Writing

All the Things I Just Can't Wait For

Sometimes, I worry that I sound too disappointed when I talk about having a boy. As I've written before, my disappointment is not really "this is a disappointment" and more "that was not what I expected." I'm less disappointed, actually, and more sad. When my friend from college, Bek, was visiting, I managed to convey just why I wanted a little girl so bad: I love my mom. That's it, pure and simple. I love my mom; I talk to hear at least once a day by text and visit her as much as I can. I love our relationship. I love that when I was 14 and just about to go into high school, she took me shopping and told me, in no uncertain terms, that I was beautiful and would always be successful because I was smart and that I would really enjoy high school. (That last bit was wishful thinking for both of us.) I love going to Portland with her, running errands, looking through old photos. I love my mom. And I wanted a little girl so I could have the same kind of relationship, because the relationship between mothers and daughters is vastly different from that between mothers and sons. 

I realize now, after a lot of time having passed between finding out little Forrest's gender and now, that that kind of expectation can be really damaging. By trying to force a certain kind of relationship on my child and I, I would undoubtedly be disappointed over and over again. I don't know what Forrest will be like and, even if he was a girl, I have no idea if we would connect and bond the exact same way my mother and I do. 

Thanks to the relationship between my mother and I, I know exactly how to be a great mother to a daughter: I know the things I want to say and the things I don't want to say; I know what to do, how to act, how to talk. What I don't know is how to be a mother to a son because, well, that's just not my experience. 

For now, all I can do is focus on the things I'm excited to do with Forrest and hope that he enjoys them to... and that I learn, somewhere along the way, how to be the best mommy I can be. 

Here's a short list of all the things Forrest can be assured I will drag him to: 

  1. Disneyland. Thanks to my friend, Meghan, I have a set of Mickey Mouse ears for him already. Several people have asked me what I'll do if Forrest doesn't like Disneyland. But really, does anyone not like Disneyland? It all depends on your experience. And I'm going to make sure he has the best time. Mainly because we'll go in the off season. 
  2. Halloweentown. Did you know the classic Disney Channel Original Halloweentown was filmed in St. Helens, Oregon? And did you know that every year they recreate the set of the movie in St. Helens, Oregon? Did you know I grew up obsessed with Halloweentown and did not know this fact until just two days ago? Did you know that literally nothing will stop me from dragging Forrest there next year and maybe this year?  
  3. Countless posed portrait shoots. Gotta capture the cute... while forcing him to wear a tiny suit. 
  4. The Newport Aquarium. And I will make him take a picture with the shark jaw, of course. 
  5. The High Desert Museum. One of my favorite places around Bend, I don't think I've ever heard anyone talk about it. It's not as exciting as an aquarium or drive through safari, but I loved visiting as a kid and teenager. They have foxes, owls, and more, plus a replica of a central Oregon pioneer town. It's a mix of natural history and Oregon history, all wrapped up in one. 
  6. A million different pumpkin patches. You will love Fall, Forrest. You will love it!

An Ode to Amazon & the Weirdest Stuff I've Ordered

On Amazon Prime Day, a day that will live in infamy for its hilariously bad deals (it really was like the clearance section at TJ Maxx), I ordered a highchair and bra extenders. In terms of Amazon purchases, these aren't all together the weirdest things to order: I got the highchair of my choice for Forrest for $70 cheaper than usual (and $90 cheaper than Target) and I got bra extenders because, well, you know. 

It got me thinking about when I started ordering from Amazon and what I ordered... and what I've ordered over the years. 

I'm probably a bit of a strange bird in terms of my generation: I wasn't big into online shopping until probably 2010 or 2011. I never trusted online deals or any particular websites and in retrospect, this is probably why I was so good at not spending all my money immediately when I was younger (although I was very good at that early on). 

However, once I got into the swing of things on Amazon, I really went for it. Here's a run down. 

2008

In my first Amazon order ever, I purchased a workbook and laboratory manual to accompany my Deutsch: Na klar! An Introductory Germany Course textbook. Obviously, I was prepped to study German. Hilariously, the workbook I received also featured the teacher's answer section in the back, which I used because I'm not dumb and I'm a bit lazy when it comes to workbooks. 

2009

A few months later, I ordered over $200 worth of books, including Walt Whitman, Herman Melville, and Young LoniganI remember this term of my school career and I remember it well, because I was really tired of reading old white guy literature by the end of it. Thankfully, I also ordered a copy of Incidents in the Life of a Slave Girl to break up the monotony. 

