squash and other family dramas

My brother never had to eat squash after the time he "gagged" while eating it at the dinner table. I have never forgiven him for that. Until I was the ripe old age of 14ish, I didn't like squash either (known by my dad as "squish").

But, I must say that I now lurve squash, and we found out today that Birdy likes it too! Now my mom, Birdy, and I can enjoy buttery, cinnamony squash on cold fall nights. It's nice to have a veggie buddy.

rearview perspectives

The older I get, the more I realize I don't really know who I am.

I look inside me, and I still feel like the same person I was when I was little and coloring at the dining room table. I see the same person playing at recess in fifth grade. I see the same person who chose friends who didn't care in middle school. I see the same person who gave her heart to people who didn't see it as a gift in high school. I see someone who is still frantically trying to figure it out, and who keeps hiding when I'm seeking.

The best views sometimes are the ones in our rearview mirror. We can see where we just were, and those glimpses into the past tell us much more about ourselves than those in front of us. Each choice we make is a result of the past, and that makes it even harder to make the best decisions that go against all of who we are and what we've been.

The craziest thing is that I feel the most like Heather when I'm with Birdy. She doesn't know who I was, or my past struggles, the bad decisions. She sees my smiling face and all she feels and sees is love. I think that is the best gift of motherhood. You finally have the chance to change who you are and your life's trajectory with a clean slate. Once and for all, you can be the best person inside of you, because that little person sees you that way. It makes me okay with not knowing myself, because, at last, I'm discovering it right along with her.

chlorine gets my motor going

The smell of a pool reminds me of why I love swimming. It's true that smell brings memories more than anything else. When I smell bleach I think about the first time I qualified for districts, the last swim meet as a senior, my favorite drills, the best workouts, and my good friends.

Is it similar for other sports? If you smell high school gym, do you think of volleyball? Smelling grass makes you think of football?

Whenever think about the start in swimming, I get goosebumps.

When you step up on the blocks, it's LOUD. People are yelling, screaming, cheering. Add the rushing of your blood as your heart pumps frantically, and you have a hard time hearing anything.

As soon as the starter tells you to take your marks, it quiets and you can only hear murmuring.

As soon as you hear the beep (or gun), your mind goes blank until you're in the cool water, which is totally silent.

Before you break the surface, you are in a surreal world. The water feels good, and you can sense your propulsion through the water on your arms and legs. You're in a half world at that point. You can't hear anything but the rushing of water over your ears and are focused entirely on your kick.

Once you break the water, the world gets loud again with the sound of people, water, and your own thoughts telling you to go faster, reach farther, kick harder.

THAT is what I miss about swimming. I miss the coolness, the jitters, the turns and the finish.

If I ever make it to Beijing, I'm swimming in the Water Cube. I don't care how expensive it is; I want to swim in the same water as Natalie Coughlin, Peter van ded Hoogenbam, and Michael Phelps.

is that what I think it is?

I know what you are thinking. You're thinking, "Good sweet sassy molassy! What is that delictable little treat I see?" That, my hungry friend, is a little something called pretzel jello salad. You may not be familiar with it, and that is a mighty shame.

Pretzel jello salad is composed of a pretzel crust bottom, a cream cheese and cool whip creamy middle, and a jello and fruit topping. Traditionally, the top is strawberry jello and strawberries, but I like mine with raspberries and raspberry jello.

I'm currently crafting one for a work pot luck tomorrow, and I'm totally stoked. I know you are jealous, but not all of us can work at WSU's financial aid office. I'm sure your time will come soon.

Hi, my name is Heather B., and I'm an Olympoholic.

Saying I'm addicted is a little bit of an understatement. The summer Olympics is like black tar heroin to me. I can't get enough, my relationships are effected by it, and I will go to any lengths to watch them.

My husband (HA! You're finally mentioned) is an Olympics widow during this time, and he seems to be taking it very well, considering he doesn't care at all about sports like women's soccer, dressage, synchronized diving, or trap shooting.

That's right...I watch it all. My favorites are swimming, diving, track and field, and gymnastics. But if it's on NBC, CNBC, MSNBC, or USA I'm on it like white on rice.

I get a huge adrenaline rush from watching people do well and exceed their expectations. Sometimes, I get a little emotional. You heard me right: sometimes I cry.

So, please know that I'm a little nervy right now since I have to go to work and not watch streaming video or anything. Plus, the time difference is a bitch since I've been staying up so late.

Now...I think some esoteric equestrian event or women's weight lifting is on.

Okay, I mean it this time. Last one.

Best. Weird. Blog. Ever. I would like to know who the muse is?

wait wait...one more

Have you ever actually clicked the "next blog" thing on the top of this page? I clicked it five times and got an Indian girl, an Indian girl, a batik blog, a radio station, and a French lady. Give it a try.

a stark and dormy night

I am a lucky lady--the dorm next door has no power. It's also stormy and has been threatening to be blustery and typhoon-y all day. Sigh.

I've been watching a lot of Sex and the City lately (guilty married woman pleasure), and I have to wonder...is that what single life is really about? If so, I think I missed something. It's a fun thing to visit in the comfort of your own living room, but if I was that crazy single, I think I would shoot myself. I like Miranda best. She's sassy and fun and I like her red hair.

I probably shouldn't blog when I feel so boring.

Did..uh...didja..um..uh...miss me?

We're back! I started work on the 2nd, and Birdy started her daycare in the mornings this past Monday. She's so big! She's rolled over twice for Brandon, but not for me. I did witness her first laugh, and that made me feel quite superior.

The picture on the left was from Eva's Longest Nap to Date. Five hours, man. FIVE. This was when our theory proved true: our baby is a mattress junkie. She sleeps best when on an actual mattress--not those bassinet or portable crib ones. This makes for good snuggles for parents who are feeling lazy and not quite ready to get up and face the day. I don't personally know any parents like that, but I've heard things.

Here's a question for you: do you eat? More specifically, do you eat at work? If so, this blog is for you. My favorite reviewer is Andrew, and his dedication to the Betty Crocker gooey chocolate caramel cake in the name of science is inspiring.

And because you are here and obviously willing to look at anything, I give you:

IKEA is the leading cause of household infedelity

So this week I got the IKEA catalog I ordered so long ago that I forgot about it. Let's cut to the chase.

I love IKEA. When I still lived with my parents, we would get the catalog in mid-June, and I would pore over it and decorate my dream apartment or home. Mainly, I would redecorate my room, and that mainly involved a loft bed and a bunch of candles. Now that I'm an adult, this love has turned into something much more debilitating. Perhaps love isn't a strong enough word. I am infatuated and would do anything for IKEA, especially the catalog.

Now that I have an apartment, and could, in theory, decorate, it's become more of an obsession. I've looked through the entire catalog over 10 times, and take it with me all over. It's pornography for your house. You sit there, and think to yourself, "oh yeah...decorate that for me...no, move the bookshelf over a little more...and then put that sofa here...and those linens look FABULOUS..."

Its really quite pathetic. We are leaving to spend the month with family, which means a 7 hour drive. I wonder how many different apartments I could decorate in that time?