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So this past weekend was our annual Hales Family Campout. Grandpa Hales and Uncle Robert came down from Alaska, Karen came from Washington, and nearly every one of my cousins made an appearance. It’ll probably be a while before we’ll all be together again, and we had some great adventures—the gasoline fires, the rattlesnake, the lost toenail, the broken arm—and some great hangout-and-chat time as well.
It was as completely awesome as I could hope for.
It’s funny to see these campouts grow up—when we were younger, my grandpa would drag us up to some far-off area 50 miles away from the nearest flushing toilet. Now, however, my grandpa stays in a trailer and my grandma stays in a near-by hotel. When I was younger, I spent most of the campout playing with my cousins—now I spend it playing with their kids. It’s awesome(ly weird).
My cousin, Amanda, who is a year younger than me, has a two-and-a-half-year-old daughter (my first cousin once removed?) who is pure entertainment. She’d come up to me and say, “Jenn, what’s your name?” I’d tell her and she’d say, “Jenn, would you like to take me on a hike?”
Absolutely I would.
We went on several “hikes” over the two days I was there—looking in the windows of every tent in our camp and visiting the older kids’ “clubhouse.”
After one of our hikes, she jumped up on my lap and we had the following conversation, which was probably my favorite moment of the campout:
Liesel: “Jenn, where is your little boy and little girl?”
Me: “Um…I don’t have any kids right now. Maybe someday.”
Liesel: “What is your little girl’s name?”
Me: “I don’t have any little girls right now. But I like the name Lily.”
Liesel (after a long pause, taking in this information): “Will Lily take all my toys? Tell her to not take my toys.”
Apparently our unborn children are totally awesome bullies. Watch out world!
Wear Something Nice Tomorrow, Okay?
So summer’s FINALLY decided to stick around. My life is 100% more awesome than it was 30 degrees ago. Instead of being stuck downstairs listening to psycho anti-Obama lady, I can go outside on my lunch breaks, spread out a blanket in the shade, and pretend I’m not at work for 30 minutes.
It’s almost always the highlight of my day.
The question becomes, now, what to wear to work. Since I work at an “Old Boys’ club,” the thermostat is almost always hostile towards women—in fact, the office is even colder in the summer than it is in the winter. That’s fine. I wear a sweater to work Monday through Friday throughout the year anyways. And keep a blanket at my desk. Which I wear until the office warms up around 3:00 in the afternoon.
Let’s be honest, I know I can’t wear summer clothes to the office. But I am so tempted to dress for those 30 happy lunchtime minutes—short sleeves without sweaters! capris! sandals! happiness!
And then my daydreams are smashed by our company’s “Dress for Success” emails.
“While it is very tempting to wear your summer dresses, flip flops, shorts, and tank tops, it is never appropriate. While relaxed business attire is acceptable within the stated guidelines, we want to be sure our environment does not jeopardize professionalism and productivity.”
Here I am, working along, waiting for my 30 minutes of sunshine and BOOM! A reminder about how silly our company is. I know it sounds very millennial, but I hate our company’s dress code. It is *anything* but consistent. I shouldn’t have any problem with our dress code! Seriously! I dress like a married Mormon woman! It’s not like I’m wanting to come to work looking like I came from the Blue Boutique. The shorts I want to wear extend well beyond my fingertips.
Last week, I left the house feeling very dressed up for work—make-up on, heels, below-the-knee white capris, and a nicer purple shirt. I was feeling pretty good about myself all day until a coworker (not HR, not my boss, just an average coworker) told me to “Wear something nice to the party tomorrow—not like what you’re wearing today.”
Thanks, lady.
Maybe it’s just me, but I don’t see any difference in professionalism between the to-the-knee shorts and the past-the-knee capris. Furthermore, it kills me that these professional-looking knee-length shorts are forbidden (even with heels, even on casual Fridays), but the short skirts are always perfectly acceptable?
