEdrygFmZyI/AAAAAAAA9K0/lE31-aQx75YGD8J3c1RyStJyLBmAlyMMwCLcB/s640/IMG_0308.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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Yes, Sparkle Santa and Google Home are very happy together. Thanks for asking. Ten days and going strong. #newrelationship</div>
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Aaaaaaaand that's about it other than little bitty odds and ends on all the shelves. Literally all of the shelves. We're leaving for Georgia in one week so we kept the Christmas decor vom down to a minimum this year, and I am a-okay with that because Christmas in Georgia with the fan dam is all I need. </div>
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Also we're working on getting Lupe antlers like Max so don't even worry. </div>
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This dream can soon become a reality. </div>
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<i><b>How do you decorate for the big day?!</b></i></div>
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Christmases past:</div>
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<b><a href="http://mlemoore.blogspot.com/2014/12/scenes-around-christmas-home.html">Charleston</a></b></div>
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<b><a href="http://mlemoore.blogspot.com/2015/12/scenes-around-christmas-home.html">Houston, Year One</a></b></div>
<span style="background-color: #bd081c; background-position: 3px 50%; background-repeat: no-repeat no-repeat; background-size: 14px 14px; border-bottom-left-radius: 2px; border-bottom-right-radius: 2px; border-top-left-radius: 2px; border-top-right-radius: 2px; border: none; color: white; cursor: pointer; display: none; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 11px; font-style: normal; font-weight: bold; left: 42px; line-height: 20px; opacity: 1; padding: 0px 4px 0px 0px; position: absolute; text-align: center; text-indent: 20px; top: 5558px; width: auto; z-index: 8675309;">Save</span><span style="background-color: #bd081c; background-position: 3px 50%; background-repeat: no-repeat no-repeat; background-size: 14px 14px; border-bottom-left-radius: 2px; border-bottom-right-radius: 2px; border-top-left-radius: 2px; border-top-right-radius: 2px; border: none; color: white; cursor: pointer; display: none; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 11px; font-style: normal; font-weight: bold; left: 42px; line-height: 20px; opacity: 1; padding: 0px 4px 0px 0px; position: absolute; text-align: center; text-indent: 20px; top: 5558px; width: auto; z-index: 8675309;">Save</span>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162996244974904431noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6750176305018988968.post-57290223469713552592016-12-02T05:01:00.004-08:002016-12-02T05:02:58.402-08:00a very, merry, sticky christmasEvery Christmas I run into the same exact problems.<br />
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Do I make my own gift tags or buy the cute ones at Target?<br />
Do I buy the cute tags or buy the almost-as-cute $1 ones at Target?<br />
Do I pay extra and get our return address printed on our Christmas card envelopes?<br />
Do I pay to buy an oh-so-trendy handmade stamp for our Christmas card envelopes?<br />
Do I send Christmas cards this year?<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">^^^HA, big fat <b>JK</b> on that one. <i>Of course</i> we have to send Christmas cards this year and every year. Wink. </span><br />
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A-n-y-w-a-y-s, I'm sure you all completely understand my first world Christmas problems, and I'm sure together we can overcome such trials and tribulations.<br />
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Enter <a href="http://stickerapp.com/"><b>StickerApp</b></a>. They help people like us overcome holiday panic! There's more time to <i><b>trim the tree </b></i>when you're spending less time <i><b>hyperventilating the holidays</b></i> (no? too far with the alliteration?).<br />
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When <a href="http://stickerapp.com/"><b>StickerApp</b></a> contacted me about customizing my own stickers I <b>A)</b> said <i><b>YES</b></i> (in bold, italics, and caps lock, obvi) and <b>B)</b> knew this was my answer to all problems gift tag and Christmas card envelope related. Basically StickerApp was my Come to Jesus moment, and I'm so glad I saw the light.<br />
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Now for those of you who are also like me in that you have online designed a lot of photo books <i><span style="font-size: x-small;">that sit collecting dust on your shelves,</span></i> then you're in luck because designing custom stickers was a lot like designing photo books. Read easy and fun. One photo upload here, one resizing there, add in a text box or two, move everything around twenty times before you're satisfied, and <i>voi-freaking-la</i> you have a masterpiece.<br />
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-xhGX8oAAzrI/WEBo2pThUAI/AAAAAAAA83M/HnRwcJUdvbwu7xW5NxqLy6juKkC0zetIgCLcB/s1600/Screen%2BShot%2B2016-12-01%2Bat%2B12.01.26%2BPM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="362" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-xhGX8oAAzrI/WEBo2pThUAI/AAAAAAAA83M/HnRwcJUdvbwu7xW5NxqLy6juKkC0zetIgCLcB/s640/Screen%2BShot%2B2016-12-01%2Bat%2B12.01.26%2BPM.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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I made these ^^^ stickers to use as envelope seals for our Christmas cards because who doesn't love a chance to quote <i>Home Alone</i>?! <span style="font-size: x-small;">Spoiler for anyone reading this who is going to get a Christmas card this year.</span><br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bROZGxNfuu4/WEBtM8lT2bI/AAAAAAAA86I/DP3Q2UN25O871kpNlDdTnIhfWMpTg6UYgCLcB/s1600/IMG_0343.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bROZGxNfuu4/WEBtM8lT2bI/AAAAAAAA86I/DP3Q2UN25O871kpNlDdTnIhfWMpTg6UYgCLcB/s640/IMG_0343.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NIG_FZ1aH7k/WEBtCSMcSZI/AAAAAAAA86A/q7JsjLgze34IxLW3bzlIfA4LOTLx6KUnQCLcB/s1600/sticker2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NIG_FZ1aH7k/WEBtCSMcSZI/AAAAAAAA86A/q7JsjLgze34IxLW3bzlIfA4LOTLx6KUnQCLcB/s640/sticker2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
And then because I was having too much fun procrastinating work by designing stickers I decided to add in some small gift stickers to the mix. Let's just say this Christmas is going to be off the charts trendy.<br />
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0SYjaIPt7PE/WEBuod7NT-I/AAAAAAAA86Y/-QzeEfezCRoraLw7fFhpNHYntBXXcNpbQCLcB/s1600/sticker3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0SYjaIPt7PE/WEBuod7NT-I/AAAAAAAA86Y/-QzeEfezCRoraLw7fFhpNHYntBXXcNpbQCLcB/s640/sticker3.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-R0lf8RdYUak/WEBvCkLBQ9I/AAAAAAAA86c/aMnsZAS60cU9r0ARo6PU_f0s5nTTNTyKQCLcB/s1600/sticker1-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-R0lf8RdYUak/WEBvCkLBQ9I/AAAAAAAA86c/aMnsZAS60cU9r0ARo6PU_f0s5nTTNTyKQCLcB/s640/sticker1-2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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And that's the story of how stickers changed my Christmas game for the better. Have you tried <a href="http://stickerapp.com/"><b>StickerApp</b></a> yet?!<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">I received products for my honest review, but I mean, come on, these stickers make my presents and envelopes look like the cool kids in high school. </span></div>
<span style="background-color: #bd081c; background-position: 3px 50%; background-repeat: no-repeat no-repeat; background-size: 14px 14px; border-bottom-left-radius: 2px; border-bottom-right-radius: 2px; border-top-left-radius: 2px; border-top-right-radius: 2px; border: none; color: white; cursor: pointer; display: none; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 11px; font-style: normal; font-weight: bold; left: 113px; line-height: 20px; opacity: 1; padding: 0px 4px 0px 0px; position: absolute; text-align: center; text-indent: 20px; top: 1358px; width: auto; z-index: 8675309;">Save</span><span style="background-color: #bd081c; background-position: 3px 50%; background-repeat: no-repeat no-repeat; background-size: 14px 14px; border-bottom-left-radius: 2px; border-bottom-right-radius: 2px; border-top-left-radius: 2px; border-top-right-radius: 2px; border: none; color: white; cursor: pointer; display: none; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 11px; font-style: normal; font-weight: bold; left: 113px; line-height: 20px; opacity: 1; padding: 0px 4px 0px 0px; position: absolute; text-align: center; text-indent: 20px; top: 1358px; width: auto; z-index: 8675309;">Save</span>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162996244974904431noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6750176305018988968.post-26554703973758775632016-11-30T06:10:00.002-08:002016-12-01T07:40:49.928-08:00happy camps-giving<i><b>There will be a bathroom there. I promise!</b></i><br />
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Famous last words, am I right? Oh I'm sorry, let me back up so you don't think I was scared to go in public in fear of <i>bleeping</i> my pants or something.<br />
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The very beginning of this story is that Freddie has been wanting to go camping. Actually the very, <i>very</i> beginning of this story is that I married a man who I thought was not into things such as camping in the middle of nowhere with no company but the bugs, however I was<b> mistaken</b>. Fast forward to just the very beginning and you'll find Freddie b-e-g-g-i-n-g me to go camping. All the time. For the past year.<br />
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It all started with a tent. After all, isn't that how most camping stories start? Freds researched and bought the best little tent that REI made, and then somehow within the next three to four months after that tent purchase we had a sleeping bag, lantern, flash light, and cast iron. All these hashtag camping necessities sat in our closet for months. And lemme tell ya, that's kind of where I preferred those items.<br />
