Monday miscellany

Hello, Monday.

I don't have a clever title or purpose for this post, but here are a few things I've been drawn to lately.

1. I graduate with my master's in December, so I've been planning for the most important part of this academic achievement: what I'm going to wear. Winter graduation has thrown me for a loop, wondering if bare legs are completely out of the question or how funny tights would look along with my regalia. I love this Anthropologie dress and think it could be a cute contender, but it's definitely out of my price range. Textbooks trumped the graduation outfit budget, so I'm still searching. Any suggestions for what would look good on its own but also under this.

2. Like everyone else on Pinterest, fall makes me want to bust out the crockpot. I love having the crockpot fairies cooking dinner while I'm at work, and chicken chili sounds like the way to go, too. That's definitely going on next week's dinner menu.

3. "Royals" by Lorde is everywhere right now, but I'm also addicted to "400 Lux." The whole album is good. It's worth a listen. I linked it below, just for you!

4. These brown booties may have found their way into a shipment from DSW to my house. I had been wanting a pair since Hannah's post on booties. I have a black pair that get lots of wear to work in the cooler months, but I thought a brown pair would be a nice to have. I typically wear my booties with skirts, but I'm going to bust out of my comfort zone with these and try them with jeans because, you know, I'm crazy like that.

5. The weather also influences my hobbies, and I've picked up my crochet hook again this month. I was making Preston a newsboy cap similar to this one, but when I went to try it on him, I'd made it too long/tall, so it looks more like MTV veejay Sway's hat (pictured below) than a cap. Since Preston doesn't have dreads (yet. If we keep avoiding a haircut, he might get close.), he really doesn't need a Sway hat. And when I mess up, I tend to give up. I've got to motivate myself to unravel the bottom third and start again.

6. Fancy sweatshirts. While it might sound contradictory, they are one of my favorite fall trends. There are days where I hate to get dressed because it's cold and I just want to be a bum. In a fancy sweatshirt, I can look cute on the outside but feel like a grumpy bum on the inside. Win!

Here, kitty kitty

While eating dinner last night, Preston and I got an unexpected visitor in the form of a skinny, stray kitten. She camped out on our deck, locking onto us as the people who could help her, and her pitiful meow was almost as heartbreaking as how poorly she looked.

Now, I'm not a pet person — which is to say that I also dropkick babies and spit on the American flag. To not be a pet person is almost that reviled, but over the years I've grown comfortable in the fact that having a pet just isn't my cup of tea, the same way some people don't want to have kids or hate chocolate. (What kind of weirdo hates chocolate, though?)

Part of it is that I'm allergic to anything with fur (as well as exceptionally hairy men), and the other part is that I just don't get it. I don't understand that deep pet love. My parents have a cat, and I lived with her as the family pet for years, but she's just OK with me and I'm just OK with her.

But with that sad face looking back at me and seeing how enamored Preston was with her, the cat quickly weaseled her way into my cold, black heart. I couldn't help but think of her as somebody's sad, lonely baby. So I decided to feed it, which is the number one thing you shouldn't do if you have any hopes of an animal vacating the premises, but I couldn't help it.

I rummaged through the pantry for a rogue can of tuna only to come up empty handed. The only thing I found of the preprepared meat variety was a hotdog, so I cut it up, put it on a paper plate, and slid it out on the deck, which was hard to do with a kid who wanted outside and a cat who wanted in, but everyone stayed on their designated side of the door.

The local animal shelter was closed, as was Animal Control. I knew that letting her sleep in the garage would get me in trouble with Scott, who is equally anti-pet and even more anti-pet-urine-in-our-garage. So she stayed on the deck, and I named her Clementine. (Naming an animal is the number two thing you shouldn't do if you have any hopes of it vacating the premises, but I couldn't help it.) I figured the cat needed a name bigger than she is. And Preston has happy to wave at her, tap on the glass, and say "Awww!" whenever she came by. (Yeah, letting your kid fall for the animal is the number three thing you shouldn't do.)

So, until the animal shelter opens at 1 p.m., Clementine will still be hanging out on our deck, because she was still there at breakfast this morning and ate the hotdog leftovers I gave her. Hopefully with the help of the animal shelter she'll find a good home and this isn't the story of how we got our first pet.

Preston catch-up: 16 months

Since its been a little while since I shared what Preston's up to these days, I thought today would be a good catch up/chance to show off his latest Cassie pictures. You know, that whole two birds/one stone thing.

