- It's Hubby's birthday today. Unlike this day three years ago, I actually remembered when I woke up and didn't have to call him at 8:15 a.m., sobbing out my apology. (In my defense, I didn't completely forget that year; I already bought the presents and had a dinner planned. But I forgot in the morning. It was bad.)
- Before I made coffee cake this week, I had no idea how much butter and sugar is in that breakfast dish. It's just an excuse to eat cake in the morning. Terrible, terrible.
- I think I ate half the pan in two days.
- Best. Toddler-occupier. Ever.
- GPS navigation is amazing and addicting, even though I have no need for it. At all.
- Last night, I used it to go from home, library, grocery and then home again.
- Again, no need. At all.
- I really want Mark from SYTYCD to go home tonight. I just do.
- Madeline's been battling a cold/virus/yuckiness and wants me to just hold her for hours.
- Am I a terrible mom for somewhat, just a teeny bit, enjoying her need to be held? (Obviously, I never, never want her to be sick but if she has to be, I'm glad I can comfort her.)
July 31, 2008
Random thoughts of the morning
July 30, 2008
A deep thought
Do you ever wonder what causes other people to think about you? The most random things will make me think of a dear friend or sometimes, someone I haven't talked to in years. And it's random because I have many more cherished memories with them and yet I think of them at weird times.
Like, when I hear "It's a Great Day to be Alive" by Travis Tritt (classy, I know), I always think of an old high school friend I haven't seen for years. I'm pretty sure she's not even a Travis Tritt fan but we sang it together. Once. In a car. Which later became a memory to last a lifetime.
Or how I think of another friend every time I pass L.A. Fitness gyms because she and her husband call it "La fitness." And yes, when I'm in the car by myself, I say "la fitness" out loud to amuse myself. I am strange.
So I was really touched to receive the photo below from my dear sister who thought of me when passing this street sign.
"Awwwwww!"
In other breaking news, I left my heart on a Target shelf...
and I really wanna go back.
Like, when I hear "It's a Great Day to be Alive" by Travis Tritt (classy, I know), I always think of an old high school friend I haven't seen for years. I'm pretty sure she's not even a Travis Tritt fan but we sang it together. Once. In a car. Which later became a memory to last a lifetime.
Or how I think of another friend every time I pass L.A. Fitness gyms because she and her husband call it "La fitness." And yes, when I'm in the car by myself, I say "la fitness" out loud to amuse myself. I am strange.
So I was really touched to receive the photo below from my dear sister who thought of me when passing this street sign.
"Awwwwww!"In other breaking news, I left my heart on a Target shelf...
and I really wanna go back.July 28, 2008
Be still, my heart
How I love this little girl! Madeline's new obsession is a doll given to her by her great-grandmother. Just like the teddy bear, she has to hold the doll and kiss it every time she wakes up.
July 25, 2008
The Opossum Story: Part Two
If you haven't already, make sure you read the preamble and part one before continuing.
After our experience with Matilda, a.k.a the Creature of My Nightmares, I spent the following day a paranoid wreck. Using the only knowledge I had, I made Hubby check our oven drawer repeatedly before leaving for work.
I kept peeking under my desk at work, checking for signs of rodents. Hubby sent me links (sans images) on opossums, which declared that they are one of the "cleaner" rodents and are not known to attack people. Uh-huh, sure.
When we returned home, I waited outside while Hubby checked for signs of a re-entry. The coast was clear.
Hubby went downstairs "opossum-proof" basement because we still didn't know how Matilda got in. I tried to act normal and start dinner. I had to get a pot lid out of the oven drawer but didn't want to, given the story burned into my memory.
I wanted to ask Hubs to do it for me, but again, my pride kicked in and I distinctly remember telling myself, "There's nothing in the drawer. It's all in your head. There's nothing in the drawer."
So I bent down, opened the drawer and came face-to-face with MATILDA SITTING ON MY POT LIDS IN MY OVEN DRAWER!
Seriously, you can't make this stuff up.
I totally melted. Screaming my head off, I slammed the drawer shut and ran into our living room to jump up and down on our coffee table. Since he last saw me holding a knife, Hubby ran up the stairs expecting to discover a maimed wife.
The details are fuzzy but I'm fairly certain any pretense of bravery was shattered during my repeated yells of, "In the drawer! On my pot lids! I can't do this! I can't do this!"
That night, I realized I was married to someone with unnatural patience and grace. Hubs was so kind to me in my state of hysterics.
First, he decided to take me on a drive to calm down. But we saw a raccoon. Hysteria ensued again. So we decided to spend the night at my parents. He wanted to go back in the house to get clothes and such but I begged him not to go back in. I was terrified he would get attacked and asked if opossums could bite through his jeans. (Just roll with me, OK? I was very scared.)
I called my mom and here's a snippet of our convo:
K: Mom, we found another opossum in the house.