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I tried my best to get out of camping. And listen, when I say I tried my best I really mean I pulled out all my tricks.<br />
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<i>But you'd have more fun if you went with your male friends!</i></div>
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<i>But I'll complain!</i></div>
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<i>But we're busy for the next five weekends!</i></div>
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<i>But I teach late on Fridays!</i></div>
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<i>But you knew I wasn't an outdoorsy person when you married me! You want to divorce me?</i></div>
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<i>But, but, but....</i></div>
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Pretty soon my brain ran out of but's and my butt was in the car on the way to a campsite. A campsite that was secluded enough so we could be away from light pollution, but also not so secluded that there wouldn't be a toilet and/or help for when the scary bad guys came to get us in our tents. <<<I've seen enough scary movies (read about three) to know that camping by yourselves in the middle of nowhere is stupid because the bad guys will find you and you will not survive (can you already tell how much fun Freddie must have been having at this point?)<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">fact: you can see about thirty-trillion-bazillion more stars out in the boondocks than you can in the city of Houston. </span></div>
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<b><i>Spoiler alert:</i></b> The toilet was on the other end of the campsite so thank goodness I practice Pilates and can squat. That's enough about that.<br />
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Now listen here, it pains me to say this (like what I must assume is childbirth level pain), but <b>I kind of had fun.</b><br />
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Freddie's somewhere at work reading this saying, "I told you so!" for the fifty-sixth time since we've been together. Fifty-sixth millionth time, that is.<br />
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We had a tiny, sandy, muddy spot right on the Colorado River. Lupe loved running off. Freddie loved going to get some more wood for the fire (seriously, I think he said that a total of twenty times and didn't even sit down more than five minutes that night) (men, insert eye roll) (take away eye roll because that firewood kept me warm). I loved eating s'mores. Coyotes loved howling. Cows loved moo-ing. And well, everyone had just a dandy time in camp land.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">fun fact: I skipped a rock TWICE. First time I've ever successfully thrown and skipped a rock before so uh, where's my trophy?</span></div>
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Stay tuned for the next Weiss family vacation when we go<strike> camping again</strike> to a spa. Wink.<br />
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Have you ever squatted in the woods before? Excuse my manners, have you ever <b>gone camping</b> before?</div>
<span style="background-color: #bd081c; background-position: 3px 50%; background-repeat: no-repeat no-repeat; background-size: 14px 14px; border-bottom-left-radius: 2px; border-bottom-right-radius: 2px; border-top-left-radius: 2px; border-top-right-radius: 2px; border: none; color: white; cursor: pointer; display: none; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 11px; font-style: normal; font-weight: bold; line-height: 20px; opacity: 1; padding: 0px 4px 0px 0px; position: absolute; text-align: center; text-indent: 20px; width: auto; z-index: 8675309;">Save</span><span style="background-color: #bd081c; background-position: 3px 50%; background-repeat: no-repeat no-repeat; background-size: 14px 14px; border-bottom-left-radius: 2px; border-bottom-right-radius: 2px; border-top-left-radius: 2px; border-top-right-radius: 2px; border: none; color: white; cursor: pointer; display: none; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 11px; font-style: normal; font-weight: bold; line-height: 20px; opacity: 1; padding: 0px 4px 0px 0px; position: absolute; text-align: center; text-indent: 20px; width: auto; z-index: 8675309;">Save</span>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162996244974904431noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6750176305018988968.post-54755857495297407042016-11-23T05:19:00.000-08:002016-11-23T05:19:43.911-08:00blessed not stressedWell dudes and dudettes, somehow the Earth managed to rotate a whole 366 times, and we meet again on a Thanksgiving day.<br />
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I really can't believe it. Sometimes I think I'll wake up and it'll be Thanksgiving 2029 already (and I'll be rocking the age of forty, obvi), but that's neither here nor there.<br />
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As with every Thanksgiving, it's time for a thankful post. As with every Thanksgiving thankful post, it's time to skip the obvious things for which I am thankful and dig deep to find some not-so-obvious things for which I am thankful.<br />
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This Thanksgiving I am so #grateful #blessed #notstressed for...<br />
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<b>Josiah from Planetary Bicycles</b><br />
Because he found and picked up Lupe (he called Lupe "Beans," but we'll forgive him) and gave him to us. Josiah, you're an angel. Lupe, you're the best.<br />
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<b>Concealer</b><br />
Because during this <i>Great Acne Breakout Of 2016</i>, I have been able to leave the house looking only mostly red vs. entirely red. Thanks, concealer.<br />
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<b>Cheese</b><br />
Because cheese. #worththestomachcramps<br />
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<b>Clorox wipes</b><br />
Because sometimes deep cleaning is hard, and a quick Clorox wipe wipe down will do the trick. The term <i>sometimes</i> here refers to <i>mostly all of the time</i>, just to clarify.<br />
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<b>Target's dollar section</b><br />
Because where else could I stock up on cute as a button $1 cards that just sit in a drawer in our apartment because I never remember to send them?!<br />
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<b>Costco</b><br />
Because samples.<br />
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<b>The dude in the sandwich line at Central Market </b><br />
Because he informed me my book of stamps had fallen out of my purse. I need that book of stamps in case one day I remember to send the $1 cards I got in the Target dollar section! !! !!!<br />
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<b>The Pilates mat exercise, <i>Jackknife</i></b><br />
Because it is the most humbling/omg-why-don't-my-muscles-work Pilates move ever.<br />
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<b>My giant drying rack from IKEA</b><br />
Because finding creative places to drape clothing gets harder with each load of laundry.<br />
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<b>Southwest flight attendants</b><br />
Because how are they always so happy and hilarious?! And why haven't other airlines caught on...<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Happy</span></b> <span style="font-size: x-small;">night before</span> <span style="font-size: large;"><b>Thanksgiving!</b></span></div>
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May your sweet potato casseroles be as sweet as your faces. </div>
Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162996244974904431noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6750176305018988968.post-80172214180225938692016-11-16T05:29:00.001-08:002016-11-16T05:29:40.314-08:00when i'm wrong<div style="text-align: left;">
So here's the thing...</div>
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one of my many <strike>flaws</strike> quirks is that I <i>very adamantly</i> dislike things. When Sperry's were all the rage back in 2007, I made fun of them. Loudly. When everyone was romping around town wearing rompers back in 2010, I laughed. When Freddie asked me to go bike riding with him from the years 2011-present, I <a href="http://mlemoore.blogspot.com/2016/05/rides-with-rick-rainy-one.html"><b>wrote blogs</b></a> about how much I disliked biking. </div>
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The second half of that quirk up there is that after I loudly pronounce my distaste of things, I eventually take a complete 180 degrees turn and suddenly like and enjoy all the things I formally disliked. This means that in 2008 I bought Sperry's and proudly wore my shoes of the boat nature. In 2011 I wore a romper. As a matter of fact, I wore one again this past Saturday night. #longhairdocare </div>
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This all also means that I, Emily, have been the one asking Freddie to go on bike rides recently. Talk about the worst! <<<me being the worst, that is. Also we aren't talking about bike rides like biking-around-the-park-by-our-house bike rides, we're talking about long-butt-biking-to-the-complete-other-side-of-the-giant-city-of-Houston bike rides. </div>
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I can't really put my finger on what made me change my mind about bike rides, but let's just say it's in my nature to change my mind. Speaking of nature, maybe the fact that Mother Nature finally brought fall to Houston (read 78 degrees weather) helps a bit. Ain't nobody got time to bike in 100+ degrees weather, but somehow <strike>everybody has</strike> I have time to bike in non-dying-of-heat-exhaustion weather. </div>
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Oh! Oh! Another fun thing I realized...you can bike <i>TO</i> places. Mind-blowing, I know. </div>
