What I'm loving Wednesday

Linked up at This Kind of Love

I'm loving that my sister Courtney will be here this weekend! I like to think it's just because she hasn't seen me since Thanksgiving and is just dying to see me, but I think the First Thaw Festival and the Avett Brothers probably have something to do with it. I'm also loving that the festival is this weekend, too.

I'm loving the new site Made This/Love This. It's a DIY collective that showcases different projects where everyone can post the finish product when they're done. I've already tackled the first project, a super easy T-shirt scarf (I opted for a tank top instead). Directions are on the site, but be warned – you'll start looking at everything with hungry, snip-happy eyes.

I'm loving blogging, as silly as that feels to say. I feel like blog material has just been coursing through my veins lately, and I've been getting a lot of positive feedback from readers (all eight of you). I love getting to write exactly what I'm feeling whenever the moment presents itself.

Bits and pieces: Crasins; Lifetime and their Prince William and Kate movie; spring colors; Bath and Body Works hand sanitizers; and how nifty would this silent alarm clock be?

Happiness is a clean house

Can you imagine the heartbreak of a little girl when she realizes that snapping her chubby fingers at her strewn out Barbies will not cause them to leap into their designated storage tub à la "Mary Poppins"? Times that by 10 and that's how I feel looking at my house and coming to the same realization. Snapping my fingers will not do the laundry, wash the dishes, clean the bathroom, etc. While Mary Poppins claims to be "practically perfect in every way," I sometimes think she should add liar to that list — but that's just bitter housecleaning Jennifer saying that.

I am a self-proclaimed Type B personality. As Wikipedia so aptly describes, "People with Type B personalities are generally patient, relaxed, easy-going, and at times lacking an overriding sense of urgency." It is that "lacking an overriding sense of urgency" that gets me when it comes to cleaning and really gets my Type A husband whose whole life seems to be one big sense of urgency.

In an attempt to bring harmony to my marriage and cleanliness to my home, I created a cleaning schedule. You may be tempted to call it a "chore chart" like you used to have when you were five and you would get to place a sticker beside Wednesday when you brushed your teeth. But this is no chore chart. Stickers are not involved, sadly, and I no longer get credit for eating a S'more Poptart, which I'm pretty sure I penciled onto my chore chart when I was younger. 

So I put my Type A hat on (which is a very serious-looking and practical black bowler hat, much different from the brightly colored Type B sombrero) and created this two-week calendar of clean. 

This is not a steadfast chart. I don't have to clean the bathroom every other Tuesday or else the world falls into complete and utter disarray. I have a few cushion days to make up for things like Bunco, nights out, or just nights where I just don't want to. 

I'm one week in to my cleaning schedule, and so far so good. The bathroom got pushed back to Friday night (I'm quite the party animal, cleaning on a Friday), but it all got done. If you're scratching your head as to why Saturday is completely dedicated to towels, let me explain. One, the Hannigans go through an unusually high number of towels in a week, and two, I don't want to have to do a whole lot on a Saturday. And dishes are tended to as becomes necessary.

Do you use something like this to keep yourself on top of housework? Or are you Type A enough that it never would come to this? I'm interested to see how others tackle this issue. 

[Side note: I got a new comments system. It shouldn't be a problem for those who have already been commenting, but it'll open it up to others who may not have a Google account. And it'll let me reply to your comments, which I've been aching to do. So go test it out and let me know what you think.]

Off the bookshelf: The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo

While it's slightly counter intuitive, for me, when the weather warms up, I want nothing more than to dive into a pile of books. Wouldn't such an inkling be better suited for cold winters curled up on the couch? I chalk it up to afternoons on the front lawn. Those warm days, taking up a swing and getting the stink eye from couples and their new spring romance while reading a book not assigned in class were some of the best. 

So, in keeping with my spring book fever, I found myself in the Brackett Library's best seller row with The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo tucked under my arm. I had really no idea what the book was about other than the fact there was probably some reptilian body art involved and that a movie version was in the works. And I like to read a book before its film version comes out. It's the purist in me.

