Tuesday, April 17, 2018


It's been a doozy of a week. Minnesota was embraced in the warm arms of a 3 day blizzard. The day before the storm we entered Home Depot a store that i am more than reasonably excited to have a strong relationship with at some point in my life and came face to face with a giant sign that read "ARE YOU READY FOR THE BLIZZARD TORNADO?" 
First, what in the world is a blizzard tornado? Are they selling those at Dairy Queen now? 
Second, unless you are Dennis Quaid on his way to rescue Jake Gyllenhaal, when could you possibly look around yourself and say "if a tornado and a blizzard hit me directly at the exact same time and merged forces into a giant arctic storm, I would be totally ready,"? <---- is that punctuation even close to being right?

Home Depot was using the sign to sell snow blowers.

We do not own a snow blower, but we do have recently purchased boots thanks to the madness of Hunter at Target. So we took advantage of the cancelled church and strolled through the city to go print tax documents off at school. The strolling mainly consisted of me clinging to Harry while I slipped and slid everywhere, pointing out cars for Harry to help push out of snow banks. It's easy to offer help when you're 8 months pregnant and can't do any of the heavy lifting yourself. 

We ended the weekend at a doctors appointment, where I was strapped up to a stress test in order to make sure the little guy was doing alright. We had been hit pretty hard by an uninsured driver who lost control on the ice and smashed the entire drivers side of our poor little Mazda. We are bitter. But we are healthy. 

peace and police reports
harry the law student is exercising his newly obtained education rather well due to our mishap


Monday, April 9, 2018


Cons of pregnancy:
-feeling like a reenactment of the Karate Kid is happening inside me each night just as I am trying to go to bed, or at any given time of day really
-not being able to sleep on my back
-limited wardrobe options however, pants with elastic bands that go up to your chest are scarily comfortable. like, i might wear them even when i'm no longer pregnant

Pros of pregnancy:
-being able to ask Harry to get my water bottle for me from across the room and not being accused of extreme laziness
-little baby pants that a human will actually fit into
-discovering that I have a freckle in my belly button I never knew about
-being the best, most perfect mom in the world because I am literally giving him everything he needs 100% of the time which will never occur again in his life
-getting double takes at the gym like all the pretty girls in movies do

In other very important news I got a haircut last week and, what with my extreme emotional state, was despaired at it's results insert eye roll here. After two years of patiently waiting to get some length, what I thought was going to be a quick trim ended up being a 5 inch cut. Sure, you can say that it's just hair and it'll grow back, but keep in mind I am about 2 months away from postpartum hair loss. bring on the baldness

Fortunately, it's really not as bad as I keep imaging it to be. In fact, Harry didn't even notice a difference until I asked him about it two days later. i love it when we fit into stereotypes

peace and packing
we're moving! yayayaayayya


Tuesday, April 3, 2018

thoughts at....

I am 30 weeks pregnant and I still don't really understand why we measure pregnancies in weeks. Yeah yeah, weeks are more accurate than months because months don't always have the same number of days or full weeks in them. But when Jim at the office comes up to my desk and asks me how far along I am, and I respond with "29 weeks," I just get a blank smile while his mind tries to do the math. So then I have to try to do the math and end up convincing myself that I'm either having the baby next week, or will be pregnant until the end of the year. Wouldn't that be fun? 

And those are my thoughts at 30 weeks, aka 15 fortnights, aka 1,205 viewings of Lord of the Rings Return of the King. 


Harry and I get a little better at celebrating holidays and making a few traditions with each passing year. We could hardly remember our first Easter after we were married, and last year I quickly stuffed some popcorn behind his vinyls for him to hunt for. This year we went to Target because we like to support the local stores the day before Easter and split up to assemble each other's baskets. Our limit was $10 each. We both doubled that. budgeting win. 