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Places that serve wine. </div>
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Places that serve $1 mimosas. </div>
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Places that have pizza.<br />
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Places that have...my heart (Since apparently I am fueled by alcohol and food) (I promise I do more than eat) (Like Pilates) (I do that almost as much as I eat). </div>
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Anyways, things we learned from this post. 1) Biking is kind of fun now. 2) Let's pretend I never hated it. 3) Freddie loves my <strike>flaws</strike> quirks a lot. 4) Let's all go biking together sometime. </div>
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More scenes from Recent Rides with Rick...<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Dear Freddie Ricky Bobby, I'm sorry I was so annoying about bike rides. Now where should we bike this weekend?</span></div>
<span style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; background-color: #bd081c; background-image: url(data:image/svg+xml; background-position: 3px 50%; background-repeat: no-repeat no-repeat; background-size: 14px 14px; border-bottom-left-radius: 2px; border-bottom-right-radius: 2px; border-top-left-radius: 2px; border-top-right-radius: 2px; border: none; color: white; cursor: pointer; display: none; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: bold; left: 42px; line-height: 20px; opacity: 1; padding: 0px 4px 0px 0px; position: absolute; text-align: center; text-indent: 20px; top: 2491px; width: auto; z-index: 8675309;">Save</span><span style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; background-color: #bd081c; background-image: url(data:image/svg+xml; background-position: 3px 50%; background-repeat: no-repeat no-repeat; background-size: 14px 14px; border-bottom-left-radius: 2px; border-bottom-right-radius: 2px; border-top-left-radius: 2px; border-top-right-radius: 2px; border: none; color: white; cursor: pointer; display: none; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: bold; left: 42px; line-height: 20px; opacity: 1; padding: 0px 4px 0px 0px; position: absolute; text-align: center; text-indent: 20px; top: 2491px; width: auto; z-index: 8675309;">Save</span>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162996244974904431noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6750176305018988968.post-91673122413386875412016-11-04T04:51:00.003-07:002016-11-04T04:51:55.240-07:00just breatheWell, hello there. Hi!<br />
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I feel like I'm finally back at school after a long sickness absence (think mono length) and the teacher is calling role, and I finally get to say <i style="font-weight: bold;">PRESENT! </i><span style="font-size: x-small;">or <i>HERE! </i>or whatever kids are saying these days.</span><br />
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Oh, what's that? Nobody <i>calls role</i> anymore because it's 2016 and #technology? Cool.<br />
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Today's post is about to get real. Really real. I've spent the last three weeks slowly crumbling into a deep, dark pit of <b>anxiety</b>. Add in some stress, self-hate, second-guessing, overthinking, and a dollop of insecurities and you've made an Emily (plus <i>so many</i> other people in the world) (I want to hug all of you).<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">A dollop of sour cream is soooo much better than a dollop of insecurities. </span><br />
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I've always been a worrier by nature. <i>Oh my gosh, what if we are late?! Freddie, turn down the music? Will the world end if I don't make the bed this morning?</i> Etc., etc., etc., but recently my worry has gotten on an elevator and gone up about 25 levels.<br />
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<b>Full disclosure:</b> I haven't made our bed once in the past three weeks. A) I think this has been the first time in my adult life when I haven't made the bed every morning. Insert big gasp <i><here></i>, B) That's how bad my anxiety felt. Crazy Emily couldn't even make the crazy bed. and C) The world didn't end, in case you didn't notice.<br />
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I won't bore you with the details of the dreary anxious place in my mind, but it's not pretty. You know what else isn't pretty? <b>When you don't take care of yourself. </b>And after these past several weeks, I fully believe that part of taking care of yourself includes admitting things aren't great, asking for help, and hugging the crap out of your support system. <br />
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It's okay when you don't smile every minute of the every day. It's okay when you reach out to a friend or family member and be straight with them. Tell them what's going on. Tell them what sucks. Because you know why you have a family and have friends?! <span style="font-size: x-small;">TO SUPPORT YOU. </span>To encourage you. To love you. To show you grace. To give you a helping hand. To like your crazy. To make you nice playlists that calm you down. To help you make goals. To help you achieve said goals.<br />
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That's why these people are in your life, so <i><b>use</b></i> them! Because we aren't meant to go through life alone with no human connection.<br />
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End of story. End of rant.<br />
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Now let's see what my Camera Roll says has been going on in my life for the past several weeks...<br />
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^^^Lupe wanted some coffee.</div>
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HAP1huI3ebw/WBv4CDN8htI/AAAAAAAA0cQ/-389pCa_GuALhNLVAIbc9NxK7AKHmv8mwCLcB/s1600/IMG_7297.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HAP1huI3ebw/WBv4CDN8htI/AAAAAAAA0cQ/-389pCa_GuALhNLVAIbc9NxK7AKHmv8mwCLcB/s640/IMG_7297.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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^^^We bike around Houston so we don't feel as guilty for stopping for food like this along the way.</div>
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-xQVfj-jZcwk/WBv4OT71IKI/AAAAAAAA0cU/cy4zzQmj8nAZpFCulDZ1bcbvnPO-AXpaQCLcB/s1600/IMG_7390.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-xQVfj-jZcwk/WBv4OT71IKI/AAAAAAAA0cU/cy4zzQmj8nAZpFCulDZ1bcbvnPO-AXpaQCLcB/s640/IMG_7390.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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^^^Set-up for a private this week. Why haven't you tried Pilates yet?!</div>
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-T3F48bQWEPQ/WBv4aSa5M0I/AAAAAAAA0cY/_PTIcmRvpcsqS7wXXpIJatwSOu7H42hGgCLcB/s1600/IMG_7406.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-T3F48bQWEPQ/WBv4aSa5M0I/AAAAAAAA0cY/_PTIcmRvpcsqS7wXXpIJatwSOu7H42hGgCLcB/s640/IMG_7406.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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^^^Lupe knows no personal space and it's kind of the greatest. Except when you're really wanting personal space. Like when you're trying to type this blog post, for instance.</div>
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So there you have it. Anxiety + dogs + Pilates = my life. But my life also = <i><b>an amazing support system, a cute as heck dog, and a Pilates teaching job where I get to teach something in which I fully believe. </b></i>Now go take a few deep breaths, stand up nice and tall, and go conquer the crap outta this Friday.<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Happy Friday!</span></b><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Linking up with <a href="http://meetat-thebarre.com/"><b>Amanda</b></a>. </span></div>
<span style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; background-color: #bd081c; background-image: url(data:image/svg+xml; background-position: 3px 50%; background-repeat: no-repeat no-repeat; background-size: 14px; border-bottom-left-radius: 2px; border-bottom-right-radius: 2px; border-top-left-radius: 2px; border-top-right-radius: 2px; border: none; color: white; cursor: pointer; display: none; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: bold; left: 42px; line-height: 20px; opacity: 1; padding: 0px 4px 0px 0px; position: absolute; text-align: center; text-indent: 20px; top: 735px; width: auto; z-index: 8675309;">Save</span><span style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; background-color: #bd081c; background-image: url(data:image/svg+xml; background-position: 3px 50%; background-repeat: no-repeat no-repeat; background-size: 14px; border-bottom-left-radius: 2px; border-bottom-right-radius: 2px; border-top-left-radius: 2px; border-top-right-radius: 2px; border: none; color: white; cursor: pointer; display: none; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: bold; left: 42px; line-height: 20px; opacity: 1; padding: 0px 4px 0px 0px; position: absolute; text-align: center; text-indent: 20px; top: 735px; width: auto; z-index: 8675309;">Save</span>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162996244974904431noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6750176305018988968.post-61440587311331718322016-10-21T05:33:00.001-07:002016-10-21T05:33:49.888-07:00when meeting celebrities <div style="text-align: left;">
Who here is a TLC fan?</div>
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Erm, let me specify---I'm talking about TLC the tv channel, not the<i> I don't want no scrub</i> TLC <span style="font-size: x-small;">(However, I should also note that I also don't want no scrub either...)</span>. </div>