2010

Another year, another $200+ on books. This was the year I got really into sociology, obviously. A sample of the books I read include A New Look at Black Families, How Does it Feel to be a Problem, and the Rich Get Rich and the Poor Get PrisonAs a side note, I'm currently rereading How Does it Feel to be a Problem and it's so good; it's only $10. Buy it. 

2011

This was the year I started to really get into Amazon. I ordered my last bundle of school books (sample: Shannon: A Poem of the Lewis and Clark Expedition), but I placed five other orders of non-school books and other weirdo stuff, including my camera. A link no longer exists for it, but I also ordered a bunch of bulk camera lens wipes. 

2012

I am not a night shopper and I don't usually make impulse decisions. But in my two paltry Amazon orders of 2012, I made two intensely impulsive decisions. On one of Danny's visits home, I bought Katamari Damacy for his Playstation 3. This game is essentially a game version of taking acid and flying to Tokyo, then trying to navigate your way around mid-trip. I also ordered the stupid expensive Lord of the Rings extended edition blu-rays because, duh, Danny and I needed them.

2013

2013 was the year I got Amazon Prime and it made a huge impact on my life. I ordered a planner that I literally have no recollection of using, a really horrible novel that I read on my honeymoon, books about emotional eating, and a copy of this awful movie for Danny

2014

In 2014, I hit my Amazon stride. Up until 2014, I'd been placing between 2 and 6 orders on Amazon. This year, I upped the ante and placed a total of 15 orders. It's almost embarrassing. This was also the year I started clawing my way out of the deep, dark depression that had encompassed my life in 2013 and early 2014, and in some ways, my purchases mirror that. 

I ordered the Venture Bros, a bunch of Kong toys for Remus, 21 Jump Street, TWO of these jump drives (Danny knows why), and a ton of Quest bars. Between these seemingly normal-if-disparate things, I ordered a ton of phone cases, a case for my Kindle, what feels like waaaay too many Kindle books, and a lot of chevron print stuff. 

2015

Don't judge me: in the first 7 months of 2015, I've placed more orders than I did for 2014. I don't leave my house anymore, guys! I'm a bloated, miserable, whiny, pregnant mess. What can I say? 

I've ordered Tummy Drops that made me sicker, Mama Butter which smells good but does nothing, tiny baby glasses,  this weird movie that is apparently part of a series, an embarrassing amount of scrapbooking supplies*, and stuff for my baby shower. I also ordered vitamin B6, prenatal vitamins (which I ended up trading for gummies from Target), at least 20 Kindle books, and another heap of iPhone covers. What can I say, I'm a collector for those iPhone covers. 

*If you're looking for cheap scrapbooking stuff, seriously check Amazon before going to a physical store. 


In many ways, tracing my Amazon purchases is like tracing my life. Everything in my world revolved around school for a long time. Post-school, it was cameras, GRE study books, and the occasional movie. In the year(s), I was depressed it was movies, weird video games, books to help with my depression (that didn't help), and gifts. In the past few years, I've ordered gifts, things that revolve around my hobbies (scrapbooking, reading, planners), things that revolve around my unending obsession with my body and its size (weight loss books, more books by Geneen Roth, a Fitbit, Quest bars), and alas, baby stuff. Enough baby stuff to build a tiny mountain. 

I can trace the crests and valleys of my life, the highs and lows, the classes I loved and hated, the months where I most wanted to curl into a ball and disappear. It's strange what an online purchase history can reveal--and what it can make me feel. 

My Eyebrows & Me: On Growing Up, Growing Out, & Giving Up

Has over-plucking your eyebrows ever really been in? 

When I was a young tween and started reading magazines like Seventeen and TeenVogue, the in eyebrow seemed to be the heavily plucked, but still plus, brow with a heavy, intense arm. Not bushy by any means, but not over-plucked. Every few years, a new celebrity with intense brows would emerge and teen magazines would encourage some kind of "au-natural" brow look, but it never seemed to really catch on. Even now, in the days of Cara Delevingne, the plucked, arched, filled, and gelled into place brow is in. 

