in which I discuss curtains, nausea, and other current joys in my life

I wish I had some exciting news or interesting tidbit to share, but I don't. I mean, I've already used the "I'm engaged! I'm married! I'm pregnant!" lines so I feel like I've almost peaked in the area of life's big moments.

Yesterday I bought some curtains.

What's sad is this really was a big moment because I had been talking about buying curtains for the last three weeks and four days and I finally did it. I had a surge of exhilaration after finally going grocery shopping the day before and felt like I COULD DO ANYTHING which is how I found myself in the Target curtain section. You know what's overpriced? Straight pieces of colored fabric that hang on a rod over a window. You know what I bought eight of?  Straight pieces of colored fabric that hang on a rod over a window. The whole time I kicked myself for not being at the fabric store buying fabric at a fraction of the cost to make my own curtains. Then I remembered the washing, cutting, ironing, cutting, stitching, taking out of stitches, measuring, stitching, etc etc etc that goes into sewing and I got overwhelmed. I can only handle so much these days and trying to eat ranks slightly higher than handcrafting a masterpiece to adorn my living room windows.

Avoiding a kick in the stomach is also high priority these days. You wouldn't think that would be a concern from someone who does not have a marital arts career, but it is VERY HIGH UP THERE. Every week I watch baby Freddy and every week he kicks me in the stomach. (Can we all agree that saying, "Are you ready, Freddy?" is infinitely more gratifying to say to a child named Freddy than to a child named, for example, Thomas? "Are you ready, Thomas?" just don't have the same ring.) I can hold the child in 52 different positions, but each time he A) starts crying and B) connects with my stomach. I finally found a good position (no crying! no kicking!), but it gave Freddy the golden opportunity to play with the beads on my V neck shirt as well as happily pull on the shirt to peer down at my chest. I realize he's only 6 months and all, but I'm trying to preserve whatever small amounts of modest I can in the coming months. I told Freddy that next week my outift will probably consist of a tshirt and he immediately started crying. Like went from laughing to bawling in 3.6 seconds. I don't even know what to say about that except maybe his parents should start being concerned that he's upset about not being able to peer down a lady's shirt.

And to finished up this hodge-podge of unnecessary information, the special bracelets I bought in attempts to cut down on nausea cut off circulation in my wrists. I cannot win.

yes and no

Yes, we will tell the possible baby names. I'm so nosy I get hives when people keep the name a secret and I don't want to give anyone else a similar reaction.

No, we're not going to find out the gender.

Yes, I we are trying to keep up with the royals.

No, I am not kidding. I plan on having a girl to marry baby George.

Yes, there have been some emotions going on over here. Some "WHO'S IDEA WAS THIS ANYWAY???" during moments of weakness and "THIS WAS A REALLY GOOD IDEA!" when whatever food one feels like eating is available for the taking. That Christopher. He's up one minute and down the next. 

every party needs some music and a few flags

Thank you for all your sweet congratulatory comments about our up and coming baby. If I figure out a way, I'll print them for Sesame's baby book. We call the baby Sesame because that was the size when I told Christopher. I think it's a much sweeter name than Kidney Bean, it's current size. 


Three years ago today I packed Mom and the twins in the car and drove up to Boston to meet Christopher for the first time. There's really nothing so romantic as bringing half your family on a date to meet your future spouse.

Obviously that first date went well because now we're married and today I stuck a little velcro patch on his chest that says he's moving on up in the Army world. I have only been to one other promotion of his, so I was very interested in the whole process, especially since I was going to be involved. Everyone knows I love a good military event. That's one big difference between Christopher and I. I love the pomp and circumstance and he can't wait to move on with whatever else needs to be done. The other day he came home from work talking about various ceremonies coming up that he thought were getting a little out of hand. I try to be supportive, but sometimes we see things differently. 

Christopher: He said we need flags from all 50 states and I said that according to regulations, we do not. This is ridiculous.
Me: Why don't you want flags? Remember when we went to that thing at Fort Drum and all the guys were doing that marching thing (I am so good with the specifics!) around the field? They had flags and it looked so good.
Christopher: But we don't NEED flags and we have better things to do with our time than locate flags from a different unit.
Me: Well, I think the flags would be a nice touch.
Christopher: And we have to sing the Army song, the Transportation song and the...
Me: I love when you sing songs!!!!
Christopher: Why? No soldier is good at singing unless he's in the Army band.
Me: But that makes it authentic. I think all those songs are good and you should add the national anthem to the list. That would be really lovely.