This boy is growing by leaps and bounds, although, on the outside, it looks like his hair is doing most of the growing. I had planned on his first haircut about a month ago but chickened out last minute. I just can see the baby curls go yet, so I'll just continue to correct people when they say how cute "she" is or ask "her" name while he's wearing a blue shirt with cars and sucking on a paci that says "Boy Oh Boy!" Context clues, people.

He's got eight teeth now and shows them off when we ask "Where are your teeth?" He also sticks out his tongue when you ask where it is and points to his nose, ears, hair and belly button when prompted. However, if you ask where his eyes are, he points (and by points, I mean pokes) yours.

He is talking a lot more, saying his usual "mama" and "dada," says, "uh-huh" and "nuh-uh" when asked questions, but he's gotten really good at "no." No is his jam. He also says "buh-bye," "Suh-size!" (surprise) when he turns the corner or peeks around the couch, "Guh-ees" for Bubble Guppies, and all the words you say when you do something you're not supposed to ("uh-oh," "oops," "oh no," etc.). He uses those last ones a lot.

He loves to tickle and be tickled, scare and be scared, which makes me wonder if he's my kid at all because I hate to be on the receiving end of either of those. He has the silliest personality and squeals in a high-pitched voice when he's being goofy or wants to make us laugh.

While he does like to get into what he's not supposed to, he is the sweetest, cuddliest little guy. He gives the biggest, slobberiest kisses and best hugs with little pats on the back. Whenever Scott is gone for the week traveling, Preston seems attune to the fact that I need a little extra help and a little extra patience to get it things taken care of on my own, and he's just a little sweeter and a little cuddlier, and that makes all the difference.

This boy.

He's never fails to win me over more. Every stage I think, "This is my favorite stage," but I really think this one is my favorite, but it's only because this is where we are now. We love him so much, and he makes our little family more joyous by being part of it.

Freedom from worry

"I don't want him to develop my fears," I told Scott as we were sitting outside with Preston; we were enjoying the slightly fall evening, and Preston was chucking rocks in the flowerbed. This was said as I was simultaneously checking the the flowerbed for spiders ahead of Preston, telling him to "wait until Momma knows it's clean."

"Yeah, then don't do that," Scott replied.

OK. Good point.

But how do I keep from doing that? I remember being a child and rolling in the grass and walking along the top of the monkey bars and hurtling myself out of a swing at the peak of its path. I did this without fear of spiders or injury or falling. My biggest fears where the imaginary ones — the Boogieman under my bed or the police sketch of the Unabomber.

There was a time a couple of years ago where I couldn't go to sleep for fear that I would die in the middle of the night. This fear gradually built up over time, and my anxiety won over many battles to the point where I would have a panic attack most nights. My childhood Boogieman fear was replaced with a sudden, suffocating worry about my own mortality. It was miserable.

Thankfully that is in the past, but it doesn't mean that I'm still not a huge worrier, whether it's about my family, work or school; big things like my faith, middle of the road things like Preston still not eating finger foods, or small things like what shoes are the best for a fledging walker.

In our class at church on Sunday, we were talking about how a lot of our worries are based on things that aren't real. A lot of those worries are unfounded. I had no major health problem that would cause me to die in the middle of the night, and a lot of the things I stress about will get done or ultimately resolve themselves. I want to give Preston that same feeling of freedom I had when jumping out of the swing and not have him anxious about spiders in the flowerbed. Heck, I want that feeling of freedom, too!

I think about that when I read that Jesus calls us to be like little children. Preston is unaware of little made up worries. Instead he trusts that I'm there and going to take care of him. I'm a reassuring presence nearby, so he is blissful and happy in whatever he is doing. I know that God is there, watching over me, so why should I worry when I have His reassuring presence nearby? He's offering me that same, simple happiness.

God is always teaching me something new through Preston — how I should be and the love that He feels for me. It's a humbling responsibility to be given and an amazing blessing to see every day.

Kendi Everyday

If Atlantic-Pacific is my imaginary closet, then Kendi's is my real one. She is my longest running favorite blogger, and I like her because she wears things I could actually wear, only does it better. She dresses up shorts and dresses down heels. Sure, she might wear heels in more casual situations than I, but don't we all wish we wore heels more and were a little more glam overall? (Don't misread that as "glam overalls;" it's not the same thing.*)

I love her fun with patterns and color and how all-around put together she looks. She is a more realistic inspiration for me than some of the other style bloggers out there. I bought my brown boots because Kendi had them. She's the only blogger who's driven me to make a purchase. That's power right there!

*In the 6th grade, I had a pair of Gap black velvet overalls that I wore with a long sleeve white T-shirt with a rhinestone-embleshed snowflake on it. I guess you could say those were "glam" overalls — or the tragic mistake of youth.