M: What?! Are you OK?
K: Yeah, but we can't stay there.
M: Of course you can come here but Katie... I know I'm going to sound crazy but someone should check the oven drawer. Do you remember that story on the radio?
K: MOM, IT WAS IN MY OVEN DRAWER!
Once we got to my parents' house, I started crying again just looking at their miniature dachshunds. They looked so much like over-sized rodents so my dad put them away.
Long story long, animal control was called, Matilda was exterminated and nothing else was found in our house. We discovered a crack in the basement and a hole in the cabinet under our kitchen sink. (Remember I thought I heard a cabinet door shut on the first night? Yeah, this totally justifies any noise I hear and I make Hubs investigate every one now.)
Thankfully, no nests were found but we did spend the next three nights with my parents before I was able to go back. Can you blame me?
And now you know why this was such a huge milestone for me.
After our experience with Matilda, a.k.a the Creature of My Nightmares, I spent the following day a paranoid wreck. Using the only knowledge I had, I made Hubby check our oven drawer repeatedly before leaving for work.
I kept peeking under my desk at work, checking for signs of rodents. Hubby sent me links (sans images) on opossums, which declared that they are one of the "cleaner" rodents and are not known to attack people. Uh-huh, sure.
When we returned home, I waited outside while Hubby checked for signs of a re-entry. The coast was clear.
Hubby went downstairs "opossum-proof" basement because we still didn't know how Matilda got in. I tried to act normal and start dinner. I had to get a pot lid out of the oven drawer but didn't want to, given the story burned into my memory.
I wanted to ask Hubs to do it for me, but again, my pride kicked in and I distinctly remember telling myself, "There's nothing in the drawer. It's all in your head. There's nothing in the drawer."
So I bent down, opened the drawer and came face-to-face with MATILDA SITTING ON MY POT LIDS IN MY OVEN DRAWER!
Seriously, you can't make this stuff up.
I totally melted. Screaming my head off, I slammed the drawer shut and ran into our living room to jump up and down on our coffee table. Since he last saw me holding a knife, Hubby ran up the stairs expecting to discover a maimed wife.
The details are fuzzy but I'm fairly certain any pretense of bravery was shattered during my repeated yells of, "In the drawer! On my pot lids! I can't do this! I can't do this!"
That night, I realized I was married to someone with unnatural patience and grace. Hubs was so kind to me in my state of hysterics.
First, he decided to take me on a drive to calm down. But we saw a raccoon. Hysteria ensued again. So we decided to spend the night at my parents. He wanted to go back in the house to get clothes and such but I begged him not to go back in. I was terrified he would get attacked and asked if opossums could bite through his jeans. (Just roll with me, OK? I was very scared.)
I called my mom and here's a snippet of our convo:
K: Mom, we found another opossum in the house.
M: What?! Are you OK?
K: Yeah, but we can't stay there.
M: Of course you can come here but Katie... I know I'm going to sound crazy but someone should check the oven drawer. Do you remember that story on the radio?
K: MOM, IT WAS IN MY OVEN DRAWER!
Once we got to my parents' house, I started crying again just looking at their miniature dachshunds. They looked so much like over-sized rodents so my dad put them away.
Long story long, animal control was called, Matilda was exterminated and nothing else was found in our house. We discovered a crack in the basement and a hole in the cabinet under our kitchen sink. (Remember I thought I heard a cabinet door shut on the first night? Yeah, this totally justifies any noise I hear and I make Hubs investigate every one now.)
Thankfully, no nests were found but we did spend the next three nights with my parents before I was able to go back. Can you blame me?
And now you know why this was such a huge milestone for me.
July 24, 2008
The Opossum Story: Part One
Make sure to read the preamble before continuing.
Two years ago this August, Hubby and I moved into our house, an older home but not a fixer-upper. We made a "somehow-this-will-come-back-to-bite-us" decision and lazily tossed all of our empty boxes, newspapers and bubble wrap in the family room, which we call "The Orange Room."
It is very orange.
Like all good Hoosiers that Sunday night, we were watching an Indianapolis Colts preseason game. At one point, I thought I hear a sound in the kitchen, like a cabinet door opening and shutting. Hubby investigated but found nothing.
I am a kinda jumpy person (some might be snickering at "kinda") so I just chalked the noise up to the old house settling, exaggerated by my vivid imagination.
A little later, while I was in the bathroom (thank goodness), Hubby called out:
H: Are you still in the bathroom?
K: Yeah, why?
H: Is the door closed?
K: Yeah, why?
H: Just keep it closed.
K: OK, why?
H: (long pause) I just saw a opossum in our dining room.
I might have screamed, popped a heart valve or passed out completely; I'm not really sure. But I do remember stuffing towels around the bathroom door and spending the next 60 minutes standing on the edge of our tub, holding onto the shower curtain rod.
