What I Couldn't Say That Night

I've been doing a lot of soul-searching as I draft my next book. I'm a classic over-thinker, but also, as a YA author, I take my job VERY seriously. My intended audience is young women (and men) and that carries a lot of weight. During the day, I shape young minds as a teacher and mom, and in the evening, I get to shape hearts as a writer. It's an incredible feeling, but yeah. I think about it a lot before I set fingers to the keys... 

So let me tell you all a story about how I got started. I’ve worked with kids and teens all of my life. One night, when I was in my early twenties, I co-lead a junior high/senior high girls small group (similar to bible study, but more casual) with a home-schooling mom of teens. Let me start out by saying I love homeschooling moms. This isn’t a reflection on that. I’m just not comfortable saying names even a decade later.

ANYWAY, this mom pulled a fast one on me. I don’t recall the topic, but whatever it was, it WASN’T abortion or premarital sex. But that’s what she chose to talk about. She was prepared. She had pictures and articles and materials and eyes full of thundering damnation and I was…. Not prepared for this.

She lectured and terrified and accused these young girls and Reader, I was FURIOUS. Shaking, sweating, stuttering. Jesus flipping tables in the temple had nothing on me. All I could think was what if one of these girls had an abortion? Or knew someone who’d had an abortion? Or, more likely, had premarital sex? Or wanted to have premarital sex because that is a NORMAL DESIRE for a hormonal human being.

And what if they went home and cried after that night and decided that because of those things, because of those gory photos or those damning articles written by nobody important, Jesus couldn’t want them or love them?

That night, I tried to patch the hole I saw growing in their hearts. I quoted the truth that “God is love” and how the greatest commandment is love, and that no matter what you’ve done in your life, it doesn’t matter because God is grace and mercy and HE STILL WANTS YOU EVEN IF YOU’RE MESSY and I don’t know if a single one heard my voice over the rushing accusations in their ears, but I pray they did.

But more than that, I remember getting into the car that night with my husband (who led the boys group and who was like, YOU TALKED ABOUT WHAT? WE JUST PRAYED AND LISTENED TO SKILLET) and cried. I was so angry, I cried. I felt helpless and hopeless and utterly defeated because like it or not, fear is powerful motivator and those girls were so afraid of themselves and their bodies and their decisions and that was… ugh. My stomach churns even now. I’m crying even now.

Its funny, but I think that’s the night I stopped giving a fuck about hurting the church’s feelings.

I came home and I looked at my piles and piles of Christian fiction scattered around our spare room and I was angry. Yeah, sure, it’s inspirational when a character set in the 1870s can keep her faith and fight temptation because everything about her society and culture (of no one, because she’s alone on the frontier) supports that.

But what about someone in 2008 (or 2018 for that matter)? How does someone keep their faith when they are told that literally everything they do all day is an abomination of God? Cuss when you spill your soda while driving? Sin. Check out a guy when you’re swimming? Sin. Check out a guy when you’re a guy? Sin. Sip a beer at a party? Sin. And all of those sins? Straight to hell. There’s no middle ground. No grace. No Jesus.

Who can live like that? Who wants that kind of belief system in their life?

I’m not a great public speaker, but I can write. And I decided that I was going to write alternative Christian fiction. Of course, I’d never written a book before in my life and writing books is hard, but I was determined to create an option C. Not quite secular, but definitely not inspirational (at least in that way).

It took me a long time to finish something and then I started querying my books to every Christian agency or publisher I could think of. I was met with immediate resistance. Granted, my early efforts were not great, but Christian agents would jump on my queries and then almost immediately reject when they read the full citing, “not a good fit”. I knew what they meant. They didn’t care for my less than pious characters. (if you ever want to feel bad about yourself, pull up a Christian publisher and check out their submission guidelines. Mother Theresa would be rejected)

Then came the book of my heart, a story about a teenage girl whose popular sister drives her car off a cliff on purpose and ends up on life support. The story follows Ramona, the sister left behind, as she tries to piece together what happened to Laney to make her do what she did, all before the machines are turned off. This book took off with agents, but then the rejections rolled in. “I didn’t get the God stuff”, “It’s too much religion”, “This is beautifully written, but I’m not a good fit for this kind of book”.

It broke my heart into pieces. I sent out 90 queries. Had so many requests, but no offers. My CPs talked me down. We discussed removing some of the faith-talk, but I’d used that scene from youth group that I started this entry with… it was pivotal to the story. Pivotal to ME. The church had failed Ramona’s sister and it needed to be said.

So I shelved the book and wrote YOU’D BE MINE, which was far lighter (mostly, heh) than YOU SHOULD BE HERE. I sent it to my CPs who said, “Uh, Erin, you do you, BUT, you probably aren’t going to win any big hitter agents with this. You still have a lot of God in this book.” And I knew that. Annie wears her faith like a second skin. She’s not preachy or cruel, she’s just who she is. And when I was in her head, it came out.

I sat on it. Prayed about it. Cussed about it. Drank wine about. I talked with my husband who shrugged and said, “It’s up to you, but you started writing because you wanted real characters out there and I think you’ll regret it if you take it out and it sells.”

“But what if I leave it in and it never sells?”

“Then you write another one.”

(By the way, that’s the LAST thing an author ever wants to hear. “Just write another one.”)

I removed a single word and queried. The rest you know. YOU’D BE MINE comes out April 2^nd with Wednesday Books/Macmillan and the world can read about Annie and her sloppy faith (amongst other things like kissing and country music and blue jeans and sassy lyrics).

I’ve spent my life sinning. Like constantly. Little sins all day long, big sins, too, if you’re into ranking. But I’ve also lived knowing that God’s grace covers me and his love is everything.

I don’t give a shit if you sin. Or don’t sin. What I care about, so deeply, is that you know that no matter what, no matter who you are, or aren’t, God loves you. And so do I.

And Annie and Ramona and every character that I ever write, would love you too.

How I Became an Agented Author

It’d be easy to not write this blog post because part of me is stupid-scarred from years of rejections and doesn’t want to rehash it publicly. But the thing is, these “How I Got My Agent” posts gave me life as a querying author and it’s only right that I return the favor. Great big fucking circle of the writerly life and all, right?

So, I’ll tuck my pride and do the thing. Warning: this post is long because my journey was long.

Here’s the deal, guys. A lot of you know me. I’ve been around twitter since December of 2014, I think? Which is right about the time I finished my first book.

It wasn’t a very good book. The concept was cool, the characters were some of my best and the dialogue was on point. But the story line was riddled with plot holes and that was just the beginning of the problems. No one had read my book besides my family. I worried a lot about grammar, but then sent it out never even realizing it was single spaced. SINGLE SPACED YOU GUYS.

I hopped on to Writers Digest, took down the first ten names of brand new agents accepting SFF and away they went. My query letter was lengthy, my first pages featured a girl getting ready for school and LOOKING IN THE MIRROR and my chapter titles featured grunge songs from the 90s.

Despite this, I had a few requests. Not many… maybe 4 total in 50 queries? All of them were NO’s. “Nice writing, but not ready.” I can’t tell you stats because I didn’t even keep track of them.

I half-heartedly sought beta readers. I hadn’t even heard of a CP (critique partner) at this point. THAT’S how green I was. I scored a few, but found I did a lot of work for very little in return. I tried to join an online writing community, but that was a lot of the same. Then one day, I just happened across a tweet looking for an MS swap. I jumped into my DMs so fast, you’d think I KNEW this tweet would change my life.

Because it did. It’s how I met Karen McManus and how we ended up reading each other’s terrible trilogies and while the books were NO GOOD, we realized that as writers, we weren’t that bad. So we became clueless CP’s, fumbling around together. There was a lot of “I know they say NOT to start in front of a mirror, BUT…” and “Sure, dystopians are supposedly out of fashion, but MINE’S DIFFERENT…”

Anyways, I wrote another book during nanowrimo just to prove to myself that I could write something besides the ill-fated trilogy. A contemporary fantasy about the daughter of tree spirits. It was cute, likeable, snarky and fun. It got zero love.

Okay, maybe not zero. I think I sent out 20 queries and got back 1 partial request that turned into a rejection.  A pretty traumatic thing happened in my family at the same time, and I just gave up on my happy little tree sprites. Shelved. I wrote the book to prove I could and I did. Moving on.

During this time, I was in and out of hospital waiting rooms and doctor’s offices and dark places in my mind and the idea came to me to write a contemporary YA about the sibling of a popular girl who drives her car off a cliff. It was really sort of autobiographical, as I was (in my youth) a teen who battled with depression and suicidal thoughts. I poured my soul into this book. After just pages, my CPs would write back THIS IS THE BOOK. I didn’t want to think it, but I hoped. Afterall, my guts were inside that book.

