show off

There was this girl at the gym and she was stretching and she was swinging her right leg back and forth like a pendulum or a metronome or something like that. I'm pretty sure I saw her toe touch her ear.

Show off.

a love not meant to be

I am in love.

I am in love with this cake plate. Look at it!! Just look at the punchy color, at its wavy-ness, at its adorable cake-plate-iness. I was blog browsing, and whilst perusing design sponge or cup of jo (I can't remember which), I saw this.

It calls to me. It says "Andrea, you love me. You want to take me home and make lots of cakes and love me forever. Also I cost a million dollars. That's not a problem, is it?"

And I'm like "uh....it kind of is a problem. Because I'm married and my husband might collapse if he knew about our secret love and he would SURELY collapse if he knew I was even THINKING about taking you home with me. Which, by the way, I am not." (that was for Paul. So he doesn't worry.)

Unless, when I am checking my pants pockets before doing laundry, I find a million dollars. If that happens, I am totally buying this.

Until then, our love can never be.

Sigh.

Also you can find this at www.iacolimcallister.bigcartel.com. I won't be jealous if you are also shot in the heart by cupid's cruel arrow.

I mean, how could you not be?

this is what we look like

Well, this is what we look like when we spend lots of time getting ready and then we have our super amazing talented friend Seth take our picture. We're just about ready to be approved for adoption, and we figured it might be good to have some recent pics taken of us.

Seth did an amazing job. You can see more of his work at kendraandseth.blogspot.com, or smootshoot.blogspot.com. Need an amazing picture taken? You should totally pick Seth. I mean, Paul hates having his picture taken (and when I say hate, I mean HATE), and Seth was able to coax this fairly positive expression out of him. How about that!!! See how Paul totally doesn't look like he wants me dead for forcing him to do this? That's all Seth, man.

I think this is the pic we'll use for our adoption profile. I feel like it's a fairly accurate representation of us.For example, we're clothed. And most of the time, we do make a habit of wearing clothes. We're smiling. Again, most of the time, true. Unless Paul is trying to make me eat vegetables, in which case probably neither of us is smiling.

Well done, Seth. We couldn't have done it without you!!

duck duck goose and the constant love of God

Sometimes when you're three, it's hard to concentrate.

Especially at church.

See, we Mormons really, really like church. We like it so much that we go for three hours every week. For the first hour, everyone meets together, in what is called sacrament meeting. We take the sacrament, listen to talks, and sometimes, if you're me, you make faces at the cute babies around you.

The second and third hour, the moms and dads and other adults get to go to classes kid-free.

And that's where I come in.

Paul and I are fortunate enough to have the calling of hanging out with everyone under the age of four. Now, being called to help out in nursery isn't everyone's favorite. There are these urban legends of people crying or throwing tantrums when they get asked. For me, though, it is maybe one of the best things in the world. Right up there with eating chocolate and getting a pedicure, only a little messier and louder.

I mean, what's not to like about nursery? We have snack, we play, I try to teach them stuff like don't throw that chair and please keep your shirt on (literally and figuratively) and sometimes you need to let someone else use the rocking horse. It's awesome.

As fun as snack and playtime are, the most important part of nursery, really, is to teach these little people that there is a God who loves them, who cares about them and who will help and comfort them. A God who knows what is important to them.

Imparting this life-altering information can be kind of a challenge when you're working with people who have an attention span that lasts about as long as it takes to say "bacon".

So, we get creative. We try to use pictures, stories, games, anything that will keep them engaged and hopefully drive home the message that not only is it inappropriate to climb on the table, but Heavenly Father loves them and will help them if compulsive table-climbing is the pressing issue in their lives.

So, one Sunday when I ran out of ideas, a new one popped into my head: duck duck goose. We played the game, but when "goose" was uttered, instead of jumping up and running around the circle, we would give the child a hug and say "Heavenly Father loves YOU, (insert kid's name)!!".

And it worked. Like a charm. They loved it. They giggled, they laughed, their little eyes lit up and they wanted to play over and over and over again. Elizabeth, one of the other nursery workers, pointed out that our modification could make any future experiences they have with duck duck goose kind of interesting. She's right, but I guess there are worse things.

It's great to see these tiny adults-in-training respond, but I wonder sometimes how much of what we teach is getting through. I remember one time when my brother David was little and mom asked him what he learned in nursery and he indicated that the main message was "sit down and be quite or you're going to hang with mom".

I mean, you can't really blame them. They're three. I'd rather play with toys than learn how to sit in a chair and not run screaming in circles around the room. I get it.

So yesterday, my heart was warmed to the core when we played the game and little Addy said "I be the teacher", and proceeded to go around the room, saying in her cute little Addy voice "duck, duck, duck..."

And then, while hugging the girl she had selected, bellowed:

"GOOSE!!!! HEAVENLY FATHER LOVES YOU, ELLA!!!"