The first time I plucked my eyebrows, I cried. I've always had thick, very dark eyebrows, two little caterpillars plopped right above my eyes. I hated them when I was younger. Mostly, I just wanted to avoid any kind of unibrow situation, which is what lead to me, at the age of 13, stealing an old pair of my mom's tweezers (sorry, mom) and sitting on my bathroom counter, alternatively crying at the fact that I didn't know what to do and the shockingly horrible pain of plucking teeny, tiny hairs out of my face. 

The very first thing I did, was pluck each eyebrow a little too far past the bridge of my nose. We all make this mistake and it is one I have continued to struggle with in the past 13 years of brow plucking. Throughout the rest of middle school and high school, I would painstakingly pluck between my brows and under them, essentially just cleaning up what was already a decent brow shape. 

As time passed, magazines suggested to me that I was supposed to be undertaking some kind of... shaping effort. I should be thinning my brows, or getting a good arch, or something. I didn't get it. Other magazine tutorials suggested that I needed some kind of teeny brush and scissors set to trim the brow hairs. I have always been nervous about messing too much with the things on my face that I can't change. Just as I can't change my face shape or my chubby cheekbones or my blotchy skin, I can't do a lot about my eyebrows, at least from my perspective. Jet black, thick, and lush: those are my eyebrows. 

I ignored the advice to dye them a light shade (terrifying), trim them (equally terrifying), and/or wax them off and just pencil them on (thank goodness). I undertook a serious effort to begin shaping my brows, plucking a good bit from underneath them to thin them out just a little bit (or that's what I told myself). 

This is when I boarded the eyebrow struggle bus and never really got off of it. Since then, I have struggled to make my eyebrows even or even look remotely the same. I stare at them in the mirror. Is it my imagination? Am I crazy? Or do they just not match? I shortened them. I over-plucked one and covered it with my bangs until I could salvage it. I would vow to not pluck for two months, only to find myself, a week later, tweezers in hand, getting rid of all the teeny, tiny baby hairs that I hated. 

This continued on for a while until senior year, when my poor eyebrows were so plucked beyond belief (not over-plucked, not really, just tortured) that I didn't really get stray baby hairs anymore. I left them alone mostly, plucking when I had to, but otherwise ignoring them and pretending that my eyebrows looked fine, just fine, not severe or anything. 

Post-college, my eyebrows had returned to a somewhat decent shape, forgiving the mistakes of my high-spirited youth. I started plucking again, carefully and deliberately, not making any attempts to change what was already there. 

Then, overnight it seemed, eyebrows were in. Your eyebrows had to be "on fleek" (what does it mean?); you need an eyebrow pencil, eyebrow powder, a special concealer brush. You need to pluck and trim and have a perfect arch and stare into cameras looking like a strangely realistic version of Maleficent. My eyebrows couldn't just be simple and clean anymore. I needed to do things with them on a daily basis. 

I couldn't deny the truth: my eyebrows had suffered some mistreatment over the years. I'd plucked in places that were unnecessary and ignored places that desperately needed assistance. I'd never trimmed my eyebrows in my life, something that most people agree is a good idea, if only for keeping your eyebrows in place all day. 

I decided to put down the tweezers and back away, seriously, for a few months. Partly, this was spurred on by being pregnant; my skin is sensitive enough in the best of times, but during pregnancy, every plucked hair was essentially like stabbing myself in the face. It hurt worse than it ever had before and left my skin puffy, red, and itchy. Plucking would have to wait. 

In the past few months, my eyebrows have successfully grown back to the way they looked pre-plucking. They are decidedly ok and just how I remember them: jet black, thick, and pretty lush. I'm lucky to have good hair and good eyebrows, so there is not much to complain about. They have almost no natural arch and essentially look like cartoon eyebrows you would draw on a stick figure. They are decidedly OK, even if they drive me a little nuts. 

Everyday, I fill in any less-lush spots with an eyebrow pencil from NYX and I brush them into place with a teeny, tiny brush. That seems to do as far as eyebrow maintenance is concerned. It's really not as if I was spending hours on plucking my eyebrows every week, but it's surprising how changing one part in your routine seems to free up time for other things (like coating myself in layers of Burt's Bee Mama Butter). 

I recently entertained the notion of going to an Eyebrow Professional and having my eyebrows done. Having someone else fret over putting an arch in these bad boys and worry about if they are too far apart or don't match. I quickly decided that was a no-go: it would require upkeep. I'd either have to go back or start the process of trying to do it myself all over again (a prospect that, given my current situation, seems a bit daunting).