I sent it out and the response was quick! Full requests rolled in one after another. My CPs were right! This was it! I entered it into pitch contests and had ten agents ask for a query. I was on fire!

Until I wasn’t. Weeks went by and I’d heard nothing and then the gradual step asides. It wasn’t clicking with agents. It was too religious. They didn’t get the teen’s anger. The dancing was lovely, but the rest….

I gained more CPs and they were lifesavers. They loved the book and they loved me. They wouldn’t let me give up on my dream or the book. They’d entered pitchwars and convinced me to do the same. But, they got in and I didn’t. All of my CP’s were either IN pitchwars or mentors. It was a dark time for this writer. I cried my eyes out and sent out more (revenge) queries. So many queries. I think my final number for this particular book was 86 queries. Let me say that again: Eighty-six.

Barely any requests came through, though. The election was looming in the US and let’s face facts: No one wants to read a sad story when they’re sad. And everyone was/is sad.

Nanowrimo time came again and I decided the best way to beat the blues was to write something new. Something different than I’d ever written before. I’d seen a documentary on the Carter family on Netflix and was amazed to learn that while basically everyone in the world knew who Johnny Cash was, but he was star struck by June Carter and her famous family. THEY were the celebrities to him.

A little seed sprouted in my brain. What if I wrote about country music? What if I wrote a love story? WHAT IF MY FEMALE LEAD WAS THE LEGENDARY ONE? The pitch came first. You guys, I HATE writing pitches and it came first. The concept was born and the book flew out of me from there. I always binge write. Fly by the seat of my pants for two months until the words are all spent. My husband just knows the dishes wont get done and I won’t remember anything he says and I will walk around with random dirty kid socks in my back pocket in public until I’m done with my draft.

I finished it and sent it CPs. They didn’t dare tell me this one was The Book. They knew I’d been burned before. I revised and revised and it was ready to query but I froze. There is this very short period of grace between finishing and querying where you are filled with all sorts of incredible HOPE. It’s this fragile, completely delicate spun sugar sort of time. Once that first rejection rolls in, it’s over. I could live in that time. Seriously. Roll in it forever.

But #pitmad came up again and I’d promised myself I would pitch it. I was about to start a full time sub job at an elementary school and needed to get the queries out before I lost my nerve. So I pitched. I got favorites. Lots of them. I mailed queries, and got requests. Five of them within twenty-four hours. From good agents.

But still, I couldn’t let myself hope again. Eventually I received three very quick R&R’s. All with very different visions. No rejections, but no takers either. My CPs said to keep going. I compiled the agent’s suggestions and on my day off, added 4k of backstory. Then I queried again.

A full request in less than 6 minutes. Okay. Keep going.

I sent two more. And two more. I’d get a quick no, and I’d send two more. Another request and another. My CPs (mostly Annette Christie- biggest cheerleader ever) said QUERY MORE. So I did. I sent out fifteen.

Over the next week, I had 7 more requests. No rejections. WHAT IS HAPPENING.

Then I wait. Another week passes with a very kind and encouraging rejection. Memorial Day comes and I leave for Illinois and tell my family over wine that I’m not sure if I feel hopeful or just burned from the last experience. I get back to Michigan and pack for Boston. I fly out the next morning for Karen McManus’ book debut party. Remember her? How could you forget? We started this crazy journey together. I’m checking my phone on my way out the door to dinner with my other CP, the marvelous Jenny Howe, before the big debut party…. when I see it.

The Email. You know how gmail only shows you a few words? I saw the word LOVED in all caps and started shaking so bad I couldn’t click for more. It was an agent and she wanted to talk to me.

The rest is a whirlwind. We spoke and clicked right away. I nudged all the other agents with my full (and queries) and fielded a few more requests and to my shock, ALL asked to still read. I had more offers and they were beyond gracious and lovely, but in the end I stuck with my first choice. There’s something to be said for the one who fishes you out of the slush and the things she said about my book just STUCK in my brain and wouldn’t let go. Kate McKean offered and I accepted and I won’t be looking back.

I sent 46 queries for YOU’D BE MINE over two months. I received 15 full requests and 3 R&Rs.

I entered every pitch contest under the sun during those three years. The only one I ever got in to was #pg70pit, which will always hold a special place in my heart, even though the rest of the MS was a mess. That said, twitter and twitter contests are where I found my people. In the three years I’ve been doing this, ALL my CPs have found agents. One has a very successful book deal and three are on or about to be on submission. This is real life. It does happen. It takes time, but it happens.

Stick with it, kids. Thanks for all the love and kindness.

Erin

#nogreaterproof

Hi, my name is Erin and I have a phobia of making videos. I can be perfectly eloquent on the page or even in person, but you turn on a camera and I'm a beet-red, stuttering mess.

Therefore, when my church, NorthRock, started this whole #nogreaterproof campaign and asked us to share one minute of recorded testimony of God's work in our lives, I laughed it off. Mike got right to his. Let it be known my husband is not at all camera shy and is a fantastic speaker. I shared his video and called it good enough. Basically a "Ditto to what he said".

But Kyle Gray, a good friend and Pastor at NorthRock was relentless (for like five minutes). I told him I'd jump in the next time with a blog post and he called my bluff. So here we are. Things are about to get real, guys, so buckle up.

What has God done in my life? How has Jesus changed me? What is my life like as a believer in Christ?

This post would be easier if you wanted me to list the ways I haven't been changed, honestly. As a teen I was superficial. A perfectionist. A worrier. An obsessively FAIR person. Balance overwhelmed me. My parent's were split and I constantly felt the need to bridge the gap between them for my younger siblings' sake. In my mind, I imagine this circus seal juggling beach balls in the air for the thundering crowds— just keep them all floating and then smile wide. That was me. Over the years, my family and friends have commented how I suddenly stopped caring as much about being the smartest in school— that I suddenly quit being a brat and aged fourty years overnight. I was my grandmother's granddaughter, they said.

Except my grandmother was an alcoholic for years. I never knew that of course, but now I do.

My point is, I graduated high school a timid, depressed and dark-humored girl. I loved my family and friends desperately but there was nothing they could have done to stop my spiral. Friends, there is a point that is beyond reach for mere mortals. I burned with this kind of self hatred and fierce anger and hurt so far deep down inside underneath layers of fake smiles and baggy sweaters. Parent's worry about their children when they act out and scream for attention. I'm telling you, its much more worrisome when you have a child who hides their grief— internalizes it. I was on a road leading nowhere good, friends.

Then I met Jesus.

Fourteen years later and I'm still sorta timid on screen and that dark humor is still there, though I tend to channel it through my fictional characters. But I'm no longer depressed. I stopped trying to balance everything. I stopped taking responsibility for things outside of my control. I went to college and regained my childhood. I let Jesus be the dad I missed. I let Jesus quiet the voices in my mind that whispered I was doomed to be this way or that because of genetics or history repeating itself. I let Jesus create me anew and mold me into the young woman He knew I was capable of being. I let Jesus be my light. He pulled me out of the dark places in my mind and showed me the world He made for me. He gave me words and love and confidence and peace. So much peace.

Jesus isn't a fix all. I'm so far from perfect, you guys. Remember that post a week or so ago when I told you how I'm currently handling our family crisis with a generous helping of grace and F-bombs?

That's basically my motto for life. I suppose you could say, with Jesus, I've struck a new kind balance.

#NorthRock church is the best, guys. Seriously. I know many of you reading this live too far away to check us out, but if you happen to be in the neighborhood, NorthRock meets every Sunday at 9:30 and 11.

In the middle of the night

I woke up at one am to my little girl coughing. Weirdly, she never woke up... Not even when I gave her cough syrup and water, but anyways... I was AWAKE. Mike was blissfully asleep for the first time in weeks, so I eventually moved myself to the couch so I didn't mess him up.

I'm not usually a middle of the nighter. I fall asleep early and even more so lately. Like 8 o'clock early. Once I'm out, I'm out. Even when I wake up to distribute cough syrup or extra pillows or whatever, I fall right back asleep. Not so last night. My mind was whirring.

I thought, in my stupor, "I should write these things down. This would make for a great blog post." I mean, probably not, now that it's the light of day and I really think about it, but still.

Here they are:

I wonder if there's a home remedy for clogged ears. Alice's ear have been clogged a week, maybe? I should take her to the doc. But what would they do? Prescribe a decongestant? She's not stuffed. A little clogged, but... Totally different things. I should google this.

Peroxide in ears? Is that dangerous? I should google that too.

Not dangerous. I feel like this is something Mike could do. Ear wax squeebs me out.