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<b>The Learning Channel!</b> Listen, I haven't had cable in about five years, and the only time I ever get sad about it is when a new Duggars special is on. Or when it's pumpkin patch season and Little People, Big World is on. Or when I see that The Little Couple's kids are growing up and I can't watch them be cute in their Halloween costumes. </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">I also not-so-secretly love all the scandal involved around all the TLC stars. I learn a lot from The Learning Channel, like what not to wear <i><b>AND</b></i> what not to do in life. Read sign up for an Ashley Madison account. </span></div>
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Basically life without <strike>cable</strike> TLC is hard. Really hard. </div>
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Now if you're a true TLC fan <span style="font-size: x-small;">(aren't we all?!),</span> then you know that Bill and Jen from The Little Couple live in Houston. Hey! Guess what? I live in Houston, too! Jen works in the Med Center. Hey! Guess what! Freddie works in the Med Center, too! I've asked him one or eight times what he would do if he ever passed Jen while walking through the buildings. </div>
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His response: <i><b>who?</b></i></div>
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^^ that guy. How does he live life so unaware of the good things like TLC celebrities? I'll tell you what I would do if I saw Jennifer Arnold while walking around the Med Center----I would freak the freak out. Insert a stronger word choice on that second <i>freak</i> there, if you would like. </div>
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Okay, so now that you have the necessary background information (my love for TLC = big), I can tell you my <b>favorite</b> from this week!</div>
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Yes, you read that correctly. I am showing up to Five Freaking, Fantastically Fun Favorites on Friday with only ONE favorite. It's a good one. </div>
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I went to the post office on Tuesday with one goal: get in and out as quickly as possible. I come from a small town in Georgia where going to the post office is like going to your old best friend's house and chatting with his or her granddad. The old men that work there are the cutest. They remember little details about your day, ask how your family is doing, make jokes about the stamp designs, and make the entire experience fun. <span style="font-size: x-small;">As fun as a visit to the post office can be. </span>Apparently post offices around the country do not all run like the post office in Newnan, Georgia runs, so I try to make my visits really quick so that I don't get homesick for my fake granddads back home <span style="font-size: x-small;">(Horace, I'm talking to you)</span>. </div>
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So there I was quickly packing a box with lots of tissue paper when the door opened, and someone walked in. </div>
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<i>Here's the part of the story where I will tell it through GIFs because don't lie, GIFs do it better. </i></div>
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I tiredly glanced over to the door.</div>
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-C48DsrOYjrI/WAjwBG1BTzI/AAAAAAAAz84/foUD-o-Y1YIwQyOcewjcwjlI8OEkK13tgCLcB/s1600/Computer-Screens-GIF.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="484" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-C48DsrOYjrI/WAjwBG1BTzI/AAAAAAAAz84/foUD-o-Y1YIwQyOcewjcwjlI8OEkK13tgCLcB/s640/Computer-Screens-GIF.gif" width="640" /></a></div>
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When within .3 seconds of that tired glance I realized I was looking at Bill from The Little Couple. </div>
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Me when I looked around and no one in the post office was giving a bleep about this celebrity. </div>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IUYMWDkFx2I/WAjxTy0RBdI/AAAAAAAAz9E/NSU0C1hIdXMURVr3M2seNsRplnoHe0IPwCLcB/s1600/raw.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="354" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IUYMWDkFx2I/WAjxTy0RBdI/AAAAAAAAz9E/NSU0C1hIdXMURVr3M2seNsRplnoHe0IPwCLcB/s640/raw.gif" width="640" /></a></div>
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When I had to do a double take to make sure I wasn't hallucinating since no one else cared. Yep, it was Bill.</div>
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And finally, when I froze and the only thing I could think to do was be a <b>stalker</b>, grab my phone, and take this picture as he walked out. Don't worry, I covered it really well by pretending I was taking a picture of...the post office counter. </div>
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-poGFXUkVUZQ/WAjydnrQS9I/AAAAAAAAz9M/KpcHdn_MxsEhldZLrslxaAXBZabd3an7QCLcB/s1600/200-2.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="479" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-poGFXUkVUZQ/WAjydnrQS9I/AAAAAAAAz9M/KpcHdn_MxsEhldZLrslxaAXBZabd3an7QCLcB/s640/200-2.gif" width="640" /></a></div>
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And that's the story of how I failed as a human being, and didn't get my picture taken will Bill in the post office. Good news is I came out of that experience with this gem of a picture. </div>
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WOghrPp9nIM/WAjzmSrSnLI/AAAAAAAAz9Q/Lsyp4800HyEAl5J0_7x9qJMp6qNBZkHsgCLcB/s1600/File_000.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Bill Little Couple" border="0" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WOghrPp9nIM/WAjzmSrSnLI/AAAAAAAAz9Q/Lsyp4800HyEAl5J0_7x9qJMp6qNBZkHsgCLcB/s640/File_000.jpeg" title="Bill Little Couple" width="640" /></a></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Happy Friday!</span></b></div>
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<b><i>Have you ever had a celebrity encounter?</i></b> And yes, TLC stars 100% count. </div>
<span style="background-color: #bd081c; background-position: 3px 50%; background-repeat: no-repeat no-repeat; background-size: 14px; border-bottom-left-radius: 2px; border-bottom-right-radius: 2px; border-top-left-radius: 2px; border-top-right-radius: 2px; border: none; color: white; cursor: pointer; display: none; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 11px; font-style: normal; font-weight: bold; left: 42px; line-height: 20px; opacity: 1; padding: 0px 4px 0px 0px; position: absolute; text-align: center; text-indent: 20px; top: 2070px; width: auto; z-index: 8675309;">Save</span><span style="background-color: #bd081c; background-position: 3px 50%; background-repeat: no-repeat no-repeat; background-size: 14px; border-bottom-left-radius: 2px; border-bottom-right-radius: 2px; border-top-left-radius: 2px; border-top-right-radius: 2px; border: none; color: white; cursor: pointer; display: none; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 11px; font-style: normal; font-weight: bold; left: 42px; line-height: 20px; opacity: 1; padding: 0px 4px 0px 0px; position: absolute; text-align: center; text-indent: 20px; top: 2070px; width: auto; z-index: 8675309;">Save</span>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162996244974904431noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6750176305018988968.post-3138411353283847552016-10-19T07:00:00.002-07:002016-10-19T07:00:34.880-07:00remember whenWhen I first started this blog back in 1997 <span style="font-size: x-small;">(just kidding. But sometimes it does feel that long. Except no one would ever want to read eight-year old Emily's thoughts)</span>, I really just started this because I like to write. I like to write, I like to tell stupid, silly stories, and so one day <i>Yippee! It's MLE </i>was born and brought home from the hospital so that I could write down those stupid, silly stories.<br />
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Fast forward to 2016, and I feel like stupid-stories-telling-Emily has turned into Emotional Emily. Each and every time I come to this space I am word vomming lots of feelings onto your screen. <span style="font-size: x-small;">How's that for a visual? </span><br />
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Now, if you thought I was saying all of that to let you know I've feasted on ginger ale and saltines so that my word voms are gone then...I'm terribly sorry. I will still be word vomming on you today. I just wanted you to know that I know that you know I've become quite emotional lately. You know?<br />
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This past week and weekend we were traveling all over our old Charleston and Atlanta stomping grounds to celebrate some of our best friends getting married. About two years ago the <b>Board of the Freddie and Emily's Friends Group</b> had a meeting, and decided they all would be getting married within the next twenty to twenty-four months. Because of this decision, Freddie and I have had to step up into our new roles as professional wedding goers/bridal party people. As absolutely as insane as it has been to travel all over for so many weddings lately, I would not trade it for <i>anything</i>. Not even for a Dairy Queen blizzard which is something I cannot stop thinking about lately. That's how <i><b>for serious</b></i> I am. Looking back on these recent wedding fills me to the very tip of the brim with happiness and love. Weddings are such a joyous occasion, but they become <i><b>quadruple to the max</b></i> joyous when it is some of your absolute, without a doubt, been my friend for way too long, remember-when-you-wore-blue-mascara closest friends getting married. Every single time I turn into the sap from the biggest sugar maple tree you ever did see.<br />
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And this past wedding week was no exception. Throughout our travels we passed our first home together in Charleston, and all the places we used to spend our time as newlyweds. We ate at the same restaurants. We drove down the same streets. We shopped at the same Target<span style="font-size: x-small;"> (hashtag priorities)</span>. As if that wasn't enough for my overflowing-with-sap heart, we then traveled to Atlanta where we passed our old houses there. The houses we lived in when we were first dating and so in <i>lurve</i>. We passed the wine bar where Ricky took me the night he proposed. We passed some of the old places I used to teach dance back in the day. Day after day felt like walking down memory lane, and I. Loved. Every. Step. Of. It.<br />