Yup, I left my man to deal with the creature on his own because a moment like this is Reason #1189 on the list, Why Get Married: Hubs can deal with what I don't want to deal with.
But I don't think he wanted my help since it would consist of the lifeless, empty shell of Katie staring at her worst fear.
The opossum, whom Hubby affectionately nicknamed "Matilda" and I nicknamed "Creature of My Nightmares," sped off towards The Orange Room. Hubby did his best to get Matilda out of the house but she scurried from one ginormous pile of boxes and paper to another.
We definitely learned one thing that night: opossums really do play dead. It's not a myth. Once they see a human, they flop on their disgusting bellies and refuse to move, even if prodded with a broomstick.
So, Matilda played dead on and off for three hours. After the first hour, Hubby convinced me to come out of my foxhole to help him.
Y'all, that's when you know you love someone, when you're willing to come out of your safe haven (or step off the tub ledge) to face your worst nightmare.
Hubby's soothing chants of "She won't hurt you; she's more scared of you than you are of her" and our pretty fine teamwork finally worked. We pushed Matilda out the back door and locked it.
He checked the rest of the house and basement while I tried to put on a courageous face, repress the image of the nasty little pink tail and think of how much I had to clean (floors, walls, ceilings...because you just never know).
Miraculously, I was able to sleep in our house that night. This was partly due to my pride issues and wanting to be a brave wife who can face her worst fear and come out stronger. (I already forgot about the first hour perched on the tub.)
However, I may or may not have stuffed the bedroom door with towels and asked Hubby to check the oven drawer (see #2 if this doesn't make sense). While I might be brave enough to sleep there, I'm no fool.
But oh yes, there is a part two.
Two years ago this August, Hubby and I moved into our house, an older home but not a fixer-upper. We made a "somehow-this-will-come-back-to-bite-us" decision and lazily tossed all of our empty boxes, newspapers and bubble wrap in the family room, which we call "The Orange Room."
It is very orange.
Like all good Hoosiers that Sunday night, we were watching an Indianapolis Colts preseason game. At one point, I thought I hear a sound in the kitchen, like a cabinet door opening and shutting. Hubby investigated but found nothing.
I am a kinda jumpy person (some might be snickering at "kinda") so I just chalked the noise up to the old house settling, exaggerated by my vivid imagination.
A little later, while I was in the bathroom (thank goodness), Hubby called out:
H: Are you still in the bathroom?
K: Yeah, why?
H: Is the door closed?
K: Yeah, why?
H: Just keep it closed.
K: OK, why?
H: (long pause) I just saw a opossum in our dining room.
I might have screamed, popped a heart valve or passed out completely; I'm not really sure. But I do remember stuffing towels around the bathroom door and spending the next 60 minutes standing on the edge of our tub, holding onto the shower curtain rod.
Yup, I left my man to deal with the creature on his own because a moment like this is Reason #1189 on the list, Why Get Married: Hubs can deal with what I don't want to deal with.
But I don't think he wanted my help since it would consist of the lifeless, empty shell of Katie staring at her worst fear.
The opossum, whom Hubby affectionately nicknamed "Matilda" and I nicknamed "Creature of My Nightmares," sped off towards The Orange Room. Hubby did his best to get Matilda out of the house but she scurried from one ginormous pile of boxes and paper to another.
We definitely learned one thing that night: opossums really do play dead. It's not a myth. Once they see a human, they flop on their disgusting bellies and refuse to move, even if prodded with a broomstick.
So, Matilda played dead on and off for three hours. After the first hour, Hubby convinced me to come out of my foxhole to help him.
Y'all, that's when you know you love someone, when you're willing to come out of your safe haven (or step off the tub ledge) to face your worst nightmare.
Hubby's soothing chants of "She won't hurt you; she's more scared of you than you are of her" and our pretty fine teamwork finally worked. We pushed Matilda out the back door and locked it.
He checked the rest of the house and basement while I tried to put on a courageous face, repress the image of the nasty little pink tail and think of how much I had to clean (floors, walls, ceilings...because you just never know).
Miraculously, I was able to sleep in our house that night. This was partly due to my pride issues and wanting to be a brave wife who can face her worst fear and come out stronger. (I already forgot about the first hour perched on the tub.)
However, I may or may not have stuffed the bedroom door with towels and asked Hubby to check the oven drawer (see #2 if this doesn't make sense). While I might be brave enough to sleep there, I'm no fool.
But oh yes, there is a part two.
July 23, 2008
Question to all my smart friends
Should I pick my cucumbers and zucchini? They're huge!
this was the same zucchini one week ago
Madeline picking her first tomato
this was the same zucchini one week ago
Madeline picking her first tomatoThe Opossum Story: A Preamble
Here is my attempt at sharing the worst experience of my life. Labor pales in comparison because that was joy infused with pain. This was just sheer horror. (Yes, I did get my BA in Melodramatic Writing.)
