We are here in our new home.
(If I didn't have such a heavy sense of responsibility, I would probably just post that sentence as-is without elaboration. It's such a weighty statement to me, after all. But here's the story behind it:)
We moved in over this past weekend, Memorial Day weekend. We transferred our belongings, our lives, and our cat about 6 miles across town to a new home, a house that we officially own and do not rent. We have nice neighbors. We have a lawn to mow and an attic with some sort of wild animal running around occasionally. We have our own driveway, and a laundry room that does not require mountains of quarters just to do one load of clothes. We share walls only with ourselves.
Whew.
Of course, the weekend was not without drama. I wish I could give you all some pictures to show, but I don't. I was working for a good part of the weekend, and I think our camera bag was probably buried underneath a pile of cardboard rubble early on, anyway. Plus, when you arms are tired and covered in cardboard paper cuts, breaking out the Canon isn't high on the list. If you need a visual, just think of an empty house, and then a whole bunch of jumbled furniture, brown boxes, and a yowling cat. There. That's what it looked like.
But I mentioned the drama. It came in the form of a bookcase.
When Jason and Company moved all of our stuff, we brought over my mom's stuff, too: she'll be living in our guest bedroom while she goes to nursing school full-time. And I have to say, I was pretty impressed at how she reduced a two-bedroom apartment's worth of stuff - a LOT of it - down to only what she could fit into a 12 x 12 room. What was left didn't look like a lot. It wasn't, really. But somewhere along the way, my mom mentioned a bookcase that she'd like to keep: she'd measured it out to make sure it fit the room, she said, and it fit so many of her books and other assorted things neatly that it would be a space-saver in the end. It's a huge behemoth creation of wood and particleboard that has been in the family as long as I have, has experienced several reincarnations involving paint and glaze, and has survived several moves completely intact.
She also mentioned that it might need to be moved in through the bedroom window. I am not a very handy person by nature, so I chose to wave this statement off, figuring that my very handy husband would know just what to do.
As it turned out, the bookcase does fit very nicely in her room. She wasn't kidding on that one. Where it didn't fit nicely was the narrow hallway leading down to her room, as well as the doorway going into the room. I wasn't actually present for the carnage, but somewhere along the way, the very wide bookcase got broken down, taken apart to fit into the room. Then there was the challenge of putting an unfamiliar piece of furniture back together. There were some negative thoughts and statements. There were threats of firewood-making. And four guys, completely fed up with the behemoth bookcase, stood around with pieces of it in their hands, all suggesting different ways to put it back together. My talkative brother talked. A lot. Craig the Handyman calmly suggested the best way to put the bookcase together, but I think all the confusion might have drowned him out, so he ended up holding a shelf for a while. Jason wanted to scrap the whole project and just buy a whole new bookcase, which just goes to show you he's lived entirely too long with me, One of Little Patience.
In the end, four different personalities came together in final harmony and got the bookcase together. Needless to say, I think compassion for my mother and the desire not to spend any more money won out over making the family relic into splinters, though this is likely the final, er, resting place for the bookcase.
I think my mom's graduation present will be a gift card to IKEA to start a new life with a new bookcase...
Sunday, May 25, 2008
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
eating my slice of humble pie
In between packing and unpacking, de-wallpapering and painting, I drove from our new house back to our old apartment, stopping at the Publix that will be our local supermarket when we make the move final this Saturday.
(Shameless plug: if ANYONE reading this happens to be available at all on Friday or especially Saturday to help move things, please let me know! Preggo Lady here can't do much of anything, particularly since I have to be at work Friday and Saturday nights and will be staying elsewhere to sleep during the day...)
I get to the ice cream aisle to pick up some Edy's, my favorite. And that's when I see: same price (nearly $6 that day for a carton) but a markedly-reduced carton size. Behold:
(Note: the above picture shows both sizes, but when I went to the store, ALL the different varieties of Edy's - yogurt, ice cream, slow-churned, etc. - were all the 1.5 size. Not to confuse anyone...)
Oh, I was peeved. And I didn't get any Edy's, and vowed not to, as long as I could help it. I picked up some Blue Bell instead, cheaper and bigger and just as tasty, in my humble opinion. Stupid, dumb Edy's. Grrr. I stomped off in a pregnant funk to go pick up my cheese and milk and head home.