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That's pretty much all I wanted to say... that and I think you should go take a walk down memory lane sometime soon, too. Whether that means flipping through a photo book you ordered with a 50% off Snapfish coupon, but have never opened it once since getting it in the mail.<br />
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Or if that means stalking yourself on Facebook, and looking through all the pictures in which you've been tagged.<br />
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Maybe it means taking five seconds out of your day to stop and remember your favorite fall memory.<br />
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Or your favorite winter memory.<br />
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Or your favorite memory from any season.<br />
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Or maybe it's taking ten seconds to remember that one time you got the best hug of your life.<br />
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Or! Or or! The best kiss of your life.<br />
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Maybe it's cleaning out an old box and finding letters or cards.<br />
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It might even be driving a little bit out of the way on the way home just to pass a special place.<br />
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Whatever it is. Stop for a second. Remember for a second. Smile for a second (or two!). Because life is too short to forget the good stuff.Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162996244974904431noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6750176305018988968.post-45502694795579737882016-10-12T05:56:00.002-07:002016-10-12T05:56:22.303-07:00honey please<div style="color: #454545; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Well folks, just like that the TexAnn trip is over. Time is such a silly thing, and until someone invents a life remote control where I can click "slo-mo" on all events, I'll just be over here whining about how fast time flies. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Every time I leave family or family leaves me I feel like I need to write some ginormously juicy and sappy post about how much family means to me, and why everyone needs to have their <i><b>family</b></i>. Their people. Their support group. And why everyone needs to hug on and kiss on <span style="font-size: x-small;">and sometimes annoy the crap outta</span> those people. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">However I'll spare you all my roller coaster of post-sister visit emotions and stick with something a little less emo (as the 2000's kids called it). </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Sidebar: I will say the highlight of the sister trip may have been when my friend Rachel, Ann, and I harmonized <i>Bitch Better Have My Money,</i> and sang it acapella style for our bartender. We are waiting for our record deal from that exchange. Or at least a free cocktail. Either one will do. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Anyways, let's talk about something really important. Like <i>really, really</i> important.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Your skin</b>. The skin on your face, to be exact. I've mentioned a few times here recently that my skin look horrendous lately. The phrase <i>pizza face</i> was not created because seeing a pimply face made one crave pizza. I think, in fact, that when you see a face covered in zits, <i>a pizza face</i>, that you want any food <b>other</b> than pizza. <span style="font-size: x-small;">This is me warning you not to look at my face anytime soon if you are wanting to eat pizza in the near future. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">My sister has the facial skin of <b>the butt of an angel doll baby</b>. That is as smooth, fresh, and clean as her face looks at all times. I couldn't wait to get her secrets. <i>Spoiler alert: she has no secrets.</i> No, I take that back. Her secret is that her selfless, humble older sister took all the bad genes and left only beauty and grace for her. Insert smirk emoji right HERE. Three or four of 'em. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Emily, I brought the honey mask!</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>We have to do the honey mask.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Let's do the honey mask!</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">These were phrases I heard Ann exclaim several times at the beginning of her trip. I passed it off because A) honey sounds sticky and something I only want on my pb sandwiches, and B) we were too busy exploring to stop and mask it up.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Have you ever gotten a really bad sunburn? And then gotten really excited to peel that really bad sunburn? If you are grossed out by the thought of peeling sunburn then stop reading this blog right here, and also maybe stop being my blog friend because <span style="font-size: x-small;">HOW CAN YOU NOT LIKE PEELING SUNBURN?!</span> There is something so satisfying about peeling a giant chunk of skin off. Right? Right. Almost as satisfying as watching <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SEdscRFQmE8"><b>Medusa peel off her fake eyelashes</b></a> in <i>The Rescuers</i>, but we can talk about fake eyelashes later.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Back to <a href="http://www.heyhoney.com/take-it-off-exfoliating-honey-peel-off-mask/"><b>honey masks</b></a>. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Holy. All. Things. That. Are. Glorious. I cannot believe Ann didn't make me do this mask the SECOND we got back from the airport because it is 100% like peeling off sunburn.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">And it is 100% satisfying. And 100% fun. And 100% something you <i>should</i> do.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Ann also 100% approved this picture to be on my blog. <span style="font-size: x-small;">Not. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Jury is still out on the magical zit-be-gone powers of it, but I will say that my skin, zits and all, felt almost as smooth as that angel doll baby's butt skin I mentioned earlier. Almost. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">This post is in no way sponsored, but Hey! <a href="http://www.heyhoney.com/take-it-off-exfoliating-honey-peel-off-mask/"><b>Hey Honey!</b></a> It should be! Because I screamed the most exciting screams as I peeled your mask offa my face. Over and out. </span></div>
Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162996244974904431noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6750176305018988968.post-28166941769036843792016-10-07T07:57:00.000-07:002016-10-07T13:22:57.803-07:00TexAnn<div style="text-align: left;">
By the end of the day I will <span style="font-size: x-small;">(hopefully)</span> be sipping on some wine and snuggling on the couch with my SISTER.</div>
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My sister! My younger-but-looks-older-and-is-the-coolest-human-ever sister is coming to big, bad Texas. Now I'm not quite sure what we will be doing seeing as the main things to do in Houston all revolve around eating, and my coolest human being of a sister is the world's pickiest eater...</div>
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Although who in his or her right mind wouldn't literally turn into the heart eyes emoji after tasting a fresh, Tex-Mex, melt-in-your-mouth tortilla?? Who?? <i>Hopefully all of you are not in your right minds because that just means more tortillas for me. </i></div>
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I digress...</div>
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In honor of today being National Emily's Sister Is Coming Into Town Day I thought it was only fitting that today's post be about my sister, too. Enter <b>Five Reasons My Sister Is The Coolest.</b> </div>
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1) She takes and posts selfies like this and can actually get away with it. </div>
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Meanwhile my selfie album is filled with gems like this...</div>
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2) She's the itty bitty baby of the family which means she's the brunt of most of the jokes. I will say 99.9999% of the time she brings it on herself. However 99.9999% of the time she's also a good sport about everyone poking fun of her, and even calls herself out before we/I get a chance. </div>
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On that note, Ann has the handwriting of a five-year old trying to learn to write while their pet dog, Greta the Great Dane, is constantly nudging their arm and knocking them over. But she owns it.</div>
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Exhibit A:</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">circa 2014 in a birthday card from her to me. </span></div>
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3) As seen in #1, she chopped off all of her hair for the second time in the past three years, and pulls it off better than Ted Mosby's red cowboy boots.<span style="font-size: x-small;"> HIMYM shout-out, anyone? Anyone?</span></div>
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4) When I say Ann is the youngest I mean the yoooooungest. In this instance, that many o's means she is almost six years younger than I am, and almost nine years younger than my brother. This meant she spent a lot of her childhood around our older friends which meant we were the nicest siblings and made her into our own little dress up doll. </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Meet Troy Bolton from High School Musical. I mean, Ann Bolton. I mean, my sister. </span></div>