The novel, in a nutshell, follows journalist Mikael Blomkvist and the titular character Lisbeth Slander, a computer hacker, as they work to unravel the decades-old murder of a young girl within a prominent, Swedish business family. 

I'm skittish to write a full-on review of the book because I feel like I could get fairly SNL Miley Cyrus about it and claim that it was all "pretty cool," so I'll keep it brief. 

For me, the first few chapters were slow going. You first meet Blomkvist in the midst of a libel lawsuit. The story behind all of that was heavy with business and economic jargon which I didn't quite follow. Once you got into the meat of the novel though and his working to piece together the mystery before him, it got good — really good. Edge of your seat, I'll skip lunch to finish reading, "What do you mean I have to go back to work now?" kind of good. As one more point of reference, it made me sad when my 20 minutes of sitting in the waiting room at the doctor's was over after my allergy shots. I mean, shouldn't I wait until the end of this chapter, just to make sure I don't fall into anaphylactic shock? And what sane wants to voluntarily sit around sick people?

I was so sad when I reached the final page but not nearly as distraught as I was when I found out someone had already checked out the next book in the trilogy, The Girl Who Played With Fire, and I would have to wait patiently until April 5. That is, unless they renew it — which they won't, if they know what's good for them.

I give it a 4 out of 5 stars with so-so hand motion in regard to bad language and a few violent scenes. You know, because my momma reads this.

For those about to honk

To the man with the scraggly teeth and untrimmed beard, to the teenage boy riding with his mother, and to the others — whether you find yourself in the Walmart parking lot or driving down the street in front of my building,

The horn honk is not a viable means of picking up women.

Nothing puts me in a foul mood quite like beginning my day with a startling car horn. I know this is the only way your feeble mind can figure out how to say that you think I'm good looking besides the Tarzan-like, "You pretty. Me like you. Ugh and scratch." But did it ever occur to you that the same way you say "Hey, idiot!" in traffic is a terrible way to say "How you doin'?" too?

Let's pretend for a moment I'm not blissfully married and that they might run a slim, molecule-sized chance. No, I'm not interested in a man that looks like a hobo Santa Claus or a 40-year-old video game aficionado. To the boy in the parking lot of the doctor's office, I'm surely not interested in someone being driven around by his mama with a terrible peach fuzz mustache. And to his mama, why don't you teach the boy some manners instead of defending him with a feeble "It wasn't me; it was him. He thinks you're pretty." Gee, thanks.

So, keep your hands at 10 and 2 and make the world a better place, OK?

What I'm loving Wednesday

Linked up at This Kind of Love

I'm loving this beautiful weather! It's like Arkansas got the memo that it's time for spring, and I'm loving it. Bare legs, open-toed shoes, bright colors — sign me up for a year of this.

I'm loving that Scott won two free, round-trip airline tickets at work yesterday! We can fly to one of 11 U.S. cities. My initial hope was Orlando and Harry Potter World, but I think we're leaning toward Miami as a port for a cruise. Decisions, decisions.

I'm loving that Saturday is the Cassie Jones photography workshop! I'm hoping to learn some new tricks with my camera and really amp up my blog photography. I'm doing this all for you, people.

I'm loving this beautiful tablecloth Scott surprised me with last week. It's worlds better than our previous, drab tan one. He also got me some Cadbury Eggs — because he knows my love language is chocolate.

Bits and pieces: I don't know if I love this, but here's the last scene filmed for the Harry Potter series; Milano cookies; L'Oreal's Target red nail polish; if I could knit, I'd make these cute royal family dolls to cement my royal wedding obsession; Kate Middleton's trench coat (I'd love to be her friend, and she'd let me borrow her coat and I'd help her put stamps on the wedding invitations).

Surviving March Madness

Sweaty palms. Blank stares. Fits of rage followed by fits of elation. Constant scribbling on little mapped out lines.

Yes, your spouse is suffering from March Madness. I'm sorry; there seems to be no cure.

