Thursday, May 31, 2012

Stroll into each other's hearts

When I was young, my parents had this routine. After dinner they would make us do the dishes (basically the whole reason for having kids). Then they would go on a walk together. I used to think it was really weird. They're just... walking? Around the block? How embarrassing.

I didn't give it too much thought. I was too busy trying to con my little brother and sister into doing the brunt of the dish scrubbing (older siblings for the win).

Last night after failed dinner #547 (that's why you always keep a frozen pizza in the fridge, kids), Grahm and I decided to go on a walk. (Yes. You do, in fact, turn into your parents.) Despite the busy street our apartment is on and the total lack of scenery (wild weeds do not count), we really enjoyed it. It was nice to spend time together.

Don't get me wrong, we spend a heck of a lot of time together. I'm essentially attached to his bony little hip. We do everything from forcing each other out of bed at 7:30 every morning, frantically packing our lunches, texting during working hours (shhhh!), eating dinner (if it turns out), talking about our days, etc. etc. We love being together (hence why decided to get married). We also know approximately four people in the city of San Antonio, so we don't hang out with other people a whole lot.

I think there's a difference between always being together and actually spending time with your spouse. Sure, we can both veg out on the sofa and watch reruns of How I Met Your Mother together. Some nights, I love doing this. Proximity, however, doesn't always mean closeness. We may be pounding the same gallon of ice cream, but that doesn't really mean much. Taking walks is nice because we get our couch-potato selves out of the apartment, and we get to really talk to each other about life (sap, sap, sap).

I realize now why mom and dad always went on those walks. They weren't shirking their responsibilities of cleaning the kitchen (like the sibs and I thought), they were avoiding us. Not in the terrible-parent kind of way, but in the I-need-to-spend-time-with-my-best-friend kind. I think we can all stand to make a little bit more time for the ones we loved most; and our buns could probably use the extra steps. 

Tuesday, May 29, 2012

Spur of the moment

Goodness gracious great balls of ... driving. Dear lord if my buns and I never sit in a car again, it'll be too soon. This weekend we spent 30 hours in the car to spend a little less than 48 hours with my family in Tennessee. That's a whole lot of love, my friends.

Grahm texted me on Thursday afternoon and asked if I wanted to drive to Nashville to see my family for Memorial Day weekend. Being the fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants kind of lady that I am, I instantly agreed to this spur-of-the-moment road trip. Grahm is usually the more "let's think about this" or "I need to weigh out all the options" one in our relationship... which is perfect since I make decisions like Michael Phelps swims (really fast). (Obviously, some decisions require more thought. I don't recommend marrying someone after knowing them for a week, or buying a house on a whim... unless he's super good-looking and the house is just too adorable to turn down).

Sometimes you just gotta get your fancy buns off the couch and make a decision. Good or bad. Life's too short to weigh all your options. Live and let live, people.

Friday after work, we set out from San Antonio (aka Mexico) to Nashville. Look how happy our naive little selves were. Little did we know, driving through the night is rough. Grahm is loads of fun though, so road trips are always a blast. We sang at the top of our little lungs and ate more gas station food than I care to confess.
We surprised my parents and my baby brother. Man oh man, do I love surprising people... especially when I'm the surprise. Talk about a good gift. We also got to see my cousin's baby girl, Olive Harper. Love that new baby smell! I considered stealing her, but with her dark head of hair everyone would know she isn't mine. Rats.
Our fake family picture. Grahm has the whole "creepy dad" thing down.
"Uhhh, what do I do again?"
It was a wonderful trip, and we are so glad we went. Next time, however, we will most definitely be flying.

Thursday, May 24, 2012

a very rude awakening


Our last name is Roach. 
I knew when I took it, life would forever change. I knew I'd have severe limitations when it comes to choosing names for my children. Ada, Ima, Sawyer, Harry, any kind of color like Gray or Violet are big fat NOs. (This list is constantly growing.)  I also knew whenever I pop out a child, "Roach baby" is going to be written on the plastic carton that they wheel into my room. Gross. I knew I'd be saying, "Last name Roach, like the bug" at least once a day for the rest of time. 

Little did I know, however, that our last name would haunt us in other ways.

Around two a.m. this morning, I was tucked away under the cubbies. Snug as a bug (no pun intended). Grahm (aka the blanket fiend) was sprawled out beside me. In my slumber daze, I shifted around. I remember thinking that our room was a little toasty, so I threw the comforter down at my toedangles. It was then I felt something move against my foot. "Probably nothing," I thought and returned back to my dreams of sugarplums and dancing fairies. 

Two seconds later, I realized there was in fact SOMETHING down there.
I screamed bloody murder and leaped out of bed at an impressive speed. (Let's just say if my thunder thighs could run 26.2 miles that fast, there'd be a new Olympian for the USA.) 

I ripped the covers off the bed to find...
A mammoth ROACH was crawling around, footloose and fancy free. I've never been so disgusted and horrified. You'd think we live in a stinkin' trailor park

Grahm killed it, of course, and was able to fall asleep five minutes later. Not me. I was WIDE awake. There's literally NOTHING I am more terrified of than bugs (Hilarious, given my new last name). I kept wondering when its brother or mother was going to appear. Dear lord, if that wasn't the best/worst alarm clock ever. 

Moral of the story: Roaches attract roaches, apparently. And never let your husband eat Oreos in bed.

Monday, May 21, 2012

Roaches Lately

Hi, I'm Jena. It's been fourteen days since my last post. (Please don't fire me.)

I'm going to pretend in my achy-breaky little heart that you noticed.
It's not that I've got a lot going on, you know me... wiping butts by day and editing books by night. (My poor eyewinkers.)

