The best of me

Sundays aren't my favorite.because of all the down time and the 2-4 p.m. what-are-we-gonna-do-now moments.

because those moments always leave me way too wrapped up in my thoughts.

normally a good run shakes me right out of overthinking things, but on sundays my jogging shoes get a break too.

a little self-evalution isn't bad and it seems natural after perspective-refining conversations and lessons at church. but my poor brain just doesn't shut down sometimes. and all to often it gets the best of me.

thankfully i'm married to the most patient, consistent, supportive man i've ever met, and he listens to me ramble. he helps me make sense of what's realistic and what's not, points out the good things i'm thinking and the things that i could probably do without. and my dad's the same way. they really help me filter.

after a good long talk with either of them, i'm usually left with the truth--the lesson that i should keep, the thought that i can build on--and all the anxiety and guilt are washed away. thank heaven for people like that.

and what i came away with yesterday was the realization that i can (and so i should) answer this one tiny question: what gets the best of me?

doesn't it seem like there are so many good, better, great causes? tons of great things to be involved in, to try, to join, to help, to re-create, to change, to start? and there are so many people to be with, to visit, call, help, listen to, talk to, reconnect with, nurture and love?

usually in my effort to do a little of everything, no one person or thing gets my best, leaving me with scraps of unfinished ventures and scattered intentions. which makes me crazy anxious and completely down on myself - missing out on all those good things because i'm at the world's most pathetic pity party.

so i've decided to follow some good advice. to live more in the moment. to focus more on what's happening now, to give the best of me wholly to the things going on and the people right in front of me now. and especially not to let any other moment steal the best of me from this moment. then look back at the past knowing i was fully in each moment, each venture, with each person. that i soaked it all in gave it my best and that i'll do the same in the future.

that i gave the best of me.

Lovesick & Letterpress

Love makes me sick. I know because once, we had this awesome romantic, fairly-newly-wed anniversary weekend getaway in Jackson planned.

We got food poisoning instead.

Valentine's Day was going to be awesome this year because Brent had a 4 day weekend, and we so needed to at least drive somewhere where the sun was shining. Time to bust out of the cabin fever blahs and frolick in the sunbeams.

We got the flu instead.

Which has been followed by an official case of please-oh-please-be-spring-itis. I will most likely murder the groundhog if I ever meet him. Just so you know.

So I'm dreaming of my non-Idaho winter life where I own a letterpress, doodle and play with delicious papers & colors all the live long day. In the warm bright sun.

Hooray for Sycamore Street Press and this little bit of sunshine. Hoorah for letterpress and hand-printed lovelies.

Here are a few of my favorites:

Aaah. Refreshing, huh? And they're donating 100% of the profit from these cards to Haiti. Check out their shop (and buy me a card).

I'm pretty sure my glasses are dating my keys. There's really no other logical explanation for why they always seem to be missing. Always. At the same time.

And I usually NEED them. Like tonight. I need my glasses. Otherwise the world's a blur, and putting my contacts back in after a 9 p.m. shower is silly. It's like asking to accidentally fall asleep on the couch with them in.

I'm slightly more desperate to find my keys when they're missing. Ask anyone. I tend to be a little late.

A lot.

Usually because I can't find my keys.

My parents even bought me one of these for Christmas:You put it on your keychain, whistle when you can't find them, and it whistles back. Problem is, it whistles at every slighty-shrill noise. So I turned it off and removed it...and don't know where it is.

Doesn't matter though; you can't fight true love. And there's really no other way to explain this dilemma besides the fact that my keys and my glasses run away together--often.

Seriously.

Because we've established homes for these things.

My slightly OCD very organized husband puts them here:

{The drawer in the kitchen} {My drawer of stuff in the bathroom}

But we have a mutual understanding that I generally toss them in one of these places:{my desk} {my nightstand}
{the table on the way out the door} {my pencil/marker/scissor holders}

*Notice they're missing in each of these pictures.*

HOWEVER.

As I was walking around taking these little evidence pictures, brent asked what I was doing.

Then pointed this out:

Tuh.

I mumbled something about how they sneaked in the back door.

I hate it when he's right.

But he did just tell me he was going to bed and would sleep on my side so it was warm when I got there.

Fine. Be helpful and sweet.

But I'm checking the drawers before I go to bed.

My New List

Brent will most likely murder me for writing this post. So if I disappear, you'll know why.

In fact, I told him I just needed 30 minutes to myself. He took Adi for a little drive so I could have some time...and blog about him (obviously he didn't know the details).

Today is the last day of his very fantastically long holiday break from school. I'm pretty sure we just spent something like 30 days straight hanging out together. Aaaah. Thank you, world, for celebrating the holidays.

And spending time like we don't usually get to, we've been able to relax and just enjoy being together.

The thought occurred to me the other day that if I had the chance to re-write that silly list of things some teacher inevitably makes everyone write about the qualities of their future spouse, I know exactly what I'd write. I'd sign, seal, and deliver it to my 15 year-old self today.

Along with a little note to go ahead and date the other guys, but not to waste too much time, effort or heartache on them, because, at this point, my 15-year old self had already met the man of her dreams.

And here are just a few of the (million) things I would highlight.

Anyone who knows Brent (and me) knows that he is one of the most chill, patient people on the planet. He's not lazy by any means, but he doesn't get all worked up over silly things. He takes time to think, he's rational and objective. I love that. Because I'm not, let's be real.

I never really thought that the sound of the vacuum or dishes being washed would replace my "must sing like Frank Sinatra and play the guitar like Tom Petty" requirement. But it officially has. The man just helps out. I don't have to ask him. He just does it. Makes me feel good. Like my entire purpose as his wife is not to clean his house. We do stuff together. I love that.

And while we're on the topic, he can sing. And he does. To Adi. All the time. It's really one of the sweetest things ever. He sings to her to play with her, to distract her from a major tantrum, and to get her to sleep. She requests songs from him at bedtime. In fact she requests "dad" to rock her to sleep most of the time.

He saves me. Every day, really. From myself, imaginary expectations I place on myself and from this crazy world. He's never told me a thought I have is stupid, that the things I'm thinking are crazy or that an idea is too big. He's truly sincerely supportive. He'll talk about anything with me like it's the most important thing on the planet at that moment. And sometimes it is to me.

He's my friend. We watch movies, giggle at Adi, play, pray and work together. We read, budget, cook, crash diet, and crash our diets together. If something happens during the day, he's the one I want to tell. He's the one I can hang out with in my sweats and ponytail, or dress up and pretend to be a responsible adult.

And we have big plans. Big plans for our kids, our house, our future. And even though some haven't worked out, or some may exceed our wildest expectations, I'm glad to know they're our plans. Our future. I love that.

And now I think I'll go hug him. And finish the list another time...