Well, I turned 26 this week. (That's 1 in woman years since I officially became a woman last year.) Sadly, the night before my birthday (Monday), my throat started throbbing. Then Jay got sick in the middle of the night and didn't sleep at all. Joe was so nice and stayed up with him because I had school on my birthday. By the time I woke up, my whole body hurt. I walked out in the living room to find both of my boys crashed out on the couch. Joe had a fun day planned for me but we couldn't do any of it because Jay and I were so sick. And to top it all off I couldn't even skip school because I had to take a midterm. By the end of the day, my throat hurt so bad that I ended up taking some "strong pain killers" (a.k.a. leftover Hydrocodone from last year's bout of Strep) and I pretty much passed out on the couch for the rest of the night.
I wouldn't say it was a horrible birthday though. It was just weird. But it did make me appreciate my husband. He was more upset than I was that we couldn't go out for my birthday, which was cute, and he took care of Jay all day for me. And for a few days after that. He also bought me some BEAUTIFUL orange flowers to make me feel better. (Which I was too sick to take a picture of and now they are dead. Sorry.)
So that's it. I'm older, a bit wiser, and still pretty sick. "Happy Birthday to me."
(That last part was intentionally sarcastic. Not because I feel sorry for myself but because it's a joke between Joe and I. We have this extremely unhealthy belief that you are supposed to get whatever you want on your birthday. When that doesn't happen, and it never does, you are allowed to look down and mumble, "Happy Birthday to me." That is the cue for your spouse to give in and get you what you want, like the last slice of cake, the tv program you want to watch, a midnight run to Dairy Queen, etc. If the thing you want is out of your spouse's control, it still serves to make you both laugh. 99% of the time it makes you feel better.)
Being married to Joe, I have learned a lot of important things about Japanese culture. (He's one quarter Japanese.) First, and most importantly, I have learned that there is a big difference between normal, long grain rice and sticky rice. (Oh and making Minute Rice is a crime against humanity.) Anyhow, shortly after marrying Joe, I bought a big bag of normal "American" rice and was quickly set straight for doing so. Joe prefers sticky rice because... and I quote... "I'm Asian, for heaven's sake!"
Needless to say, I still have that bag of "normal" rice. Today, I found a very good use for it though. I gave it to Jay. Not to eat, mind you. He's an eighth Japanese, and I didn't want to get chewed out again. I made him a sand box out of it. We brought out all of his littlest toys to bury and dig up.
He's still in the kitchen playing with it as we speak...uh, as I write.
In other news, it's bath day.
Jay only gets a few of those a week because of his eczema. He gets very excited.
Today, I went to Deseret Book. There is just something about that place that makes me feel like a kid in a candy store--an overpriced candy store, but that's a different story. I walked down every isle, some twice, staring at the crisp, yummy smelling books. Sometimes I imagine that one of those books is mine... my contribution to society. I picture my name at the bottom of the front cover in that bumpy, embossed way that sticks out from the dust jacket. Stacy M. Brady. Or maybe S.M. Brady. That must feel super cool to walk past a display of books and see your name.
It's secretly a very real wish of mine to become an author. I think it's supposed to happen too, because I have these characters living inside my head. (I should never blog at night because I sound like a schizophrenic. Pa!) I'm serious though. (But don't worry... they don't talk to me or anything.) I daydream about it constantly. It's just like what Sister Mary Clarence told Lauren Hill's character in Sister Act II:
"If when you wake up in the mornin' and you can't think of anything but singin' first... then you're supposed to be a singer. Girl."
I hear ya Sister! Anyhow, there's really no point to this post. I came home, told my husband that I almost cried again at a bookstore (luckily this time a concerned salesperson didn't look at me like I was crazy and ask if I needed any "assistance"... but Joe did), and now I'm blogging, hoping to feel some form of validation. The End.
That means you Amy, Jen, Teann, Marie, Rachel, Abrie, Julie, Janelle, Laura, and anyone else that likes music.
I need help. I'm singing in Sacrament Meeting in two weeks and I need a good song to sing. I feel like I always sing the same ones. (Window to His Love, For Our Day, Never a Better Hero...) Any ideas would be appreciated. I'm a second soprano... anything above a high "e" is entering dangerous waters. I don't have a suggested topic so it could be anything. Oh and I could find another female to sing with me if it was a duet. Please help. Thanks.
My parents left yesterday. It was pretty sad to see them go because this week was so much fun. We drove all over the place.
Wednesday, we ignored the weatherman and went to Zion's National Park: It was a bit cold and cloudy. But it was still beautiful. Dad helped watch Jay so that Mom and I could snap tons of pictures. (I'll spare you most of those.)
Friday, we tried yet again to go to Cedar Breaks... and we made it!
As you can tell, there was still snow on the ground. It was chilly.
Cedar Breaks happens to be right on the road to Bryce Canyon. So that's where we went next. On the way, we saw these huge patches of lava rock with aspens growing all around it. The bright fall colors on the black rock were so pretty.
Just before you get to Bryce, you pass a place called Red Canyon.
You get to drive through cool red arches too.
But even with all of the beauty we saw along the way, nothing really can compare to Bryce Canyon.
I love Southern Utah soooo much.
I think Jay does too.
I hope I have convinced you all to move down here and hang out with me.... or at least come visit.