My name is Sarah A. Schlothan Christensen. I hate papercuts, blue cheese, and scrubbing toilets. My true loves include: my family, Godiva’s key lime truffles, excessively vulgar cartoons, and taking my dog Hank for long walks. I also love digital photography which has made possible my philosophy that if you aren’t taking at least 96,452 pictures daily then you lead a life devoid of meaning. This is what I look like:
My husband is very tall and lumbering. Before I met him, my name was only a fraction of its current monstrosity. It was my choice to keep my maiden name in my last name, but sometimes when I say my full name out loud to the FedEx guy and he realizes that he has to type fifty-six pages of letters randomly strung together into his little signature pad, his eyes bulge and POP! right out of his head.
My husband’s name is Donald P. Christensen, Jr. and since he helped make that cute baby in the photograph above, I try to forgive him when his socks land shy of the hamper. He dislikes olives, frivolous lawsuits and people who take themselves too seriously. He has questionable taste in music and he loves black licorice. This is what Donald looks like:
You know what they say about men with big feet. I would marry him again in a heartbeat.
In July 2009, Donald and I welcomed our beautiful daughter, Charlotte, into our world. She makes life worth living and I love her more than I ever thought possible. Upon her arrival, my husband and I metamorphosed from reasonable adults into THOSE PARENTS. We became babywearing, breastfeeding, co-sleeping, cloth-diapering people who make their own wood toys and can hold their own in a conversation about the colors of poop, but have no idea what is going on in the world at large. You know the sort. Sorry about that.
The photographs below are of Charlotte. Go ahead and feel free to tell me that she’s the most gorgeous, adorable child you’ve ever seen. I agree.
My daughter likes sleeping and loves breast-milk and thinks the grandparents are pretty damned cool. She’s not too thrilled about being denied sleep, breast-milk, or access to the grandparents, so we try to make sure she gets all of the above on a regular basis. My boobs may be a little worse for the wear, but at least my parents seem to appreciate this.
The three of us live together in a suburb of Los Angeles, where Donald and I bought a home four doors away from the house I grew up in. That means that my father lives close enough to stop by nineteen times before breakfast is even on the table. I think we can all appreciate how amazing it is that I function at all.
This website started with a bang in February 2009 as a means of chronicling my marriage and pregnancy. Publicly humiliating my husband was just a bonus. Here, I write about the ups and downs and in-betweens that compose my life; I hope you enjoy it. This is a personal blog, which means that I reserve the right to delete nasty comments, post nasty emails and ridicule nasty people. It is also copyrighted, so be ye warned.
This is Hank. He hates water (understatement), loves avocados (understatement), and he never sits on command (sadly, also an understatement). The end.