And then he put his head down on the banister and groaned. I could almost see a little bubble over his head that said, "Et tu, Brute?"

Christopher told me what I needed to do forvtoday's ceremony, and let's be honest, I way over thought such a simple process. I understood exactly what was going to happen (remove the current rank, stick on the new, the end), but I was very intent on looking good in the process. Which would explain why I was horrified to discover on the drive to post that the morning sickness lollipop I was enjoying was turning my tongue a lovely shade of yellow. This caused a slight conundrum. Not finishing the lollipop might mean that I go through the HORRIFYING experience of getting sick during the ceremony, but finishing it meant that I'd have a VERY yellow tongue. Vanity won out and I ditched the lollipop. 

I arrived early and stood around watching the goings on in hopes of some good blogging material (aka take my mind of the fact I didn't finish my lollipop). I saw a soldier who's last name is Nine which got me thinking of all his possible nicknames/ways he could be made fun of. Poor guy will never be number one. 

The promotion itself took all of 3.2 minutes and I didn't even have to remove the old rank, something I had rehearsed in my head 36 times. I realize this is all very basic and could be done by a four year old, but I wanted to do well at my big moment in front of the colonels and majors. I feel it's all practicing for my moment in the spotlight when I dine at the White House when Christopher is a four star general. 

The day held very little pomp and circumstance, a fact for which Christopher was very grateful. But don't think I didn't consider bring some little American flags and an ipod to play God Bless America. 

coming to a blog near you

debuting April 2014

the Beverly Hillbillies have come to town

We've traveled many miles together, Christopher and I. Normally we manage to look somewhat normal and put-together, but last weekend all that went down the drain. We drove 6,000 miles (give or take a couple thousand but oh em gee it was the longest drive in history) in a muddy pickup truck full of furniture covered in plastic wrap/shower curtains, bungee cords, and duct tape. This picture is before we stopped three times on the way home so Christopher could reapply tape. It was COVERED by the time we got to our driveway. Things kept on getting klassier as the miles went by.

You can just call us the Clampetts.

fly, fly, fly

I've noticed a pattern every time we move: Christopher unpacks waaay faster than I do. It's not fair at all. I will spend all week unpacking and barely make any progress, but he comes along and unpackes and organizes the garage, fills the bookcases, and makes a trip to Home Depot all in one day.

Part of my unpacking issues might stem from my methods. For example, I start to unpack my closet but realize that I don't know where to put all 82 of my bags. I go through them thinking maybe I'll pass some on, but instead find some long-lost lotion and put it on. Then I come across a magazine which of course needs to be read immediately, but a fly is driving me nuts so I stop to swat it with a sweatshirt from the laundry basket. The laundry basket reminds me that the clothes in the washing machine need to be switched to the dryer, so I walk to the laundry room (which is really just a closet) and pass the pantry on the way. The pantry reminds me that I haven't eaten any Pringles (the food of champions!) in while, so I stop for a small snack. I decide maybe Christopher wants a snack too, so I go to the garage and discover that he's done it all in the amount of time it's taken me to "unpack my closet". I feel like I'm the personification of the mouse from If You Give a Mouse a Cookie.

Speaking of flies, they have taken over this house. I have always had EXTREME pride in my fly swatting abilities, but since living here and getting even more flies than usual, my pride has skyrocketed and I'm beginning to think I should TONE IT DOWN. After all, pride cometh before missing a fly right under your nose. For all his unpacking skilz, Christopher is a novice fly swatter. On Saturday night the flies buzzing was too much so he hopped out of bed and started started waving around a tshirt. I, and it should be noted I was not wearing glasses which means I could barely see, would tell him which direction the flies were going based on sound. Suddenly I got very excited. "GO TOWARDS THE CLOSET! GO! GO! QUICK! NO NO! IT WENT TOWARDS THE BATHROOM" Off he dashed towards the closet and the bathroom which sent me into fits of laughter because I had no idea if flies were even over there. I just wanted to send him on a wild goose chase and see how long it could go on for before he discovered it.

It was every bit as romantic an evening as I dreamed of when I was young.

unfortunately we didn't get a couple extra $100's

A few years ago Grandma asked me to accompany her to the bank. It was supposed to be a quick trip because she just needed to get some cash from the ATM to hold her over until she got her new checks in the mail.

