Daddy's girl. Momma's baby.

One of the sweetest times of day is around 8:00 in the morning. Brandon hasn't left for work, Peggy has just arrived, and Dylan is still snuggly and smiling. The day is new, the only imminent decision to be made is what coffee cream flavor to use...everyone is content.

Dylan usually snuggles next to Brandon or me as we laugh, share and start the day. Total bliss.

Daddy's girl this morning.

Cowgirl chic.

As threatened, I went on a shopping trip yesterday and actually had fun gearing up for the western formal. I live in Nashville for God's sake. It's about time I own a pair of boots (that don't have a 5 inch heel). Here's a peek at the goodies I found.

cowboy formal.

Brandon is sponsoring a realtor award banquet this weekend. I would rather slit my wrists than attend it. I told him as much.
Now, one thing to know about my husband is that he rarely gets upset. He is pretty much emotionally dead inside. So when he got all kinds of pissed off about me not going to this thing with him, I knew better than to engage in a battle. He's a very smart, Harvard-trained attorney and when he wants to argue with me, he usually wins. And it is not pretty. Lots of crying, raised voices and usually ends with me locked in the bathroom.

The theme of this shindig is "cowboy formal". WTF.
I have literally nothing that can pass for western wear. And the one formal dress I own got ripped on New Years Eve.
It's supposed to be fun. Seriously. He said that to me.

So this evening I will be hunting for cowboy boots and a cocktail dress. If I have to suffer through this, I'm going to get a new outfit. And it ain't gonna be cheap. I'll post a pic if I can stomach it.

Fitting In.

Fitting in. Uh. Sometimes I feel like I'm in high school trying to find the friend group that accepts me, loves me, and only talks behind my back occassionally.
I guess we never outgrow that need to be accepted and encouraged.

I was the first (and thus far the only one) of my girlfriends to embark on the terrifying adventure of parenting. Didn't exactly plan it out that way, but life happens. There were a mix of reactions - excitement, support, sympathy, jealousy, and even flat out cold-shoulders. And it was a little surprising who gave me what.

Fast forward 2 years. Most of my friends are great. They tolerate me bringing along the porta-crib to girls nights, usually come to my house for movies & dinner, and try to help me by planning enough in advance for me to line up a sitter. But I feel alienated from many of them. I get limited emotional support or encouragement. Sure, they think Dylan is adorable. But they don't want to hear about how frustrated I am by the constant tantrums or how exciting it is that she finally pooped on the potty.

And its difficult to watch them really support each other through life's events - break ups, new jobs, marriages, new homes, etc. - while I've seemingly been placed in a "doesn't need anything" box. Regardless of the support or excitement I give each of them, it doesn't seem like much sincere encouragement is given back to me.
Maybe its something I've done or maybe they don't just don't care; I honestly don't know.

I know I'm complaining. And I really am so thankful for my friends; they have saved me from myself countless times. But sometimes, especially lately, I feel like an outsider with most of them. And I'm not sure how to change it. Uh. Fitting in. Does every woman who enters a new phase of life before their friends feel this way?

My Sanity.

Meet Peg. She is the fourth member of our crazy family. Her title is nanny, child whisperer, friend, confidant, marriage counselor... frankly, she keeps me sane.

Peg and I found each other a year ago and she changed my life. She helps me every day, and not just in caretaking the love of my life. She has become a dear friend and a valued sounding board. She is key in keeping this ship afloat.

Amen. Praise Jesus for Peg.

working hard ... or hardly working

A typical day in my high-paying corporate job: showed up at 8. I worked until about 8:45. I then cut my coupons, updated my Facebook page, sent emails to all my girlfriends, went to lunch. . .worked for another hour or so. . .played on Pinterest, made lists of errands and household chores, called my mom and then left at 5. There were periods of insanity - working 60-70 hours/week - but there were always the extended "down times" between.

To some people, dream job. To me, boredom is the devil. I fight with Brandon more. I become obsessive about stupid details. I am a general nutball. Even more so than normal.

So, I changed careers. I now work for a tiny construction company and I don't have time to breathe, much less tweet about the latest smut gossip. I got what I wanted. Boredom is a loooong lost ideal. Now I spend a lot more on groceries and I haven't had a single spare minute to plan my year-long sailing trip, but overall I am happier.

So what is better? The feast or the famine.
I'm sure there is a middle ground. And since Brandon is a total workaholic and will go days without spending any significant amount of time at home, I need to find it for the sake of this family.

How we came to be.

I guess I should give a little background on our "story". Let me step back and introduce myself:

I'm Jenn. 26 years old. I work in Construction. And those who know me are shocked.
I'm married to Brandon. 36 years old (cradle-robber). Real-estate attorney and entrepreneur.
Our daughter is Dylan. Named after Bob Dylan (yeah, I lost that argument). 2 years old. Crazy cute and sassy as hell.

When Brandon and I met it was not love at first sight. I thought he was a big nerd (which he is) and he thought I was young and flighty (which I was). Neither of us was in any hurry to jump into anything serious.

But after a few short months of him "throwing some game" my way, we exchanged a libation-induced New Years Eve kiss that changed our lives.
Apparently he was a darn good kisser. And from that developed a real, honest-to-God relationship. A pretty damn incredible relationship, too.

Fast forward one year and that "can't keep our hands to ourselves" chemistry produced a baby. (who knew.) After a crazy, throw-stilettos-at-the-walls, hormonal 9 months, out popped a little girl that changed our lives all over again.
And now here we are. Loving this crazy life that we almost didn't have.

culinary genius i am not.

So it is hysterical that I'm going to even discuss food as I am not a chef. Regardless of the fact that I demanded a gourmet kitchen when we built our house (it's sooo pretty), I am not using much more than the microwave on a regular basis.

But I want to share a recipe that is time-consuming but otherwise very easy to make. Brandon loves the hell out of it and I like to prepare it when I'm in a domestic mood.

Taco-filled Pasta Shells:

(click here because there is no way I'm typing the entire recipe)