Slippery underwear: not sleep friendly. Thanks for nothing Target.

Now my undies are probably on inside out. Way to get dressed in the dark, you weirdo.

Is the porch door locked? Patio? Patio or porch? Either way, did Jonah lock it earlier?

What should I make for the first small group Thursday? Energy bites? Is that too healthy?

I need to stop at trader joes for oatmeal.

School of choice for kids? Am I making too big a thing out of this? Should I keep driving them JUST so I can pick their school? Is that enabling them? I never chose my school as a kid.

Wonder is Mrs. Buckholz is still alive. Now that I think of it, it was probably Miss. Unless she got divorced! Whoa.

Probably not. Unless that was why she wore all those Medals For Heaven. Maybe she was overcome with Catholic guilt... teachers, man. They're real people too.

Anyways. You get the idea. I have to go to work now.

What keeps you awake in the middle of the night?

EP

Snapshot of Life Interrupted

So about a month ago, my mom was getting on my case about blogging again. She is like one of five loyal readers I've amassed over the last decade and misses my random posts.

"I can't, Mom, I need to focus on my novel writing. I don't have time (or the creative space) to do both. I tweet. I facebook. Read those."

Bahahaha. I know, RIGHT?!? *shakes head*

I don't have time. Oh, One-Month-Ago Erin, you're HILARIOUS.

A mere week later, maybe even less, our Hahn lives got twisted, curled, flipped-flopped, stomped on and wrung out. For those of you who don't read my fb posts or haven't picked up on my vague-tweeting: My husband, Mike, had a truly epic sledding accident on a truly steep and icy hill and dislocated both knees and tore basically every tendon imaginable in those knees. Turns out, that's a Big Deal and Very Rare. I'll skip over all the gory details because, ew, but suffice it to say, he won't be sledding, or walking or even standing on his own any time soon. And by soon, I mean at minimum two surgeries, months of rehab, a wheel chair, a walker and a commode lift-away. If you are a praying person, please pray for his spirits. He has yet to regain feeling in his feet and they say he might never recover that. It's those nerves, man. They be fickle little guys. But my handsome, extra-capable, outdoorsy husband needs to climb rocks and stand in water and operate chainsaws. He HAS to, it's what makes him glow— it's how he feels God's presence— it's where he finds his joy. (I mean, he loves us too, obviously, but he loves us even more when we're outside.)

This past weekend, we moved across town. We had planned to move anyway, just not for several months. Instead, we gave three days notice and packed up our lives to a place that has zero steps and wide doorways. I was *supposed* to enter my newest MS into a writing contest that day. It's sitting on this very laptop, basically untouched and disregarded right now. I can't sit still long enough to concentrate on my fictional characters. Those who know me, know this is probably the hardest part for me, personally. Those that don't might think I am being shallow. Artists, you know? We're super self-centered. Or rather, we're trapped in our own minds? *shrugs*

I sit at this moment in the waiting room of Mike's physical therapy. We should both be at work right now, but this is more important. Isn't that nutty? MORE IMPORTANT THAN WORK. Like, a month ago, very little was more important that our livelihoods.

Now, practically everything is.

Here's a snapshot of Current Erin: This morning I was making the kid's school lunches and breakfast. Again, we just moved, so I can't find anything in my kitchen on the first or even second try. Also, since we moved, in order to keep the kids in the same school to finish out the year, I am driving them to and from each day, so our timing is new. Once Mike is settled in his chair for the day, he's good. He's a strong and proud man with amazing faith and will. Honestly, he's incredible. He's just not able to help right now (for the record, he's always been a superb partner in parenting. Always.). So add to the kids the occasional patient request from my husband, "Can you please refill my coffee cup?" or "Can you put on my sock?"

I get distracted easily, lemme tell you.

In addition to all of that, our place isn't new. It's nice, but not new. So there are a few quirks that we need to report to maintenance. Such as the strip of laminate on the counter that catches on my sleeve every time I open the fridge and the bottom ledge to the cabinet that pulls off.

This morning, and every morning, Mike puts Jesus Music on the Pandora. We are still breathing by the ultimate, sloppy generous grace of God. There it is. Without Him, I'd be crazy. And not like fun crazy, like certifiable hot mess crazy. So I am flying back and forth between cabinets and counters and cutting boards like a lightening bug stuck in a jar and I'm signing praise music and loving on my Jesus and simultaneously dropping more f-bombs than this third grader I know named Omar (which is a LOT).

My life: Praising Jesus, depending on Jesus, leaning on Jesus and then dropping a sh*t-ton of F bombs.

Sorry, George RR, I'm not ready to commit...

http://insidetv.ew.com/2014/06/03/george-r-r-martin-ice-and-fire-publishing-plan-game-of-thrones/

So I've had LOTS of people recommend reading Mr. George RR Martin's works... LOTS.  And I admit, they seem right up my ally and unlike the rest of the civilized world, I do not have HBO so nothing has been spoiled for me as far as character deaths go (of which, I am told, there are too many to count).

Here is my problem:  I suffer from Post-Traumatic Harry Potter Release Date Stress. Or, if you prefer PTHPRDS.  Its a thing, I swear.  I spent a decade waiting for the releases of JK Rowling's books and movies. The series became a part of my life; the fandom, a friend.  It was all-consuming in a way that might not have been healthy.

I can't bring myself to do that again.

At least on purpose.  Rick Riordan, that sneaky bastard (In the best possible way. I love him. He is my spirit animal.), hooked me with the Percy Jackson books.  I thought I was jumping in at the end, but then he began a whole NEW series and here I am eagerly awaiting/mournfully dreading the NEW end this October.  Years and YEARS later.

So this article, that I linked above, means that for the time being, Mr. Martin and his series is nothing to me.  I get the whole "artistic license" thing.  He's the creator of this world or whatever so he can drag it out as long as he likes... but until he ends it, I am gonna steer clear.  Didn't he take five years between the most recent two books???

At this rate, I will be dead before the series is through.  So will he, for that matter... so that is worrisome.

Nope.  Sorry.  Won't do it.

This is actually happening

I have hit a milestone, my friends.  I spent yesterday afternoon, while Al was napping and Jones was Math-gaming (ie: his version of quiet time), brainstorming plot.  For me, this is a highly technical process that I perfected in my angsty teenaged years of sitting in a comfy chair, blaring emo music (via headphones, nowadays) and scratching out dialogue and random song lyrics in a big notebook.

HIGHLY technical. 

But, Erin, you say, that's just what every teenager does.  Sits alone, being gloomy/willfully misunderstood and listening to alt rock.

Indeed. Forget for a minute that I am thirty... er...thirty one. It works, right?

Back on topic, though, my MILESTONE. I started plotting out the last quarter or so of my story.  You know: where should I end this one and where to start the next one?  Do I resolve or just keep building, building, BUILDING tension towards a cliffhanger?  In making my decisions, I was struck with the startling realization that I am going to FINISH WRITING A BOOK.

And I am terrified.

In all my twenty years of wanting to be an author, in jotting plot bunnies down on scrap paper and jabbing them in random places, only to be found and puzzled over months and years and Major Life Events later, it never actually occurred to me that I could finish something. 

Of course the movies and their soundtracks have played endlessly in my head before falling asleep.  And I've perfected my NPR interview.  But to actually have the end in sight??? 

It is completely daunting. 

I need an agent.  I need to write cover letters.  I need to get rejected 7 million times, so I need to get started RIGHT NOW.

Of course, I still need to finish the book. 

And there are the other two books in the series that I need to be concerned about.

So I should just chill out.  And rest in the knowledge that God already knows how my particular plot plays out and He's written a fantastic story for me full of ups, downs and of course, cliffhangers.

 

Daniel Radcliff not playing a creepy guy???  Count me in.  This looks adorable.

Brad Paisley is a good egg in my book

https://music.yahoo.com/news/brad-paisley-taunts-westboro-baptist-protestors-183002743-rolling-stone.html

So one of my all-time most incredible fan girl stories is of the time that my girl, Meg, and I were chosen for the "hot girl" seats at a Brad Paisley concert.  We were tooling around before the show, sitting on the concrete sidewalk that leads up to the cheapo lawn seats (that we purchased- no shame), when a man came up to us with free passes to the front rows.  According to him, 'Brad likes to take care of his fans' or something along those lines and two young mothers fit the bill.

It was awesome.  We were close enough to touch Brad, if we wanted (we didn't.  it felt creepy) and he put on a fantastic, clean show.  I sang to every song and am pretty sure I might have even cried at a point or two.  In my defense, I was pregnant. 

I think that's why this article struck me.  I saw the selfie that Brad took yesterday and then read up on it this morning.  These Westboro Baptists sure have a lot of time on their hands.

