Sandwiched between two holidays: a stream of conciousness.

- Thanksgiving was fantastic. Catching both sets of parents and seeing a plethora of siblings/their offspring never fails to make me gleeful. I loved every bit of my first Reynolds Thanksgiving. Especially that one time when Harry and I were making jalapeno poppers for our appetizer, and after I’d spent a good hour handling vinegar-soaked jalapenos with my bare hands, I realized my left hand felt like it was intensely burning. Thank goodness for my medical advisors (Shelly/Mac/Maggie) who told me that to relieve an acidic burn, you soak it in milk. So. Eating Thanksgiving dinner this year was a one-handed act for me whilst my simmering fingers took a bath in a bowl of Las Vegas’ finest 2%. Logging that memory away for future chuckling.

- My job is a wonderful thing because I can play music at my desk, so long as it doesn’t bug anyone. So I happily set about creating a Christmas station on Pandora and I realized… no matter how much you specify what music you like on Pandora, there’s still a lot of Christmas music that is LOUSY out there. Christmas in Kilarney? What?

- My job is a curious thing because I came back to work after my break and had 60 emails in my work inbox. 4 of them actually applied to me. Ah, the “Cc:” function. Why are people always so trigger happy with that thing?

- I told Harry I would decorate our apartment for Christmas on a $10 budget. Then I wondered why I said that. We will see how this turns out.

- I never thought I could benefit from the office coffee machine. And what a naïve girl I was. It turns out there’s a little spout that can create foamy steamed milk for your foamy hot chocolate pleasure. Plus, some blessed soul purchase almond flavoring syrup. Here I had brought fat-free-no-sugar-added cocoa mix (to counterbalance the ice cream I eat every night) expecting a mediocre treat during the day. Let’s just say that my afternoon hot chocolate pick-me-up today was ten times nicer than I thought it would be (and considerably more saccharine. Yet… I’m not giving up the ice cream).

- I, the girl who only knows how to run and ride a stationary bike, played basketball and volleyball over Thanksgiving. Usually sports that involve a ball intimidate—no, frighten me. But, contrary to what anyone may tell you, I’m not half bad. I’m more like 75% bad. But I’m 25% good, and that was enough for me to have a great time!

- I tried to resist. But I had to post it.My father-in-law’s most righteous Thanksgiving rap, Dan beat-boxing on back up.



Quite possibly the best Thanksgiving poem this year next to Harry's Michael Jackson reference and Coulter and Ned's thug turkey.

- Thanksgiving does inspire gratitude.
I am grateful for

I have a hard time imagining my life being enjoyable without him in it.

The End.

Anxiously engaged!

This past week, while giving thanks (and a few spanks), a most enjoyable thing occurred.

My dear/darling/delicious sister Meredith and her main squeeze Jeff Hayes decided to hitch their eternal wagons together with a fancy piece of engagement bling! The deal was sealed and when the news was revealed I reeled, couldn't yield, and loudly squealed. We are all tickled pink by the whole arrangement!

Wait, it gets better.

To make a long story short (or a longish story a little less long), Meredith is marrying Harry's brother's wife's brother,

OR

Meredith is marrying my sister-in-law's brother.

Confused? It's okay. Just look at the picture and let the giddy grin take over your face.

Here's to the delectable duo and their decision to make the whole kitten kaboodle an eternally blissful one.

And, because of their first initials, I can't help but want one of these.


I propose that everyone wear them in wedding pictures.

Congratulations to the dimpled and delighted couple. We love you oodles and can't wait to add a fourth blonde brother to the mix!

Hey, you're my cousin!

Living in Utah for college was fantastic for many reasons, but one of the BIGGEST was the fact that it was crawling with Eatons/a variety of McOmbers/Baums. Without getting too complex, the McOmbers are my cousins, and the Baums are their cousins, but we all call each other cousins. We're all for streamlining complicated family relationships.

Some of my happiest college memories are of all of us driving up to the fantastic home of the Farmington chapter of the McOmber family, and having a giggly cousin time over bowls of Fall Medley, home made granola, pistachio nuts, and of course, a tall glass of Diet Coke with lime.

It was discovered a while ago that one of the Baum cousins would be serving in the same mission as my brother Cam. This week, they finally ran into each other! Elder Baum saw Elder Eaton and said, "Hey! You're Elder Eaton! You're my cousin!" Are there many better sentences to hear when you're a missionary in a foreign country? Probably not.

Here's a picture of the happy meeting:

Speaking of my most choice brother, I'll be so happy when he's home in 6 months and I won't have to get all teary eyed every time I hear the song "Wonderwall" by Oasis or "High and Dry" by Radiohead. Gosh, I know missions are challenging and all for the missionaries, but sheesh, I think I've really sacrificed a lot here. I mean, look at this guy.

(Yes, this picture does a better job of showcasing my ability to look like a camel, but he's in it.)

I think it was Plato who once said, "Family is the shiz."

Yes, Plato, it is.

Don't worry, there's a disclaimer.

I had a hankering to post a few more of some favorite wedding pictures today. But I realized that not only is it narcissistic to assume that people actually want to look at these as much as I do, but far worse, it might be construed as "cheesy." Thus, be advised that you should read the following disclaimer before scrolling too far down.