Even if I haven't embraced my short legs, chubby thighs, or round face, I've managed to embrace my eyebrows. And that's at least one step in the right direction. 

5 Reasons to Start Keeping a Journal Today

I started keeping journals not long after I started reading the Amelia series of books by Marissa Moss. (If you love 1990s style websites, do yourself a favor and definitely click that link!) I can basically judge a person's character depending on if they read the Amelia book popularized by American Girl Magazine in the late 90s and early 00s. If you haven't read them, I take pity on you, but you need to get on Amazon and start ordering. Trust me on that one. 

I have storage containers full of journals. Journals upon journals upon journals. At least 100 of them. At least. I was not very good at keeping things in order and I flitted between notebooks and diaries based on which one was prettiest or newest. Some are half empty. As I got older, they became more ornate; in  high school, I all about filling my notebooks with intricate pencil drawings, printed photos from the internet, and collages. In college, I was a straight writer: no frills, no fuss. By my senior year, I was drawing intricate dates, writing long entries, including random lists (ala Colonel Gentleman from the Venture Bros, embarrassingly enough), pictures, ticket stubs, and more. Part-scrapbook, part journal, I hit the journal sweet spot. 

I've continued my journal habit for about 16 years, if I guess that I started legitimately writing journals at 10 or 11. That's pretty impressive. I'm not an "everyday" kind of journal writer. I often forget or write about things that happened weeks ago. In general, my journal entries have always been more about my feelings than about what I strictly did that day or recounting conversations. I collect things: lists of books, sticky notes, general lists, disorder, whatever. I like my journals to feel as messy and disorganized as my life. 

As much as I love journaling, I've always resented those "journal your way to happiness!!" blog posts. Journaling can definitely help get rid of negative or harmful emotions, but it's not a cure all. That's for sure. If journaling really allowed you to realize your greatest dreams with simply writing about it, I would be a world famous author who was 6'1" and looked like Kendall Jenner by now. 

There are lots of valid reasons to keep a journal. Here are five: 

1. People who write down things they are thankful for are happier. 

Ok, this is a proven fact: if you write down a few things that were good about your day, or that you are thankful for from your day, you'll become a happier person. Basically, researchers did a study where they split a group in half; one half wrote down five positive things from their day and the other half wrote down five negative things from their day. It was a journal experiment and the results were that the group who wrote down positive things were happier people at the end of the study. Not too shabby, huh? If you're looking to find little ways to improve your life, writing down a list of things you are thankful for or positive events from your day (even on a rotten, horrible, no-good day) can be a good first step. 

2. It's fun to look back on your past self and laugh (or cry). 

Some of my best, funniest writing happened when I was 16. Why? Because my journals from my sophomore and junior years of high school are hilariously melodramatic. They're so boring, but looking back makes me appreciate how I somehow managed to be intelligent and really stupid at the same time. I'm sure this will continue to be a theme as I get older. Someday, when I'm 50, I'll look back my blog posts and journals and think, "What is wrong with you?" 

3. It's relaxing. 

I don't buy into the "journaling will make you so happy" mumbo-jumbo, but man... decorating a journal page and writing even just a paragraph can be a hugely relaxing activity after a long day of work. Sometimes, I find myself feeling on edge and cranky, and I slowly realize that what I really, really need is 45 minutes to myself to doodle, decorate, and journal. 

4. It can improve your memory. 

Everyday, I write a few of the same lists: things I need to do; things I've done; and things I've learned. As I write those daily lists, I find that I am better able to remember everything I have to do and everything I've already done. And I retain information better. Research has shown that list-makers (those list obsessed amongst us) have better memories, probably because physically writing information down (not typing it!) aids in memory retention. 

5. You create a record for your family and children. 

Ok, it doesn't matter if you have kids right now or not. But by keeping journals, you keep somewhat of a record of your life for your children, grandchildren, and distant relatives. How cool is that? Have you ever gotten a chance to read a great-great-grandfather's journals or ledgers before? Isn't it fun? I hope to leave something more than a Facebook page behind for future generations, which is part of why I keep journals. 

What Do You Eat for Dinner?

I recently read an article about at-home meal kits, like Blue Apron and Plate. The idea behind these kits is to provide families and individuals with the ingredients necessary to try new meals. Why? Because the average American family eats out about 18 times a month and otherwise, they cycle through about 10 meals that they cook consistently over and over again. 

