I started this post a week ago...

It's quiet right now.

Munch is asleep in her swing and there is Banana Bread is baking.

Banana Bread, incidentally, is not a pet name for my cat or anything. It's actual banana bread. I felt that I should clarify, since I make a habit of calling my daughter various food items. I'm pretty sure she things her name is Sweet Potato Pie. Poor thing will get quite a shock next Thanksgiving.

I love my life. I really do. But occasionally I look at my life and the quiet domesticity of it all, and can't help but compare it to that of my peers.

When most of my fellow '05 grads were graduating with their BA's, I was walking down the aisle.

When they began starting careers, I started trying to conceive and became a mother.

I never had the experience of going away to college. I never had that in between stage somewhere between teenager and full-blown adulthood.

That was initially a complete disappointment, by the way. In the fall before college, I was geared up to apply to Liberty University in Virginia. I had plans of scarves and hot coffee and football games in the fall, living in a dorm, being on my own, albeit slightly hidden in the safety of being at school. Not quite the same as the real world, I hear.

Anyway

I was all set to go, right up until my mother broke the news that it simply wasn't affordable. I didn't qualify for Bright Futures, and while I had a few scholarships, they weren't going to cover four years at a private university. That might have been surmountable, but then my father was deployed, leaving my mother, sister and I behind, and leaving me with a great sense of responsibility to them. Moving to Virginia just wasn't in the cards.

So I went to the local community college, got a job and started life. Met my husband. Nagged him into marrying me. Finally go my AA. Had a baby. Not the way I expected it to go. Not the way the lives of so many friends went.

I sometimes

You don't get to know what I sometimes, because at this point, Munch woke up and nursed, then proceeded to giggle and play and be all-around charming until I snapped out of wishing for anything but the life I've been given. Because really, how could you not love this:

Resolutions

I always get all tingly at the start of a new year. It's so fresh and clean, no mistakes in it, no ANYTHING in it, just blank newness waiting to be mucked about it.

I know that's rubbish.

And also I've been watching a lot of Doctor Who, which explains the British phraseology. Seriously, if I had a British accent, I'd shut up even less than I already do.

Anyway, like I said, I know the whole idea of the new year being fresh and shiny and new is utter rubbish, because really, there's nothing special about tomorrow. It's just another day. But somehow it's so full of opportunities and choices to be made or not made or unmade or remade. It's just so darn EXCITING.

I am a resolution maker, and this year I have three four resolutions for my brand new, shiny year:

1. Organize. This sounds dumb, but we live in 1200 sq feet, and until the economy turns around, we're going nowhere fast. It's time to take this hodge podge of a house and turn it into a well-mannered, organized home.

2. Get Healthy - I'm little, but I am nowhere near as healthy as I wish I was. Starting tomorrow, I'm exercising, feeding my family more whole foods and no more eating cereal that changes the color of my milk. I may even start to buy *gasp* 2% instead of whole. The end goal here is to run a 5K next December.

3. Read. In 2010, I read 100 books. 100. I didn't set myself a reading goal last year and I read precisely five books. Or so. So this year, I'm cutting the goal in quarters, because I have doula training and work and a BABY. So, in 2012, I'm reading 25 books. At least. And only seven of them can be Harry Potter.

It's funny because there are seven Harry Potter books.

4. Word. As in "The Word". My relationship with God fell to the wayside when I became a mother, but if I want to raise up this little girl in the way that she should go, I need to make sure I am on the way that I should go. I miss reading the Bible every night. I miss the closeness I had with God.

So there it is. Organze. Fit. Read. Word.

OFRW.

Or WORF, if you prefer.

Actually, I do.

WORF: New Years 2012

30 BEFORE 30 - Have a Baby

Done and done!