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5) She became obsessed with Lord of the Rings at an early age. Now, you might be thinking <i>Emily! LOTR! That does not make her cool! It makes her #nerdalert! </i>To that I say...well, you are right. But she taught herself some Elvish and once upon a time three years ago she really, really wanted to come to Charleston to spend New Year's with me and Ricky when we lived there. Naturally we made her life more fun by insisting that she was not allowed to come until she spoke Elvish to us. </div>
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She did it. She came to Chucktown for NYE in 2013. She's the<strike> nerdiest</strike> coolest. </div>
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And now you know a bunch of random facts about a person you will probably never even meet. Which is your loss. So thanks <span style="font-size: x-small;">(mom and dad)</span> for reading this whole post!<br />
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Ann, get yer booty on that plane and come see these stars at night.<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Happy Friday!</span></b></div>
Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162996244974904431noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6750176305018988968.post-17603959881218544112016-10-05T04:58:00.000-07:002016-10-05T04:58:33.512-07:00currently: the summer fall edition<div style="text-align: left;">
This past weekend Houston gave us a taste of fall. It was glorious. The air felt nippy, the sun was shining, and my cardigan felt so nice against my non-sweaty arms. I couldn't believe it. Cooler weather, what! As I smiled with the kind of joy that only fall can bring, I happened to look down at my car thermometer. It read <b>83 degrees</b>. </div>
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83 degrees. That was our fall preview. That's what felt <i>cool</i>. </div>
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And this is the story of how Texas and it's 106+ temperatures ruined me. </div>
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Other than thinned out Texas blood, let's talk about what else is currently going on...</div>
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<b>cheer-sing //</b><br />
This time next week we'll be in my favorite place in the world getting ready for the wedding of some of my favorite people in the world. If you guessed Charleston as the place, you win ten gold stars. If you guessed that I'll be drinking champagne cocktails from <b><a href="http://therarebit.com/">Rarebit</a>,</b> you win twenty gold stars. If you guessed Andy and Katie as the people getting married, you win <i><b>all</b></i> the gold stars.<br />
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<b>organizing //</b><br />
My life. And by that I mean the guest bedroom closet, but don't you feel like your life is being organized when you clean out a cluttered drawer or closet or space? Yes? Good.<br />
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<b>dreaming //</b><br />
...of a white Christmas. That isn't gonna happen, but since I typed that, all I can think about is Christmas. So I'm dreaming of where I can put the Christmas tree in our apartment, and when I can walk up and down the Christmas aisles at Hobs Lobs without feeling like a lunatic <span style="font-size: x-small;">(full disclosure: I walked down one Christmas aisle last week at the HL)</span>.<br />
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<b>buying //</b><br />
You now all know my deep, dark secret of having a <a href="http://mlemoore.blogspot.com/2016/09/call-your-mom.html"><b>pizza face</b></a>. The beauty of blogging is that you don't have to see my face in real time so you didn't know I was suffering from the acne of a pubescent, sweaty 13-year old girl. At post-puberty, slightly sweaty 27-years old. No, I am not buying a new face. Yes, I am buying new concealer. No, I have no idea which concealer to get. Yes, I need all your recommendations. Thanks, <strike>Google</strike> friends.<br />
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<b>listening //</b><br />
I've only mentioned this two times on the blog, but if you've seen me in real life recently, then I've probably mentioned it two times two hundred times. Go listen to <i>My Favorite Murder</i> podcast right now. There's a fair amount of cursing, but if you like true crime and humor, then stop reading my blog and start listening to their podcast. Cover your ears if the bad words offend you, but uncover your ears for some of the craziest crime stories ever.<br />
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<i><b>What have you been up to currently?</b></i></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Linking up with <a href="http://www.anneinresidence.com/search?updated-max=2016-09-13T08:00:00-04:00&max-results=7">Anne</a> and <a href="http://jacqui./">Jacqui.</a></span></div>
Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162996244974904431noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6750176305018988968.post-53669104570359364782016-09-30T05:02:00.004-07:002016-09-30T05:02:47.514-07:00all about alliteration<div style="text-align: left;">
I always feel like I have to write a post about fun things, favorite things, or five things on Fridays. </div>
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Or fried things. Or funny things (well, I mean, that's all my posts. Insert smirk 'moji). Or finicky things. Or financial things. Or filibuster things. Or...you get the idea. </div>
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Basically I feel like I'm not real blogger status until all my weekly posts contain some kind of alliteration. On that note...</div>
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<b>Five Favorite, Funny, fThoughts fI've fBeen fThinking fLately fBecause fIt's Friday</b></div>
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1) Who else has the iPhone update? Who else has spent countless hours sending messages in invisible ink or with confetti bursting on the screen? But most important question of all, <i><b>who else still swipes to unlock the home screen?</b></i> Let's say since I updated the phone two weeks ago I've unlocked my phone 173 times. Let's also say that that means there have been 173 times during which I swiped my phone, it didn't unlock, it took me to the news, I started pressing buttons, I made it a mess, I didn't unlock my phone, and I swore I'd remember to double press the button the next time. <span style="font-size: x-small;">Update: I wrote this post last night, and in these past 12 hours I have yet to successfully remember to double tap the button to unlock my phone. Once a failure, always a failure. </span></div>
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2) I rearranged and cleaned our <strike>storage room</strike> guest bedroom yesterday, and I literally feel like I cleansed my soul. <<not really sure what that even feels like, but it sounds properly dramatic for how I feel/felt after rearranging. I told this to Ricky when he got home so he excitedly went to look in the guest bedroom. Aaaaaand then asked what was different. My soul, Ricky, my soul is different!</div>
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3) Thank the Netflix gods that season 6 of The Walking Dead was put on because now Freddie and I can continue our healthy marriage routine of binge watching shows every night instead of talking to each other. I use the term "watching" very loosely because the end of season 6 TWD is terrifying, and I find I have to stare at my phone, my nails, the dog, the blanket, the spec of dust under the shelves, and/or the print across the room <span style="font-size: x-small;">and then act surprised that my eyesight is so horrible that I can't read it </span>all before I can actually just watch the TV screen. </div>
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4) Whenever people say they love Halloween I always think they are dramatically pausing before finishing that sentence with the word candy. It bewilders me when people say, "I love Halloween." instead of, "I love Halloween candy." </div>
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^^This sentence is brought to you by my sticky-eating-ghost-gummies-fingers. </div>
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5) Ricky and I did this thing this month where we tracked our spending by listing every single item we purchased. According to Rick we spent an ungodly amount on wine. Apparently our apartment complex has a wine robber because what else is the explanation to where all this wine is going? On a similar note, he did suggest we celebrate our figuring out how much money we spent on wine by going to Trader Joe's and buying some more wine so... is admission the first step of acceptance? Admission is the first step, and celebration is the second. </div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">fHappy Fabulous Friday!</span></b></div>
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May your day be filled with all things alliteration.</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Photo taken last week at Gavelston. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">p.s.- Thanks for everyone's kind words and virtual head pettings on <b><a href="http://mlemoore.blogspot.com/2016/09/call-your-mom.html">Wednesday's post</a>!</b> You all win. </span></div>
Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162996244974904431noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6750176305018988968.post-10124889028232959992016-09-28T06:35:00.002-07:002016-09-28T06:35:27.831-07:00call your mom<div style="text-align: left;">
I've been super mean to myself lately. Like Mean Girls mean to myself. Like I could have probably filled a burn book about just myself and then evil laughed at myself being mean to myself. </div>