That fact--that the average family cycles through about 10 meals that they always cook--made me think about what my meal staples are. When the going gets rough and I don't feel like cooking, what do I make? 

  1. Spaghetti. I would say that some form of spaghetti or pasta is on everyone's list of "go-to meals." It might be spaghetti with red sauce (like me) or alfredo or lasagna or something like that, but pasta is on nearly everyone's list in one form of another. 
  2. Salmon with rice & sweet potatoes. This is a pretty standard protein+carb+veggie dish that I make all the time... and I'm sure others do. 
  3. Barbecue chicken sandwiches with coleslaw. This is one of Danny and I's absolute favorite summer meals that we can make a variation of throughout the year thanks to my crockpot. However, after getting pregnant, I couldn't handle shredded chicken so we hadn't enjoyed it for a while. 
  4. Tacos or burritos. Another very standard staple. I use fat free refried beans and ground beef to make a filling that's great for tacos, burritos, salads, etc. 
  5. Pizza/calzone. I make a pretty awesome pizza dough (it's very easy), so I make pizza or calzone at least once a week or so. It's a great way to get the pizza fix without buying a pizza. This way, I can make it a little healthier. 
  6. Hamburgers with box mac & cheese. This is probably the unhealthiest thing in my rotation, but I just love that orange box mac & cheese. 
  7. Grilled cheese & soup. Soups are usually stew; chili; veggie; or potato. Usually homemade, but occasionally I buy potato soup. 
  8. Breakfast for dinner. Pancakes or waffles, eggs, and bacon is my usual go-to for a quick and easy dinner. But if I feel like getting crazy, I will sometimes make biscuits and sausage gravy or some kind of fancy omelette. 

That's it. I can't even think of 10! I have 8 meals I usually make for Danny and I. I can think of some I make a few times a year, like rouladen and colcannon or flautas, but aren't "staples" quite the way these ones are. 

Writing these down made me realize how much I need to add variety to our dinners. (Full disclosure: from February to May, I think I cooked a real dinner twice. And that was because other people were coming over.) I have so many cookbooks that I never use. Maybe it's time to put them to use...

What are your go-to meals? Can you think of 10? 

On Pregnancy & Style

Maybe you know (and then, maybe you don't), I used to be pretty into fashion. I had a very specific style; I took outfit photos; I maintained a fashion blog. I was into it the way some people are into baking. I curated my wardrobe; I mixed and matched; I kept a notebook full of outfit ideas; I wrote down at least three outfit combinations before I bought a new item. I was dedicated. 

And then, one day, it stopped. At first, I stopped liking how I looked in outfit photos, but I kept dressing up everyday because I enjoyed it and I had the clothes. As time passed, my body changed and my carefully selected wardrobe started to not fit quite right. More time passed and everything fit even less. 

I ended up in a deep rut where my wardrobe made me deeply unhappy (but the thought of getting rid of anything literally felt painful). I put everything in boxes and replaced it with, essentially, sweaters, leggings, and flowy tops. I didn't feel stylish, but I felt I could at least come across as cute or passable most days. 

Then I got pregnant. 

Pregnancy makes you treat, and look at, your body in a completely different way. No longer is that pizza on a Friday night just sustaining you; a good portion of it is being siphoned into a tiny human being that is growing bones, a brain, and organs. No matter what you do, your body is going to change and it's going to be very obvious to other people (even if they don't know you're pregnant). 

I will never be one to be preachy about treating your body like a temple. Truly, your temple is what you chose it to be: that could mean it's a salad bar or it could mean it's a rave. Who knows? It's your body/temple/whatever. And I don't think pregnancy really changes that (except in the case of drinking and smoking). I will fully admit to demanding Taco Bell at least once a week, sometimes more. I will also fully admit that some days all I drink is Diet Pepsi (I'm so sorry about the aspartame, Forrest). To a certain extent, pregnancy is such a stressful time otherwise that to try and stop yourself from craving the things you want when you're ravenously hungry is just another building block of being miserable. No one likes the mean pregnant lady, that's for sure. 

All I'm saying is: being pregnant changes how you view your body, and yet, there is no stopping or changing it. No amount of salads or sweet potatoes or kale is going to stop your body shape from changing, your waist from thickening, your abdominal muscles from separating to accommodate your fancy, improved uterus. 