I didn't update at all during my pregnancy, mostly because life got hectic. I lost a job, found a job, started my novel in earnest, interviewed pediatricians, bought cloth diapers. It's been an exciting few months. But I'd say its been worth it.She's about a week old here, still in possesion of her gray eyes and newborn hair. The hair has since fallen out, to be replaced with hair that is her daddy's dark color though not, at this point, quite the same texture or amount. I'm sure that will come, to the bane of my future attempts at taming it. Her eyes have gone from gray to a very determined blue, again, just like her daddy, much to his dismay. He was hoping for brown, like mommy :)

My girl was born the day before her due date, via c-section. I still feel a jolt of anger and grief when I write that. She wasn't supposed to be born via C-section. I labored without drugs for nine hours before my delivery OB announced that, while I was dilating beautifully and my girl had dropped, she was breech, and breech delivery is something my OB does not "allow". I could have disputed it, and perhaps should have, but a woman in labor does not make good split-second decisions, and I let them cut me. I have a lot of regrets about that, which I may go over in another post. This post isn't about my regrets. It's about my perfect little success.

C-sections are odd things. I couldn't feel any pain, just tugging, which I found out later was **GROSS WARNING** the doctors removing my "guts" as my brother in law put it and placing them on my chest. Sick in the extreme. I had morphine in my spinal, which made me a little woozy, but I distinctly remember the moment she was "born". The doctor asked me if I was ready, and upon my emphatic "YES", I heard my little girl cry. I wish I'd been able to have a "right to the chest" moment, but when your arms are stretched out to your sides and the lower half of your body is numb and cut open, they don't exactly want to hand you your baby. They cleaned her up, and I did get to meet her before they took her off to the nursery for vitals.
They brought her to me within 15 minutes of my being post-op, and she was nursing within ten minutes of being with me. I will say that, other than the fact that I ended up with an "unnecesaerean", the hospital was very good about respecting my wishes. This picture is from the second day, probably less than 18 hours post op. Notice the lack of anything connected to me. I did everything I could to get off IV fluids and then GO HOME as soon as possible. We ended up going home 38 hours post-op. Less than two days. That's less than most vaginal deliveries. Take that, medical system
Our first family picture:

My girl is a month old now, becoming more and more alert, trying to hold her head up, still nursing like a champ. We are cloth diapering, something I'll cover in another post, but its going so well. I love being a mommy, but more importantly, I love being her mommy.

Green Olive

That's my baby: A green olive.

On December 2, I took a ridiculously early pregnancy test and was shocked to see the faintest of all faint positives. Paul wasn't even sure he could see a line, and I spent the rest of the day in "pregnant or not" limbo.

The next morning returned a darker positive, the third morning, a definite positive, and the following day, a digital readout of "Pregnant" on a digital test.

So today I am officially nine weeks knocked up. It's the first morning in about five weeks I haven't woken up wanting to vomit, which is a plus, and I was finally able to stomach the delectable smell of Chef-Boy-R-Dee, which I love with all my heart.

It's a short post today, but I promise (maybe) to be better about posting, now that I actually have soemthing to post about.

OIh, heavens. I just became that woman who thinks she has nothing interesting to say unless it pertains to motherhood.

Saints preserve us.

It isn't that I don't love you

I've just been so very busy, you see.

Working.

And writing the novel that's going to make me the next JK Rowling (AHAHAHAHA!! if only)

And Christmasing. I don't actually have a tree yet. We're supposed to get one this weekend because my parents gave us forty smakaroos. We spent it on groceries, but we're still buying a forty dollar tree. It's pretty much the same thing.

Christmas is in interesting thing when you're a young married couple. You've moved out, so you aren't the kids anymore, and the kids or sort of the focus of the whole Christmas season. And Jesus. I'll get to him in a minute. But for now, kids. We aren't the kids anymore, so the whole magic of that aspect is missing now.

Example: My sister and I used to sleep in the same bedroom on Christmas Eve and watch Christmas movies (Annabelle's Wish? The best/worse/best/worse Christmas movie on the planet. It's about a cow who turns into a reindeer. Seriously. Also, it's important to note that I just spelled "reindeer" as "raighndeer" The spell check suggested that I really meant "Straightener". Mercy). I usually fell asleep mid-Grinch, but still. It was a Yuletide slumber party once a year. Also, we always got brand new PJ's. Last year we tried that, and at nine, we both looked at each other and said "Yea, I had to work today. I'm going to bed." We didn't even sleep in the same room. She slept in her old bedroom and I slept in mine with my husband.