For a group with such high morals, you would hope (and pray) that they would channel that spiritual fervor in to sharing the love of Jesus, rather than spreading fear and pain.

Also, they just seem tacky.

Its been awhile since I posted that its been awhile since I've posted.

Such is the life of a seriously important, on demand person.

Such is my life at times, too.

So here is the thing.  I hate emailing.  I just do. 

I'm not such a fan of calling on the phone either.

That being said, I so understand the whole "facebook is the end of all human to human contact".  And to be perfectly honest, sometimes I hate myself after reading facebook.  I hate that I compare myself to other more-with-it, more successful, skinnier and better moms.  And I hate that I know more about obscure people I've barely spoken with in real life than I do my parents. And I hate, I hate, I HATE political memes. (PLEASE tell me someone out there heard that in Hook's voice???)

SO.

Then I was writing an email (I said I hate it, not that I won't do it) and I got to the "electronic signature" portion where my blog address is located, which I always just delete out of habit and... What?!  What am I DOING?

I.Have.A.Blog!!!

Duh. 

And so here I am.  On my blog.

If you didn't know, I recently moved to a new state.  Michigan.  That's right. Puuuuuure Michigan.  And if you haven't noticed because you are too cool for facebook or you have unfriended me, in which case I doubt you will see this, then I will tell you that I have been posting a LOT about my family in these past few weeks.  This is because we moved hours and hours away from my children's grandparents and aunts and uncles.  Therefore, it is my job, nay, my duty, to keep them well informed in all things Hahn kids.

Sorry for that, if its not your scene. 

My remedy is this:  I will blog about my family and our adventures and whatever else I want and then you can CHOOSE to follow along.  As this is a democratic process, you may choose NOT to follow along.  Either way, I won't judge. But seriously, who wouldn't want to know?

Today, I don't have much to report on my family.  Its Monday.  I did laundry. Four loads, which doesn't seem like a big deal, but when you pay $3 for each, it can be daunting.  Its a stressor I never counted on... which clothing makes the cut?  Will we need these fleece jammie pants this week?  Its like eighty five, so no.  Sorry, fleecies, you are back on the bench.  Maybe next time.

And I am pre-making dinner.  All day long.  There are two reasons for this.  1. My husband commented off handedly to me last week that since I've been working on my book again, I've let the "preparedness" that I am known for go to the wayside.  Puh. 2. Since I no longer work (apart from aforementioned author-ing), I find I need to create my own schedule.  So here is what I have:

7:30 wake up.  Pretend you've been awake longer so when husband comes in to wake you, you can be like "what? I've been awake forever.  Just catching up on current events on my phone.."

8:00 Coffee and quiet time.  I do my bible study and the kids start begging me for second breakfast.

8:02 Cave and make second breakfast and then back to quiet time.

8:45 Distracted quiet time is over and I make my breakfast

9:00 Shower

9:01 Turn on water and then catch my kids trying to get another snack since they think I'm in the shower.  Put away the snack. Get in the shower.

9:30 Start separating laundry while listening to BBC on NPR.  Yes, I really, really do this.

9:45 Laundry round one.

10:45 Start laundry round 2 and snack time (or third breakfast or pre lunch)

11:00 Sort through kids clothes for donations.  I am thinking we might be done with sweaters, finally.

11:45 Laundry round one is folded and sorted away.

12:30  Picnic lunch on floor for kids.

12:45 Laundry round two complete.  Kids help me get it this time.  Complain while I am sorting in the laundry room that they are hungry and wish they hadn't come with so they could have finished their lunch instead.

1:00 Make lunch for me. Leftovers.

1:15 Put away dishes in dishwasher and reload from umpteen meals thus far today.

1:30 Take lettuce out and rinse it for chop salad dinner.  Needs to sit out and dry off, since I don't have a lettuce spinner.

1:45 I've been texting my fellow rad mom, Audrey, all morning and we are hilarious.  This is the point, where I believe, we started talking smack about her neighbor's tree service. Worth noting, I think.

2:00 Bacon for chop salad in oven.

2:02 Before my kids can ask for another snack, they get a warning that rest time is coming.

2:03 They hide.

2:15 I decide to find them and get them into beds. Take bacon out.  Nice and crispy, just how I like it.

2:30 Decide to resurrect the blog.

3:00 Post blog.  Link on fb just so everyone knows and then time to work on book.

4:00 Kids will likely still be asleep.  I will consider waking them, but won't because I am getting more work done with them sleeping.

4:30 Husband home.  He will comment about how nice the house looks and how gorgeous I am in my wrinkly laundry day outfit and how awesome I am at preparing dinner on time, despite my writing.

See?  Very busy day.  I run a VERY tight ship.


What say YOU?  Will you read The Blog?  Are you so over it because I've teased you with consistent posting in the past?  Will The Gilligan finally get them off the island? 

Did you understand that last reference???

Peace out, Boy Scouts.

I must be getting reflective in my old age...

This week an old classmate of mine died.  Its not the first time it's happened, and certainly won't be the last, but it really did something to me.  Maybe because he was only thirty.  Or because it appears to have been some strange medical fluke- as far as I know, he wasn't sick and there wasn't some sort of traumatic accident.  Maybe its because I haven't spoken to him in probably 18 years, and that's the age of a college freshman and I can't believe I am that old. 

I wasn't the only one struck by this, it seems.  Our little catholic school class of 35 kids or so, scattered all over the country, was mobilized by this.  Facebook, these past few days, has been overwhelmed with outdated pictures while we all bemoaned our puffy bangs and stone wash jeans and braces.  Friend requests were sent with reckless, nostalgic abandon. 

It really is an incredible and wonderful thing.  Very healing.  There's even been talk of a middle school reunion.  Wouldn't that be something?  To reunite our close knit class after so many years?

Let me just say: I would love a reunion.  After a few days of this, however, I started to wonder. I read a post from a old classmate who spoke about forgiveness and I had a conversation with another friend whose memories of grade school weren't all shiny and covered with rose colored glasses.  I could relate.  In the mass of names that commented on pictures, there were a few that pierced me.  Just reading the letters gave me a queasy feeling in my stomach.  The insecurity and confusion I felt at twelve was incredibly enough, still there. 

It once more occurred to me that wounds run deep.  Of course, everyone says this.  This isn't a new revelation.  Books and songs, movies and documentaries are all built around this principle.  But what I am just now beginning to wonder about- what never crossed my mind before- is that I think everyone has these wounds.  And I mean everyone.  You may have already known this.  I'm dense and self-absorbed sometimes.  Forgive me.

See, I thought I was one of the Wounded.  One of the select few who was either picked on or maybe just overly sensitive to criticism (which I realized didn't matter, because hurt is hurt is hurt- however it comes about).  But now I am wondering if every single one of us has a bit of pain when they think about that super vulnerable time in our lives.  The popular girl with magically perfect hair. The good looking basketball player with the starter jacket.  The brainy kid who was reading in preschool.  The chubby girl with a strange name.  Whether they were awkward on the play ground or uncomfortable on the bus or were mistreated at home... we all had our heartaches.  And at thirteen, I doubt any of us were emotionally mature enough to cope. 

I'm not proud of this, but a few months ago, I was told off.  As I said, our grade school class was tiny.  Same thirty or so kids for 10 years.  Rules were established, codes were made, inside joke were... inside.  So you can imagine, typical pre adolecent grievances aside, it would be particularly difficult to join our class as an Outsider.  Not only that, but one who had a tough time in public school so their parent's decided a private school may be a better option.  Add to that, a strictly Jewish girl in a strictly catholic school.  I don't recall making fun of this girl, myself.  In fact, I doubt I had it in me.  But, I never stood up for her.  I never defended her or befriended her and I probably joined in the laughter.  I don't remember.  To be perfectly honest, I don't want to.

I recall running into this particular girl in high school on occasion and doing the whole "Hey, how's it going?" thing.  Nothing sincere, but friendly enough to think I did my part in making up for her humiliation.  You know, letting bygones be bygones and all.  Then ten years later, I began to run into her at my work place.  She would come in with her parents and seeing her through older, wiser eyes, I was able to realize that there was something a little off with her.  She would pick on my employees and was very confrontational.  Its difficult to describe, but we all knew something was different and so we took her words in stride.

She never really spoke to me, though.  Always avoided me.  It was awkward because we clearly knew each other.  I wondered how long this would last.  My answer came on a quiet evening at the club.  She strode up to me with her head held high and said "If you would like to apologize for how you treated me in junior high, I will accept it now."