Since I am a long-winded blogger, I've split this story into three parts: preamble, part one and part two. I know, the suspense is incredible but do try to sleep tonight.
Background
For this story to be truly appreciated, you must understand two things.
1. I am scared of any creature who might want to gnaw on my leg. Animals in this category include (but are not limited to):
My initial fears can be traced back to "The Badger Game" episode on "Lassie." I don't remember the details but I do remember Timmy is trapped in a dirt hole with a ferocious badger in a gunny sack. The badger breaks free and TRIES TO GNAW HIS LEG OFF!
(OK, I really don't know if the badger goes for the leg but he was vicious and Lassie had to come to Timmy's rescue.)
2. I have only heard one story of opossums in my entire life. It was on the radio when I was little, maybe 9 or 10 years old, riding in the car. A listener called into a home improvement talk show to find out how to get rid of opossums in the house.
This woman had four (count 'em, FOUR!) in her oven drawer. My mom and I still remember this call and have always been a little jumpy around oven drawers.
Now that you know this information, you'll fully be able to appreciate the coming story.
Here is The Opossum Story: Part One
Since I am a long-winded blogger, I've split this story into three parts: preamble, part one and part two. I know, the suspense is incredible but do try to sleep tonight.
Background
For this story to be truly appreciated, you must understand two things.
1. I am scared of any creature who might want to gnaw on my leg. Animals in this category include (but are not limited to):
- mice
- rats
- squirrels
- raccoons
- moles
- beavers
- otters
- badgers
- groundhogs
My initial fears can be traced back to "The Badger Game" episode on "Lassie." I don't remember the details but I do remember Timmy is trapped in a dirt hole with a ferocious badger in a gunny sack. The badger breaks free and TRIES TO GNAW HIS LEG OFF!
(OK, I really don't know if the badger goes for the leg but he was vicious and Lassie had to come to Timmy's rescue.)
2. I have only heard one story of opossums in my entire life. It was on the radio when I was little, maybe 9 or 10 years old, riding in the car. A listener called into a home improvement talk show to find out how to get rid of opossums in the house.
This woman had four (count 'em, FOUR!) in her oven drawer. My mom and I still remember this call and have always been a little jumpy around oven drawers.
Now that you know this information, you'll fully be able to appreciate the coming story.
Here is The Opossum Story: Part One
July 22, 2008
Madeline takes on Chicago
We headed up to Chicago over the weekend to catch up with old friends. There's nothing like a group of friends you have a history with and can share stories that get larger than life every time they're mentioned.Of course, I opened myself up to mockery when I announced that I can now identify a rose. I meant a double knockout rose shrub but I'm sure by next year, the story will be, "Remember when Katie said she could tell flowers from trees?"
This was our first trip to Chicago with Madeline and I realized, yet again, that everything does change when you have a child. It's not a bad thing. It's just I saw the road trip, the city and our time up there differently (especially the time around 2 a.m. when we were all still up talking and I knew Madeline was going to wake up in four hours).
Joe and I went to Millennium Park several years ago but now we saw it completely differently. It's a great park but it's awesome for kids. Madeline loved playing in the fountain, walking through the wildflowers and watching people across the big lawn.
And outside the city, they have an elk preserve. Never would it appeal to me to go see elks but if you're up there, do it. It's amazing.
Once we returned home, I also realized I am more like my mom every day. She always made us clean the house before a trip and I thought that was ridiculous. But now, what do I do? Clean the house before we leave. But Mom really does know best; it's so nice coming home late to a clean kitchen and bedroom.
Since this blog is shamelessly Madeline's baby book, here are the pictures!
We passed more than one person who thought we were negligent parents, ("Look at that soaked diaper on their baby!") She just played in the fountain, I promise!
Remember Madeline's vanity? The bean offered it on a whole new level.July 18, 2008
Just two things
First, I think this pretty much sums up a mother's love.
Second, I got a call this afternoon that made me laugh. I'm in a local marketing research company's database and they called to see if I qualified for an upcoming focus group about weight management.
(For those who don't know me, I'd like you to picture me with a tan, skinny ankles and perfectly-arched eyebrows. Those who do know me are probably laughing hysterically right now.)
Here was part of the conversation:
Woman: Are you actively trying to lose weight at the moment?
Me: I had a baby 14 months ago.
Woman: Does that mean yes?
Me: Yes.
Woman: How much do you weigh?
Me: Seriously?
Woman: It's necessary to see if you qualify.
Me: OK, XXX.
Woman: And how tall are you?
Me: 5' 8"
Woman: OK, let's see. (pause) Oh. (sounding surprised) You're still on the chart.
(loooooooong pause as I realized she thought my weight would disqualify me and she realized what she just said)
Woman: I mean, I didn't... it's OK if you're off the charts...not that you're close... it's not a medical chart... (nervous laugh) your weight is normal!
