Time to dust off the tutu.

Posted 15 Apr 2011 — by Mrs. Jenna
Category RAD

I’m going to take ballet classes.

And for the most part, it has everything to do with the movie Black Swan.

No, I do not want to become the crazed, red-eyed star of a Swan Lake remake that makes out with Mila Kunis (but I will admit Mila is pretty), but I want to do SOMETHING. And ballet seems like a good idea.

But Jenna! Have you ever even danced before?
Why YES. I have! Granted, I was 3, maybe 4 years old. BUT I WAS A DANCER, DAMMIT. I also took classes at the YWCA for a while before I got knocked up called “The Barre” which was all ballet stretches. So, I’m pretty confident I’ll pull a muscle in the first class and probably have to sit out a few weeks.

My lovely sister-in-law mentioned classes in some suburb I’ve barely heard of and we both signed up. Although today we were informed that the class was canceled due to low enrollment. Stupid community outreach. Anyway, I looked around and a local dance institute offers open classes on Saturdays that are right up my alley. So I’m going to do it. I’m going to learn ballet. Again.

I’ll be honest – a lot of the reason I’m doing this is because I don’t exercise. At all. I take the stairs at my office sometimes, but usually I’m too lazy so I don’t. I feel like a lop and haven’t worked out since before I got pregnant, which was OVER TWO YEARS AGO. That’s essentially two years of sitting on my ass. Well, and chasing after a toddler more recently, but mostly sitting on my ass. I need to be active. And even though Natalie Portman was a total crazycakes in Black Swan, I was so envious of all the beautiful ballet dancers, the gracefulness, and just overall fun it appeared to be. (I know, most people saw it being grueling work and an obsession that lead to insanity, BUT I SAW FUN.)

So, that’s that. I’m buying ballet shoes tomorrow (not these, TRUST ME…I was never meant for pointe. If you know me, you know my feet/toes. Those are not the toes of a ballet dancer.) as well as some leggings since apparently the instructors need to see the lines of your body to see if you’re doing it right. Which is obviously not really necessary because OF COURSE I’M DOING IT RIGHT. I did this when I was 3. It’s like riding a bike, isn’t it? Like a 30 year old riding a 3 year old’s bike. Full of grace and my knees are hitting the handlebars and GET OUT OF MY WAY I’M FALLING OVER.

I am so effing excited.

The interwebs pull through again.

Posted 12 Apr 2011 — by Mrs. Jenna
Category house stuffs, I am awesome, other people are awesome, retail therapy

So, remember a few weeks ago I ordered that sassy bamboo dry erase board from CB2? And then it got here and was HUGE and I had to send it back?

Gwen, the designer of said bamboo boards and owner of Three by Three Seattle contacted me to let me know there’s only a billion (exaggeration) different sizes and options of their bamboo dry erase boards. I checked out their site and found THE PERFECT one for us. Gwen was kind enough to provide me with a discount code in exchange for a Facebook “Like” and I proceeded to add to cart.

My perfect little bamboo board came yesterday.

The Bamboo Butler

It came with mounting screws and a little dry erase pen. So, I went to the workbench downstairs, grabbed my drill & level and got to work. And after only one cut to the knuckle (who the hell knows how I managed to do that) it’s up and AWESOME.


View from the kitchen sink.

Up close.
Hell yeah I watch Idol.
And you are not invited to the makeout party.

It’s really everything I needed when I ordered the original one, and more. Now we have a place to put our keys that we will A) remember and 2) not have Abby be able to reach them and hide them in her play kitchen. She’s a sneaky one, that Abbers. It’s even got a little slot in the back to put mail or other documents you need to pay attention to. (I’m looking at you, hubs.)

Long story kind of long, I love it. It was super easy to hang and it looks killer.

Gwen is also being kind enough to extend a discount to you guys! Either “Like” Three by Three Seattle on Facebook or shoot me an email and I can whisper the secret code to your email. But, you should probably just “Like” them on Facebook anyway because they have cool, modern looking products that I know I want to keep tabs on…and you should too. You ARE my readers. I assume you have style.

The Fine Print: Gwen and the folks at Three by Three Seattle didn’t pay me or compensate me for this post. I don’t get anything if you get a discount code for yourself, except knowing I made your home that much more awesome.

The terrible 1.5’s.

Posted 12 Apr 2011 — by Mrs. Jenna
Category Abigail, baby business, motherhood, not so much

Mondays are my “Abby + Me” days, where I don’t work and she and I do whatever. I would like to say we play lots of games and do arts + crafts and it’s nothing but play dates and swing sets, but no. We usually do laundry!! and go grocery shopping!! (I add the exclamation marks because whenever I talk about doing these things with Abby, I act SUPER excited and make the oh-face (not THAT one, perv) with my eyebrows raised and gasp for joy. So now, when I mention them, SHE makes the oh-face and gasps for joy. As if they’re the greatest activities ON EARTH. She’s smart most of the time, people.)

Anyway, yesterday was no exception. We went and visited the hubs at his work so his coworkers could see that he actually DID have a child 18 months ago and those weren’t just pictures of someone else’s kid. Then we hopped back in the car and drove to the grocery store.

In the beginning it was uneventful, and quite like the normal trip to the grocery store; Abby wanting to hold everything and me attempting to keep things like bread and eggs out of her hands. I grabbed a jar of peanut butter which she immediately wanted to hold. I hand it to her – what could she possibly do? It’s plastic. She got her little hands on that jar and started pounding it on the cart, only to have it rebound up and hit her in the forehead.

Cue the red-faced silent cry that can only give way to the GIGANTIC-EXHALE-SCREAM-CRY.