Wow.  I was stunned.  Literally speechless for a full thirty seconds to a minute. My staff were of course up at the desk with me, studiously trying to appear to not be listening.  Bless them.  A thousand retorts spun in my brain ranging from a defensive "I never actually made fun of you" to "where do you get off accosting me at work?" to "what do you know about me?" to "good for you!"  The latter won out.  I apologized.  Not only for me, but for the rest of my class. I was proud of her.  I imagine that she must have been working up to that for a very long time.  In fact, I think she was waiting for me to step up and once she realized I wasn't, she forced the issue. 

Now, I still don't think she should have done it the way she did.  I was at work after all.  And after she got that off her chest, she took the opportunity to tear me down at every encounter after that with backhanded compliments.  But, I am almost thirty and have been very blessed.  I can take it.

In a recent telling of this story to a friend, they confessed that they had tormented her in high school.  Because they, themselves had been tormented in junior high.  They felt responsible for my tormenting at twenty-nine and sincerely apologized.  I accepted, but then realized I needed to apologize to them as well.  You see, I never stood up for them either.  Hurting all around.

The circle of life.

So. I wasn't ONE of the select few.  I was just one among the masses. And despite this, we all survived, it seems.  And that's the point. (I know you were probably wondering. What IS your point, Erin?)  Some of us matured early and got it right in high school... we became those super cool kids who didn't give a sh*t and were loved by everyone.  I met one of those people once.  I am still in awe. Some turned their hurt into anger and took it out on someone else.  I certainly get that.  Its a vicious circle, but it's such a human response.  Others still channeled their pain in to something positive.  I remember being in the snow ball club in high school.  I did it for the free candy and the perk of getting out of gym class, but there were some sincerely caring kids in there who were hoping to change things. I admire them for that; to be so enlightened at fifteen.

In college, it was more common.  My husband and I talk all the time about how college was where we both finally felt like we were able to find our true selves.  It took moving six hours away from everything I knew to REALLY know.  I still have a hard time being back in Illinois sometimes for that very reason.  Sometimes I will drive past my old schools and have fond memories- much like I did on fb this week.  Sometimes I don't.

But, we all did it.  We've all come to terms with our selves, I think.  It doesn't mean that the hurt or insecurities have vanished.  I think it just means that we have enough life behind us to cover up the hurts with good things.  And that's survival.

A year since we decided to get healthy...

Okay.  So this is me last summer.  Nearly one year ago.  Twenty pounds ago.  Mostly around my face, from the looks of this photo.  Now don't get me wrong... its not a terrible picture, nor did I feel like I was overweight, really.  But I definitely felt sluggish and uncomfortable and out of shape and, really, really self conscious about my figure.  I had a hard time chasing after my kids.  I just didn't feel like it. Ever.  Our bonding activities were baking cookies mostly.  We love cookies.  Yum.  Cookies.

Anyways...

Mike and I had a "come to Jesus" talk with ourselves last summer.  We decided that eating dessert every single night probably wasn't the best choice.  We also felt like we were getting lazy about our meals.  Because our dinner time is often a fifteen minute stint between when Mike walks in the door and I walk out (to work), we often needed a quick fix.  Frozen pizzas and mostaccoli and chicken nuggets were pretty commonplace.  Then Mike would eat three bowls of cereal later on after the kids went to bed because he was still hungry and I would grab a bag of peanut M&Ms at work telling myself that peanuts were nutritious and chocolate was a treat.  You can see how easy it is.

Many of you have heard bits and pieces of our "story" over the past 12 months, but I thought I could share some of what has worked (and not worked) for us.  I'm not a trainer or nutritionist or expert at all. I am still working out the kinks and making wrong choices all the time.  Just because I work at a health club doesn't mean squat (pun intended) though I do pick up on things, I suppose.

Here we go:

1. Sweets are a treat not a fourth meal.  They are not a snack and they are not a filler.  They are a reward.  Something to get excited about.  We actually had to cut out sweets cold turkey for about two months when we started this. No pop, no juice, no jello. Nothing. Then, we found that "holidays" such as birthdays or Thanksgiving or Christmas, tended to arrive once a month.  We allowed sweets on those days (and only on those days- we literally threw out a ginormous bag of halloween candy before we went to bed that night).  After about six months, we slowly worked treats in.  Like, "we just worked all day around the yard and got all hot and sweaty- let's get ice cream!" kind of treats.  We have weeks where I bake something, or we go on vacation or like last weekend, where it was hot and I wanted Ben and Jerry's, and we blow it, but for the most part we've really made an effort.  I don't keep sweets around.  That helps. A lot.  I can't tell you how rewarding it is for me to hear how excited Jonah gets about the idea of running out for ice cream.  Its not a requirement after dinner, rather, its an honest to goodness surprise!  That's so amazing to me. Which leads to my second one...

2. Get rid of processed junk food.  This is a toughie.  Its soooo easy with kids especially, to buy quick junky snacks.  Fruit snacks and crackers and chips... to be able to just grab a little baggie from the cupboard on the fly is awesome.  My kids are super active, so I wasn't worried so much about the sugar or whatever else.  However, if we have the snacks, Mike and I would eat them.  And they are expensive.  And, really, my kids don't need the sugar, even if it wasn't really affecting them that I could tell.

So what do we do?  I air pop popcorn.  I give them raisins in those little boxes. We buys fruit in bulk.  Mike and I will eat chips and salsa or hummus.  Not completely healthy, but a better option. I started making my own granola (very easy by the way, and you get way more than if you buy it in the store).  Mike will have a bowl of that with skim milk or yogurt at night if he's craving something.  I'll buy dry fruit, if the season isn't conducive to good, cheap fruit.  Sometimes, I'll buy a big bar of dark chocolate and freeze it and break off bits when I need a fix. 

For meals its the same principle.  I'll be the first to admit, that being home during the day helps.  I can prep veggies and defrost chicken while kids are napping.  Usually I try to have dinner waiting for when Mike gets home (not because I'm so house-wifey, but because I have to leave for work)  I have found some pretty delish and easy crock pot recipes online, though, that are totally doable for those who work 9-5ers.  Also, I've learned that doing things on the weekends is best... making granola or baking bread or making big meals that take a long time.... we do that on Saturdays if we can.  we use as much from our garden as possible.  We buy brown rice and wheat tortillas and because Alice has a dairy allergy, we'll use avocados instead of sour cream, or ditch the cheese toppings that I put on EVERYTHING before she was born.  One huge blessing out of having a child with an allergy is that it makes me rethink food in general.  All our meals have to be specially made.  You have no idea how much dairy you eat until you can't have it any more!  It causes me to be creative, for sure.

3. Stay active.  Sounds so generic, but its the truth.  It would be so easy for me to veg out when the kids take a nap.  Sit on my bum and read or write or play mah-jong on my kindle.  But instead I clean the house, do laundry and then hang it on the line.  Do youtube exercises.  Seriously. Or if I need to relax, I sit outside.  I don't snack when I am sitting outside.

On weekends, when we're all together, we go places.  We go to the zoo or to the farmers market or swimming or to the botanical gardens or strawberry picking.  Mike works with the kids in the garden (which helps when you want to get your kids to eat veggies!  If they grow it themselves, they are way more willing to try).  I run every other day by myself.  Just me and my ipod.  I've considered getting a jogging stroller, since I feel bad leaving Mike on our only nights at home together, but I've found that I have to be alone.  I NEED to be alone.  And when I come back, I'm a better wife and mom because of it.  I've also found some great thirty minute videos on youtube for pilates and yoga.  I do those on my non-running days. 

I've learned that diet will help you lose the weight, but it won't get you fit.  You need exercise for that.  That's my newest project for myself- toning up.  I've tossed around the idea of signing up for a race of some sort- a half marathon or maybe even the whole enchilada... but I run very, very slow (just ask my brother in law) and I just don't have it in me to be competitive.  Even with myself.  :)

So there you have it.  Lots of people have asked us what we've been doing to lose the pounds and that's it in a looooong nutshell.  :)  Its not perfect.  And its taken a long time.  Probably longer than if I was more dedicated, but eh.  Most importantly, I feel awesome.  I wear shorts and tank tops because its hot out, instead of hiding my arms in cardigans or wearing my jeans rolled up.  I don't censor pictures of myself.  You know what I mean... the whole "grab the camera the second someone takes a shot and double check the double chin?" I don't do that anymore. 

I tried to find a recent pic to post, but I honestly don't have a camera right now and I couldn't figure out how to get one from my phone.  My phone isn't of the "smart" variety and anyway, they say a machine is only as intelligent as the one operating it... so... 