Childhood = gone forever.

I feel like this problem of missing magic could all be solved by having our own children, because really, kids get the joy and magic of Christmas. But while we are neither kids nor parents, we're stuck in Holiday limbo.

On the bright side, my Mommy still fills my stocking on Christmas Eve, although last year she did it while I was still awake and sitting on the couch. I watched her do it. Seriously Mom, how am I supposed to believe in Santa Claus if you do stuff like that. You're killing the Virginia in me, that's what. I told her that, too. Her response was that she was tired and wanted to go to bed. Apparently tricking us into thinking a fat man leaves presents every year was easier when we went to bed at seven thirty. I say her excuses find no sympathy from me.

Here's the thing.

Here's the thing.

I love Harry Potter.

LOVE.

When I finish reading one of the books, I am overwhelmed by this sadness that just clings for days because I have to come back to reality and realize that the world isn't real.

It's incredibly healthy of me.

I'm very well-adjusted.

Anyway, with the seventh movie now half out (it was amazing, by the way), I am overcome with emotion at the fact that, after this July, it will be over.

OVER.

I can reread the books, and I will, but they will say the same things they always have.

The beauty of the HP universe is that it is so vast and there are so many stories waiting to be told in it. She has hinted at possible doing a few more, and to that I say PLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASE!

The point of all this is that a dog jumped at me today.

Stay with me.

A dog jumped at me today and left a gash on my forehead about a quarter inch long. When I had the bleeding under control, I took a look in the mirror and OMGITSLIGHTNINGBOLTSHAPED.

Vaguely.

I can only hope against all hope that it scars.

A Story

I'm going to tell you a story.

When I was little, my sister and I used to go to my grandparents ranch/hay farm/house in the summertime. Not every summertime, but a fair few.

Anyways, usually my cousins, who were fantastic, would join us, and a fun time would be had by all.

During these trips, if there were no adults accompanying us to ruin the fun, my cousins and I would get to sleep in the "Little House", which was a small one-room cabin that stands on the property. We aren't sure how it got there. All we know is that the Little House, with it's circa-1985 electric blankets, dodgy plumbing and rattling, boggart infested heater, has always been there, and being able to sleep in it was the epitome of grown-upedness, second only to being allowed to sleep in the 1985 Winnebago.

This particular trip, for whatever reason, we had been allowed access to the Little House, and my cousins and I were having a super-groovy dance party. We had all watched "Stepmom" that morning, and we were now obsessed with the song "Ain't no Mountain".

Somewhere during this party, we thought jumping on the bed would be a good idea.

After all, this is childhood. Jumping on the bed is ALWAYS a good idea.

How very wrong we were.

About ten minutes into our jumping extravaganza, there was a jarring thud, a horrific breaking sound, and the bed became about six inches shorter on the top right hand side.

OMG

Upon further inspection, it was discovered that we had put the bed through the floor of the Little House.

OMGOMGOMG

Children break many things.

Toys

Books

Electronics

Bones

But never, in my entire 12 years on the planet, had I managed to do permanent damage to an actual structure.

As the eldest, it fell to me to approach my grandmother, most wonderful woman on the planet, and explain to her that I had broken the Little House. I don't know why I didn't finagle my younger cousins into doing it. Or my sister. Maybe I tried, and they, like intelligent people, said "No Way, Jose"

I don't remember what happened the rest of that day.

I do know that we slept on couches in the big house that night.

The end.

TV is BACK!!

I am not a big TV watcher. I don't judge those who are (Just kidding, I totally do.), I just don't have the emotional wherewithal to commit to watching a show for an entire season.

However.

Oh, however.

There are two (actually three, but I don't get Comedy Central, so one of them doesn't count) shows that I have been countig down too since last May. And next week, they are totally back.


Big Bang Theory has moved itself to Thursdays, which means I can't watch it with my husband, but so much the better. Who needs boys, anyway?
Oh, Sheldon, how I've missed you and your anti-social ways.