I like basketball as much as the next person. Take me to a game, and I'm a happy girl. I'll even sit and watch it on the couch from time to time, but there's something about being taken hostage by the sounds of whistles blowing and those annoying squeaking tennis shoes for three weeks that I just can't handle. (I hear the sound of those shoes squeaking in my nightmares!)

My first Match Madness with Scott was in our apartment. We had one little TV and not much room to escape basketball without just sitting in the bathroom, which is weird to do for several hours on end. I quickly learned that if my living room is going to be a basketball zone for a few weeks that I needed to stock up on the essentials to keep my sanity and my husband happy.

So, here are my recommendations to all the basketball refugees out there.

1. Find a good book: That's my plan of attack this year. I strolled over to the library a couple of weeks ago and picked up The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo. I put off reading it until now, though, so I'd have plenty to tackle when basketball started up. The book was a good pick as I find myself actually wanting basketball to come on so that I can get back to it.

2. Go on a magazine binge: I start my "magazine fast" in late February, pilling up all the publications I get on the coffee table like a squirrel gathers acorns for the long winter. That way, when tip off hits, I've got a wide array of periodicals to peruse. (You can also take up forced alliteration to entertain yourself during the month.)

3. There's an app for that: I make sure my iPod touch is fully charged and ready to go. In addition to Tweeting "Ugh! More basketball #marchmadness #actualmadness" from the comfort of my own couch, I also have plenty of games at my disposal. Some of my favorites are Monopoly, Jenga, Qrank, Words With Friends, and Angry Birds. You can also learn a new language with MindSnacks. I've got the French version. I haven't passed the number level yet, but I know "zèro" is zero. Progress!

4. Play along: I'll admit. I fill out a bracket, too. It makes watching a game more fun because then you actually have something invested in the outcome. Plus, there are always a bunch of heartbreaking stories of perseverance and determination, and I like to cry when I watch sports, so that's a win for me.

And remember, Monday through Wednesday are basketball-free days. Soak them up as best you can. I make Scott watch "Glee" with me. All's fair in love and basketball.

Happy camper

I don't know what kind of vibe I put out that prompted everyone to reply "What??" when I told them we were going camping this past weekend. So I might prefer air conditioning to sweltering heat and might have brought my flat iron camping. That doesn't mean I can't enjoy the great outdoors. It just means I'll need an electrical outlet and a little time to fix my hair appropriately.

The main reasons we accepted Rusty and Cassie's invitation was because they had a camper, meaning I'd be sleeping indoors. Well, the main reason was because we really like Rusty and Cassie. I'll put the camper second. 

After getting set up, eating dinner and running around Walmart Friday night, we returned to the camper and got ready for bed. The bed Scott and I shared was a little more than a twin bed, and we had to alternate who would sleep on their side and who would get to sleep on their back. The camper wall and I became good friends. 

Saturday morning, we decided to explore the showers the lady who ran the campground claimed to be "very nice and clean." She has a very loose definition of both nice and clean, as the showers were in a glorified shack with no hot water and holes that clearly looked into the men's side. Cassie and I decided warmth trumped clean and retreated. Scott stuck it out. His shrieks could be heard across the campsite.

Please note how the word "hot" is radiating steam. It's a double lie.

Cassie and I did find a shower with hot water in the other bathhouse. It was quite a relief. Once we were all clean, we headed to Blanchard Springs Caverns to tour the cave there. It was beautiful! My picture doesn't do the huge underground cave justice. I can see why Cassie insists on going every time she's there. Our guide really, really loved his job. And while he was hilarious in his hippie caveman ways, you can't fault someone who clearly loves what they do and enjoys every minute of it. I highly recommend visiting the caverns if you ever have the opportunity.

It reminds me of the castle in "The Little Mermaid."

Once above ground, we went into town for lunch and shopping. We stopped at pharmacy/soda shop for dessert. We got to sit at the counter and watch them mix up our milkshakes and coke floats. One of the perks of the place is that, if there's any of your shake left in the metal mixing cup, they give you that, too. Needless to say, we were filled to the brim.