Cheesiness Disclaimer:

This cheesy blog post (hereafter known as "Post") is provided “as is” without any representations or warranties, express or implied. If you are adverse to cheesiness caused by 1) the viewing of wedding pictures and/or 2) any similar/related varying amounts of cheesy things, this post may cause adverse reactions. The information contained in the Post is presented in summary form only and intended to provide broad consumer understanding and knowledge of Harrison and Sarah (hereafter known as "Sarrison"). The Post does not recommend the self-management of Sarrison Post-related over-cheesiness conditions. Information obtained by reading the Post is not exhaustive and does not cover all subsequent over-cheesiness conditions or their treatment. Should you have any Post cheesiness-related questions or symptoms, please call or see your physician or other health care provider promptly (or just call Go or Paul like the rest of us do). Never disregard Post cheesiness advice or delay in seeking it because of something you have read here.

Happy 118 days of marriage!

The way Saturday should be.

Woke up at 9:30 am. (THIS. NEVER. HAPPENS.)

Pulled on vaguely public-appropriate pajamas and went to the store with Harry. The only things we bought were











Proceeded by watching missed episodes of "The Office" and "So You Think You Can Dance" in said pajamas eating numberless bowls of said cereal.

Proceeded by brief cleaning/budgeting/exercising, followed up with



and



(and maybe this too...)



A Saturday like this is so choice. If you have the means, I highly recommend picking one up.

And now for a post about something that really frosts my cookies.

No, not this thing.



Pretty much since the latter half of my BYU days, I have developed the most irritating habit of unknowingly falling asleep during a show I was really excited to see.

It used to be any show/movie that we started after 9 pm. Now, no matter the time of day, quite often as soon as someone hits the play button, it's only a matter of time (well, more like 5-10 minutes) before I am in sugar-plum-fairy-dream mode without ever really granting my own consent. When I regain conciousness, I don't recognize anything that's happening on the screen, and the ending credits pop up while I'm groggily trying to grasp some purchase on the evolved plot. Closure for everyone else in the room... but not for me.


The following are (edited) movies I have slept through:


1) Minority Report
2) Traitor (oh, don't worry though. I opened my eyes for the big kicker at the end so I know about the ending, and will now really never enjoy the middle)
3) Michael Clayton
4) The Sting
5) First episode of "Kings"
6) Nearly all episodes of "Jericho"
7) Many episodes of "Lost" (luckily I've already seen all the ones we've seen)
8) The Game
9) Spirited Away
10) Twelve
11) Body of Lies
12) Every "Pirates of the Carribean" movie (nothing personal against Johnny Depp)
13) Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves (really though-- surprise to anyone?)
14) The Pursuit of Happyness
15) My Dinner with Andre
16) The Life Aquatic
17) Collateral

I could go on, but making this list is stirring my pot of already frustrated emotions.

Possible solutions:

1) Take a page out of dear sister Merzy's book- always have a Diet Coke on hand (and a lime wedge to give it some pucker).
2) Do jumping jacks/pushups/sun salutations while the movie runs.
3) Never be in a comfortable position when the show is on.
4) Excedrine (just ask Merzy. I am more than awake on Excedrine... I'm wired.).

While I have been sleeping much better than recently (meaning, through the night), this stubbornly sleepyness when the tube is on persists. Don't get me wrong, I am thrilled with all the fibers of my aorta to sleep through the night again.


So, friend, next time we watch a movie together, feel free to give me a swift nudge in the ribs every so often to make sure I'm still awake.

You've got to be cruel to be kind.

Hot Wings and life lessons

Since Harry's mission in Utica, New York, he's been searching for the perfect and elusive Buffalo Hot Wing on this side of the Mississippi. Our efforts in the past yielded close but marginal results.

Weeks ago we wandered the Macy's Home Store during a sale one Saturday, looking for important necessities (fluffy pillows and an ice cream scoop). As I sat in a corner debating Belgian waffle irons, Harry came up to me carting a box under his arm and wearing an expression reminiscent of a 5 year old boy with a large ball of cookie dough. He had found it. The very thing that would make all his Buffalo Hot Wing longings come to fruition.

Behold. The deep fryer.

And, because it was on sale (and because marriage is about give and take), I decided to support such a purchase and we bought it. Being raised by a Mother who embraces all foods green and fiberful, owning a deep fryer felt like violating my very upbringing. But we took the beloved artery clogger home along with the ice cream scoop and fluffy pillows, and I secretly wondered what my Mother would think when I told her I owned a machine capable of producing deep fried Twinkies.

Not one week later, Harry pulled it out, cleaned and prepped it, and we went to the store to purchase gallons of peanut oil, Louisiana Hot Sauce, and bone-in chicken wings.

I think that cooking Hot Wings is a lot like waiting in a long line at Disneyland. At first you jump in line, maybe not expecting much, wondering if you should have checked another line instead, content to sit back and wait. Then the line moves. Anticipation grows. You get close enough to the loading dock that you can hear the twinkly music on a loop and see the Disneyland employee's costume that resembles a Swiss yodeler. Soon you're only 4... 3... 2 people away from having your OWN plastic bobsled to ride in and then... you have arrived.

Harry poured in the peanut oil and it simmered and bubbled like a jacuzzi of lipid heaven. We tossed the wings in flour and salt and waited for the moment when they would make their oily plunge. The time came, the deed was done, and in spite of myself I actually felt a moment of awe.

Meanwhile the hot sauce simmered away on the stove. Soon the two met in a fiery red fury.

They were hot, juicy, crispy, savory, and yes, inspiring. My heart has been humbled. I have seen the light, everyone! And it's the color of HOT WINGS!

Oh, and Harry thought they were spot on too...