I quickly calmed her and stuffed her binkie in her mouth and left that aisle as quickly as possible since everyone seemingly assumed I had just cattle-branded my daughter. (At least that’s what I would have assumed.) Little did I know that this small chain of events was enough to convert this normal trip to the grocery store to the GROCERY STORE TRIP FROM HELL. We went from zero to Damien in like, 30 seconds.

I grabbed the next item on the list, mandarin orange cups, which OF COURSE she wanted to hold. Only, I didn’t know she’d changed over into Satan spawn and as soon as I handed them to her she threw them on the floor, breaking the packaging and busting open two of the fruit cups. I whispered a quick “ABIGAIL!” under my breath and ran the leaking package back down the aisle to get a new one, when I hear the following:


(For the record, I was about 15 feet from the fruit cups. And JUST LEFT HER SIDE. And she wasn’t in the middle of the aisle. She was in the cart off to the side but far enough away so she couldn’t start tearing things off the shelf.)

I turn around and see some old bag with a cart full of rotisserie chicken and prune juice pointing at my kid and yelling in the middle of the grocery store. I grabbed a new package of mandarin oranges and walked back to my cart, glaring at the old woman. She said (loudly) “The nerve of some parents!” and then started shuffling away. So, now I have devil child giving me shit, and some random geriatric practically calling social services.

After this I try buying some meat products, Abby screams because I won’t let her hold them, and then the spitting starts. (When she’s mad, she’ll purse her lips and expel a bunch of spit, which just drips down her chin and on her clothes. Again, DAMIEN.) I mutter, “You are SO going into time-out when we get home.” In hindsight, I can see how my increasing anxiety and crabbiness only made the situation worse, but I really don’t see how I could have remembered that when in reality I could have used an exorcist for my child.

I DID remember though that this kid effing LOVES balloons. So I figure I’ll go borrow one from the floral department to keep her distracted for the rest of the trip. They didn’t have your standard mylar balloons on strings, only the miniature ones on a plastic stick. FINE. They had a Belle “princess” one – SCORE. Abby couldn’t have been more elated. She started rubbing it on her head and was happy as a clam.

I make it through the rest of the store without issue for the most part. I get to the second to last aisle, only water jugs and a 12-pack of Coke to go, and the worst thing in the history of grocery trips happens.

The balloon pops.

Abby looks at me yelling “BUUUUT! Mama! Broke! BUUUT!” (buuuut is how she says balloon), while shoving the quickly deflating balloon in my face. I look at her calmly and say “It’s broken, honey. Mama can’t fix it. It’s still pretty though!” And then Damien throws it in my face and hits me. I start muttering “serenity now” over and over again, grab my final items and think to myself I just have to check out and this will be over. Ten more minutes and this will be over.

I turn the corner to get into a checkout line and see four lanes open and they’re all about six people deep.

I bite my lip to avoid my own personal meltdown and get in line. Abby starts yelling “MAMA! UP! MAMA! WALK! DOWN! MAMA!” because she ‘s sick of being in the cart and probably wants someone else for a mom at this point. To avoid putting on another performance of the Abby Show, I let her down but ask her to hold my hand, which she does for a whopping 3 seconds before she takes off. I run after her, pick her up and bring her to the cart and she bites me. This is when the tears start welling up in my eyes because now I probably have the devil venom she so clearly is the carrier of. Also my child just bit me in front of the whole grocery store.

We finally get to the front of the line where I unload my groceries on the conveyor belt and hand the clerk the deflated and now totally mangled balloon. He says “Oh dear, what happened here?” and I tell him that my child destroyed it, but I’m glad to pay him for it. He gets all kind and says that’s not necessary, to which I reply “I will gladly pay for that thing, because the 20 minutes of silence it bought me was priceless.” I hand Abby the reciept for the groceries to keep her occupied (which she promptly threw on the floor) and we left the grocery store.

Serenity now.

**Disclaimer: My daughter is more times than not totally awesome and sweet and the greatest kid on the planet. I write this more so as a demonstration that the “Terrible Two’s” is SUCH AN EFFING LIE.

**She was back to her sweet self today.



For Getty.

Posted 05 Apr 2011 — by Mrs. Jenna
Category other people are awesome, please and thank you

As my friend Morgan put it, The internet is magic. Morgan, so are you.

Morgan and her pals in the band The Damnwells put together this album for a little baby girl named Getty, who has been diagnosed with SMA1, or spinal muscular atrophy. SMA is the number one genetic killer in children under the age of two. Beautiful Getty just turned one, the best birthday ever.

ALL proceeds of this album, Sweet Water Child: Lullabies for Getty will go to The Getty Owl Foundation, a newly established non-profit which Kate and Mark Storm set up in their daughter’s honor.

I’ve listened and really enjoy this album. I hope you’ll do the same.

It’s April 2nd. I’m not pregnant.

Posted 02 Apr 2011 — by Mrs. Jenna
Category blog bidnass, I am awesome, other people are awesome

Oh interwebs. Pretending I was sparkle pregnant for a day was funny for me. I appreciate all the responses. Especially you, Mandy – because you were the first person I thought of when I posted this. :) Consider us still to be the official weathergals of BlogHer ’11. OOO. We need t-shirts. And The Weather Channel to be our sponsors.

I planned on putting a picture up of a smoking & drinking woman to prove my jokiness…and strangely enough, the majority of results are of smoking & drinking pregnant ladies. Uh, what? I’m not about to put one of those up. Unless it’s a picture of smoking & drinking pregnant me. Because HILARIOUS. ::side-eye::

Anyway – to sum up:

  • Not pregnant
  • I’m hilarious
  • I love you