The rest of the time, we ate too much, laughed at Cassie's BLT without the L or the T — plus ketchup ("One of these days, someone's going to say, 'You know what? That is good!'"), the boys unleashed their pyro side around the campfire, we played cards, listened to people "picking and grinning" in the square, watched a little boy show off his dancing "skills," failed to see the super full moon thanks to the clouds, learned how to maneuver in a camper without hitting your head (some, like me, succeeded thanks to the fact I'm pretty low to the ground. Others, like Scott, failed.), saw the most Elvis memorabilia per square foot in the Rainbow Cafe, and became incredibly thankful for hot showers once we arrived home. 

Most importantly, we got to hang out with two very incredible people and laugh the whole weekend. Rusty and Cassie, in the words of our dear friend Greg, "nice to know you." Thanks for the fantastic weekend!

Remembering Momma Gould

From left to right: My mom, Kim; sister, Courtney; great-grandmother, Momma Gould; grandmother, Mimi; and me; Christmas 2009

I am a product of my surroundings. Anything good about me comes from those who loved and covered me, teaching me what they know. I've been blessed to be guided by a loving family and generations who I can look to and hope to mimic. One such inspiration was my great-grandmother, Momma Gould.

In a word, Momma Gould was feisty. She carried with her an infectious energy and joy, as well as an undeniable confidence — never taking no for an answer. A year ago today, she passed away at 93, but she packed those 93 years full of love and laughter.

When she was younger, Momma Gould rode a horse to school. It was rare for students to have that ability, and she always told her story highlighting that fact. However, she would refused to ride sidesaddle, as was expected of girls at the time. No, Momma Gould rode her horse "like the boys do, with one leg on either side," she used to tell my sister and me with a mischievous glint in her eyes. You could tell that she took pride in bucking traditions. She preferred to ride that way, so she did. One day upon her arrival, she spotted a handsome young man across the schoolyard. She leaned over and asked her friend who he was. "Oh, that's Bobby Woods, but he's going steady with someone." But Momma Gould never met a "no" she wouldn't side step and quickly made him her boyfriend and, later on, loving husband.

For her 85th birthday, she did something she'd always wanted to do. This time it wasn't a horse she rode — it was a motorcycle. Upon arriving at a local restaurant for her birthday lunch, she'd noticed several Harley Davidsons in the parking lot. While eating, she casually mentioned how beautiful they were and that she'd always wanted to ride one — making sure it was loud enough to reach the pack of bikers dining a few tables over. One volunteered to drive her up and down the highway in front of the restaurant, and, with Momma Gould on the back holding on tightly, the pair did just that. To commemorate the event, she was gifted a figurine of an old woman on a motorcycle, which she kept in her room in the nursing home; she made sure to tell that story to everyone she met.

My great-grandmother, grandmother, mom and I all share the same middle name, Marie. I used to joke how I could see where I'd be several generations down the line and how frightening that was. Now I hope that with that middle name comes all of the good qualities of the generations before me. I hope to inherit my Momma Gould's spunk, her unquenchable zest for life and love of family.

What I'm loving Wednesday

Linked up at This Kind of Love

I'm loving that we're only two days away from Friday! Scott and I are going camping with our friends Rusty and Cassie this weekend, and I'm pretty excited about it. And while on any given day the words "camping" and "Jennifer" don't mix, Rusty and Cassie have a camper. With electricity. And beds that aren't on the ground. That's my kind of camping. 

I'm loving Zaza's in Little Rock. Scott and I went wandering through the Heights this weekend and decided to pop in for a late lunch. We got the the Perella, and it was delicious (I'm a sucker for parmesan and goat cheese), but the real kicker was the gelato. It was superb. I got half chocolate, half hazelnut (remember the whole Nutella in my pie hole? Yeah, it's an addiction), and Scott got tiramisu. It had little bits of lady fingers (the cookie, not the appendage) in it. Very yummy indeed.

I'm loving this cute little Razorback cookie cutter I picked up this weekend. I'm planning on taking him for a test run next month when we go see the Razorbacks' football spring practice and baseball game for Scott's birthday.

I'm loving The Avett Brothers' album "I and Love and You." I've been playing it a lot lately in preparation for their concert here at Harding in April. One of my favorite songs is "Kick Drum Heart." I love how peppy it is.