And I immediately melted into a puddle of Andrea goo.

a good day for soup

This is one of those days when you don't make your bed because it's all gray and rainy and you just want to get wrapped up in blankets and drink hot cocoa and have soup and grilled cheese. There's just something about soup and hot cocoa and grilled cheese that makes an unmade bed kind of delightful.

this is beauty

Go to http://mingmakescupcakes.yolasite.com/ for more mouth-watering recipes. I think I am in LOOOOOOOOVVVVVE!!!!!!!

gym showers are gross

I took my first gym shower yesterday.

I know, I know, I was all like "THAT'SSOGROSSIWILLNEVERDOTHAT", but I had to babysit right after class, and I didn't want to have to go back, so after a little hyperventilating, I decided it just made more sense to shower and get ready there.

Not being at all sure of the proper protocol, it took me a little time to figure out what to bring. Blow dryer? Makeup? Have a vanity table delivered?

By the time I was done with my workout, I had spent an hour giving myself a pep-talk. You can do this. You can shower in the same room as other people. It probably won't be weird. Stop thinking about the shower scene in Carrie. I bet those stories about fungal infections are just old wives tales.

Honestly, I wanted nothing so much as to stop someone, some well meaning girl, and tell her I am a gym shower newbie and ask for advice. I kept waiting for the right moment, but everyone was kinda not dressed. Call me old fashioned, but I like people I introduce myself to to have a shirt on.

I wasn't sure if the whole disrobing thing happened before or after entering the shower area, so I erred on the side of modesty and trotted into the dimly lit, shower-head lined room in my full workout regalia only there wasn't anywhere to put my clothes so then I tried to play it cool and was like "oh, good, I was really hoping I could rinse out my gym clothes. Two birds with one stone, know what I mean?"

And I took the fastest shower ever. Really, I think I showered so fast that I actually went back in time. And then I raced back to my locker, where I would gladly have changed inside my locker, were that possible.

This is not something I would like to repeat. Although I do feel a certain sense of accomplishment.

it turns out i have some gym issues

Okay, so yesterday I met with the angel who is helping me get healthy and who I will hereafter refer to as Trainy Trainerson. Hmmmm. That sounds kinda like "tranny". And that's not good. Mental note: consider other possible nicknames for Sarah.

Right. Well.

She came over and gave me homework for the rest of the week. Which meant going to the gym. And after today I realize, I am kind of needing some help with the whole gym etiquette thing.

See, I went to the gym, and I ran on the treadmill and ellipted on the elliptical machine, but when I was finished I was all dripping with sweat and stuff, which I have heard is common following ellipting.

So, uh, what do you do then? I mean, do you change there? Do you shower before you leave? I am having flashbacks to junior high PE. What if people make fun of my bra? I peeked in the showers and it looked really, uh....not private.

Should I not tell you that I didn't shower and instead I rode the subway all tomato-red and stinky? It turns out I am somewhat neurotic when I ellipt.

My lack of gym finesse is embarrassing.

found

One hot-pink plastic cell phone. Heart on the cover. Rings when opened. Had been covertly dropped in my purse. Suspect's name: Olive. Could have been her friend, though. She had the shifty eyes.

Olive, if you're reading this, (and I will be SO impressed if you are) I have your phone. Call to coordinate exchange. Will accept hug as payment.

Olive, if it isn't yours, pass this message along to your friends. You know who they are. They're the cute ones who hold me hostage for two hours each Sunday.

Hug as payment still applies.

i immediately regret this decision

I have, yet again, reached a decision to make a concerted attempt at healthy living.

I know. I'm not sure I can do it either.

Maybe it's because spring has begun to make itself known. Maybe it's because you can only eat so many crackers with Easy Cheez before your body starts to protest. Maybe it's because IVF kindly bestowed an extra fifteen pounds on my frame. Either way, I feel the need to be healthy.

I made this decision a few weeks ago. It's not the first time I've gotten the itch to get healthy. The first time it happened was in seventh grade when I decided to eat vegetables because I wanted some increased poundage in the chestal area. My resolve lasted a full six hours, until Mom served peas at dinner, at which point I determined that being a Juniors 32AA wasn't so bad, after all.

The last time I tried to be healthy was last year, when I decided to swear off sweets for a full month. My attempt was in no way a success. I think I made it four days before I started calling chocolate chips healthy, and my slippery slope only got slipperier from there.

So, maybe that was a little too hard-core. This time, though, is different. For reals. I've enlisted the help of this adorable girl in our ward at church who looks like a pocket-sized super-model. She's coming over tonight to take measurements (yikesy!) and take a look at my work-out equipment, after which she will come up with a plan to which I will attempt to comply.

I'm excited. Also maybe a little apprehensive. Also maybe eating all the junk food in our apartment so she won't make me throw it out. Maybe.

I hope I'm ready for this.

the human diet

Andrea: Dr. Oz says you should only eat meat that walks on four legs once a week. And you can eat meat that walks on two legs all the rest of the time.

Paul: So I can eat all the humans I want?

in which i wuss out

Okay, so you guys gave me fantastic feedback. And I am most grateful.

And I am a wimp. I am a wimp because I didn't do ANY of your ideas. I am a scaredy cat.

I had a bunch of excuses to give you, like it's my ladies time, and I had a headache and I was recruited by a renegade group of interior designers for an tour of Columbia's best restrooms, but the truth is.....