This is all I have.  Hopefully you get the jist.  :)

I'd love to hear your ideas or suggestions or recipes or whatever... like I said, its been a looong work in progress.  I've also enclosed a recipe that's a big favorite of ours... http://allrecipes.com/recipe/black-bean-and-rice-enchiladas/detail.aspx?event8=1&prop24=SR_Title&e11=black%20bean%20and%20rice%20enchiladas&e8=Quick%20Search&event10=1&e7=Home%20Page

Let me know what you think if you try it out.

Judge, ju-ju-ju-judge

Ew, I've had my butt kicked this morning.  Metaphorically, but still... I hate that.  I was reading through my cnn.com and ew.com and whatever else.com that perks my interest in the morning whilst I drink my coffee and I started to get all disgusted and judgemental about some of the comments people wrote.  Most particularly, if you must know, I was reading about how Gweneth Paltrow "tweeted the n-word" (not at all as bad as it sounds) and how Jason Alexander called "cricket" a "gay sport" (apparently as bad as it sounds, because he apologized quite thoroughly, though I didn't bother clicking on the clip because, lets face it, I never cared for George Costanza anyhow).

Anyways, I was thinking to myself about how not only the aforementioned celebs (and celebs in general) can really be stupid in what they say to the public at large, but also how many stupid average Americans get on their high horses and make terrible comments on the Internet.

I think I have even blogged about such things- forever and a half ago.

All well and good for me to feel this way.  I'm so above all that, right?  Jesus is my best friend- surely I have only the purest and kindest thoughts and as such, that's all that come out of my mouth, of course.

Not so, friends.  A little inner reflection this morning and I'm pretty annoyed.  When on earth did I get so petty?  Last night I ranted about fake boobs for a full 5 minutes at work.  Really?  I won't get into the details, because really its not important.  Suffice it to say, it was unkind and shallow and... unkind and shallow.

I get so passionate about bullying and cyber hate and racism and sexism and whatever-isms, but when it all comes down to it, its all about unkind words and actions, isn't it.  Perhaps the women on the Miss USA pageant don't care that some no-name stay-at-home mom ranted about their cosmetic alterations to her friends.  And its all well and good for me to say "God is the one true judge" when it comes to heavy issues like abortion or adultery, but then why don't I let Him be the "true judge" of everything else too?  Why do I feel the need to put my two sense in?  Who the heck am I?

I'm Convicted, that's who.  "Weighed, measured and found lacking" by anyone who'd want to judge me.  Therefore, I'm blessed that you all aren't the judge of me, just like I'm not the judge of anyone else.  Whether it be on my looks, or mothering skills, or managing skills or running skills (thank Jesus) or knitting skills...okay, now I'm just getting ridiculous- but you know what I mean.  I'll let the Big Guy judge and I'll bet he could care less about Miss USA's cup size. 

Okay... so that was a bit heavy... so here's something light... a series of commercials entitled "don't judge" that are pretty hilarious.  Happy Tuesday, everyone!  See you next week!

http://www.cnn.com/2012/05/30/living/tweens-sexy-too-soon/index.html?hpt=hp_t2

My two children are still a ways off from tweenage-hood, being 19 months and 3 years old... but this article gave me pause this morning and I am curious as  to what other parents and not-as-yet parents of our generation are planning to do to prevent this pheneomenom from disrupting childhood.

Mike and I have made some pretty lofty claims thus far, ranging from "no cell phones until they drive" to "no dating until junior year of high school".  I already refuse to dress Alice in anything that has snotty commentary on it- such as "princess", "diva" or the like.  We conscientously chose to not subscribe to cable, and therefore Jonah is limited to only pbs cartoons or kid shows and we don't keep sugary treats in our house unless its a special occassion.  These ideals work for us now, but I realize its foolish to assume that we won't ever change our minds.  I know this, but I can't help but feel really sad already for the lack of innocence that my children's childhood will likely contain.  In our home we can make our own rules, but what of outisde the home?  Schools, movies, friends houses?  It sickens me to think of what is out there online for kids to find!  When is too soon for a child to have facebook?  Watch PG 13 movies?  Play outside in the front yard by themselves? 

Just one example: those "50 Shades of Grey" books are everywhere in the news. Now I'm not writing to tell you my opinion on whether or not your should read them.  I don't care.  I'm not, because I'm not mature enough.  It busts my gut not to read something that everyone else is reading, but I just can't.  It skeeves me out to read graphic romance novels and from what I can tell, these are on the hardcore side of graphic.  Not my cup of tea.  Anyways, I was reading about them this morning and had the thought, "would I want Al to read these?"  At what age would I be okay with her reading something like that?  More to the point, at what age would Mike be okay with her reading something like that?  How many twelve year old girls with moms, grandma's, babysitters, older sisters who have read these books are going to sneak them out and read them?  Afterall, moms and daughters across America read Twilight together, and "Shades" started off as a Twilight fanfiction... its basically just taking it a step further, right?  Well, maybe a HUUUUGE step, but I digress.

I guess my conclusion is (and like I said, its liable to change and morph as I grow as a parent), children will look to their parents first as rolemodels.  If my son overhears Mike making some lewd comment about a busty server at an IHOP, he's likely to do the same.  He completely idolizes his dad in every way.  No exception.  If I start leaving the house dressed like Rihanna, Alice will do the same.  She will see the attention, negative or positive, that I recieve and will want the same. 

If our kids see us on our smartphones, making fun of some poor sap on youtube while drinking a high calorie latte and complaining about our cottage cheese thighs... they will do the same.

However, if our kids see us playing outside, turning off our phones, baking cookies (even if its from a tube), watching family friendly movies and lending a helping hand to a stranger... they will do the same.  If they see their father and mother hug at the end of a long day apart, they will expect the same.  If they see their dad planting in his garden or cheering at a soccer game, they will do the same.  If they see their mom digging for worms or reading a book or pretneding to hunt dragons... they will do the same.

I can't control what my kids see other people do.  I can only hope and pray that they will weigh it against what I have instilled in them from birth and maybe, just maybe, they will come out the better for it.

So readers (if there are any of you still out there...), what about you?

Now that's romantic.

A few weeks ago I was chatting with some of my Monday night coworkers about romance. The only guy on the shift is a nice enough mid twenty something male who has plenty going for him but who couldn't figure out why girls seemed to shy away from him. In his mind, he was the perfect catch. That was perhaps the issue, but that's a discussion for another blog. "I'm the last of dying breed" he said to me after describing his last romantic encounter with an ex that included a bubble bath, red roses, wine, candles... you know, the whole enchilada.

I detected a distinct hint of pride when he said this, though I think he felt it churlish to really brag. He was after all surrounded by two married stay at home moms and a high school junior who was about to break it off with her long time "bf". We were clearly not the ones he wanted to impress with this statement.

For some reason this 3 minute long conversation has kind of stuck on rewind in my brain for the last few weeks. Perhaps it is because with Valentines Day rapidly approaching, pop culture has been pretty saturated with mush. At any rate, it instigated a good deal of reflection on my part. Mostly when I was in the shower, because the water drowns out the sound of my children screaming at me.

When was the last time my husband drew me a bath or bought me roses or even lit a candle? See, the truth is, I don't particularly care for baths in our tub- the paint is all chippy and though we have plans to renovate our bathroom after we get our tax refund, life is unpredictable. And I actually don't like roses. At all. Especially red ones. I do like candles, but I prefer ones that smell like apples or pumpkin or baking cookies and my spring fever is not really conducive to that... Mike likes evergreen scented ones. Same deal applies.

I racked my brain for the last truly romantic gesture my husband did for me, but the fact of the matter is, we just don't do stereotypical romance. For some reason, whether due to the fact that we're just more creative then that, or maybe just that we're poor, we've strayed from the social norm. So when girls look at me all sympathetic-like when I confess that my husband has never in our 10+ years of knowing each other, taken me to an uber fancy shmancy restaurant with food I can't pronounce and that probably has mushrooms in it, while playing Boccelli and presenting me with expensive jewelry...

It kind of irritates me. I get all defensive. I mean, we're just not like that. So he hasn't taken me to any swanky restaurant downtown ever. When we were in college, he planned a picnic on my dorm room floor. With no fungus, thanks very much. And while I'm cool with the classical vocal standards, my man is a bit more punk and country than that. In fact, while on vacation with his family a few years back, he sang Brad Paisley's Mud on the Tires at karaoke night, dedicating it to me. Sober. It still makes me smile all stupid when I think of it. He saved an entire summer working 13 hour days with the park district (not an easy feat, mind you) to buy my beautiful engagement ring and band. Maybe I don't get diamonds for "push presents" or random anniversaries, but once he went to a silent auction for his work and the ladies all convinced him to bid on a pearl necklace for me. The proud look on his face when he came home with such a classy gift was worth every penny.