I'm loving that Scott begins his very last M.B.A. class on Monday. I cannot wait for him to graduate in May. He's worked so hard for this, and I'm glad to see it paying off! I'm not too keen on being a night class widow anyway.

Bits and pieces: Nothing makes me miss that four inches of hair I chopped off quite like this hairdo; the quiet of working during Spring Break; impromptu lunches with Scott; this sign for which there are no words, except maybe "hello"; and this dress (Emma Pilsbury wore it on "Glee," and if it's good enough for her, it's good enough for me.)

Just as a side note, my crochet shop, Yarn Good Time, is shutting down for the season, but it will open up again in September! I hope to have a few new offerings in the fall. Thanks for your orders and support.

Adventures in kitchen appliances

Or "How I learned to stop being a wimp and love my KitchenAid mixer"

Nutella almond cookies. Go ahead. It's OK to drool. 

As I've noted before, I was fortunate enough to marry someone who can cook better than I, which basically means that he can. Just because I've accepted the fact that my children won't have fond memories of dear old mom sweating over a stove for hours preparing dinner doesn't mean I don't want them to have some food-related memory of me. That's why I like baking. (Kids tend to like cookies and cakes way better than dinner anyway, so momma's going to be their favorite.)

My favorite (and probably best, if I may be so bold) baked goods are my Nutella almond cookies. Basically, any vehicle that can get Nutella into my pie hole is a win in my book. I whipped up a batch on Sunday for an office birthday party this week and decided that it was a good time to tackle one of my greatest culinary hurtles.

The pretty KitchenAid mixer in the corner is intimidating. I mean, anything that the Barefoot Contessa (I like to call her the BFC because we're close like that) uses must be out of my league. I'm more of a "Semi-Homemade with Sandra Lee"-level cook (sans the obligatory cocktail at the end of each show). I was holding fast to my hand-held beaters — just like I'm sticking to my guns about these new fangled electronic reading gizmos. Give me paperback or give me death! (End of rant.)

Hanging onto my hand mixer was tough, though. It's not the most convenient of appliances to use. Standing there for four or five minutes while your sugar and butter cream together seems like an eternity. When I moved on to the standing mixer, I was able to Facebook, dance around the kitchen, and snack on the chocolate chips, only to return to find my sugar, Nutella and butter wonderfully whipped into submission. I could leave them running while I added eggs, vanilla, and whatever else I had handy (or was in the recipe. I'm not throwing pieces of sponge in there or anything).

The other problem with the hand mixer was the mess factor. A neat and orderly cook I am not — something that really bothers my neat and orderly husband. One time, while baking cookies, I set the hand mixer up on its end while I added the eggs. During the balancing process, the on/off switch got bumped, sending batter spinning off the ends of the beaters onto cabinets, the coffee maker, the floor, the fridge ... basically anything and everything in a 10 foot radius. That was fun to clean up.

I walked away from my date with the KitchenAid mixer feeling a sense of accomplishment and relief. I'd tangoed with the mixer and no limbs had been lost in the fray. It was a good day. Now onto my next challenge. Blender, I'm looking at you.

Dancing in the dark

Pull in the driveway, push the button on my garage door opener, wait for it to roll up into an open position, pull in, hit the button again to close.

Flip on the kitchen light, open the freezer, pull out tonight's frozen pizza dinner, preheat the oven.

Turn on the bathroom light, turn on the water and wait for it to get warm, wash my face, turn off the water, turn off the light.

Last night when I got home I went about electrically-powered business as usual. It wasn't until Scott and I walked into the kitchen and noticed the green glowing numbers of the oven were absent that something was off. (Another sign should've been that the kitchen was dark because I have a bad habit of leaving a trail of lights turned on behind me whenever I leave a room.)

At first we decided to wait it out. It wasn't storming and there was no obvious reason for the power to be out, so surely it was a fluke and would be on in a few minutes. After all, there was Arkansas basketball to be watched. After 45 minutes of waiting and dwindling sunlight, we decided that we had to acknowledge our growling stomachs.

