Monday, January 30, 2012

My Baby Uggo

Ward may be a flat-headed, dopey-faced snicklefritz, but he's MY flat-headed, dopey-faced snicklefritz. And this mother loves her baby's face that only a mother could love. *sigh* Just look at this ugly mug.

Thursday, January 26, 2012

Via Text

Julia: I miss Wardo. Send me a picture.
Sloan: K.

Julia: !!!! He's just asleeeeeping!
Sloan: Not anymore. Here:

Julia: Oh man oh man oh man! He's awake!
Sloan: We're havin a good time:

Julia: Awwww!! Send more pictures!
Sloan: Okay:

 Julia: Oh dear...

Tuesday, January 24, 2012

Feelin the Burn

People have been asking me how I have gotten so fit, and I tell them that I've been doing the Insanity workout, which is a lie. I have, however, watched the infomercial for those workout videos several times, and that is exhausting in its own way.

The truth is, as fabulous as I may look, I haven't lost all of my weight yet. Instead, I've been employing little tricks that give off the illusion that I'm thinner. Things like wearing dark colors at my waist to visually cinch it in, and walking around in heels to lengthen the leg. Things like wearing skirts that hit at the knee so as not to look frumpy, and sucking in my stomach as much as is physically sustainable without losing consciousness. I have also discovered that wearing your winter coat indoors can really hide those problem areas. Yes, a nice heavy ski jacket can comfortably conceal the lovehandles one may get when wearing their husband's XL basketball shorts or that pencil skirt that won't quite zip all the way up.

Well, despite my fashion successes, Sloan convinced me that I still needed to join a gym because apparently "being in shape is more important than a daily 3 hour nap." So I signed up and went for the first time last week after work, and it was not pretty. But what was I expecting? When you realize at 3 in the afternoon that your underwear is on backwards, it's just not a good day to try new things. But in my defense, I thought things were going my way because not only had I seen a rainbow that morning, but I had also found a fruit snack in my bra while changing into my gym clothes!

Let me just explain a few things to those of you fat and lazy slobs who don't have a gym membership like I do: I will start out by saying the worst part about working out at a gym is the working out part. And the rest of the stuff, too, that stuff sucks. Do you know how long you have to ride a stationary bike to burn more than ten calories? Too long. And no matter what workout you do, sweat rolls down your butt like you're some kind of animal. Also, if you push yourself too hard, say by running half a mile on the treadmill, you will throw up into a trash can. But most importantly, don't make the same mistake I did: do not waltz into the gym wearing your high school gym shorts and a baggy shirt. Women don't wear comfortable workout clothes these days, you big dumbo. Wear something more like this:

And another thing, don't wear a sweatshirt into the gym, because you won't know where to put it so you'll just try to nonchalantly work out while wearing it until you start to notice you're exhibiting the signs of heat stroke. Then, since you still don't know where everyone else is putting their jackets, just go ahead and leave. You can take off your sweatshirt in the car.

Friday, January 13, 2012

Why, Yes! I Do Believe I Have a Dollar to Spare.

Similar to how nerds prefer asian chicks or how Playboy bunnies like "entrepreneurs," there is a certain demographic that finds Julia Rehders especially attractive: homeless men.

Drifters, hobos, Occupy Wall Street protestors, whatever you want to call them, the homeless feel something special for me...something tender, something extra. And I don't want to brag, but whenever I am walking in a big* city, the streets are veritably lined with potential suitors who have come to court me:
  • "Ooooh, honey, yo hair so prittay!!" *toothless lip licking*
  • *swig from liquor bottle* "When God was blessin ya, baby grrrl, He did NOT know when tah STAHP!"
  • "You can be mah woman if dat's how you wanna be rollin!" *unsteady pelvic thrust*
  • "Hey sexy! I'd like to *** *** *** and then *** ***! *** *** *** Big Mac and fries!" (adding the expletives back in would not help these sentences make any more sense)
I know many a woman who might be disgusted or disturbed by these comments. She feels violated when a homeless admirer attempts to gently touch her hair, or when he affectionately tosses one of his shoes at her butt. She avoids those men at all costs.

That kind of woman is a snob.

You had better believe I appreciate the advances I receive, no matter who the advancer is; whether homeless man, gas station attendant, local politician, dog walker, dog, dogfish, whomever. I treasure each wooful encounter. And why shouldn't I? These men may be homeless/disturbed/lonely/narcissists/dogs/fish, but they are not blind (well, most of them), so I go ahead a work it when I walk up and down those city streets. Being fabulous for the homeless is not about me, it's about giving back to the community.