Me: I had a baby 14 months ago.
After confessing my weight to a stranger, I still didn't qualify. Sheesh.
Now I'm off to make blueberry muffins for a road-trip. Yup, I'm real serious about weight management.
Second, I got a call this afternoon that made me laugh. I'm in a local marketing research company's database and they called to see if I qualified for an upcoming focus group about weight management.
(For those who don't know me, I'd like you to picture me with a tan, skinny ankles and perfectly-arched eyebrows. Those who do know me are probably laughing hysterically right now.)
Here was part of the conversation:
Woman: Are you actively trying to lose weight at the moment?
Me: I had a baby 14 months ago.
Woman: Does that mean yes?
Me: Yes.
Woman: How much do you weigh?
Me: Seriously?
Woman: It's necessary to see if you qualify.
Me: OK, XXX.
Woman: And how tall are you?
Me: 5' 8"
Woman: OK, let's see. (pause) Oh. (sounding surprised) You're still on the chart.
(loooooooong pause as I realized she thought my weight would disqualify me and she realized what she just said)
Woman: I mean, I didn't... it's OK if you're off the charts...not that you're close... it's not a medical chart... (nervous laugh) your weight is normal!
Me: I had a baby 14 months ago.
After confessing my weight to a stranger, I still didn't qualify. Sheesh.
Now I'm off to make blueberry muffins for a road-trip. Yup, I'm real serious about weight management.
Lest we not forget...
Hubby and I were shocked to turn on "So You Think You Can Dance" last night to find Comfort back in the competition! WHAT?!
Even more shocking, she was in the bottom three again! (Oh, I jest.) Hasn't Comfort been in the bottom three every week since the first show?
We go out for an anniversary dinner, miss one show and apparently miss a lot. Like Jessica. Sniff, sniff.
Even more shocking, she was in the bottom three again! (Oh, I jest.) Hasn't Comfort been in the bottom three every week since the first show?
We go out for an anniversary dinner, miss one show and apparently miss a lot. Like Jessica. Sniff, sniff.
The creative dilemma
Remember this? For the last couple of weeks, I've been bouncing all over the place on what should be my first project. I know I should just start somewhere but I'm savoring the fun part, tossing around ideas and picking out fabric.
After some hefty research, I've reached a decision: curtains for the master bedroom. (This research may or may not be heavily swayed by the gorgeous fabric sample I've been glancing at every five minutes since last weekend.)
Now, crafty Katie says curtains would be a great first project because I just have to make a straight stitch. But this is coming from a person whose fourth project was an amazing life-size dinosaur.
OK, maybe not exactly life-size but completely huge and fantastic. And even though I desperately want to venture into the world of creative craftiness, I have an inkling that a straight stitch might be rather ambitious for me.
Then I found window mistreatments from the Nesting Place:
While I really do want to bust out the sewing machine, it's nice to know there are all kinds of ways to be crafty.
After some hefty research, I've reached a decision: curtains for the master bedroom. (This research may or may not be heavily swayed by the gorgeous fabric sample I've been glancing at every five minutes since last weekend.)
Now, crafty Katie says curtains would be a great first project because I just have to make a straight stitch. But this is coming from a person whose fourth project was an amazing life-size dinosaur.
OK, maybe not exactly life-size but completely huge and fantastic. And even though I desperately want to venture into the world of creative craftiness, I have an inkling that a straight stitch might be rather ambitious for me.Then I found window mistreatments from the Nesting Place:
Mistreatment: (n). covering for a window that is quick, cheap and pretty. may or may not need hardware does not require sewing. a real designer's worst nightmare.Ahhhh, this might be more up my alley. This woman uses hot glue and upholstery tacks instead of needles and thread and doesn't always buy curtain rods. I think it's pretty cute.
Mistreating: (v). the act of treating a window with dignity and respect without use of the following: hundreds of dollars, sewing, time, crying, divorce, child neglect...
While I really do want to bust out the sewing machine, it's nice to know there are all kinds of ways to be crafty.
July 17, 2008
Random thoughts of the morning
Every single time I pull a load of dark clothes out of the dryer, I wonder if a raccoon could be hiding in the pile. You might think this is an irrational fear, but since I once had a opossum in my oven drawer, I think it's perfectly logical. (I also blame the raccoon who crossed our backyard about three months ago; I haven't been able to shake the image since.)
Madeline is very interested in using a spoon. I'm not very interested in oatmeal splattered on my walls.
No CVS for three weeks = my system going through withdrawal.
We always go to Maggiano's for our anniversary because that's where we had our rehearsal dinner. I will cry if it ever closes.
Saying "I will cry" is not really a dramatic statement. I've shed a tear three times in the last two days, two happy and one sad. You might as well call me "Watershed Mayes."