Since getting pregnant, I have thought a lot about clothes. From the very start, you know your body is going to undergo a monumental shift, but you don't really know how or when. The knowledge is there, but the important part is the details and that's what really matters. You try to prepare the best way you can. For me, this meant making a truly bizarre decision to try not to buy maternity clothes. This didn't work, obviously, because I'm wearing maternity pants right now

A little less than 3 weeks ago, all my shirts were suddenly tight in a place where they hadn't been before (that is, across the belly). My pants could no longer button (but, brilliantly, still fit everywhere else). Most important, I could wear my leggings, but the cutting in of the waistband was torture. I had to do something. 

I bought maternity jeans and maternity leggings. I bought a maternity dress. I bought a pair of somewhat dorky maternity cargo pants. I bought extra long tank tops at Target for summer.

The unifying factor of all of these decisions? I bought them, ultimately, out of desperation for something to wear that wasn't my uncomfortable leggings. I didn't buy them necessarily for max cuteness or because they fit my style. In fact, they really don't. 

But part of that desperation was the desire to look better. It's true: I could wear sweatpants and baggy t-shirts for 9 months and call it good (and considering my workplace, this is entirely possible). But I started to realize if I dressed nice everyday (maybe not stylish, maybe not perfectly) I would feel a lot better about the fact that I was slowly becoming more spherical. If nothing else, if I looked pulled together, I would feel less like people were judging me (because my baby bump only really looks like a baby bump if you know I'm pregnant). 

Personal style is a tricky subject to begin with. Some people have an effortless style that they fall into without having to do much work for it--there is no curation for them, no hours of trying on items. Some people are on the opposite spectrum, never quite achieving the look they want and never really knowing where to start. Pregnancy can make things more difficult, with different sizes and larger price tags, for both sides of that spectrum. 

I actually started a Pinterest board to give myself ideas when I feel like pulling a WFH and wearing my Batman onesie the whole day. (As an aside, I love the bloggers who start doing "How to Dress for Pregnancy!" pins at like 8 weeks with their perfectly flat stomachs. Just wait, guys. Just wait.)

Mostly though, while I work my way through pregnancy, I want to try to improve my self-image to be the best it can be--baby bump and all. 

Give Me All Your Breakfast Foods: Or, Why We Shouldn't Be Afraid to Try New Things

My mom would probably be the first to lament my hatred of breakfast as a child. I distinctly remember going through a phase where all I would eat was chocolate chip Costco muffins--but I only ate them 1) microwaved and 2) upside down. Oh and 3) I only ate the bottom half, never the top because the texture freaked me out. No, I don't know what was wrong with me.

I distinctly remember tipping the top parts of Costco muffins into the trashcan in my family's kitchen, the thunk of it against the garbage bag, then carrying my plate to the sink. What a waste. 

Other weird things I ate for breakfast included burnt toast (something I still have an affinity for) and mini-bagels microwaved with slices of American cheese inside (something I would still eat today if it didn't fill me with shame). I would eat pancakes, but only with butter, no syrup. I would eat scrambled eggs only in a sandwich with toast, never on their own. I didn't like bacon or sausage. I liked cinnamon rolls, but, like giant Costco muffins, that's not really a balanced breakfast. I ate Eggo waffles, but like pancakes, only with butter. I only liked dry cereal and usually only Cheerios or fruity, sugar-coated cereals--but I didn't like eating them for breakfast.

I was a breakfast weirdo, an anomaly in breakfast-obsessed America. In general, I just hated breakfast. I never felt hungry in the mornings and none of the food appealed to me. I went through most of middle school and high school never eating breakfast--not because I didn't have time, but usually because I didn't like any of the foods available to me. 

It wasn't until my sophomore year when I took a walking/jogging class in the accelerated 6-week term that I started eating breakfast consistently. This was also when I started to get really weird about logging, or writing down, everything I ate, a habit that continues to haunt me (I write, as a reminder on my phone chirps so I remember to log my lunch into LoseIt! so I can track my protein intake). After jogging a mile or more, I knew I had to eat breakfast or I would slowly transform into a werewolf throughout my Shakespearean literature class. Just kidding, but seriously: I would get cranky. 

While I recognized my need to eat breakfast, I still didn't necessarily like breakfast foods. At least, not until Danny came to live with me, exactly three years ago. 

Danny is a breakfast eater, especially on the weekends. When he moved in, I would make breakfasts on the weekends and that's when I started to enjoy them. 