(All photos via kendieveryday.com.)

Shopping suggestions

When I have a little extra jingle in my pockets (which is rare, but does happen on occasion), I tend to dart for my top three shopping destinations: Loft, Anthropologie and J.Crew. Now, seeing that I have some birthday cash to spend, I find myself wondering what else is out there. It's not that I'm unhappy with the others, but maybe it's time to branch out a little.

So, enlighten me. What stores should I check out? What are your go-to places to shop?

I'm all ears!

N*Sync and Oreos

Justin. Timberlake.

That one name has elicited the same amount of excitement from me for almost 16 years. Although, back in the day, I was more of a Backstreet Boys girl, N*Sync was still on high rotation in my house in 1997. After Sunday night's (entirely too brief) N*Sync reunion, I found myself looking back on my own evening with Justin, JC, Joey, Lance and Chris.

I don't remember the year (or maybe I do, but I am preserving my age as not to embarrass myself for being "too old" to have all this happen to me), but my parents, showing the full extent of their love, had gotten tickets to see N*Sync in concert in Nashville. I say they showed the full extent of their love because I can't imagine my parents were too excited about an evening with squealing girls and paying TicketMaster surcharges. And this was back in the day when you had to go to a TicketMaster booth to buy tickets (ours was at Kroger). So Mom actually waited in line to buy them.

My sister and I were so excited; I even helped her color a poster board-sized "I Heart Chris" sign. (She always liked the odd ones.) The day of the concert, we were jumping up and down in anticipation. We had our N*Sync T-shirts on and vocal chords ready for four hours of "squeeee!!!!! — plus we'd watched our "N*Sync N*Concert" VHS tape several times. All this pre-concert excitement manifested itself in a weird way for me, causing me to eat nearly an entire package of Double Stuf Oreos. (Alas, to have that metabolism again.) It royally screwed up my appetite though, and I only ate a bite or two of dinner before we headed out to the concert.

Giddy and giggly, my sister and I entered the arena packed full of equally eager tweens and their begrudging parent chaperones. The walls were covered with posters and T-shirts of the boys in various stages of squeaky-clean boy band seduction, retailing for the same price as your average two-bed, one-bath home. The parents waiting in line for one of those looked even more begrudging.

Once we got to our seats, the yellow, blue and purple lights swirled around the stage located on the floor of the arena. When the lights went down, the screams went up, but it was just the opening act — Tatyana Ali (the little sister from "Fresh Prince of Bel Air") trying her hand at being a second-rate, Disney-powered pop star. Throughout her performance, I could tell something wasn't quite right, my stomach churning and not with boy band excitement.

I sat down in my seat, breathing slowly to ease my stomach. And then I got that feeling. They say when it's love, you know. Same goes for when you're about to be sick.

And I knew.

I tapped my mom and frantically explained the situation. She rushed me out to find the nearest bathroom, which was right outside where our seats were, but the line was out the door. I think she could tell how little time we had left by how wide my eyes had gotten because she quickly grabbed my head and stuck it through the flap door of the nearest garbage can. There, I proceeded to revisit that pack of Oreos and regret the afternoon's binge. A janitor was also taking that moment to empty his dustpan into the trashcan's other side, but my mom was able to stop him from dumping all of the contents onto my head.

Pale faced and dusty headed, my mom and I found the first aid station, and she explained to the attendant what had happened, hoping they had some Pepto or something to help my stomach. Instead, he gave me a barf bag. So, Mom and I returned to our seats, and she explained the events of the lobby to Dad and Courtney while we waited for N*Sync to take the stage.

My nausea kept me from standing once they did, and I watched the concert play out on the jumbotron overhead. I couldn't help but think that I could've done the same thing at home — watch an N*Synce concert on TV. Dad wouldn't let me use the barf bag during the concert; he had me save it for the ride home (He wasn't being mean. He was just being daddy and worrying about the interior of his car). So, when the sickness hit again, Mom and I dashed back out the lobby. This time she pushed me to the front of the bathroom line, shouting, "She's going to be sick!" You've never seen children pulled away quicker and crowds part so fast.

I don't remember much else from the concert; I guess it wasn't as eventful as literally tossing my cookies, but I do remember the ride home as my sister stared at me from her seat waiting to see if I would blow again. It's become a running family joke, how I don't eat Oreos and couldn't contain my N*Sync excitement, receiving one of those clever family titles like "That Time Jennifer Threw up at an N*Sync Concert."

Looking back on that, it made me thankful to enjoy the musical stylings of JT from my own home with  the self control maturity brings, having not eaten and entire package of Oreos.