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I'm not writing this to get sympathy or to get anyone to say anything nice to me. Seriously. Heck! Write something mean in the comments if you want! <span style="font-size: x-small;">Plz don't. What's the virtual equivalent of branding my hair and petting my head? Can you do that? Wink.</span> I'm writing this so I can properly tell the story of how a regular catch-up phone call with my mom fixed everything. </div>
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Spoiler alert: The moral of this post 100% will be to call your mother. </div>
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But let's start at the beginning. Pre-catch-up phone call with my mom. Life has been really busy lately. I know I mentioned that <a href="http://mlemoore.blogspot.com/2016/09/click-goes-camera.html"><b>here</b></a>, and I also mentioned that I'm not quite sure why it's been so busy. I'm still stumped about that one. I feel like I'm being encompassed by a tidal wave, and I can't crawl out. But it's all in slow-mo. The <i><b>slow-mo tidal wave of stress and anxiety</b></i> is trying to grab me! Let me out! I just want to sit down and read, but feel like I never have the time to sit down and read. I want to plan all of my Pilates classes and sessions way in advance and rock them, but I feel like I don't teach the absolute, frickin' best I can some of the times. I want to re-do some stuff around the apartment. I want to write. I want to curl my hair some random day and just sit around with curled hair. I want to get dressed in real, non-lycra clothes. I want to workout. I want to punch insurance companies in the face for making me jump through hoops. I want <i>not </i>to<i> </i>have stress zits all over my face for the third month in a row. <i>I want, I want, I want.</i> </div>
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I found myself lying in bed two nights ago telling myself that I was the worst. I told myself I was living a lie. Here I am spending 75% of my day each day telling women and men to love their bodies, and that by loving their bodies they should just get out and move. Doesn't matter what you do, just do something. Love your body and move your body. But then I was coming home, hating my body, hating my zitty pizza face and doing anything <span style="font-size: x-small;">BUT</span> moving and loving my body. Unless moving from lying on the right side of the couch to lying of the left side of the couch counts? No? </div>
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You might be thinking, <i>Hi Emily, there is medication and therapy to help with that!</i> To that I say, enter my mom and this blog. Huzzah! I also say I realize 99% of everyone else in the world goes through the same thing so let's all <i>huzzah!</i> together. </div>
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A few days ago, when I was armpit deep in my woe-is-me-pit-of-despair, a client mentioned that her college age son randomly called her over the weekend and it was such a nice surprise. They ended up talking for over an hour, and she looked so filled with joy just telling me about it. I was kind of embarrassed thinking about the last time I had called my mom. Sure, we text almost daily, but when did I call her and hear her voice last? So guess what I did?!</div>
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Nope, I did not call my mom. I went home and completely forgot about it. #bestdaughterever However yesterday morning I had already taught two sessions, and it was only 8am. I grabbed my ear buds and took the dog out for his morning walk. I opened up my <a href="http://www.theskimm.com/"><b>Skimm email</b></a> to read, but after reading the first two sentences about the big debate I rolled my eyes, closed it, and called my mom instead.</div>
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<b>Best decision ever. </b>I didn't whine and complain about life <span style="font-size: x-small;">(too much...)</span>. I didn't tell her all about my fake burn book about myself and how I thought I hated myself right now. <i><b>We just talked.</b></i> Talked about everything. I talked. She talked. We laughed. We caught up. By focusing on good things, by listening all about my mom being a bad<i>bleep</i> with her job, by focusing on literally anything other than my ridiculous self pity I suddenly started to feel better. The slow-mo tidal wave of stress and anxiety was starting to go in reverse and leave me alone. We hung up, and I couldn't help but smile. </div>
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So you know what? Sometimes when life feels really, really big and stressful, and that tidal wave is coming for ya, just <b>call your mom</b>. Call her! Or your dad. Or your best friend. Or your sibling. Or you dog sitter's mother's aunt. Call someone, hear someone's voice, listen to them, talk to them. Focus on that, and suddenly the little, good, happy things in life feel a whole heck of a lot more important than that ridiculous pit of self hate. </div>
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In the words of J Biebs, <i>Love Yourself.</i> And he even talks about his momma in that song, so I think he wants you to call your mom, too. Over and out. </div>
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Love you, Mom!</span></i></div>
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Birthday and Christmas are two of my most <i>very</i> favorite things. </div>
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I almost started this post with the simple sentence, <i><b>I love gifts</b></i>. But it's not that I only love receiving gifts because I also love, love, love giving gifts/planning secrets/watching surprised gift openers' faces. </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Full disclosure: I have been known to have my Christmas list started right after my July birthday, and my birthday list started right after Christmas, but let's focus on the part where I'm not a spoiled brat. Kthanks. </span></div>
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When Freddie and I started dating, he not only introduced me to the beauty of avocados/sweet potatoes/mushrooms/Brussels sprouts/cauliflower/etc., but he introduced me to the idea of a <b><i>doing something</i></b> gift instead of a <b><i>getting something</i></b> gift. I remember early on in our relationship he asked me if I would rather get a doing something gift or a getting something gift, and I had no idea what he was talking about. But but but...if we do something then what is going to be wrapped for me to open?! <span style="font-size: x-small;"><<<me not being spoiled. </span></div>
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Along with my newfound love of avocados/sweet potatoes/mushrooms/Brussels sprouts/cauliflower/etc., I've grown to love the whole idea of <b><i>doing something</i></b> gifts. We've been glass blowing, took cooking classes, gone hiking, rented bikes, made sushi, and even traveled on small trips. Weird that Freddie could be right about something this one time... (insert smirk emoji) (we throw out all prejudices in this house because not only is Freddie the one who is always right, but he also does all the cooking so...take that, sexism!).</div>
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Freddie's birthday was Sunday, so around Monday (of three months ago...) I started planning. He is all about being outdoors, and I am not. He is all about getting dirty, and I am not. He is all about anything that involves beer, and I prefer the whine/wine combo I've got going on. </div>
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In case you didn't know, Houston is also known as the Bayou City. It has somewhere around 2500 miles of waterways throughout the city, and Freddie has often joked about going kayaking in the bayou. I say joked because I don't think he thought I would actually ever do it because of my child strength arms, my inability to love being outdoors for extended periods of time, and the fact that the bayou is home of mutant alien catfish.</div>
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Well, I showed him! Take that, birthday boy. Kind of. Bayou kayak rentals close much too early in the day, so I did one even better and took us north of the city to Lake Conroe for some birthday kayaking fun. </div>
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Houston is such a weird place because the city feels like it never ends. Coming from Georgia where trees are in abundance, it's been a strange feeling to drive sixty plus miles in any direction and only see developed land and no trees. Well apparently the secret is to drive <i>seventy plus</i> miles away because once we hit Conroe, Texas, there were trees!!! And no strips of stores!!! And no Pappasito's!! And a lake where we spent two hours in the feels-like-102 outdoors kayaking away. </div>
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Thanks to Freddie for being born because he's a pretty cool addition to the human race. A pretty attractive one, as well. I'm also thankful he was born so we could celebrate him with fun activities like kayaking (and drinking copious amounts of...water). I'm also thankful he was born so he could show me the fun in the whole art of a <i><b>doing something</b></i> gift. </div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Happy three days after your Birthday, Rick!</span></div>
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<i><b>Are you a do something or a get something kind of person?</b></i></div>
Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162996244974904431noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6750176305018988968.post-38974969362533273312016-09-16T05:23:00.000-07:002016-09-16T05:23:03.060-07:00click goes the cameraLife has been so dang busy recently lately.<br />
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^^ I've almost started the last few blog posts with that sentence, but when I try to write a second sentence I can't think of what in our lives is actually making us that busy. Is it the dog who needs ten walks and twenty-six snuggles a day? Is it the BBQ sauce that Freddie keeps spilling on his clothes and testing my housewife laundry skills? Is it the six pounds of ground turkey from Costco that we keep needing to cook?<br />