You can't imagine how much pasta we brought home from Maggiano's last night.
I wish I was British so I could say, "We brought home loads of pasta" and not sound like a fool.
I really need to stop listening to the Harry Potter and Shopaholic series on CD.
Feeling rather reckless today, I tried *gasp* Irish breakfast tea instead of my usual English breakfast tea. Watch out world, I'm living on the edge today.
Madeline is very interested in using a spoon. I'm not very interested in oatmeal splattered on my walls.
No CVS for three weeks = my system going through withdrawal.
We always go to Maggiano's for our anniversary because that's where we had our rehearsal dinner. I will cry if it ever closes.
Saying "I will cry" is not really a dramatic statement. I've shed a tear three times in the last two days, two happy and one sad. You might as well call me "Watershed Mayes."
You can't imagine how much pasta we brought home from Maggiano's last night.
I wish I was British so I could say, "We brought home loads of pasta" and not sound like a fool.
I really need to stop listening to the Harry Potter and Shopaholic series on CD.
Feeling rather reckless today, I tried *gasp* Irish breakfast tea instead of my usual English breakfast tea. Watch out world, I'm living on the edge today.
July 16, 2008
Three years down, forever to go
Today is our wedding anniversary. Seriously love this day. And Hubby. Lots. And since this blog is all about passing on my astounding wisdom...
crickets chirping
.... here's what I've learned in the first three years of marriage:
I never knew I could accumulate so many "J" names in my phone address book. (Marrying into a family of 9 "J's," I should have seen this coming.)
New life is utterly, completely amazing.
Having someone know you so well can make for incredibly loving or infuriating moments. (These often depend if tension is already present.)
Dietary habits can change, speaking as a one who had never even tasted meat until 19 years old but has ground beef, chicken breasts, bacon and sausage in her freezer right now and has a husband who actually enjoys Special-K loaf. (Oh, stop gagging.)
Hypothetically, I am capable of spending a Friday night watching a documentary on Frank Lloyd Wright with design-minded Hubby. Hypothetically, I might enjoy it.
My instincts prompt me to say shrub instead of bush. This one took years and I'm stinkin' proud. We're still working on concrete and cement.
Scattergories is a vicious, vicious game and is not recommended for family game night.
Also, there once was a concert by Janet Jackson in a park. Somewhere. (I won't name names but it ends with "-on." If you still don't know who I'm referring to, see point #1. )
And in a white sea of eyes, I see one pair that I recognize.
And I know that I am the luckiest.
I love you more than I have ever found the words to say to you.
crickets chirping
.... here's what I've learned in the first three years of marriage:
I never knew I could accumulate so many "J" names in my phone address book. (Marrying into a family of 9 "J's," I should have seen this coming.)
New life is utterly, completely amazing.
Having someone know you so well can make for incredibly loving or infuriating moments. (These often depend if tension is already present.)
Dietary habits can change, speaking as a one who had never even tasted meat until 19 years old but has ground beef, chicken breasts, bacon and sausage in her freezer right now and has a husband who actually enjoys Special-K loaf. (Oh, stop gagging.)
Hypothetically, I am capable of spending a Friday night watching a documentary on Frank Lloyd Wright with design-minded Hubby. Hypothetically, I might enjoy it.
My instincts prompt me to say shrub instead of bush. This one took years and I'm stinkin' proud. We're still working on concrete and cement.
Scattergories is a vicious, vicious game and is not recommended for family game night.
Also, there once was a concert by Janet Jackson in a park. Somewhere. (I won't name names but it ends with "-on." If you still don't know who I'm referring to, see point #1. )
And in a white sea of eyes, I see one pair that I recognize.
And I know that I am the luckiest.
I love you more than I have ever found the words to say to you.
July 15, 2008
You do the math
I'm pretty certain we own eight sippy cups, eight sippy cup lids and roughly...47 pacifiers.
This morning, however, evidence points to the contrary. I can only find two cups, one lid and one clear pacifier. (And you just know the clear pacifier is gonna be a goner in a matter of seconds.)
Moral of the story:
If you have an item you'd really like to lose, come on over. We'll paint it a bright color, pretend we can't live without it and leave it in "the most obvious and logical place to find later."
Godspeed, lost item. Godspeed.
This morning, however, evidence points to the contrary. I can only find two cups, one lid and one clear pacifier. (And you just know the clear pacifier is gonna be a goner in a matter of seconds.)
Moral of the story:
If you have an item you'd really like to lose, come on over. We'll paint it a bright color, pretend we can't live without it and leave it in "the most obvious and logical place to find later."
Godspeed, lost item. Godspeed.
July 14, 2008
My girly girl
Madeline has always been drawn to girly things, like purses, jewelry, hair clips, etc. She's still in the purse-carrying phase and now, she's reached a new feminine level: vanity.