I'm wimpy. I am Wimpy Wimpleton from Wimpledom.

And when I get a B+ instead of an A because I missed out on this extra credit, you can totally say "I told you so".

I give you full permission.

i need your help. and i need it fast.

I am in most desperate need of your assistance.

I need to act out.

And I don't know how.

At all.

See, in my psych class we have this extra credit project and of course, OF COURSE, it involves making a complete fool out of myself. Which in theory I love, but when pressed, I hate.

We are assigned to select any socially unexpected behavior, like facing the wrong way in an elevator or singing at the top of your lungs in the grocery store, and to then perform said behavior while an amused friend pretends to not be a friend and records the reactions of the surrounding lab rats.

Doesn't that sound like fun? I think it sounds like fun and I start thinking of ideas and then I remember that I will need to actually DO these things and then it doesn't sound like fun anymore and I am possessed with a sudden desire to curl up in the fetal position.

So, please. Please. PLEASE. Help me. Give me a suggestion, okay? Something that will help me get an A in my psych class, and not something that will land me in the psych ward.

Also I need the idea by tomorrow.

Morning.

Uh.......thanks.

you, me, and lady gaga makes three

Last night I had a dream that I had lunch with Lady Gaga.

I was with my blog friend Miriam at my friend Nicole's palatial Utah manse and we were just kicking it and I was feeling pretty good because Lady Gaga and I totally hit it off. Like, I made a joke and she laughed and stuff.

Only then I thought it would be a good idea to take a bath. And I left the room and took a bath, and in the middle of splashing around in the bathtub I had an inkling that maybe my behavior might be seen as strange in some circles and maybe I didn't pick such a great time for a bath.

So I got dressed, and when I went out to the living room Lady Gaga was leaving which made me sad because I hadn't gotten to know her nearly as well as I wanted to, and I tried to say something but Lady Gaga just ignored me and she gave Miriam a hug goodbye and I was like, hey, no fair.

And then I woke up.

the entirely true story of Fancy Train

I kinda have a thing for the Loch Ness Monster.

Also for Bigfoot. And the Chupacabra. Pretty much any mythical beast I am a sucker for, truth be told. Also I really like an underdog, and if the underdog is a gigantic prehistoric sea-monster or a misunderstood twelve-foot hairy ape, so much the better.

If there's any sort of special WATCH THIS CRAZY PERSON TELL YOU WHAT THEY SAW feature on TV, I watch it. If our Netflix cue has some mystery-creature flick listed, I was the one who picked it. When that poor Bigfoot professor at that school in Idaho was getting picked on by all his fellow professors and they wouldn't let him play their professor games, I felt for him. I really did.

And while I might tell you it's because I'm a decent person and I don't like to see people get picked on (which I don't) really, REALLY, the reason is this:

I kinda want Bigfoot to be real. I want them all to be real. And they're not. But, BUT, I think I may have found the next best thing. An honest-to-pete, real-life mythical beast. It exists, I tell you. I have seen it.

What is it, you ask? Well, I'll tell you:

One of the brand-spanking new fancy trains running on the A line.

See, the trains that run on the A line are, in a word, yucky. Ooooky. Gross. Craptastic. Speeding bullets of nastiness.

There is a slight chance that I'm exaggerating, but not by much. When you go to the east side, the trains are all super nice and the seats are this really refreshing powder blue and the announcer voice isn't some disgruntled person with a voice sounding like a really mad grown-up on Charlie Brown and if you're a west side person, it makes you feel sort of short-changed.

So a while back all us west side people got really excited because new trains started showing up. Shiny, new, powder-fresh trains. And then they disappeared, never to be heard from again.

Until Tuesday.

I was on my way home from class, waiting to transfer to the A at 168th. I was reading my book and fantasizing about ice cream, when I heard the subway coming.

And I was happy because I hadn't been waiting long and I looked up and it didn't look like ANY train I had seen on the west side in FOREVER and then there it was, speeding past, practically trailing it's fresh new train scent, looking all sparkly and new and fancy and it was out of service and it sped away just as quickly as it came, going I don't know where.

I stood amazed, and then, just as quickly as the train, came emotions. Denial- surely it wasn't-surely not-

And anger- why? Why bring this glowing beauty so free of stinky smells and sticky spots into my life for so brief a time? And why am I not at home yet, because I really want ice cream?

And then, finally, acceptance. Life brought us together for this brief moment, me and the mythical creature I will refer to hereafter as Fancy Train. And there must be a reason.

Maybe it's so I can tell people. Yeah, that's it. I'll quit school and make a bunch of signs and maybe set up shop next to that scary guy who does the yelling at the Times Square station. Also I probably should have a gimmick, like I won't pluck my eyebrows until I see Fancy Train again.

It will be a lonely road from here on out. Now I will be the crazy person being interviewed for those documentaries. And nobody will believe me.

Where was it going? Where did it come from? Did the teenagers making out on the bench next to me even notice?

I guess when you walk the lonely road you have lots of questions. But the lonely road isn't so bad, really. Maybe I'll run into Bigfoot.