More importantly,

GLEE!!!


Tuesday nights

Oh, Happy Day

Mr. Shuster is back to save the day

And also Puck, with whom I am in love

Also, I didn't mean for that last part to rhyme.

The point is, my life is about to become a bit more reclusive on Tuesday and Thursday nights, so don't call me.

I mean, you can, but I won't answer unless its a commercial, and as soon as the show is back, you are getting hung up on.

I still love you, you know.

You always hurt the one you love.

Jules

I love this girl:

She is my best friend

She was my bridesmaid


She is my movie date and my silliness partner, and she puts up with me being utterly ridiculous, all the time.

She didn't smack me when I asked her if I could sing Ave Maria at her wedding, even though she is neither engaged nor Catholic.

She sits next to me in church and laughs with me when the pastor says he's going to go "mug" people.

She even came to Kohls with me once and picked out my husbands tie because I didn't want to go alone.

She's super.

And I love her.

30 Day Blog Challenge is a bust

Well, I've given up.

I was bored, and I couldn't imagine that you, who are not living my life, could be interested in the challenge if I was not.

I'm sorry if you were.

So, here's the update on my life, since that's what blogging is really all about.

Today is the first day of my new part-time second job. I'm still nannying during the day, and now, some days, I'll be driving over to a local public school, picking up J, a sweet little girl who I've known since she was four and keeping her until 10:30 or so. It's by no means steady work, but it is extra cash, and I'm in for anything that will get our debt paid off earlier than expected.

Credit card debt is what's wrong with America. Or at least, it's what's wrong in our house. And it's standing in the way of my new hardwood floors.

Currently reading: The Keys to the Kingdom series by Garth Nix. It's reminding me of Twilight a bit, honestly, in that I recognize that this isn't great literature, and it's not even particularly good writing (odd, since I love Garth Nix), but the story is so engaging that I don't want to stop. Also The Golden Compass by Phillip Pullman, much to the disgust of Jerry Falwell and Christian leaders everywhere.

30 Before 30 update: I'm trying to work more consistently on my manuscript. It's going well in my head, but my brain, lacking thumbs, cannot hold a pen, and when I try to transfer thoughts from brain to hand, it comes out sounding a bit like literary Jell-O.

Husband update: He is still yummy and wonderful.

Camera update: I need one. badly.

Literary Twin

About six nine twelve a long time ago, somewhere or other, I was asked who my literary twin was. And when I say I, I mean that I was part of a large poll that included the question "Who do you feel is your literary twin?"

I don't know what I answered, but whatever it was, I was wrong.

I know I was wrong because I know I didn't answer "Anne Shirley", and there is no question that she and I are the same person, barring hair color. And a BA.

I have just reread four of the eight Anne novels by LM Montgomery, and I giggled as I read, just because I was seeing myself in the pages. Idealistic, dramatic, prone to stopping in the middle of a task because my imaginings had gotten in the way. It's as if someone bottled my childhood character and wrote a book about her.

It isn't even just my childhood character, though. I still imagine things, constantly. Ridiculous things, too, the same as Anne. I am only slightly less vocal about it than she is, and I don't believe I ever kissed a flower.

I even married Gilbert Blythe, although he says his name is Paul.

The funny thing is that, as I have grown up, I see more of Marilla Cuthbert in myself, especially in the way I deal with the children I care for. No-nonsense, firm, not given to flights of fancy EVER. I was a bit appalled at fist, but I'm not altogether sure that it's a bad thing. I just have to be careful to temper the Marilla with the Anne.

I do love reading the Anne books. I feel that, if I could only step through the pages into her world, she and I would be "kindred spirits" together.

The Case for Twilight: Part 1

Men hate Twilight. This is, gender profiling aside, truer than the commonly accepted fact that men like football.

They hate Twilight for any number of reasons. Topping the list is the fact that the vampires "sparkle", which seems like an awfully trivial reason to hate an entire franchise. I think its a front, by the entire male population, to avoid the real reason they hate it so much.

They're jealous.