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Slow. Down. Time. I know by saying this, time is only going to fly by faster, so let's go ahead and agree that I should never have kids because time is going to really fly with them. Like I'm already sad about my future bajillion kids being grown, and these kids aren't even being thought about right now, if ya know what I'm saying... <span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>(TMI? Sorry, Mom and Dad)</i></span>.<br />
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Freddie and I are re-watching <i>The Office</i> for the third or ninth time, and we just watched Jim and Pam's wedding episode. The whole episode Pam takes mental pictures by clicking an imaginary camera up by her eye. That is absolutely brilliant. <span style="font-size: x-small;">It's also in the movie <i>Elizabethtown</i>, if you're a fact checker/movie buff. </span>I am the worst about taking things for granted. The worst! I don't kiss Ricky as hard as I should when we leaves for work in the morning. I don't talk to my family every single day. I don't send my friends snail mail with big X's and O'x as often as I should. <span style="font-size: x-small;">I do always tell the Lu-ster I love him before I leave.</span> I don't want to wait for something sad or complicated to make me appreciate the little itty bitty wonderful things in my life. On that note, here are five mental pictures I took this week.<br />
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<b>-Ricky sitting across from me at the coffee shop with his new, super hawt haircut. </b>Ricky has a disease that the brother of Benjamin Button, Fenjamin Futton, had. Instead of aging in reverse, he just gets ridiculously more good looking the older he gets. Is that a male thing? Oh excuse me, Rick just informed me it's called Benjamin Cute as a Button disease. Anyways, ignore me on the other side of the coffee shop table, with my recently acquired hormonal zits and under eye bags.<br />
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<b>-The smile one of my clients had the first time she successfully did a Roll-Up on her own.</b> If you've ever attempted a Pilates Roll-Up in which you do not get to throw yourself up to a seated position like you do in a sit-up then I'm sure you understand the awesome sauce-ness of that smile and the awesome sauce-ness of that move.<br />
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<b>-Lupe curled up as snug as a bug in a rug</b>...except he's a dog curled up in my lap. And yes, I do take mental pictures <i>and</i> real pictures of this one. Sue me.<br />
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<b>-The giant <i>BE SOMEONE</i> graffiti that's written on an underpass as you take I-45 into downtown Houston.</b> So go already! Be someone!<br />
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<b>-The solemn and grateful faces of every single fan at the Astros game on September 11 as the National Anthem was sung.</b> What a sight. I got chills taking it all in.<br />
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And because wordy blogs are boring, here's a real picture!<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">A very, merry Houston sunrise. </span></div>
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<b><i>What are some of your mental pictures from the week?</i></b><br />
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Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162996244974904431noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6750176305018988968.post-47776615106641438772016-09-14T06:49:00.001-07:002016-09-14T06:53:32.380-07:00the power of three<div style="text-align: right;">
text from Freddie on Thursday, September 7 2016:<b> <i>um I just bought tickets to the astros next wednesday. they were $8 a piece. </i></b></div>
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^^^ this my friends is the beginning of the story of how we ended up going to three Astros games in less than a week. <span style="font-size: x-small;">I know, doesn't this sound like the most fun story to read on a Wednesday morning?</span> </div>
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Hot diggity dog! An Astros game! If you remember from here my love of baseball runs real deep. That's right, folks. Sporting events = Dippin' Dots = me loving all sporting events = me loving baseball on a deep level. So paying $8 for a ticket to a place where I could pay $8+ for a tiny scoop of Dippin' Dots?! That sounds totally fair. Sign me up. </div>
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The next morning, Friday September 8, I received this text: <i><b>the astros play sunday night too. and arrieta is pitching... oooh $9 tickets. DONE. we're going!!!!!!</b></i></div>
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I was all those exclamation points worth excited too for two games. Double the D. Dots for $17 in tickets? Like I said, sign this sugar coma girl the heck up. I will always overpay for Dippin' Dots if I can underpay for a baseball ticket.</div>
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Fast forward about eight hours on Friday and I received this text while teaching: <i><b>we may be going to the astros tonight. i got free tickets on reddit!!!!!!!</b></i></div>
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Okay, let's be real with one another for a second. At this point I was like the dips are good and all, <i>buuut</i> I was really looking forward to a Friday night consisting of a strong drink that didn't cost $10 and AC. You see, Freddie has turned into some crazed baseball fan in part because of his fantasy team. When we're at home MLB TV is on <b>at all times</b>. <span style="font-size: x-small;">When we're not at home it might still be on for Lupe... </span>When we're not at home Freddie's baseball app is open and off to the side <b>at all times</b>. Whenever I suggest watching something different Rick nicely reminds me that Jake Arrieta does Pilates. And that I need to get a Pilates job for a baseball team one day. And just like Dippin' Dots makes me love baseball, anything Pilates related should make me love it, as well. </div>
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So off we went to the game Friday. Free seats, three rows back, and the best view of Jason Hayward's behind. As any intelligent human beings would do, the amount of money saved on tickets went straight towards beer for Ricky. Think how much we saved! <i><<<things I say after spending $$ at Target, but saving by using my Cartwheel app and RedCard. </i><br />
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And then off we went to the game on Sunday night! Three hundred rows back, and a squinty-eyed view of Jake Arrieta's Pilates pitching bod. <br />
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And then off we will go in approximately ten hours for $1 hot dog night. Don't worry, it'll still be $10 beer night so don't get too excited. We'll be about two hundred rows back this time, with a good view of hundreds of people stuffing dollar hot dogs in their mouths. </div>
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Oh I'm sorry, did you notice something was missing from the past three paragraphs? Two simple words. A million little bitty cold ice cream nibs. That's right, <b style="font-size: small;">APPARENTLY DIPPIN DOTS AREN'T SOLD AT THE GAMES ANYMORE. </b>Blue Bell just <i>had</i> to go and fix their listeria problem, and people of Texas just <i>have</i> to go ape<i> bleep</i> over Blue Bell ice creams, and b squared just <i>had</i> to kick out d squared from the stadium. </div>
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Don't worry about me though, guys. Really, there are three really positive perks about these three baseball games that almost make up for my lack of Dippins. </div>
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<b>one</b></div>
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Because Texas is Texas and thinks it is the one and only giant slice of heaven on Earth, you get to sing<i> Deep In The Heart Of Texas</i> during the seventh inning stretch. Literally this is my most favorite part of the entire game. Also singing this song might be one of my most favorite reasons to live in Texas... </div>
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<b>two</b></div>
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People watching. The woman in front of us on Friday night had a perm straight outta<b> </b>1983. I almost spent more time staring at her hair than staring at the game. It was so...fried. And curly. And I'm not trying to describe Arby's curly fries here. </div>
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<b>three</b></div>
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Since Freddie and I were the poor fans on Sunday we had to travel up and down all the floors of the stadium to get to our seats. As we walked down an escalator we were stopped by an employee who not-so-kindly told us that we were not allowed to walk down the escalator. My reaction was to cringe in fear because I just got in trouble, and slowly ride down the next two escalators. Freddie's reaction? To continue walking down the next two escalators saying: <i>Babe, did you just hear what that man said?! I think that just might be the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. Yep. It is. Just decided. I can't walk down stairs?! These are stairs!</i></div>
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At that point he was too far ahead of rules-following-me for me to be able to hear him anymore. </div>
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On that note, I'm off to start getting ready to ride not walk down escalators, <i>not</i> eat Dippin Dots, and cheer for the 'Stros! Like they say, <i>Never let the fear of striking out of Dippin Dots keep you from playing or going to the game. </i></div>
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Or something. Over and out. </div>
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Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162996244974904431noreply@blogger.com6