Anyway, it's just nice to have a break every now and again. Even from things we love. (I'm sure glad Grahm doesn't take the approach with me.) I found myself looking through life with blog-colored spectacles. Can I blog about that? Ooo, that was a funny thought I just had (happens all the time), better write it down. I'd even freak out a little if I didn't know what to write about. (Grahm always suggests jotting down a post on how hot he is... so helpful.)

It (me) was getting a bit out of hand, so I decided to remove myself from blogging for a fortnight. I'll probably still be a bit of a blogging diva. I just take it too seriously, I think. My writing degree and I don't want to bore you with the same kinds of post every week. Lame sauce. Where's the creativity in that? (I'm a snob. Maybe I should remove the ginormous eraser out of my plump buns.)

But I missed blogging, and you, and having an excuse to be pretend like people care what's going on in the Roach household. So I'm returning...and filling the Jena-size hole in all of your lives. You're welcome world.

Quick, look like you just farted!

Monday, May 7, 2012

A year ago... (and a winner)

You know what's crazy? A year ago today, Grahm proposed. Best decision of his life... Okay, okay. Mine too.

My sister and my friend, Katie, took me on a faux shopping spree. Really, they were distracting me. (Easily done at the mall.) By the middle of the afternoon, they took me to where Grahm and I had our first date... aka where the first clue was. I still have no idea how they convinced me to go into the restaurant, cause we weren't planning on eating. Thank goodness (for them), I'm more gullible than a fat kid chowing down on some sugar-free cotton candy.
They took me all over Oklahoma City on a scavenger hunt. Each spot was significant to our dating history. Grahm wrote sweet little poems to go with each clue. It was precious, really.
We went to:
        1) Chellions: a sketchy Mexican restaurant where we had our first date
        2) the OKC airport: because for the first five months, we were long distance
        3) In the Raw: my favorite sushi restaurant where Grahm asked me to be his girlfriend
        4) The Commons: my old apartment where many memories were shared
        5) Creekside House: where Grahm first first said, "I love you"

Several (agonizing) minutes later, I finally arrived at the final stop. It was in the middle of my neighborhood, a beautiful area surrounded by trees and a trail upon which we had frequently walked. 

Katie and Sam dropped me off (in the new clothes they had secretly packed for me). I slowly made her way down the trail. The pathway was lit with several tiki torches and tea lights, the perfect ambiance. Grahm was smiling and waiting for me. I was bawling the entire time. He could hear me sobbing as I made the long walk toward him (not easy when you're an emotional wreck/wearing heels).




After saying sweet things, he got on a knee and asked me to be his wife, Mrs. Roach.

I tried to convince him to take my last name before I answered the big question. Kidding. Obviously, I said yes. (I mean, how many people can draw a hideous bug next to their John Hancock?) A few kisses, tears, and loving words later... Grahm's roommates and one of my friends jumped out from behind the trees. They had been taking pictures the entire time! 
 

Victory!

It was perfect. Absolutely, positively.

Friday, May 4, 2012

May the Fourth be with you...

Dear Friday, thank the good Lord you're here. This week has creeped by slower than how fast I can run three miles these days. I plan on doing a lot of reading and laying out this weekend. Time to get my pastey Orka whale self into summer condition. Blonde albinos ain't cute.

Dear Pottery Barn, I'm boycotting you. Okay, we both know Hugh Jackman with cheescake probably couldn't pull me away from my obsession with you... but I am a little livid. I love this table. It's beautiful and perfect for my living room. I finally convinced my frugal husband to buy it. Much to my chagrin, you don't have it in this color! Apparently you never did. Then what's with the picture? I thought false advertising was only when I wear my water bra, but boy was I wrong. Do me a favor and update your website, cause now I got a bad case of the furniture blues. Will I ever find a coffee table? Wah.
Dear Ken Follet, I don't know why but I'm obsessed with your book, Pillars of the Earth. You made me cry within the first 100 pages. Granted, I probably wouldn't have teared up like a blubbering dorkwad any other time this month... (only girls will get that joke). Seriously though, I would love to write like you.

Dear In Time, holy balls. I definitely didn't turn my TV off "in time." You had such a cool idea and yet, I felt like my eyes were bleeding the whole time. Pointless, man. Justin Timerblake, can you just stick with what we all love you for? Bring sexy back by returning to the studios and recording us an overdue album.  No one wants to see your stale, crusty-crusty acting.

Don't forget to sign up for my Scentsy giveaway here!

Wednesday, May 2, 2012

Red Pen



As an editor, sometimes I think editing really messes with my perspective. I'm so accustomed to looking over a text and merely reading to catch the mistakes that I feel this mentality can sometimes cross over to my everyday life. Automatically I look for what's wrong and what can be fixed instead of enjoying the good, the well-written parts [if you will] of my life. Even worse, I take my red pen and go into an editing frenzy on other people's lives. Scratch that. Rewrite this. Delete, delete, delete. I'm absolutely brutal.

It's a dangerous path to tread. It's the difference, I believe, between hurt and hope. If we choose to tango with discontentment, we will be disheartened. We will always be looking for what can be altered and ways to improve our situations; we will never be satisfied. If we rip people to shreds, coloring their worlds with our unforgiving pen marks, we will never be able to truly love them. We'll skip to the end, or skim. We won't pay attention.

We must choose contentment, stilling the anxious "red pen" in our hearts that desires to rewrite the story God has already written for us and for others. The perfect story that requires no editing.


I wrote this a while ago, but was reminded of it today. I wish I was better at this.