Easter morning dawned bright and warm. I awoke to welcome the day and as I pirouetted towards the bedroom door, I beheld a trail of new ceramic measuring cups filled with Cadbury mini eggs leading me on an adventure. At the end of the trail was a basket with two cute new bowls that, in Harry's words, would be "perfect for yogurt."

***real story***
I woke up to the sound of paper and plastic grass rustling from the front room and looked out the window at the frozen land of the north. Groggily I started waddling into the front room. Harry quickly stopped me and demanded that I go into the bathroom and stay there. I sat on the toilet because where else are you going to sit in a bathroom?! for about 10 minutes, and only once I decided to make use of my time and shower did Harry release me from my prison. At that point I opened the bathroom door and beheld the trail of measuring cups and Cadbury eggs. The "perfect for yogurt" part of the story is true, and they are.

Harry is like the character Jack from "This Is Us" which if you are a participating member of society you have seen in that he always gifts better than I do. So while I will enjoy the memory of Easter morning each time I eat yogurt or berries from my new bowls or measure out a cup of milk for cookies, Harry can only enjoy his Easter basket for the amount of time it takes him to drink a bottle of chocolate milk. That time is currently set at about 27 seconds.

Now I'm off to do some snow angels.

peace and public libraries


Tuesday, December 12, 2017

to the graduates

Bear with me as I delve into symbolism here.

Marriage is like a big feast. A large, varied spread for just two people, who are tasked with the responsibility of eating all the food presented to them. The two are eager to begin, portioning out servings rather evenly, while adapting to the preferences of each. Your spouse doesn't like olives so you take the bowl. You don't prefer sesame seeds on your bun, so they take all the tops while you eat the bottoms. After giving and taking, you successfully divide up the food and eat it all.

Each day the meal is a little different. You and your spouse might take turns piling your plates a little higher to help the other out. But you both keep eating the entire meal, and you start to feel your stomach stretching a bit and being able to accommodate more, settling in to a rhythm that leaves you both reasonably full, but not stuffed.

Being married to a grad student is like having this same meal each day, with the same responsibility of polishing it off, but every day a giant pot of thick, creamy, heavy, buttery mashed potatoes is included in the meal. Dutifully, your spouse takes them all, slowly shoveling the starch into their mouth and swallowing every last bite. And you are so grateful that you do not have to stomach such an ordeal.

But you are left with the rest. The spread, that was previously split each day, is now your duty alone to finish. Occasionally the spouse might take on a piece of corn bread or a handful of salad, but most often they are in a coma from the amount of potatoes they have consumed. Everyone is so impressed with the accomplishment of your spouse, because it is a feat to eat so many potatoes. They ask after his or her ordeal, offering sympathy and encouragement as he or she continues to plod their way through. And they need it, because who ever heard of eating so many potatoes?

But what everyone including grad student might not recognize is the efforts being put in by the 2nd spouse to keep eating all the other food. There's not much glory in eating rolls and broccoli and chicken and pickles, but it's still an accomplishment to get it all down. And you don't have any other choice but to get. it. down.

I won't tell you not to go to grad school. We had an incredible amount of people, both close to us and basically unknown, who told us not to go...after we had already accepted. I think it's garbage to say something like that to people eager and excited to embark on an adventure. But I will say that you need to buy bigger plates. You have to figure out how to deal with more. How to cope with responsibility. Learn when to put more on your plate and when to give it to your spouse. It's tricky and I haven't figured it out myself, but I am sure that doing so will strengthen and refine your relationship. Because as hard a grad school is, I'm positive that it's just a crash course for the rest of our lives.

Monday, November 6, 2017

easy like sunday

Last night Harry and I surprisingly agreed on a movie to watch. He had been wanting to watch one all day. In fact, I think one of the first things he told me when we woke up was that he wanted to watch a movie that night. I'm becoming less and less of a movie-watcher, which is probably because I just can't stand scrolling through Netflix and Hulu endlessly, each person saying that something looks good just to be vetoed by the other. Or both of you saying that you would be willing to watch something, but continuing the spiral of scrolling just to see if there's anything better. even though we all know the further into the list you get, the worse the movie options are.