And, for another example, the embellished flip flops below are forbidden, while the silly Barbie shoes are “professional” enough for everyday wear and the Adidas shoes are fine on casual Friday. But, no, the leather Roxy flip flops are “deemed inappropriate by the company” and may never be worn.
I guess I should have accepted that common sense is not a fixed part of my company culture. I know, I know, I am the one choosing to work here—and as long as I do, I’ll comply with said dress code.
But I’ll never understand it.
Lions, nightmares, and me…
Lately I’ve been having lots of bad dreams and I simply can’t figure out why.
I’ve had pretty vivid dreams for about as long as I can remember—I usually have several dreams a night and can remember most of them the next morning. (Believe me, this is Ryan’s *favorite* thing ever. I quickly learned that a tired husband does. not. care. what happened in my dreams. He just wants me to get out of bed and shower so he can go back to sleep as quickly as possible.)
But even though I can remember so many of them, they’re not usually that great. If I had to guess, I’d bet this is how they’d divide up:
- 10% wake-up-several-times-a-night nightmares,
- 50% ominous, unsettling dreams,
- 30% random dreams,
- 9% interesting dreams, and
- less than 1% are awesome (fighting evil along side Wolverine and Harry Potter was a particular favorite of mine).
Do you even realize how hard that math was?
Anyway, that’s what’s normal. When things aren’t normal—i.e. major life changes or emotional upheavals—that’s when the heavy-duty nightmares kick in. For instance, graduating college and a disappointing breakup led to several months of nightly nightmares where someone died and it was my fault… Or, when things at work would go bad, it’s dreams of people screaming awful things at me all night long.
I’d wake up in tears several times a night and would delay sleep for hours, just to avoid the dreams.
So why I’m having bad dreams now is pretty bewildering to me. Things are pretty good right now (knock on wood, right?). So WHY AM I BEING EATEN BY LIONS EVERY NIGHT??? Seriously, it doesn’t matter if the dream starts out in a swimming pool or my own home, eventually a lion enters the picture and it’s game over.
Since no online dream interpreters can give me a reasonable answer, I thought I’d turn the question over to you: Can someone please tell me what these dreams are supposed to mean so I can start sleeping in peace again? Also, any tips for taking on a lion with your bare hands would also be appreciated.
Thanks, everyone, for being more awesome than Google.
Wait, who’s ridiculous?!
Okay, just for clarification, that last post was definitely NOT an announcement. 
But since I’m on the subject, while I’m not quite ready for kids yet, I am 100% ready to talk about baby names. While Ryan thinks it’s pointless to talk about baby names before we actually need one, I think it’s pretty normal since I’ve been picking out favorite names since my first Barbie. I have a number of girl names I love, but boy names…really haven’t considered those so much. (This means that I’ll end up with all boys, right? Um…)
Anyway, lately I find myself playing name games with Ryan, when I can get him to play. (For instance, we’ll go through the alphabet—Ryan’s favorites are always Bertha and Hilda—or try out names from books, movies, or people watching, etc.) This Sunday, as sacrament meeting entertainment, we went through the hymn book to see if there were any worthwhile names in there. After pages and pages of Parleys and Orsons and Ebenezers, we came across a name which led to the most brilliant idea of my life. Picture:
- Clark Kent McDaniel,
- Bruce Wayne McDaniel,
- Peter Parker McDaniel, or
- Charles Xavier McDaniel
I’m always looking for boy names that are strong and smart and reliable and have been around forever. These names totally fit those qualifications! This totally counts as personal revelation, right?
I asked Ryan what he thought…and he said I’m completely ridiculous.
AND THEN.
His very next statement, the very next words to come out of his mouth were as follows: “Oh, I’ve got it! Let’s say we have twins—a boy and a girl. We’ll name them Cain and Mabel!”
Who’s really ridiculous here, huh?!
Thoughts on “The question”
It’s the question that plagues every newlywed couple. The first time we heard it was at the Salt Lake Temple—we’d been married for all of 15 minutes.
“When are you two going to have kids?”
