Crisp.

Friends. Do you know what day it is today? 

Think crisp. Think scarves. 

Boots, candy apples, and cider. 

Think color. 

Specifically, yellows, oranges and deep reds. 

Think golden undertones. Think crunchy leaves.

Think evening parties with hanging golden twinkle lights and dancing to ella fitzgerald.

Think pumpkins, cinnamon, and nutmeg.

Think college football. Think soup and homemade bread. 

Think of cuddling under warm blankets instead of cranking up the AC.

Happy first day of Autumn, friends.

ps- more details to come about my upcoming fall party. Stay tuned.

Year Three.

Dear Gid.

Three years. You and me. Remember our first meal in our first apartment? We hadn't even brought our boxes in from the moving van. No furniture. Nothing in the closets. No idea where the grocery store was. We happened to have some noodles, and some marinara (that I was given at a bridal shower), so we dug a pot from one of the boxes in the car, and ate the spaghetti on top of a printer box that we used as a dining table.

Then we sat. On the floor. Our backs against the living room wall. And then-- I had a mini breakdown. Something about neither of us having a job, any friends, or any idea what we were doing in boise idaho. I flipped. And you were calm, sitting with your arm around me. Yep. That was our first dinner in our first apartment. Fast forward to a year later. We both had great jobs. We had dear sweet friends. We had furniture. We went to Oregon for our anniversary. I felt like we'd been married for a few weeks. But it'd been a year. And then a few months later, we decided to move. To Salt Lake City. For graduate school. For both of us. (dun dun dunnnnnnn)

Remember moving into our slc apartment? Remember our 2 year anniversary a few days after we moved in? I felt like we'd run a marathon. Two whole years. Remember that time (those times) that I break down in a puddle of tears similar to the one I made in our first Boise apartment? And you put your arms around me, squeeze me, and somehow I just know everything will be ok? Remember how we've fit everything we own into 480 square feet? Remember how there is mold constantly in our bathroom, regardless how much bleach we cover it with? Remember how my leotards and tights are everywhere? Remember how we need pliers to turn our AC unit on and off?  Remember how lucky lucky lucky we are to have our sweet lives in our tiny apartment?

Which brings us to yesterday. Three years, Gid. You and me. And even though I feel like we've had lots of ups and downs, I'm super crazy about you. Absolutely nuts. Waay more than I was on our wedding day, (and I was pretty into you then...), or even our 1st or 2nd anniversary.

You're the marshmellow to my hot chocolate, the gravy to my mashed potatoes, and the hummus to my pita chips. You're my favorite hello, and my hardest goodbye. And we get to look forward to many many many more years, just you and me. And maybe even a few others.

Happy three years, sweet boy. Fist bump.

Ok, high five.

ask me to do something cool...

...and you'll probably get something super weird instead...

a big thank you to the lovely hannah stewart who asked me to be the subject for a project photo shoot.

and a big apology for my weird poses...

So. That happened.

I've been fighting a cold for the past few days. You know the drill- runny nose, scratchy throat, and pathetic droopy eyes. Thank heavens it came over the weekend; I'm taking way too many classes this semester to be getting sick this early in the game. Anyway, last night I decided I was feeling too sick to put any effort into a meal, so I looked up the easiest crock-pot recipe I could find. We were only missing a few ingredients, and since we live like 3 minutes away from a market, I hopped into the car around 10 p.m. last night, and made a quick grocery store run. 

Since I was still in my "hanging out in the apartment blowing my nose all day long" outfit, I looked pretty awesome. Wearing a zip up hoodie with my big clutch wallet in one pocket, my keys, phone, and notepad (with my grocery list on it) plus a pen in the other pocket, there was no need for a purse. That's one of the best things about hoodies, right? Anyway, I walked into the store, and by instinct headed straight for the best isle. That's right- the ice cream isle. As I gazed past the glass trying to decide (as I coughed and sniffled) if I'd rather eat orchard peach sorbet, or mango sorbet, an older lady came up to me, smiling knowingly and said, "late night cravings?" I smiled at her and nodded. She chuckled and said, "I remember those days." As she walked away I wondered why she would say that she "remembered those days". Isn't it our prerogative as women to always have late night cravings? Old, young, during any time of year and at any time of the month? Don't we deserve that? As I pondered the issue, I saw myself in the reflection of the glass, and noticed my bulging hoodie pockets.

And then I realized. Sweet old lady thought I was pregnant.

That awkward social encounter that I've had many friends cry to me about had finally happened to me. Not only did someone think I was pregnant, they thought it strongly enough that they actually commented to me about it. I tried to not let it bother me since I actually do have a pretty flat tummy, (when I'm not wearing an awkward hoodie with miscellaneous objects shoved into the pockets) but as I walked through the produce section I couldn't help but wonder how many other people thought I looked like I was expecting. 

When I got home, I told gideon the whole story and he laughed his deep gideon laugh and tried to insist that the lady didn't think that I was preggo, but I know the truth. I even made him take a picture of me so I could inspect it to see if she had good reason to assume I was expecting. I think I secretly stuck my tummy out a little bit extra, because I secretly wish I was a little bit pregnant, and it's sort of fun to pretend.

Anyway, the moral of the story is- I'm not pregnant. And even if I sometimes wish I was, I don't want to look like I am when I'm not. The end. Also- I think I'm going to start going to the gym when I get over this cold.

Happy Sunday to you all,

lucky.

When I use the word "lucky," my mom always corrects me. "Blessed," she insists. "You are blessed. It's not a matter of luck. You have been given blessings and you should be grateful for them, not your horoscope or the star you wished on the other night." 

It makes sense, and I believe it. But sometimes I still just say lucky. I don't really know why. Maybe it's because I don't see how I could ever be justified in the blessings that I've received. 

I guess I must say "lucky" when I don't think I deserve the blessing I've gotten. Kinda like its a freebie that was meant for someone else; someone who doesn't think grumpy thoughts, or growl at her husband when he tells her church is in 10 minutes. I suppose I think to myself, "How could someone like me keep getting blessed?  I must just be lucky." 

You know?

  (Mom would be scowling at me right now.)

Anyway. 

I received some major blessings this morning in my email. Miracle sized. I don't know why, but someone is sure looking out for me. So tonight I went to the temple. And on my way out, when I saw the lovely sunset, and breathed the pre-fall evening air, I found myself thinking to myself, "Gosh. I'm lucky." And then I thought of how my mom would sigh wondering why her perfect example and patient lessons still haven't penetrated my thick skull. And then I thought about how blessed I am. 

Have I mentioned Thursdays are my favorite?

A lovely evening to you all,


ps- just in case you're wondering, I'm not pregnant... not quite that lucky yet. :)