Mom Pom

This is my mom:



It's her birthday today.

She's 42 years old.



Ok, I lied.

She's 45.



Ok, I lied again.
She's actually quite a bit older than 45. But I won't say how much older. Because if you can't guess her real age, then that's your problem.

Just one of the perks of good vampire genes, I guess.

Happy birthday, Mom. I love you!!

about things and goings-ons (insert clever post title here)

I’ve been waiting for over a year now to celebrate my Swedish Name Day on this here blog, and what do you know? It came and went and I didn’t say a word. Blast. Well, I’ll get it next year.

The truth of the matter is that I’ve just been too freaking busy. It shows, I know. My posts are few and far between (not that anyone cares) and yet my life is offering up so much good blog fodder that it’s driving me crazy. So just please bear with me. This too shall pass … eventually. Maybe in 2012 when the world comes to an end?

To talk a bit about my busyness, I’d like to direct you to MacGregor Literary’s website. Oh yeah. That tween in the family photo on the home page? That’s me. But I’m not a tween. And that’s not my family. They’re my co-workers.

I’m a Literary Agent! And I feel so very blessed to be given this opportunity. So blessed, in fact, that this post about me feeling sad because I’m older than Jay Cutler and have nothing to show for it is suddenly a bit ridiculous. Because Ha! At least I’m on a winning team!!


P.s. My bio pic is way cuter.

Running Fear

The rational and irrational fears I have while running outside:

1. A bug will fly into my mouth (this has not happened, but plenty of bugs have flown into my eye)

2. I will trip and fall in front of someone (this has happened)

3. Dusk will come sooner than anticipated and a guy on a moped will drive onto the grass to talk to me (this has happened)

4. My lung will pop (this has not happened, but it did happen to my friend Kyle whilst he was running uphill)

5. My knees will snap and bend in the opposite direction (this has not happened to anyone I know, but it is horrifying to think about)

6. My keys will fall out of my armband and I won’t realize it (this hasn’t happened, but could)

7. Two children will decide to simultaneously pass me from behind on their bicycles, one on each side (this happened and I was so surprised at seeing the child on my right that I overcompensated and crashed into the child on my left)

8. Children will see me and run into their homes (this has happened)

9. Children will see me and talk to me (this has happened)

10. I will see someone I know (this has happened, both when I’ve been running with my contacts in and when I haven’t).

Thankfully, while running, I have zero fear of dogs. In fact, I welcome them and secretly wish that the ones roaming freely in their yards would follow me so that I could either run for a bit with my hand on their heads (if they’re big enough) (this has happened) or if they’re small enough, stop, pick them up and say, “Let’s find your parents, you poor, poor doggy.” (This has not happened … yet.)

Starch

I usually get pretty jazzed about church potlucks. Mostly because I’m a big fan of casserole and pie and crock pots and stretchy nylon tablecloths and metal folding chairs.

I don’t get to attend many of these sorts of events. The last one I went to was more of a potluck-bomb on my part, if that’s possible. I wasn’t invited and no one knew who I was (and I didn’t know who they were) but my roommate said that it would be ok if we went (even though they weren’t expecting her to show up either) and so we did.

And it was good. But it was also strange. Very strange.

I have found when you venture out into the Indiana countryside, things get weird.

In their defense, it wasn’t really a potluck. It was more of a monthly church dinner. But still. I got up to where the food was being served and saw that they were topping huge servings of mashed potatoes with chicken noodles and then placing a hamburger bun on the side.

As in starch on starch with a side of starch.

When I asked for them to hold off on the delicious store-bought hamburger bun and to put my noodles on the side, separate from my potatoes, they looked at me like I was crazy.

Me. The crazy one.

So I’m not really sure what I was expecting when Tad and I attended a potluck yesterday at our church (which also happens to reside in the Indiana countryside). All I remember was looking down the long line of crock pots and seeing that at least four of them held that noodle chicken concoction, while a large platter held a pyramid of hamburger buns.

There weren’t any mashed potatoes, though. I’ll give them that.

*Jokes aside, I had a good time and was able to avoid the chicken noodle stuff. There was this Buffalo Chicken Macaroni and Cheese dish that was to die for.

And I suppose I can’t really complain about the food when I was the one who brought an expired apple pie that I had picked up from the sales rack at Wal-Mart.

Oh yeah, I’m bad.