Before Ryan and I were married, we discussed having kids, and it felt right to wait at least two years before adding another person to the mix. Well, at this point there’s just June, July, and August looming between me and that two-year deadline. And we all know how fast the summers pass by. It’s unreal. The closer it gets, the more I find myself thinking about it—names we like, the clothes we’ll buy, how we’ll rearrange the house, etc. But what looms largest in my mind is how completely our lives will change.
It’s both exciting and terrifying.
Don’t get me wrong—I love kids. I adore my calling in Primary, and I have so much fun with my nieces. My friends’ kids are some of my favorite people on the planet. I can see how having kids has enriched the lives of both family and friends.
And yet…
Having a baby encompasses so many huge lifestyle changes. The current plan is for me to be a stay-at-home mom, a goal Ryan and I believe in strongly and are willing to sacrifice to attain. However, this change will represent a seismic shift in how we have to budget, in what we can do for entertainment, and in the pace at which we live our lives. For me, going from a 9-to-5 life to a 24/7 life seems particularly daunting. Especially when it requires me to do something I’ve never really done (mom-stuff) with someone I hardly know (the baby).
And then there’s what the kids do when they stop being babies—recently family and family friends have been dealing with kids who are sneaking friends over and doing significant drunken damage to the house or stealing from grandma to pay for drug habits. What?! I mean, even with all the good teaching and good examples, these kids still get to choose who they want to be and what they want to do. Am I ready to sign up for this? I know, I know… I realize that there’s a literal lifetime between now and when I’ll have to worry about those things. Does that mean I don’t worry about it? Of course not—you all know me and my distinguished worrying capabilities. Thinking about everything that could go wrong means I’ll be ready when something does. Right? Of course right. I have to be prepared in my worrying and the future ahead of us holds some real “meat and potatoes” living.
But I think that’s exactly what’s compelling me forward. Despite all the future frustrations, craziness, and disappointments (which I know are inevitable), the future seems to hold the promise of so many tiny joys—first laughs, funny sayings, and quiet moments. Somehow, when I hold on to that promise, the excitement of the future helps to calm my many, many nerves. These changes are what we want and they will be a good thing. And so somehow we’ll be able to both adapt and thrive.
But still, for the moment I’m glad that everything is still at least few months away. My time with Ryan has been the happiest part of my life, and I relish in the fact that I get to keep this status quo for a little longer.
Post-Celebration Celebration!
So I’ve just returned home from my work’s centennial celebration party. I cannot believe that it’s finally here and done with. For at least the last six months—and the last two months in particular—this party has dominated my life. At work, I’d be running in and out of meetings, taking short lunches and working long hours, and basically running around spinning plates. Projects that I’d usually spend a few days on I had to finish up in a few hours.
Looking back, I have no idea how I did it.
Over the course of two months I ended up redesigning our entire brand, then creating a centennial branding scheme and applying it to everything. I worked with a publisher in New York on a magazine piece, working on everything from structuring the article, editing and rewriting text, securing advertising, setting up the design to meet specifications, and proofing the finished layout (and believe me, this piece needed a lot of proof work and editing). I also coordinated two other magazine pieces in Salt Lake, including managing management—making sure they got to their photo shoots and video conferences well prepared. I designed ads for newspapers, magazines, and websites. Met with printers and foil stampers. Folded and stuffed and labeled invitation after invitation. Created and proofed billboards, banners, and displays. Met deadline after deadline after deadline.
Most days I’d come home so tightly wound and ready to break that Ryan would dedicate his evening to tactfully helping me unwind, de-stress, and relax. He has been my rock throughout this whole adventure, and believe me, I’ve had to lean on him through a number rough patches—bursting into stress-related tears in front of the company president, his wife, and entire executive team comes to mind. (Yeah, that was awkward.) Or the week where, after a 10-hour stressful day at the job, I’d come home and spend another few hours at work on a BYU manuscript and then more hours on a sharing time. It was as exhausting as it sounds.