Somehow, these two fictitious characters have captured the heart of women everywhere, and here you are, men of the world, still scratching your collective heads regarding everyone with two X chromosomes. It's frustrating, men. I understand. I do. But lets be proactive here. Really, if you stop glaring at Robert Pattinson and muttering the words "Vampires don't sparkle" under your breath, you might, might, be able to take a few tips. Maybe.

The thing about Twilight is that it speaks to 95% of women in ways that society has made a bit taboo. I'm not talking about the oh-so-controversial over-protectiveness that borders on the obsessive, although that is part of it. No, what I'm referring to are four very basic longings that secretly reside in the heart of most (I would say all, but a few are still vehemently in denial) women. It's important to note that I don't think that Twilight is the model for a perfect relationship. I myself would never date a vampire. It is also important to note that this is not an advertisement for Twilight. I am not trying to convince anyone to read anything. Twilight is rather horrifically written, to be honest. I simply understand why those who read and love it, myself included, do so.

This is simply a friendly note the men of the world, explaining the insanity. I'm only exploring the first today, but I'll go through the other three later this week. Or every Thursday for a month. Or something.

To Be Beautiful

Bella is the personification of how every woman has felt, does feel or will feel about herself. Not particularly pretty or smart or worthwhile. EVERY woman has felt this way at one point or another. Even women who grew up in supportive, loving homes sometimes look in the mirror and say "Icgh". It's not low self-esteem or self-degradation. It just is.

Bella is, in her own self-estimation, shockingly average. She does not see herself as anything special, and whether or not she IS special or beautiful or smart isn't even the point.

The point is that the man she loves sees her and calls her beautiful. Not just beautiful, but more beautiful than any woman he has ever known. Topping this is that he says it with complete honesty and conviction. We know that Edward sees her and truly sees the most beautiful woman in existence.

Women long for this; to be called beautiful, to be considered beautiful, is important. It isn't just a physical thing, either. We want to know that you see us, really see us, inside and out, and see us as beautiful. This isn't to say that women are or should be insecure and requiring of a man's approval to think that she is beautiful. I am not speaking of the woman who sees herself as worthless or ugly. That is a whole different ballgame, with a whole different set of rules. I am speaking here of your every-woman. The one who is confident in herself, but only most of the time. I am a relatively confident woman. I am secure in the fact that, while I will never model for Victoria's Secret, I am far from unfortunate looking. I can look in the mirror and know that I look nice, but I want my husband to notice. I want him to say it. I want to know that he sees me and sees a beautiful woman.

So, the next time you are ready to scoff at the absurdities of Twilight (and I would have the utmost sympathy for you. It is rather absurd), look at the woman you love instead, and see that she is beautiful, and let her know.

30 BEFORE 30: Have a Baby and a review

Don't get excited. My womb is dusty and empty, sadly. Mostly dusty, probably. I haven't gotten a chance to tidy up in there in awhile, and finding a uterus maid is just ridiculous.

Anyway.

Doctor Connor, who looks like a mix between Santa Claus and Bilbo Baggins, found out that I had not had an...ahem...menses...in 70 days and said something to the affect of "Good gracious me! This must be remedied!" and prescribed me Provera. In case you don't know what that is, it's awful. It's basically strait progesterone to send my body the message "RESET!" I am experiencing PMS on crack, which means that I spent all of last night telling my husband to "STOP CONTRADICTING ME!" But I'm not "THAT'S EXACTLY WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT KNOCK IT OFF BEFORE I STAB YOU OMG I'M SO SORRY I'M EMOTIONALLY UNBALANCED" You're not emotionally unbalanced. You're beautiful "STOP CONTRADICTING ME!"

Yea. It was bad. I'm better today, possibly because there is only one more gosh-forsaken pill in that terrible bottle, and its for tomorrow morning and then I never have to see it again until the next time my body says "Wait...what was I doing?"

Which could be sometime next week, honestly. I'm not sure whether my body skipped out on all the lessons on puberty or if its just really lazy and only pushes the right hormone buttons when it feels particularly compelled by the spirit, which is to say never.