* Unfortunately, I do not actually live in a big city. I live in Orem, UT, which is a town too small and too snowy to sustain a healthy amount of homeless men. And here, the last time someone hit on me, it was the teenage cart pusher outside of a grocery store. Not even like the manager or anything. And it wasn't just me running in to grab something while in my gym clothes. I had spent hours getting ready for a party, so I was dressed up and had basically done anything there was to do with my outsides. AND it was dark outside. AND he must've been pretty bored because all of the carts were already inside. Not to mention that I later found out the back of my dress was tucked in to my tights, so I'm pretty sure that was the main draw. However, I am determined to remain optimistic about my situation here in Orem. And a teenage cart pusher is better than nothin.

Thursday, January 12, 2012

Who's that in the distance?

Is it a bird?

A plane?

It's One Shoe Magoo*!
When two shoes will only slow you down.

*If you haven't already figured it out, this baby girl always ends up wearing only one shoe. Poor Sloan just kinda threw out the nickname "One Show Magoo" while pulling her out of the car one afternoon...little did he know that the rest of the family would become obsessed with saying it, much like Nancy Grace using the word "travesty," or a Polynesian BYU student explaining (to anyone with a pulse) that their 13-letter middle name means "beautiful flower heavy with dew descended from the heavens that are vast like the ocean."

Anyway, Brisen loves Ward (because he is a baby). All she wants to do is be around him, even if it means only admiring him from afar:

Also, when Brisen is around Ward, she says "BAYBEEEE" and tries to give him things, because babies love things!!! However, Ward isn't very gracious. He's kind of a jerk in general:

Monday, January 9, 2012


I got to dig through old pictures of Sloan while we were on Bainbridge for Christmas. This one is my favorite (mainly because it has major WTF factor).
And while I was looking for naked baby pictures of Sloan to post on the internet because those type of things are always funny through the photo archive of his childhood, it was reaffirmed to me that he has always been a manly man (as if his sweatsuit in the above photo was not already proof enough). Not only did Sloan play 54314519867451 sports, but he has always been tall enough to make the back row in his team photos. Manly.

Also, Sloan's mother saved this little gem from his elementary school days. I am presenting it without comment:
My feet is are like cold white long logs floating on cement. My eyes is are like dart targets getting put in a case. My hands are like shooting stars moving in the universe. My nose is a tall rocky mountain. My heart holds heavy anger that is blue as a sea. I live in light future and eat electricity.

Thursday, January 5, 2012

I'm Still Jenny from the Block

Before I started this blog, people only talked to me in public when I was jaywalking or not washing my hands in the bathroom or that time when I was six months pregnant and pulling my luggage along in the airport when I felt something weird in the leg of my jeans but I just ignored it for a couple minutes but then I glanced back and saw a pair of my dirty underwear lying on the ground in front of the Arrivals/Departures board and I was frozen with indecision about whether I should go back and get it or just cut my losses and keep walking like they weren't even mine but some lady made that decision for me when she yelled "HAY I THANK YA DRAHPPED SUMFIN" in my direction and man oh man if I've ever done a walk of shame in my life it was then.


Now, people are very interested in me. They often ask me things like, "Do you write your own jokes?" and "What do you do for a living?" or "Did you really pull a half-eaten bag of Ruffles out of the break room trash can or was that just a rumor?" to which I answer "No," "I don't know," and "The chips were still in the bag and it's not like they were touching the other pieces of garbage so I don't see what the big deal is."

People ask me these things because I am what some might consider a "local celebrity." On more than one occasion, I have been approached in public by people telling me that they love my blog. Are these people close friends and/or relatives that I just happen to see at Target? Perhaps. And by "love my blog", do I mean that they read it once because "Aunt Tammy thought that picture of your baby in the party hat reminded her of Grandpa Marty so she emailed me the link"? It wouldn't be unheard of.

Listen, I'm just trying to be me. I never wanted to be famous, I just wanted to live my life. And even though I am now a wildly successful internet personality, I'm still the same person I've always been. Just more important. And prettier. Richer, too. But otherwise, exactly the same.

Wednesday, January 4, 2012

My Little Warrior

I am William Wallace Edward Rehder. And I see a whole army of my countrymenbabies, here in defiance of tyranny adorable baby head wear! You have come to fight as free men babies. And free men babies you are! What will you do without freedom? Will you fight? *grunt*

Fight and you may die. Run and you will live at least awhile. *grunt* And dying in your bed many years from now, would you be willing to trade all the days from this day to that for one chance, just one chance, to come back here as young men and tell our enemies that they may take our lives...*grunt*

 ...but they will never take...*grunt*

...OUR FREEDOOOOOM!!!! *grunt*



Monday, January 2, 2012

Traveling is Always Fun and Relaxing

Things that TSA may or may not have seen belonging to the Rehders as we went through security:
  • 1 cuckoo clock
  • 25 (!!) diapers
  • Almond Rocas
  • orthopedic bras
  • 1.5 Julias (I ate a lot over the break)
  • deep fryer (wrapped in a sweatshirt in Sloan's backpack)
  • 1234678 tinkling baby toys
  • 1 baby ignoring his toys and playing with an unused diaper instead
  • 3 used tissues
  • 0 dignities