Really, though, I think that’s why tonight felt as nice as it did: I put a lot of hard work into this thing. It was really gratifying to see this hard work printed 5 feet tall and in a place that really could only be described as classy. And, of course, I loved having people stop me and give sincere, positive feedback about my work. Which happened a lot, actually.
I feel a sense of real accomplishment—almost more for surviving it all than anything else, even though I realize I’ve done and learned a lot.
So here’s to enjoying the moment! Even though I’m sure work will continue to be crazy and ridiculous, things feel pretty good right now.
It was an egg-cident!
So…like M&Ms, Cadbury Mini Eggs melt in your mouth, but not in your hand.
They also happen to melt in your pocket. All over your cell phone.
You’d think that’d be a bad thing. However, the phone still works and—BONUS—smells like Cadbury chocolate! WIN!
What was I thinking when I put that Cadbury Mini Egg into my pocket?
That, my friends, is the million dollar question.
And I’d like to thank…
Note: The majority of this was written on Thursday after the big meeting; however, I’m a little late in publishing it because, long story short, early on Friday I got a call from a big-wig saying, “I’ve been on vacation for the past two weeks, and I have these two 5+ hour projects I have to have before Monday. Can you come in over the long weekend?” (Yup. That’s my job.) So I spent all of Friday cramming 10 hours of work into a 7-hour workday. That said…
IT’S FINISHED!!! All the stress, bad dreams, daily frustrations, unsolicited comments, and tears over this project—all done (for now). And, I’ll admit, even though it didn’t turn out anything like I’d hoped, I think it’s rather nice.
So the big-wigs have (finally) chosen their logo. We presented them with three versions—a conservative version that changed up the typography, a moderate version that added a new logo mark, and a radical version that significantly changed up the look. Guess which one they chose.*
I know I’ve been a bit of a basketcase these past few weeks, and I definitely owe some people a major thank you—my friends who supported me throughout this adventure. You guys are my real friends.
Nate, in particular, deserves a HUGE thank you for periodically checking in on me at work to make sure I wasn’t hyperventilating. I do that a lot, lately. I also owe him for helping me craft my meeting strategy (being unyieldingly upbeat, generously dispensing praise, and only focusing on the positive—basically the opposite of everything the other girl did at our first meeting).
Also, believe it or not, I should probably thank the girl I worked with on this project for being surprisingly nice. Even though we still don’t see eye-to-eye on our design preferences, it was nice to finally be able to talk without me crying for weeks afterwards. She put in a lot of effort, came up with something that was quite nice, and figured out how to put together a classy presentation. (Also, she ended up having to stay home on the day of the big meeting, which really relieved an awful amount of stress I had going in. I did feel bad she wasn’t there, since she worked hard on the project, but it really made everything much easier for me. Is that bad to say? Probably, huh?)
Of course, the biggest thank you goes to my husband. Throughout this adventure, he has done far more than his fair share of listening, empathizing, and comforting. He knows and provides—even sometimes without me telling him—the kind of feedback I need (which varies from “his honest opinion” to “tell me what I want to hear”). Also, he has a superhuman amount of patience, which has come in really handy with the amount of obsessing I do. He is a huge source of strength and support, and I appreciate him to pieces.
Really, I am so lucky to have such wonderful support from friends and family. It’s nice to know I have people I can rely on for the little things like this. It makes a difference.
A Post about Post Post Season Depression—And Post Raisin Bran
Ok, well first of all, this post doesn’t have anything to do with Post Raisin Bran. I just added it because I wanted to make an excuse to put “Post” in the title one more time.
Now that we have that out of the way, I would like to write about a serious epidemic that is about to plague this country. If you couldn’t guess by the title, the epidemic I am referring to is officially known as “Post Post Season Depression.” You might be thinking to yourself, “Why would anyone have post post season depression? It’s the middle of the NBA season, it just doesn’t make sense.” If you thought that, you would be wrong—dead wrong.
