7 hours and counting...

...til bed time. Seriously.


That ain't how I done raised you

Dallas just said, "I don't want no nap, Mom".

I was so glad the only witness was my Mom, who has to love us.


This post is half-petty-and-rude, half-grateful-and-sappy

So I was just stalking people I haven't seen in years on Facebook. Shut up, you know you do it too.

Ran across some pictures of a family much larger than mine living in what looked identical to the nasty dorm I lived in my freshman year at BYU.

Made me very grateful for the flawed but more-than-adequate townhome I complain about all too often.

I will appreciate you when I get home tonight, house.

That's all.


Allow me to be cliche and predictable, mmmmmkay?

I am also pretty lucky to call this mine:

Yesterday, he disappeared with the munchkin and came home with a tiny messenger carrying the loveliest of roses:

Then we had a beautiful night out on the town.

And now he is in the other room scrubbing my shower... I know, right? Sorry. He's taken.


Good. So good.

How lucky am I to call this mine?

So very lucky.

Now I need to go squeeze his naked bum.

Happy Friday, cyber-friends!



Hi, my name is Jana and I hate animals.

Pass judgement now. Tell me I'm heartless. Maybe it's true.

Sometimes I try. Mostly out of guilt and concern that I am a terrible person. I am generally kind to my parents dog when I am at their house. I don't say mean things (out loud at least) when I go to other people's houses and their pets annoy me. Once, when I was pregnant with Dallas, I even asked Clint if we could get a puppy. Thankfully, he said no.

I just don't love things that smell, even right after they have bathed. I don't like things that jump on me when I am jogging through the neighborhood. I don't like things that come running toward me yapping when I walk out my front door.

And today I REALLY don't like things that cover my front lawn in poop (nor do I like the owners who allow them to do it). Am I seriously going to have to go out there and shovel someone else's pets excrements? No thanks.

Pretty sure I'm done trying to reform. I just hate animals.


Sunday night

Sundays are wonderful. Healing.

Sunday nights are the worst invention in the history of the world. Damaging.

Once upon a time I taught a dance class full of hellacious 7 year olds that brought me to tears on a weekly basis. I hated Thursdays then. Starting Tuesday night I would get depressed and whine to Clint that it was "almost Thursday".

I do the same thing on the weekend. Instead of enjoying it, I start dreading Monday on Saturday night. The worst.

I need help.



My goal, most days, is to quit working and stay home with Dallas. Most days, when I am dropping him off before work or struggling to keep him entertained on the afternoons he comes to the office with me, home sounds like heaven. I love my job, but I love my sanity more.

Today (my day off), I have been home most of the day and I feel like this:Only worse. Hideous. Exhausted. Frumpy. You get the gist.

It terrifies me. All of my friends who are stay-at-home moms seem to remember to shower daily and always stay put together, but I'm not sure I have it in me... at least not based on today.

So, Clint, enjoy my smell, my clothes, my shoes, and my make-up while they last. I am afraid they may start collecting dust in a year or two...


My subconscious hates me

You know those dreams that just rattle you and make you never want to sleep again? I had one last night.

It involved the worst thing that I could possibly imagine. When I first woke up I wanted to slap my husband across the face. Instead, I spooned him and made him promise it would never ever ever happen in real life. He made me feel better. He told me he loved me.

I am scared for tonight. Yuck.