This morning, Madeline entertained herself by draping a dish towel on her shoulder. I'm pretty certain she thought it was beautiful.
This was her routine:
This morning, Madeline entertained herself by draping a dish towel on her shoulder. I'm pretty certain she thought it was beautiful.
This was her routine:
- walk around the house in a circle
- stop in Mom and Dad's room to check herself out in the mirror
- pat her hair to smooth the curls (I'm not lying; I tried to get it on video but she stopped every time.)
- adjust the dish towel
- walk to the kitchen
- check herself out in the reflection of the oven door
- adjust the dish towel
- repeat
July 11, 2008
What doesn't work for insomnia
- reading for fun (E.M. Forster's "A Room with a View")
- three Sudoku puzzles
- lying in bed with eyes closed (Yes, I'm such a dork that I just checked my AP Stylebook to make sure I didn't use the wrong lay/lie; was I right?)
- watching Hitchcock's "North by Northwest"
- reading for work ("Making a Living as a Freelance Writer")
- more lying with closed eyes
- watching "Return to Me"
However, the whole experience reminded me how much I enjoy "Return to Me." I still cry at the death scene and laugh out loud when the ex-priest comes over. (If you have time to burn, it starts at 2:24 but, really, is EVERYTHING on YouTube? Apparently.)
July 10, 2008
Need a distraction?
Are you looking for a five-minute reason not complete the work you have to do today? Me too.
Even though my procrastinating ways have been known to come back to bite me, I found a great distraction, thanks to my favorite Dallas-dwelling sister-in-law.
This and this made me laugh out loud and forget that I should be wisely using every minute of Madeline's nap time instead of reading hilarious blogs. Oh well.
Even though my procrastinating ways have been known to come back to bite me, I found a great distraction, thanks to my favorite Dallas-dwelling sister-in-law.
This and this made me laugh out loud and forget that I should be wisely using every minute of Madeline's nap time instead of reading hilarious blogs. Oh well.
July 9, 2008
Of course...
After I gush about how wonderful my new phone is and how much I love texting, I go and mess it up.
Unknowingly, I changed an option on my phone today and couldn't receive messages. (The texting maniac in me wants to know: Why this is even an option, Sprint?)
I just assumed no one loved me enough to respond to my 37,000 texts. It didn't even cross my mind that something could be wrong until Hubby came home and asked why I ignored him all day.
Maybe this means the keypad lock was meant for me, not my 14-month-old daughter.
Unknowingly, I changed an option on my phone today and couldn't receive messages. (The texting maniac in me wants to know: Why this is even an option, Sprint?)
I just assumed no one loved me enough to respond to my 37,000 texts. It didn't even cross my mind that something could be wrong until Hubby came home and asked why I ignored him all day.
Maybe this means the keypad lock was meant for me, not my 14-month-old daughter.
How we spend our time
I finally got a new phone. I had my old pink phone for more than three years (which is about 1 billion in technology years) and desperately needed a phone with a battery that could last longer than .2 seconds.
The only good feature of my old phone was its pinkness. No color screen. No camera. No texting keypad. No Internet. You know, the necessities.
I came home with this:
Hello gorgeous.
I know, I know, the Blackberry isn't really the perfect fit for a stay-at-home mom. But it is so pretty.
Before this week, I had sent about five text messages. I never understood why people would text and not call or e-mail.
But since Monday, I've turned into a texting maniac. So if you have my number, text me. It'll make my day. I still get giddy.
I also discovered how handy it is to have texting and Internet. Last night, our power kicked off for over an hour during the storm but boredom never came to Hubby and me.
(One of us may or may not have looked up the lyrics to Blessed Union of Souls's "Light in Your Eye" and may or may not have serenaded the other with the ENTIRE song, thanks to a handy-dandy lyrics Web site.)
And while I've been texting away, Madeline has taken to walking in circles around the house, carrying a purse my mom gave her for her birthday.
It must be innate for girls to know how to carry a purse. I don't think I've carried a small purse in the crook of my arm since she was born. (I still lug the ginormous diaper bag around on my shoulder.)
The only good feature of my old phone was its pinkness. No color screen. No camera. No texting keypad. No Internet. You know, the necessities.
I came home with this:
Hello gorgeous.I know, I know, the Blackberry isn't really the perfect fit for a stay-at-home mom. But it is so pretty.
Before this week, I had sent about five text messages. I never understood why people would text and not call or e-mail.
But since Monday, I've turned into a texting maniac. So if you have my number, text me. It'll make my day. I still get giddy.
I also discovered how handy it is to have texting and Internet. Last night, our power kicked off for over an hour during the storm but boredom never came to Hubby and me.
(One of us may or may not have looked up the lyrics to Blessed Union of Souls's "Light in Your Eye" and may or may not have serenaded the other with the ENTIRE song, thanks to a handy-dandy lyrics Web site.)