The frozen pizza on the counter that had once been waiting on the oven to preheat now found itself outside on the grill. Thankfully we'd just bought charcoal on Saturday.

Another thing I was extremely thankful for were our two little flashlights. Attached to the ribbon of our Christmas presents a couple of years ago, these little guys and a gifted candle were our only light sources. So, thanks to Kim and Floyd! 

We ate our pizza by candlelight while my dad texted Arkansas/Tennessee scores to us. Our minds wandered to the fridge that had just been stocked with fresh groceries 10 minutes before the power went out. It was like a ticking time bomb. How long did we have? Thanks again to Scott's mom, we learned that as long as we didn't open it, we had 10-12 hours before things turned sour — literally. However, being told not to open the fridge is like being told not to think of polar bears. You think of polar bears, and you want to open the fridge. There's a world of wonderful just behind those doors and you can't have it. Narnia could be in there for all you know.

We spent the rest of the evening playing cards with a flashlight hanging from the light-less light fixture, serenaded by sirens from the streets. Between the darkness and the sirens, you would've thought we were in some kind of post-apocalyptic movie. There were probably zombies begging for brains outside our window, but we didn't look.

We were in bed by 8:30 — something I haven't done since "Home Improvement" was still on TV and the end of the show marked bedtime. Luckily it wasn't super cold, but the house was beginning to be a bit chilly, and being covered in blankets sounded like a good place to be — despite the fact I was already wearing leggings, sweatpants, and a hoodie. I'm pretty sure I was out by 9:15. Scott's lamp on his nightstand clicked on at midnight, our cue to make sure the oven wouldn't continue its interrupted preheating from seven hours earlier. 

This morning, I thoroughly enjoyed the fact that when I flipped on the switch in the bathroom — something I'd attempted several times the night before with no luck, even directing my flashlight to the wall to find the useless switch — light accompanied it. I may or may not have flipped on a bunch of others just because I could.

(And, yes, we did sing a lot of Bruce Springsteen's "Dancing in the Dark" last night. Courteney Cox dancing not included.)

What I'm loving Wednesday

I always love when Nicki does her What I'm Loving Wednesday posts, so I thought I'd follow suit today. It's nice to give yourself a mid-week shot in the arm, especially when the past two days seem to have lasted for years.

I'm loving Tuesday night Bunco nights. When I first signed up last year, I rolled my eyes because it sounded like something I'd give my mom grief for. But from the first time we met up, I was hooked — not just because you get an awesome prize even if you lost (which I do a lot). I've loved getting to talk and laugh with 15 lovely ladies every month. Plus, when else do you get to dress up for a tea party?

I'm loving pomegranate green tea. Since I kicked coffee to the curb (really just caffeine in general), I've been searching for an acceptable warm breakfast drink substitute. I feel like I'm doing myself a favor when I drink it because I don't add cream and sugar to it like my coffee and doesn't send me into crazy jitters by 10 a.m.

I'm loving that spring is almost here. I'm not a big fan of winter, and once the excitement of Christmas wears off and we're stuck with two or three more months of it, I have little drive to perk up. Plus, this year I'm armed with my allergy shots, so spring won't be as miserable as it has been in the past.

I'm loving how God is working through difficult circumstances to show his love and how unbelievably powerful prayer is. I hope that I can carry this with me and never pray feeling that it will not change the outcome.

I'm loving the new online version of Harding magazine! (Shameless plug.) Really, though, you should go flip through it (because you can in this new online format). It's so neat to see our hard work in a new format. Fret not, though, the magazine will still pop up in your mailboxes like always. My grandmother loves having it to put on her coffee table. Note: If you're reading this on an iPad (Hi, Kim!), you won't be able to view the magazine because iPads don't support Flash. Sorry.

Bits and pieces: Words with Friends (my username is JenH829), this painfully adorable French girl telling a story, my Bath and Body Works' lavender and chamomile candle, this "UP!" house (in real life!), Cookie Basket lunches, this "Hey Jude" flow chart, and that it's finally Cadbury Egg season!