Don't get me wrong. I'm a sucker for romance. I've read every work of Austen several times through. I watch reruns of The Office just to relive the Jim and Pam saga over and over. I wait in long lines with spastic tweens come opening night of each of the Twilight releases. I bought conversation hearts even though I don't really like the taste. But for all the stock that I put in romantic words and gestures, I don't remember a single word of Mike's speech when he proposed. Not one word. I do remember however, that he asked both of my dads and my mom for permission to propose in the first place. Because he knew it meant a lot to me.

And that's really it, isn't it? He knows what is important to me and he strives for that each and every day. He loves our children without abandon, even when they screech and scream and interrupt our Valentines dinner plans. He shovels the end of our driveway because even though I probably can get out, he knows I'm too nervous to try. He doesn't pout and complain when I fall asleep early. He compliments my cooking even though we both know its far below par most nights. He tells me I'm still "hot" even though I've had two babies in two years and my belly is stretched beyond appropriate bikini use. He still kisses me to distraction and he still makes me want to be a better wife for him.

So there. I have to disagree with my coworker friend. He's not the last of a dying breed; maybe just the last of a different one. One that I don't want to be a part of anyway.

Happy Valentines day, dear readers and friends and a very happy Valentines day to you, Mike. Infinity times three.

All Before 9 am

This morning started off pretty well. I had noticed last week that staying home with my kids has this phenomenom of causing all the days to run together in one giant blurry Woodstock-worthy haze. That, coupled with the fact that I am currently working through my weekends at "The Bridge" lent to my decision that Thursday is the new Sunday where this Mom is concerned.

So I made the rule of "no real clothes"- we would wear our pjs all day long. And we'd eat a real breakfast that I actually cooked, rather than just toasted or microwaved. Just like regular folks do on a real weekend. Jonah and I had decided on scrambled eggs with cheese and toast with jelly; A gourmet chef I do not claim to be, afterall.

I took out the ingredients but noticed that there was a pretty sizable stack of the previous night's dishes taking over my counter space so I went to tackle those first. Jonah requested The Artistocats as his morning-mommy-making breakfast-movie (I never said I was mom of the year- my kids will be familiar with Disney classics and I'm not ashamed to say it. At least its better then the ginormous purple dino that should remain ever nameless on this blog). I set him up with his dvd and took to the dishes to task.

That was my first mistake. My boy doesn't like to wait. Within seconds I hear a rustling in the living room. I quickly ran in and saw Megan licking a butter wrapper like it was the last popsicle in the ice cream truck in the midle of July. My son? Well this is what I found...

"Yeah butter!" Really. That's what he said to me. "Yeah butter!" Like he was butter's own personal Cheerio. (That's a Glee shout out, just in case you didn't catch it.) Ewwwww. Ew.

Then, just cause its gonna be that kind of day... as I'm placing the butter in a dish to deal with later, I hear a shatter. An enormous shatter. Like a shatter I've never ecountered before. Man do those glass pirex bowles shatter. There was glass in Wyatt's kennel, behind our trash, somehow it hopped on the counter... incredible. It was a glassplosion.

And then just a teenie tiny "Oopsies, Mommy." Yeah. Oopsies.

This is post clean up... I figured risking the safety of my family in order to take a live action shot for my blog probably wasn't kosher with the DCFS folks.

Finally, hurricane Jonah was cleaned up, the dishes were hastily finished and I was getting my ingredients together again. Eggs. "Mommy eggs." That's right, my smart boy, Eggs. Where were my eggs?

He hands me two, but there were three in the carton. Where of where did that egg get to?

I'll tell you where.

In case you don't have the decor in my home memorized (for shame!), that's my couch. With egg yolks on it.

All before 9 am.

Cereal never treated me this bad. Just saying.

Snow day

"Hey Jonah, tell your mommy that you want to shovel the driveway today."

That's how it began. Smirking as he walked out the door this morning, my husband knew he had planted the seed. The seed of hope in my almost two year old son, but also the seed of guilt in me. He was heading out to work despite the epic blizzard of the century that is supposed to hit this afternoon and I was staying home all cushy and cozy in my pjs and slippers.

I told myself it was silly to even shovel the 2.5 inches on our driveway, when in the grand scheme of things, they are calling for over a foot of snow in the next twenty four hours. I said to myself "Alice is sleeping, and you really can't leave her in the house." I thought about the insane amount of time it takes to get Jonah dressed in all his heavy layers. I thought about the fact that we only have one shovel and I would likely spend all that time out there fighting with Jonah over it.

But then another thought occurred to me. This may be a great way to tire that boy out for a nice loooong nap. Maybe just maybe the universe would align and for once when Jonah goes down for his nap, Alice won't wake up immediately. Maybe I would get a chance to shower. Really shower. Like shave my legs and get all the suds out and everything!

So with dreams of my shower to cheer me on, I gathered up the snow gear scattered throughout our little house. All in all, it took only about ten minutes, which is actually not too bad. I kept Jonah's footie pjs on, to speed things along and despite his best efforts each time I opened my bedroom door, he was not successful in waking his baby sister.

I grabbed a broom, hopeful that it might deter my son from a shovel tug-o-war and we headed out. Within seconds Jonah face planted in the snow. On purpose. He repeated this action with a giant silly grin on his face until suddenly he got to be less and less enthusiastic. Until he actually started crying. Snow is darn cold, afterall. Try as I might, I have thus far been unsucessful in communicating this to my boy.

I shoveled my little heart out, but I had only cleared our tiny porch at this point and being that I barely made it 3 minutes, I was not ready to give in so easily. I ran inside for another pair of mittens, strapped them on his red little fingers and we pressed on.

My dear child decided to take a little hike around the perimeter of the yard. I was working around our car when I heard his cries. He had somehow managed to burrow himself into the little drainage ditch at the end of our driveway. Once more, I picked him up, brushed him off and fetched yet another pair of mittens for his now purple fingers. Again, I began to shovel.

I was heading towards the end of our drive when he cried out again; this time even more pitifully then before. I rushed toward his voice only to to stopped short by the sight of my son army crawling towards my husband's boat with all the fervor and desperation of a boy lost in a desert who had spotted an oasis. "Mooooommmmy! I want the boat! Mooooommy! Boooooooat!" I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Of course. A boat is exactly the kind of thing that will save you in a situation like this.

He is so his father's son.

I fetched him again, got yet another pair of mittens, which I strapped to his purple and shaking little figners, and finished the driveway wtihout incident. He forgot his need for some time on the high seas and was content to pretend to shovel with his mother for a while and as I am writing this, we are safe and warm inside, though he is refusing to let me take off his coat, boots or snow pants still.

He keeps saying "Mommy, I want to go outside."

Oh heck no. We're good till spring.

What's it like?

So I'm just gonna skip over the whole lengthy and excuse-ridden explaination of where I have been in the past year and some months. Lets just say, their names are Jonah and Alice and they are completely lovely.

That being said (very succinctly, I might add, which is new for me), since the arrival of little (and I mean little) Alice nearly three months ago, I've been asked over and over again by my mostly expecting friends "how is it with two kids?". Here is my reply...

A week or so ago, I came home from my new job as the manager on duty at a quasi swanky health club. It was late, probably about 11 pm and my husband was sitting on the couch looking decidedly exhausted but pleased with himself because both our children were asleep and the house was quiet. Our poor dogs were passed out on their pillow in the center of the living room, where I don't think the arrival of a million UPS guys could rouse them. It was dark and eerily silent, but the various baby and toddler parephenelia scattered about the room gave evidense of a typically busy day.

I went to the sink to grab a glass of water and looked down at my outfit for the first time all evening. I was dressed professionally, which as you all might remember is very uncharacteristic of me. Dark dress pants, black high heels, knee high stockings and a black turtle neck sweater.

Oh, Darnit.

The sweater was on backwards. There beneath my chin was the distinct outline of a tag.

That, my friends, is what it is like to be a mom of two. My intellectual image is ruined slightly by the nerdy tilt to my glasses form when my son decides to wear them as a belt and bends them out of shape. My shoulder is covered in puke stains because of my daughter's sensitve stomach. My maternity pants are falling off me because of the rapid weight loss due to my son's sudden appetite for whatever it is that I am eating and my daughter's eerie sense of timing. My hair hasn't been cut since 2009. Probably around the last time I blogged, actually.

But I love ever blessed second of it.

I may look a mess, but did you know that every time my son wakes from sleeping, he knocks on his door to come out, as one would knock on the door of strangers house? It's pretty much the most hilarious thing ever. And if I sigh around him, not even thinking about it, he asks me "what's the matter, momma?" I mean, really.