And while I've been texting away, Madeline has taken to walking in circles around the house, carrying a purse my mom gave her for her birthday.
It must be innate for girls to know how to carry a purse. I don't think I've carried a small purse in the crook of my arm since she was born. (I still lug the ginormous diaper bag around on my shoulder.)
But at least our interests are compatible right now. While I'm texting away, she's very entertained walking in circles.
I never got a good shot because she is on the move!
it's hard work being a girlJuly 2, 2008
Lesson from the hardwood trenches
I spent four hours yesterday cleaning our floors.
(letting that statement sink in...)
It's not that I've completely ignored them and had black mold growing in the cracks. I just hadn't gotten on my hands and knees and really scrubbed them for awhile.
So I got on my hands and knees and scrubbed. I'll sum it up with this: ugh.
I have never liked housework. I'm sure my mom would be very happy to confirm this. (I believe my childhood bedroom used to be officially labeled "The room the tornado went through.")
After I quit my job to be home with Madeline, I saw my house as Enemy Number One, the obstacle preventing me from enjoying hours upon blissful hours with my baby.
But my attitude has shifted over the last year. I've actually come to *gasp* enjoy cleaning.
Wow, that was drastic. Let me rephrase that: I've come to enjoy the benefits of cleaning.
Now the efforts of my days are enjoyed by and affect the people I love the most. Not an organization, no matter how much I believe in the mission. Not a boss, even though one in particular is dear to my heart.
Once I finished and rocked back from my very sore knees, I had more stinkin' pride in my shiny, clean hardwoods than any press conference or newspaper article. Because my little family gets to relax, play and enjoy each other in a clean home.
This really isn't a revolutionary idea because it all goes back to the poster in my seventh-grade health classroom: "I am convinced that life is 10 percent what happens to us and 90 percent how we react to it."
So true, health classroom poster. So true.
P.S. This new-found pride can't be taken too seriously. When I stepped on one of Madeline's Cheerios this morning, I nearly cried. I have GOT to keep my priorities straight because clean floors last for about 30 seconds.
(letting that statement sink in...)
It's not that I've completely ignored them and had black mold growing in the cracks. I just hadn't gotten on my hands and knees and really scrubbed them for awhile.
So I got on my hands and knees and scrubbed. I'll sum it up with this: ugh.
I have never liked housework. I'm sure my mom would be very happy to confirm this. (I believe my childhood bedroom used to be officially labeled "The room the tornado went through.")
After I quit my job to be home with Madeline, I saw my house as Enemy Number One, the obstacle preventing me from enjoying hours upon blissful hours with my baby.
But my attitude has shifted over the last year. I've actually come to *gasp* enjoy cleaning.
Wow, that was drastic. Let me rephrase that: I've come to enjoy the benefits of cleaning.
Now the efforts of my days are enjoyed by and affect the people I love the most. Not an organization, no matter how much I believe in the mission. Not a boss, even though one in particular is dear to my heart.
Once I finished and rocked back from my very sore knees, I had more stinkin' pride in my shiny, clean hardwoods than any press conference or newspaper article. Because my little family gets to relax, play and enjoy each other in a clean home.
This really isn't a revolutionary idea because it all goes back to the poster in my seventh-grade health classroom: "I am convinced that life is 10 percent what happens to us and 90 percent how we react to it."
So true, health classroom poster. So true.
P.S. This new-found pride can't be taken too seriously. When I stepped on one of Madeline's Cheerios this morning, I nearly cried. I have GOT to keep my priorities straight because clean floors last for about 30 seconds.
July 1, 2008
Recently heard
After Joe looked through our library bag
Joe: You got a lot of books this time.
Katie: I got the same number as you.
Joe: Yeah, but mine are picture books.
--
I brought disaster brownies to dinner with family last night. They looked like the topography of an arid desert and had 2000 tiny holes all over. I clearly messed something up with the recipe.
10-year-old cousin: Mom, why did she check it so many times with a toothpick?
--
While reading a touch-and-feel book to Madeline
Katie: Do you want to feel the duck's, um, uh, fur?
Joe shoots me an incredulous look
Joe: They're called feathers. Ducks have feathers.
In my defense, what was in the book was way more like fur than feathers. And I was tired.
Joe: You got a lot of books this time.
Katie: I got the same number as you.
Joe: Yeah, but mine are picture books.
--
I brought disaster brownies to dinner with family last night. They looked like the topography of an arid desert and had 2000 tiny holes all over. I clearly messed something up with the recipe.
10-year-old cousin: Mom, why did she check it so many times with a toothpick?
--
While reading a touch-and-feel book to Madeline
Katie: Do you want to feel the duck's, um, uh, fur?
Joe shoots me an incredulous look
Joe: They're called feathers. Ducks have feathers.
In my defense, what was in the book was way more like fur than feathers. And I was tired.
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