I'm not sure when the switch happened. I can't exactly pinpoint when I started to appreciate pancakes or waffles or eggs-sans-toast, but it happened. Something just changed. I even started to like bacon and sausage. 

Being a lifelong picky eater, it's always weird how one day something you always hated becomes something you don't really mind. Like red onion: I've always avoided raw red onion, but six months ago, I ate a sandwich with raw red onion on it and... I didn't die. It tasted good. Why am I so difficult with food? 

I do remember the first day I tried a fried egg. I've never been a big egg eater--and to be completely honest, I don't like eating eggs plain, period--and I'd always rejected fried eggs. I'd learned to make them for Danny, but I never ate them myself. However, when I was between jobs last year, I convinced myself that trying new things would be good for me. So I ate a fried egg... and I loved it. 

Obvious statement alert: tastes change. Things I once thought were disgusting, I now love (and I'm sure being pregnant isn't helping this) and things I once loved, I now find revolting. When I was 14, I redecorated my room to feature orange and teal flowers (I loved orange obsessively at this age). The idea of having an orange and teal room these days sends me into a panic. How did I sleep with orange curtains, orange bedding, and teal accents? Just as my taste in decor has changed, so has my actual, literal taste. 

I think too often picky eaters (like myself) are terrified to try things that feature foods they've always disliked... even if they don't really remember why they started disliking that food. They (and not just "they", but "we" to include me) are afraid to simply try a new thing. All it took for me to start enjoying, and eating, breakfast was to try it, to try different foods, from fried eggs to bacon to pancakes with syrup. It sounds basic as all hell, but to the picky eater, it can be monumentally hard. 

You've probably clued into the fact, by now, that I'm not just talking about picky eaters needing to try new things. It's just the best metaphor available, because lots of people are picky eaters. Picky eaters often spend their time trying to figure out how to avoid the foods they don't like and are unwilling to try again. They're terrified of having a bad experience. 

But if I had been unwilling to try breakfast (waaaay back in June 2012) when Danny came to live with me, I would have never experienced the joy of lazy weekend breakfasts. And what kind of life would that be? 

All I'm saying is, trying something new every once and while, with no schedule or no motivation to change, can be a really, really positive thing. 

On Scrapbooking With Less

I love scrapbooking blogs. 

In fact, I would say they are one of my favorite niche blogs to read. Over the past six months, as I've moved away from fashion and beauty blogging, I've followed more and more scrapbooking and organizing blogs and Instagram accounts. Maybe it's the baby, or maybe it's that I'm returning to my first favorite hobby. But either way, I've gotten into scrapbooking again for the first time in a long time. 

However, there seems to be an overwhelming theme to most scrapbooking blogs (and organizing blogs, now that I think about it). What's that theme? Acquiring stuff

Funny enough, this is one of the things that made me a little, well, exhausted with fashion blogs and then beauty blogs. The constant acquiring of new things: new tops and skirts and shorts and dresses and belts and purses; new foundations, powders, blushes, bronzers, lipsticks, blushes, eyeshadows, palettes, and nail polishes. It gets exhausting to even think about keeping up with the rate at which some bloggers just seem to acquire. Some stuff might come from sponsors, but it still seems like the bulk of what bloggers write about is... stuff they bought with their hard earned cash. And if you add up the totals at the end of the day, the numbers aren't pretty. 

One beauty blogger that I follow spend about $500 in one week. In one week on random dupe purchases, multiples of products she already owned, and other random beauty supplies. She admitted in a video to owning over 50 bottles of lotion, but she'd still bought three new tubs of Body Shop body cream. She also admitted to owning an endless supply of lip scrubs and lip balms, but had bought five more of both in the same week. She just wanted to review them, she said, for us, her viewers and readers. But did she really? Or was the desire more for the product? 

There is nothing wrong with acquiring things. My thought is if you like something and use it, you should buy it. But I've started to get very wary (and this might be because I'm an adult with bills to pay, who simply can't afford to drop the equivalent of a mortgage payment on lotion that I already own) of bloggers that seem to just spend, spend, spend. Bloggers can definitely make good money from blogging--but they can't make that much money. 

It seems like a new way to showcase, and excuse, a shopping addiction. It also seems like a weird competition: who can review the newest thing first? Who can have the most products in the most pristine condition (because really when you have 20 different blushes, you can always photograph one looking pretty and new)? 

That's why I stopped reading a lot of beauty and fashion bloggers. 