"Epic" fail

Dear world,

The time has come for me to address a very pressing issue. You've got to stop saying everything is "epic."

I just can't take it anymore. Epic is the new "awesome," a hyperbolic expression about something which is nice but not nearly as nice as you are proclaiming it to be. A taco. Twilight. Something on YouTube. Your shoes. Concert tickets. Diet Coke. These things are not, as you continue to say, "epic."

It's like Inigo Montoya says, "I do not think it means what you think it means."

What does it mean then? Well, gather 'round Aunt Jen, and we'll find out together. To find it in the dictionary, epic is "a long narrative poem telling of a hero's deeds" or "constituting or having to do with or suggestive of a literary epic." The Iliad, War and Peace and even "The Godfather" movies — these things are epic in its rightful definition. You can see where getting "Letters from Juliet" from Netflix in the mail doesn't quiet cover it.

So please, proceed with caution while you throw the word "epic" around. I'm looking at you, Charlie Sheen.

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Searcy living

If you would have told freshman-year Jennifer that she would live in Searcy after graduation, she would've laughed in your face. I guess freshman-year Jennifer was a little rude. But, in all seriousness, my plan was to get that diploma and march right back to Nashville where I was safe and comfortable. I met a boy, though, and they tend to throw a wrench into some plans, no matter how worth it they are.

So here I am, three years on the other side of graduation, and I cannot think of a place I'd rather call "home." Granted, Searcy lacks some things. I'm an hour away from Target, Friday night dinners out revolve around three usual restaurants, and I'm pretty sure I got frostbite in the movie theater. 

But whenever Scott and I bemoan these shortcomings, comparing them to more glamourous places, I say, "I wish we could just pick everyone up and plop them there."

Because what Searcy lacks in stuff, it absolutely makes up in heart. I am surrounded by some of the most caring, servant-hearted people in my day-to-day. A place where, if you're sick, have a baby or lose a family member, you've got dinner lined up for the next month quicker than you can say "casserole;" where whatever heartache you face also breaks the hearts of those around you; and where you are never without a hug, listening ear, word of encouragement or prayer. I am amazed at how God is working and active through his people.

God has been helping me realize all of this lately, especially this week. Whether it's how everyone has rallied around a sick baby boy and his family or in a simple interview for the magazine, I cannot help but be overwhelmed with gratitude for the people I come in contact with.

Is it perfect? No. But it's home. And I'm extremely thankful that I get to say that.

Day 30: My favorite song this time last year

For Valentine's Day last year, Scott gave me "Let It Roll: Songs by George Harrison." It was apparent that someone had been snooping my Amazon wishlist. Or he just knows me really well. Or he knows me well enough to know to snoop my Amazon wishlist. Needless to say, I loved it.

It quickly found its way into my car. Since my morning commute is a measly six minutes, I feel that I've really got to make the one and a half songs I listen to count. I played "My Sweet Lord" at least four times a day — to work, to lunch, back from lunch, and going home — for a solid two months as a result.

And there we have it, the last of the 30 song challenge. I hope I haven't annoyed you with my constant posting to Facebook or awkward walks down middle school memory lane.

Fun fact: The Beatles or a member of the Beatles make up 17% of my 30 songs. 

Day 29: A song from my childhood

Scott likes to play "Name That Artist" with me using iTunes song clips. It's not so much that he enjoys testing musical knowledge but that he loves to see how little I know. A few weeks ago, Scott had iTunes pulled up on his iPad and decided he was going to test me on love songs since it was near Valentine's Day. I definitively (and embarrassingly) dominated the country portion. 

90s country is my specialty. That's all I listened to as a kid. My favorite country music singer was Collin Raye. I would listen to his cassette tape in my Walkman on the bus. When I started dating Scott, his stock increased immensely when I learned that he was from Collin Raye's hometown. What are the odds? Scott doesn't see this as nearly as impressive as I do, but, then again, who's the country music "Name That Artist" champion? Yeah, that's right.

So, a song from my childhood would have to be "That's My Story" by Collin Raye because I just thought this was the coolest song ever.