But it wasn't quick.

To begin with, we had difficulty finding a place to park. There were about 12 parking spaces and about 20 cars trying to get in and out. 12 spaces + 20 cars = not enough spaces. Grandma decided she'd do a fancy little half-turn-around/half-back-up/something that I totally thought wasn't going to work. And it totally didn't work. But I admire Grandma for her efforts because that was some very interesting maneuvering. At one point I wanted to melt down in my seat and not be seen by all the other drivers but I thought that would be breaking the Never Leave Your Grandmother When She's in the Midst of Difficulty code of honor.

Once we made it inside the bank, we had to wait for a man in a blue shirt and baseball hat to finish using the ATM. He was rather interesting to watch because he was talking to the machine while he was using it. What is it that you say to ATM machines? "Come on, you can do it! Just give me a couple more $100's!"


As we waited we pondered the sign hanging on the wall behind us. It showed a group of smiling Spanish people and proclaimed loudly, in Spanish...who knows what it said? We don't know what it said because we don't speak, read, or understand Spanish. (I do have my own version of Spanish which involves adding an O at the end of every word, but it's not widelyo spokeno.) For all we know it could have been telling us not to stare at guys in baseball hats who talk to the ATM.

Finally, 20 after arriving at the bank, it was our turn. But now we faced a new problem: the machine would accept her credit card but not her top-secret pin. This might happen to other people but those people can say, "Well, maybe I just don't have the number right." We had the number right. We knew it was right because Grandma produced, on a little piece of paper from the bank that she always carries with her, her top-secret numbers.

Because we like to be high-security with our top-secret numbers.

We never were able to get the money, even after repeated tries. We discussed asking the bank tellers for help which would have been slightly mortifying to do in front of the same people we met out in the parking lot, but Grandma decided she didn't really need the money since she had enough bread and gas and didn't plan on doing any unexpected shopping (does one ever plan on unexpected shopping?), so we left.

I'm sure Grandma was so glad she asked me to go with her because, in her words, I "know how to run those kinds of machines".

I guess I just don't do well with top-secret numbers.

Or with crowded parking lots.

an extra layer of lip gloss goes a long way

As if living in a real house with a garage and a backyard didn't make me feel like an official home owner renter, I've been to Home Depot three times in the last two days which has really sealed the deal.

The first trip was unsuccessful because I made the rookie mistake of going in my gym clothes after zumba. The only way to get good customer service at home improvement stores is to wear nice clothes, jewelry, and cute shoes, preferably with some sort of heel. The better you look, the more likely people are to think you know nothing about home improvement and the more help you get. (I've spent a large amount of time perfecting this theory.) That is why the trip after zumba I couldn't find anyone to help me get a shower curtain rod and I basically had to climb up the shelf to get it. It was like a Cirque De Soleil act right there in aisle 25.

By the looks of things in our garage, I'll be making another trip to Home Depot to look at storage options.

I plan on wearing one of these outfits to ensure I receive optimal service.

I think the tiara will be a really nice touch. 

favorites from our fourth house

I always like document a few favorite things from each place we live. We're currently moving to a new house which means there's no time like the present to git er done.

This also give me a break from packing up my closet for the 14,552nd time which makes me so happy. The break makes me happy, not the 14,552nd packing.  

Last summer I bought a set of wicker chairs from a woman in our complex. They weren't in pristine condition when we bought them and now the seat of one has a hole so big I don't sit on for fear of getting stuck, but I still think they're pretty. 

 I got the idea for this rug from -where else- Pinterest. I had everything ready and was about to begin painting when I realized I hadn't left room in my stencil placement for the O. Greeting our guest with "Hell, welcome to our house!" isn't really my style.

I made this bumblebee at the arts and crafts center on post.

I bought this beautiful pot from Brittany. At least I thought it was a pot until I got the box and it said URN all over it. I never thought I'd enjoy an urn so much. I had visions of putting a lovely bunch of sticks in the pot for a "we are very sophisticated and decorate with urns" look. The stick hunt went slowly as I couldn't find any for less than $27 and I wasn't about to pay $27 American dollars for something that technically I could find on a walk through the woods. Eventually I found some sticks with a more reasonable price tag, but what really sold me were the beads. You can't find beads on just any sticks! I might have been willing to pay $28 for them.