And Alice, she has dimples. And blue eyes. Blue!

So yeah, two under two is challenging. Very challenging. Over the mountain challenging.

But so worth it.

Finally- a Jim and Pam wedding!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V4Ry90sDfnY&feature=related

Time for the little fangirl in me to shriek and scream and jump up and down and clap my hands together, ridiculously. An event five looooong "will they-won't they" seasons in the making....

Jim and Pam are getting married!!!

The classic story of boy meets girl- girl is engaged (but not setting the date) to big jerk- boy and girl become besties and everyone can see their cute as a button romantic feelings just hidden under the surface- boy confesses love to girl (GAH, that kiss, THAT KISS!)- she stays engaged-boy moves away- girl breaks off engagement- boy comes back but brings his new girl friend- girl confesses her love over a work place retreat bonfire- boy breaks it off with girlfriend- boy and girl secretly date- boy and girl get engaged at a gas station- boy and girl find out she's pregnant- boy and girl get married.

Tonight!!!

Honestly, I may be almost as excited as I was for my own wedding. Jim and Pam are hands down the sweetest, most hilariously quirky couple in pop culture today and I love love LOVE that this romance has been allowed to play out.

I've enclosed a little video montage of Jim and Pam moments, starting in season 4 when they began dating... its missing the drama, but its still so cute. (Note: please ignore the cheesy 90s balads, I didn't make this video... I just thought the clips were appropriate.)

Happy Thursday, everyone.

a look back at the last 7 months...

So I've been scrolling through my old facebook status'... I was thinking of the ginormous gaps that I've left in my blog since Jonah was born and I thought this would be an interesting way to catch you all up... they are in order from most recent to least recent...

nothin says "Happy Friday" like waking up to a baby poohsaster. At least I've learned to hand the boy a toy before removing the diaper so he doesn't play in the squishiness below and rub it all over his belly and mine like he did yesterday. For realsies.

I've decided that not much has changed since I became a mom except for a decided lack of privacy that has increased tenfold now that my son can crawl. The world is his oyster, and that includes the bathroom. Is nothing sacred anymore?

Okay, found Jonah's social security card this morning and then got an email confirming that he's getting an official laminated name tag for the church nursery... this is nuts. I really have a son. I know he's been around 6+ months, b...ut still... sometimes these things just hit you upside the head.

thinks its just so wonderful that her little boy looks at her like she's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen no matter how terribly out of fashion and stressed out and frazzled she looks.

big weekend for the littlest Hahn: learned to crawl (watch out, he's on a roll and he loves vents!), learned to sit by himself (makes getting dressed so much easier!) and learned to drive the boat (he'll be captaining TMR booze cruises in ...no time!) all on his 6 month birthday (seriously, can you believe he's that old already?!). Pictures to follow.

thought it was Tuesday until I saw my facebook status and realized that Tuesday was yesterday. Seriously. Some people find out their relationship status on facebook, I find out what day it is. Babies totes suck out your brain, for real.

got a sleepy smile and a cuddle from my baby boy before I left for work way early this morning, and everything is right in the world. :)

just got caught singing the elephant show theme song and doing a goofy dance by the meter man through an open window. Unfortunately, Jonah was in the other room and I'm pretty sure the guy probably thought I was signing to myself, rather then m...y baby, which I swear I wasn't. Even if sometimes Jonah ignores me.

has finally shaved her legs and is celebrating by wearing a jean skirt on this beautiful summers day. It really is wonderful to be able to take a shower longer then 3 minutes every now and again.

used to think she would get excited at the end of her work day to go home to her hubbie... and she still does, but its NOTHING compared to how completely exstatic she is to go home to her little boy! Man I love that little drooley kid.

okay, kids, today was a monumental stepping stone in young Jonah's life (and thus, his mom's). We were finally able to agree on music for the car ride, and it wasn't baby einstein. Yes, my facebook friends, my son is a closet tree hugger like his momma.

is listening to her husband singing "Amazing Grace" to her little boy to drift him off to sleep. Doesn't get much sweeter then this.

riddle me this all you "back to sleep" SIDs compaigners... what on earth are you supposed to do when you son insists on rolling over to his tummy when he sleeps? He's a force to be reckoned with, this one!

is working an insane amount today so she can take the little bugger to meet his crazy family in Indy... thank heavens for Aunt Cassie and her super nephew-sitting skills! (not to mention the starbucks she promised to bring me...)

*thinks* that she may have sucessfully weaned Jonah off the pacifier and swaddleme for sleeping time, of course now she needs to sing him to sleep until her throat is hoarse and he may never appreciate music ever again... but still. I count it as a trium

is wondering if anyone has any napping tips? Jonah sleeps like a champ at night, but the concept of a nap is a bit lost on him.

promises that not all her status updates will be about Sesame Street, even though she is a mom, now, and thus a gazillion points lower on the global "hipness scale". THAT being said, my man Gordon is STILL on that show. I loved that guy! Today, there wa

just watched "Seseme Street" with Jonah and Elmo seriously got an email from Grover. About penguins, in case you were wondering.

is having a little bit of a rough start this morning since her little "Thumper" deicded to chat it up for a good hour around 3 am. Funny, that's when he was up and moving when I was pregnant with him, too...

just realized that Harry Potter and the Half blood Prince comes out NEXT MONTH! Man, having a baby around to distract me really makes time fly. I should have done this YEARS ago, when I was waiting for all those darn books to come out...

is hoping Jonah will keep napping just a bit longer, so his momma can jump in the shower.... nothing worse then an inconsolable baby when you're good and sudsy.

is digging on the fact that my son LOVES the Beach Boys. We've been jammin out this beautiful morning and he was histerical during "help me Rhonda"! Goodness being a mom is fun.

and Jonah just came back from a nice long walk on this beautiful day- the point, however, was not only to enjoy the outdoors, but also to lull him to sleep so I can work. Which he did, he fell asleep pretty much imediately upon walking out our door and t

is ready for her Mike to come home. Jonah's ready, too.

just took a cyber beating equivalent to a middle school playground smack down on the babycenter boards for defending a first time mom who asked a question about adding rice cereal to her kids bottle. Seriously? She was JUST asking! Yeesh. Not like she

is kind of dreading today... Jonah has shots at the doctor this morning (and if I make through the ordeal without crying, it will be a miracle) and then I have to head into the office this afternoon and attempt to work on my computer that seems to have be

is in the office and drinking coffee this morning... wow. feels like the old days, except I keep thinking of my little guy at his Grandma's... so a little bit different, I suppose. Happy Friday, everyone!

knew that it was a bad idea to give Jonah his night feeding so early... we just aren't ready to make that kind of step.

is finally able to get her wedding band back on after all that pregnancy-induced puffiness... the engagement ring is a work-in-progress, just yet. I'll keep you posted.

is procrastinating starting her morning... but if I wait too long, Jonah will start it for me and THAT will take all day to recover from... Good news is that its BEAUTIFUL outside!

is officially getting the curls chopped this morning. Sorry, Jonah, no more hanging on by your momma's hair! Now I know why "mommy cuts" happen... and I'm not afraid to say that's what I'm getting!

is spending all her free time coaxing smiles out of her son over and over. Its honestly the cutest thing I've ever seen in my entire life.

was JUST congratulating herself on finally kind of getting the hang of this whole baby thing... and then Jonah decided to prove her wrong with a nice'n fussy afternoon... and when I say fussy, I mean out of control screaming at the top of his lungs for a

read that babies should be able to fall asleep on their own without rocking or whatever... TWO HOURS later, Jonah is finally sleeping soundly. For the record, I can rock him to sleep in minutes. Ugh.

is cleaning her house with Jonah in the carrier- I'm totally afraid he's going to fall in the washing machine one of these times, but he loves it.

is going stir crazy and wishing it was a bit warmer so that she and Jonah could take a walk. I can only dance around my kitchen for so long...

is laughing at her son who is riding in his swing like he's on a rollarcoaster with his arms in the air. I'm a little jealous there isn't one of these in my size- it looks like fun!

is slowly figuring out her son- likes: Jimmy Eat World, dancing around with his mom and eating just to eat. Dislikes: his swing, circus music and socks.

is watching her son try to eat his overalls.

just really can't stop staring at her little boy. Does this ever go away? Because I'm having a difficult time getting anything done, here.

slept better last night then she did her entire pregnancy- go figure. Jonah is quite a guy.

Okay, for the record, jonah was 8lbs12oz ... Not 4oz... Give me some credit, here!

ITS A BOY! Jonah Britton Hahn 8lbs 4oz 20.5" born 4:02 pm, sorry I forgot the camera at the hospital I'll post pics soon. -Mike