So it was a surprise when we both just said "ok" to a movie located about halfway through the list. Especially since it was the 1997 production "Jungle to Jungle." Yeah, the one where Tim Allen finds out he has a son that's been living in the jungle for 12 years and learns how to shoot a fly with a blow dart gun. Classic.

Before settling down to the film, we had gone on a walk around the nearby city lake after sufficiently bundling because the high this entire week is 39 degrees. *fist pump*, played a game of Ticket to Ride in which I heartlessly sabotaged and ruined Harry he's sworn to do the same to me for the rest of my life, and ate some simple breakfast burritos.

There are a lot of unknowns and crazy learning experiences for us right now. It was nice to spend an evening together and be productive in our relationship and remember that we are a team that sabotages each other? I'm feeling grateful for my teammate, especially when he takes out his contacts at night and has to walk around the apartment squinting at everything. I laugh almost every time.

peace and rhinoplasty
who might be in the market for a nose job, me or Harry?


Monday, September 4, 2017

summer nostalgia

Labor Day marks the end of summer, so I can't add anything more to this video. It's not perfect or very showy, but it brings back memories and reminds me that we have it pretty good. It also shows that we need some more variety in our wardrobes because we're essentially wearing the same thing in every shot.

Summer 2017 from Rachel Williamson on Vimeo.

peace and 2L

Thursday, August 10, 2017


It might sound a little cheesy and dated, but I really miss reading blogs. Blogs that just show what's happening in someone's life with either an uplifting vibe, comical perspective, artistic touch, or whatever it may be. I miss reading funny stories that happen to other people or feeling sympathy for difficult times or just reading about a good weekend. I used to have dozens of friends, family, and strangers that wrote and shared just like this, and not because they were being sponsored or trying to sell anything.

I love instagram and use it all the time, but it's hard to share a story without going a little overboard with the posting. And, while perusing Pinterest earlier, an inspirational quote came on my feed, as they do, which said "write the book you want to read." Well, it's for sure not a book, but I want to read REAL. Let's start with lunch today.

Harry and I both work downtown cue whichever song you prefer about "downtown" and meet up for lunch pretty much every day. Harry bikes from his firm over to my office building, which makes us sound fancy. There are many options for eating within the "skyway." For non-Minneapolis people, these are enclosed bridges that connect the buildings in the city so that when it's -20 degrees outside you don't die while walking from one building to the next. They are best pictured in the film Mighty Ducks, when the team is training with roller blades in the city. See what I'm talking about here.

Anyway, the point is we eat lunch together, and it's tasty. However, today as I'm about to get in the elevator to go back to work, Harry gets a nosebleed. Now, Harry gets a lot of nosebleeds, thanks to a broken nose from either his hockey days or a stupid trick he tried to do on his mission. I'm not sure which. So I'm not alarmed and give him my napkin, thinking it'll just be a few drops. I take the trash while Harry sits down and proceeds to freaking bleed. out.

I come back with another five napkins, and within 30 seconds each one has been stuffed up the nose and soaked through. I run to get another 8 napkins, same story. I sit with Harry, watching blood drip onto the tile floor in front of him and wonder if I'm about to watch my husband die. Another 15 napkins. Blood all down his front. Leaking between his fingers. As I start making plans to call the ambulance, one giant blood clot gag gag gag...i really did gag right there in my shiny office building spills out of his nose and the bleeding immediately stops. i'm gagging in real life now...gag.

Harry looks up from his mountain of bloody napkins which has more elevation than any geological formation in Minnesota and halfheartedly smiles, even though blood had started coming from his mouth as well. He looked like he had turned to cannibalism for lunch.

He lived. I lived. Needless to say I did not kiss him goodbye.

Image from our less bloody experience at the Twins MLB game.

peace and quinoa
trying really hard to make that in a way that i like