Thursday, January 26, 2012

This Little Weirdo.

This little weirdo...

Who wears her sunglasses upside down and marches to the beat of her own drum. Who makes me laugh more than any person I've ever met. Who teases me when she calls me "Mom" or "Morg-a-dee" because she knows how much I want her to call me Mommy. Who looks exactly like her Daddy and sometimes make me ask "where did this girl come from?".

She turns two in two weeks.

I can't believe it.

I love her so much.

I wouldn't change a thing about my almost-terrible-two-but-we're-pretty-much-already-there, little weirdo.

Wednesday, January 25, 2012

Tinkerbell, The Cowboy, and a Laundry Basket.

 Getting dressed in the morning makes me want to pull my hair out. Or not wash it. And then put in a ponytail on top of my head. At least I shower everyday. That's an improvement.

If you're a mom, you know what I mean. 

Gone are the days of blowdrying my hair in peace. 

Until Cowboy, Tinkerbell and the Laundry Basket came to town.

Now, I know what you're thinking, "Cowboy? I get Tinkerbell, but Cowboy?" Yes. She thinks she's a cowboy in that hat, and I will never tell that messy-faced little girl any differently.

While I was getting dressed a few mornings ago, the girls were eerily quiet. I peeked out the bathroom door and found them on my bed, in the laundry basket smiling and talking to each other.

And then they started doing this.

 Just tipping themselves over.

Which was really cute, because I was able to take pictures like this.

 And then things got a little weird when one would get under the basket and the other would stand on top. They did this several times. Just getting a little aggression out on their sister, you know.

And even though I didn't get my hair fixed the way I wanted (because I had to take pictures of them), it's okay. It was all worth it to see them play so sweetly together.

It looked like so much fun, I'm thinking about trying it with my sister the next time she comes over. There's nothing weird about a 23- and 31- year old playing in a laundry basket, right?

Get ready, MaKenna, get ready. It's gonna be fun.

Monday, January 23, 2012

Look for me, I'm the girl in the Thunder shirt.

Jason and I are headed to our first Thunder game tonight. And I. Am. Pumped. 

While I was getting dressed tonight, I couldn't help but reminisce about a night 6 years ago. We were newly married, living in Chicago and were braving our first year of medical school.

I came back home to Oklahoma for an extended trip (the move was a little hard for me) and during that time, I went to a few OU Men's Basketball games with my dad. One particular game was a big game and it was televised. When my dad and I arrived to our seats, there were white shirts for us to wear.

"Oh great, it's a whiteout," my Dad said. I was obviously looking a little perplexed and he continued, "Everyone in the stadium wears a white shirt and it looks really great on TV."

I looked at the XXXXXL white shirt and sighed. I've never been one who enjoys dressing thematically and I was not thrilled about the idea that I absolutely had to wear the shirt so that I wouldn't stick out like a sore thumb. 

I waited until the very last minute before the game started, threw on the shirt and sat there in a slump. My dad noticed my apathy and being the ornery kind said, "You should call Jason, tell him where we're sitting, have him look for us on TV and tell him to look for the girl in the white shirt. That would  be hilarious."

Looking around, I looked at all the white shirts, looked at all the girls and thought, "this is genius."

I called Jason, who was still in Chicago, and had the following conversation.

Me: Hey, Jason. I think you'll be able to find me on TV. Are you watching the game?
Jason: Yes.
Me: Okay. We're sitting right behind the OU bench. Go 3 rows up and four people to the right. I'm the girl wearing the white shirt. You should be able to find me pretty easily.
Jason: Okay. Great. Bye. I'll look for you.

"That was really good," my Dad said.

"Yes. That was really, really good," I responded with a satisfied grin on my face.

Not 32-seconds later my phone rings...

Jason: Morgandi. Are you serious? You told me to look for a white shirt. And it's a whiteout!!!!!!!
Me: Yes. That was the joke. Because it's a whiteout.
Jason: Oh. That was funny. (Eventually laughing.)

You see, we hadn't been married very long and the endless amount of orneriness had yet to expose itself. What he thought was a blonde moment on my part, was in fact the very DNA of my personality and a joke.

He has learned since.

I think.

So look for me tonight on TV. I'll be the girl in the Thunder shirt by the tunnel where the teams comes out. 

I should be really easy to spot.

My shirt looks a little something like this...

And this...

And this...with my arms in the sleeves...

And this.
See you on the other side.

Friday, January 13, 2012

I Hate to Say This

Let me repeat. I hate to say this.

But well played Miley Cyrus at the People's Choice Awards. Well played. I love this dress. Love her look. Love her hair. Love her makeup. The shoes are alright. I've seen better bags. And the smirk on her face has to go. No more smirking. No more making your face look like something it isn't.

I'm hoping she keeps this look going. It's actually, dare I say...I mean, I'm choking out the words....This is working for you, girl. You look really....pretty.....lady a star.

Here's to hoping she doesn't pull out some pleather pants at the Golden Globes (I have no clue if she's actually going to be there, but if she pleather and lace. I repeat no pleather and lace. Unless your Stevie Nicks, of course.).

Monday, January 2, 2012

Out with Old, in with the New.2

Remember these lovely, white, cushiony brand new running shoes from last year's post?

They make their second appearance in the picture below. In the back. Like a shunned child. The worn, grey, flat as pancakes, ran-way-to-many-miles-in shoes.

I took myself and my shunned shoes over to Elite Feet to visit James this afternoon. Which, by the way, is the only place you should go for shoes in the OKC area. James is an expert and will get you in the right pair of shoes. Or in my case, two pairs of shoes. 

I've registered for the 2011 Marathon and I need these shoes to make it through the training and the race. 

I was really dragging my heels about registering for the marathon for 2 reasons and 2 reasons alone.

1. Each time I've registered for a marathon, I've ended up pregnant during the training. That's right. 2 registrations. 2 children. Simple math. Marathons=Babies. Another Baby=Scares the pants right off of me. 

And reason number 2.

2. I don't want this to happen again. Peeing your pants one time in public is enough. But lucky for me, my fabulous running partner, Miranda is training and running the race right along with me again. I can't believe she agreed to this again, because I am a little annoying when I run and I peed my pants while running next to her. However, she has promised that she will pee her pants during the marathon just to make me feel better about myself.

So wish us (and my uterus and bladder) luck as we train. 

It's a long road, but I'm excited to take it. Especially in a brand new pair of shoes, or two.