I didn't expect to see the same kind of frivolous spending among scrapbooking bloggers, but I was wrong. At first, I didn't notice: as I scrolled through my Instagram feed, I ooohed and aaahed over the meticulously decorated and scrapped planners, the gorgeous Project Life pages, the books, the washi tape, the stickers. Then, I started to notice something. I started to keep count. 

A popular trend among scrapbooking blogs is planners. Yes, planners. Those pre-dated little books you can buy in a variety of shapes, sizes, orientations with different timelines and what have you. Super popular among scrapbookers. From Filofaxes to Erin Condren planners, some people do some amazing things with them. 

But as I started to do a counting experiment: in one Instagram account of one scrapbooking blogger, I counted 20 different planners. She owns 20 different planners... and scrapbooks in each. and. every. single. one. In her mind, each planners serves a different purpose: this one records her appointments; this one, she journals about her day (this is separate from her scrapbook journal and her visual journal and her Project Life scrapbook and... and...); this one, she uses just when she's camping; this one, for her kids; this one, to keep track of her expenses; this one, for another thing; this one, just because she likes it. It's exhausting. How can she keep up? I barely have time to write a paragraph in my journal!

That wasn't the end of it either: there seemed to be an endless list of things she'd bought "just to try." Scrapbooking subscription boxes. Piles of Midori folders. Different Filofaxes. Every single Project Life kit available. Sticker printers. Label makers. The Cricut machine. It wasn't just planners. It was everything. And then, finding different and creative ways to organize everything, which of course included buying more stuff: Ikea carts, Container store desks and shelves, and more.  

I had unwittingly stumbled into the same kind of niche as before: the niche of purchasing new. Instead of focusing on scrapbooking and showing the pieces of art you can create in the simple space of a journal or planner, bloggers instead get caught in the trap of having something new to show off, to demonstrate, to review.

The fun thing about scrapbooking is that you can use basically anything to do it: pictures, washi tape, notebook paper, Sharpies, pressed flowers, leaves. You don't need to buy 100 different kinds of stickers. You don't need 27 different rolls of washi tape. You don't need all this stuff. In trying to hard to document life, you spend so much time doing it that it almost feels like you don't have much of a life to document. The most fun part of scrapbooking is doing it after a long period of not being able to. Those weekends of binge scrapbooking are so fun and relaxing! 

And I felt like a lot of the blogs and Instagram accounts I had followed had lost that. They'd lost the simplicity and fun of scrapbooking from, well, scraps. That's why it's called scrapbooking! While I oohed and aahed over the pieces they created, something about them started to feel hollow. While they are creative and beautiful, they also seem a bit empty, a bit lacking. There is something overly processed about them, even though they're handmade. It's probably because I realize now that they aren't created just to create; they're created for the process of showing, of demonstrating, of reviewing another purchase. And that's a bit sad, isn't it? 

I love Project Life and Simple Stories packs. I love them because they reduce a lot of the stuff you need and you can easily mix and match pieces and cards. I don't feel the need to buy a bunch of new packs when I want to start a new project. I ordered $20 worth of new stuff for my baby scrapbook (only because I'd simply run out of things for it). I keep my scrapbooking hoard to a minimum (and I try to keep it minimally organized). I'm proud of my scrapbooking hobby and my abilities in it (it's one of the simplest art forms to get into), but I worry about falling into the trap of acquisition, the siren call of wanting to try the newest planner, the newest pens, the new stickers or buttons or whatever. 

I've set rules for myself. As much as I want to scrapbook in planners (because they do really look cool), something about that just seems to... time consuming. I only buy new pieces when I start a new album--and I only start a new album for a major life event. I have a scrapbook for my Disney vacation, my wedding, my honeymoon, the baby. I want to start a general (big) scrapbook for everyday bits and pieces: weekend trips, barbecues, documenting my pregnancy. Otherwise, I'll do a little scrapbooking in my journal, but nothing extreme, nothing too hardcore. I'll do listing challenges and make albums out of leftovers and bits and pieces. I won't go overboard. I won't order 30 different planners. 

Ultimately, this is a sign of the problems with niche blogging. Ultimately, the niches begin to revolve more and more around competition, over who has what and who has reviewed what (and who reviewed it first). It becomes about acquisition. It doesn't matter the niche. It seems to happen everywhere. But that doesn't mean you should give in to it.