Post post season depression isn’t just about having sports on TV that are deemed watchable (and, no, baseball, golf, and NASCAR do not count—I’d rather scratch my eyes out), it’s about the end to a way of life. Football season is a life unto itself. There aren’t 340,000 regular season games like in baseball, or even 82 like in the NBA; there are only 12 regular season games in college and 16 in the pros. That means that every game matters. The hype around every game creates a lot of excitement. Also, having only one game a week, gives you 7 days to think about the next game, study out all the things you think your team needs to do to win, and, most importantly, have adequate time to trash talk.
All of this adds up to make football season the best season of the year. It is a time of year when you spend time outside with family and 45,016 of your best friends in the whole wide world.
But now it is all over. There are still 204 days until kick-off. So I’ve included my list of things to hold any football fan over.
- Watch games that you have recorded and saved over the years (may I recommend the 2009 Sugar Bowl?)
- Watch highlights from past years’ games.
- Go to espn.com/collegefootball at least once daily and read all updates about college football. (Hint: the best stuff is in the blog section.)
- Talk to family or friends about your favorite memories from last season.
- Review pictures that you took of all the games you attended.
- Work on perfecting new tailgate BBQing techniques.
- Watch all the scouting videos posted online of the new recruits coming in.
- Make a paper chain counting down to next football season.
These are just a few of my best ideas, many of which I rely on to get me through the worst part of the year—the part often referred to as “non-football season.” So if you have any friends or family that are showing signs of depression, please step in before it’s too late.
Hey, great! Thanks for the feedback.
I started out this morning like any other day at work—come in, check my email, browse the internets, and get to work. About an hour after I got in, the big boss came to my desk and unceremoniously dropped some sheets of paper on my desk. “Look over these and find a consensus,” he told me. Then walked away.
I picked up the papers and saw my initial drafts for the new logo. The drafts that I’d given him last week, that I’d emphasized were “only the first drafts and not the final product,” that I only let him take because he asked for them and what was I going to say? Me: “No, you cannot have the drafts. We’re presenting the finished designs on Thursday.” Him: “You’re fired.” Of course I gave him the drafts, with the understanding that he was “just going to show his dad.” That made sense. His dad, the former big boss, rarely came in the office and the big boss wanted to ask permission to make changes.
Apparently, though, I didn’t translate “just going to show my dad” into big boss speak. Because the big boss had a meeting today with the big shots of the company—aka everyone in the company who makes more per month than I make per year—and he totally showed them my drafts.
In fact, not only did he show everyone my drafts, he passed them around for feedback. So when I got my drafts back today, they were covered in this:
Wait, what? Did the president of my company REALLY just pass around my initial designs for the entire company’s comments?? Yep. He did.
He could have waited two days, gotten the final versions of the logos, heard our views about the strengths of each, and had two or three good candidates to choose from. But did he wait? No, no he didn’t. Instead, he took my sketches and initial designs—and I had about 40 to 50 counting all the minor variations that I’d printed out just because the change in perspective makes it easier to spot problems in the design—and he presented them to a group of people with a -10 design experience.
These people were seeing my thought processes and my experiments—the good and the bad—and they put it under a microscope and ripped it apart. I feel kind of like I would if he’d read out of my journal.
Seriously, with everything on display like this, it’s trial and error with no room to err. They’re liking things that I tried out but think are awful and are hating things that I think make for a really strong design. And for the rest of the day it’s been, “Hey Jenn, I saw your logos today. I have a few graphic design friends/clients that we could get to work on this….” Me: “Sorry, guys, the big boss doesn’t want to pay for your graphic designer friends/clients with their snooty PhDs. Thanks for thinking about how I felt about this, though. You guys are great.”
As for a consensus? There really isn’t one—there were 30 big shots in that room and 30 different opinions. At this point, however, I’m pretty burnt out, so it just seems really, really funny. Which is probably a good thing for my continued employment.
Again, wish me luck. The big meeting has been moved to Thursday afternoon. And then, even if it’s terrible, I’ll at least be moving forward. I’m looking forward to Friday.