On the bright side:

Inception is the best movie I've seen in a long time. It was better than Avatar and I want to marry Leonardo Dicaprio.

My husband has agreed to put in wood floors with our tax refund huzzah!

I talked my best friend in the world into going to Quebec with me. I actually don't think she's convinced, but you really can't argue at 30000 feet. So there, Jules. So there.

Clothespins: an update

Posting has been so light recently. I blame it on not owning a computer.

I went to a girlfriend's bridal shower today and, using the handy tools of trickery and deceit, DOMINATED in the clothespin game.
That bag I'm holding? Full of bath stuff. FREE bath stuff. In a super Klassy bustier purse that I will carry everywhere. And the beautiful girl in the background? That is sweet Liz, on whom my trickery and deceit was used.

Bazinga

In other news, a week and a half ago, I started on my 30 before 30 task of reading through the Lord of the Rings trilogy. I have complete determination in this, but, when doing any strenuous activity, it is important to pace oneself. So I have read 130 pages of Fellowship of the Ring and three of the four Twilight "novels". I feel like I'm on the right track.

Whiny-Pants

I knew this was going to happen.

The year started off great. I was reading a book every few days, actually internalizing almost everything, getting emotionally involved in everything I read (Except Multiple Blessings. I'm almost positive that Kate Gosselin is an automaton)

And yet, here we are. I have been slowing down in my reading since April, and I haven't been able to read anything since "It Sucked, and the I Cried". Incidentally, this isn't like when I read Harry Potter and then take a reading fast for two weeks. That has everything to do with being mentally exhausted and grief-stricken. This has to do with being in a rut. I shouldn't be in a rut, you know. School is over, summer is here, Glee and The Big Bang Theory are both wrapping up seasons, leaving my weeknights wide open. I do have Lost on my XBOX, but, really, how addicting can it possibly be? The point is, I want to read. I love to read. I just can't find anything that is hooking me in.

I tried "Running with Scissors". Not happening for me. At all. I hated the first 10 pages, pushed through to 50, and decided life is too short to read books I clearly hate.

Then David Sedaris's "Me Talk Pretty Someday". It came highly recommended, but reads like someone telling a story you don't really want to hear. What's worse is that everyone but you thinks the story is fantastic, and you're left wondering if its you or the world who has the problem.

The the first book of the Pendragon Cycle, "Merchant of Death". Promising, but as much as I love Young Adult fantasy, even I need a break now and again.

So, here we are. Me and "The Book Thief". Young Adult. Fiction. World War II.

Sounds like a possible winner. But it's sitting in the other room, and I'm talking to you people. I'm avoiding it. Like that kid in high school who was a tiny bit creepy and wanted to take you to homecoming. You know he's there, you would just rather he didn't look at you and breath all heavy.

Follow-up

My own lack of faith amazes me sometimes.

After the financial disaster from a few weeks ago, we were devastated. It was going to put all our family-making plans on hold, as well as cause me to have to find a new or second job to make ends meet.

Yet here we are, only two short weeks later, and each and every bill is being met, one of them following a letter from the IRS informing us that they shorted us about $500 on our 2008 return (funny, that's exactly how much we need for the only bill we hadn't found a way to pay yet)

How great is my God? And where do I find the audacity to question what he is doing? He has proven, yet again, for the hundredth time in my life, that he is faithful, that he will provide, and that I never need to worry.

Also, on the day "The Crisis", I heard this song, and it reduced me to tears. It's an account of a real woman, poor in the worlds eyes, but provided for by the king.

All I Need - Caedmon's Call

Did not catch her name
Did not catch her tears
It hit me like a train
When her story hit my ears
Mother of eight sons
Father off to war
Got no home address
Just bricks on a dirt floor
Jesus is all I need

Tiny plot of land
Corn stored up in piles
Years it doesn't rain
They just stay hungry for a while
No fatted calf to kill
She made a feast of cuy and corn
She said, "Who else knew my name
Before the day that I was born?
Jesus is all I need
Jesus is all I need."

She bragged about her boys
How they're growin' into men
How they learned to praise the Lord
Old Style Ecuadorian
To buy the new guitar
They had to sell the swine
Said, "My boys go to school on a foreign angel's dime.
This world calls me poor
I bore my babies on this floor
He always provides
Sure as the sun will rise.
So I'll sing Him songs of praise
'Cause I know He'll keep me in His gaze."

Rain poured from the sky
We raced back to the van
There were tears in the eyes
Of this poor, forgetful man
Mother of eight sons
She knows the peace of God
Lord, help me learn to lean
On thy staff and thy rod
Jesus is all I need
Jesus is all I need

Measuring a Year

Four years ago, I saw this guy across the room in my new Chorale class. Isn't he phenomenal looking?

He was wearing a Jesus T-shirt and cussing up a storm. "Cute" I thought "Very cute. But nope". I don't often get prophetic on you, but right as I wrote him off, a tiny voice inside said "Look again. That's him". So I did. And I looked a little too long. I think he though I was a creeper. He started to draw close to God over that summer, and by the next October, we were dating. On May 1 of 2008, we were engaged, and on May 16th of 2009:

I love him more and more, deeper and different, every day.

Happy Anniversary, Paul!

Apology

It's very upsetting when you are angry at someone for very good reasons, and you have thought all day about what you will say to them when you next see them about how terrible they are and how long-suffering you have been, and then they show up at your work with the words "I'm sorry, I was being dumb. I love you so much"



Because then you're the jerk.



But really, how can you stay mad when you have something this darn attractive apologising:
Love you, my love. Forever and ever.

Projects

I love projects. I love the idea of having an end goal, materials, and a set of directions to get you from start to finish. I think it's the Type A personality in me that I've squished and smothered under years of procrastination and forcing myself to be "artistic".
That said, I'm terrible at starting projects. I have lots of great ideas and plans, but very little a) time b)money c)get up and go. I'm just not motivated in a practical way. I love to think about things, mostly because, in my head, I can accomplish an entirely made-over house for free, and with no effort on my part. Sadly, when I open my eyes, I still have horrific carpet, cheap tile, and a generic Target TV console. It's enough to break your heart, really.
THAT said, I've decided to change. It's my May 6 resolution. I have a whole list of things I want accomplished before Paul and I add to our family (which won't be happening this month, by the way. Thanks a ton, mother nature. Also, I hate you).
Here's my list, in no particular order:

This Bed - I have a love affair with Pottery Barn. It's a secret. I'm not even sure Pottery Barn knows, although maybe it does, because every time I go in that store, all the associates can smell the poor on me and give me the stink-eye. This particular bed is a knock off of one I've been coveting at Pottery Barn for the past forever, but could never find for under about a million dollars. Well, here it is, for the low. low price of "Do it your own self". And $120. The Pottery Barn version sells for at least $1190.

These bookshelves - My current nightstand is a baritone case. With an actual baritone in it. As bohemian as that sounds, it's pretty low on the functionality scale and even lower on the "Wow, it totally looks like you put thought and care into your decor" scale. These bookshelves are small and low enough to be considered nightstands, and they have SHELVES. No drawers though. I have a tendency to make messes of drawers. It's a disease.

This Media Console - Another Pottery Barn item. I have wanted an apothecary table ever since that episode of Friends where Phoebe talks about how evil Pottery Barn is. And maybe it is. But this apothecary table is quite lovely.

There is also a changing table I want to build. Sadly, I have nothing to change on a changing table. Soon and very soon

All these plans are from Knock-OffWood.com. She's fantastic. You should check it out.

Graduation Time!

Last Tuesday, my husband picked up my cap and gown from the college. This weekend, I picked up my (way more important than the cap and gown) graduation dress! I haven't bought a new article of clothing since my rehearsal dinner dress, so this is quite the big deal.

I've spent five years trying to get a two year degree, and, next semester, I will have to take two more classes to recieve my Child Development Associate, and then another two semesters for my Database Development Specialist Certificate. Regardless of the work I still have to do, May 8th, commencement, is the culmination of five years of work and finally being able to say that I am a college graduate. I am quite proud of myself.