Later, I was eating my Blue Bell ice cream - oh my goodness, best cookies and cream flavor EVER - and thinking about the downsizing and my own attitudes. I realize I'm not the only one affected by our slumping economy and rising gas prices: it seems like fuel and milk have been in a neck-and-neck battle to see who can be more expensive. And haven't I been quietly griping for eons now about the super-sizing of portion sizes, America's children, and my own waistline? I want to cry every time I see an obese child with a large McDonald's fry carton in their hand, or entire families waddling painfully down the snack aisle at Target. Do I not get a special little thrill when the latest 100-calorie pack creation shows up on my supermarket shelf, where I heartily acknowledge I am paying extra moolah so someone else can control my portions for me? And here I am, fuming in my car because suddenly, my ice cream - perhaps my biggest weakness - has one whole cup less product for me to consume, then feverishly try to eliminate from my thighs later down the line? Do I really need that extra cup? Hmmmm.
And as I was eating those last melty spoonfuls, I came across this photo essay on abcnews.com:
Hungry Planet
Sometimes, I need a little reminder like that when I start complaining that food prices are rising too high for me to afford a daily portion of junk. It feels a bit like I'm the kid on Christmas morning who gets more toys than anyone else around... and complains that there is one less gift than last year. How easily I forget how much He has blessed me, day in and day out.
And there are logical, practical next steps I can take in this awareness toward responsible consumerism - remembering that I am only one of billions who need to eat each day - but maybe for now, the next time I head into Publix, I will not grumble but instead offer a silent prayer of gratitude for a well-stocked supermarket to shop at, the money to provide for all my necessities, and even some left over to make ice cream, no matter how "overpriced", an option in my privileged life.
(No, I will not make you sing "We Are the World" and hold hands with me.)
(Shameless plug: if ANYONE reading this happens to be available at all on Friday or especially Saturday to help move things, please let me know! Preggo Lady here can't do much of anything, particularly since I have to be at work Friday and Saturday nights and will be staying elsewhere to sleep during the day...)
I get to the ice cream aisle to pick up some Edy's, my favorite. And that's when I see: same price (nearly $6 that day for a carton) but a markedly-reduced carton size. Behold:
(Note: the above picture shows both sizes, but when I went to the store, ALL the different varieties of Edy's - yogurt, ice cream, slow-churned, etc. - were all the 1.5 size. Not to confuse anyone...)
Oh, I was peeved. And I didn't get any Edy's, and vowed not to, as long as I could help it. I picked up some Blue Bell instead, cheaper and bigger and just as tasty, in my humble opinion. Stupid, dumb Edy's. Grrr. I stomped off in a pregnant funk to go pick up my cheese and milk and head home.
Later, I was eating my Blue Bell ice cream - oh my goodness, best cookies and cream flavor EVER - and thinking about the downsizing and my own attitudes. I realize I'm not the only one affected by our slumping economy and rising gas prices: it seems like fuel and milk have been in a neck-and-neck battle to see who can be more expensive. And haven't I been quietly griping for eons now about the super-sizing of portion sizes, America's children, and my own waistline? I want to cry every time I see an obese child with a large McDonald's fry carton in their hand, or entire families waddling painfully down the snack aisle at Target. Do I not get a special little thrill when the latest 100-calorie pack creation shows up on my supermarket shelf, where I heartily acknowledge I am paying extra moolah so someone else can control my portions for me? And here I am, fuming in my car because suddenly, my ice cream - perhaps my biggest weakness - has one whole cup less product for me to consume, then feverishly try to eliminate from my thighs later down the line? Do I really need that extra cup? Hmmmm.
And as I was eating those last melty spoonfuls, I came across this photo essay on abcnews.com:
Hungry Planet
Sometimes, I need a little reminder like that when I start complaining that food prices are rising too high for me to afford a daily portion of junk. It feels a bit like I'm the kid on Christmas morning who gets more toys than anyone else around... and complains that there is one less gift than last year. How easily I forget how much He has blessed me, day in and day out.
And there are logical, practical next steps I can take in this awareness toward responsible consumerism - remembering that I am only one of billions who need to eat each day - but maybe for now, the next time I head into Publix, I will not grumble but instead offer a silent prayer of gratitude for a well-stocked supermarket to shop at, the money to provide for all my necessities, and even some left over to make ice cream, no matter how "overpriced", an option in my privileged life.
(No, I will not make you sing "We Are the World" and hold hands with me.)
testing
... to see if this twitterfeed thing works.
Edited to add: it works! it works! I love technology.
Edited to add: it works! it works! I love technology.
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
random updates, tuesday edition
I so owe you all a decent post. Belly Mondays went belly-up, and I just haven't been in the blogging spirit these days...
I have an apartment filled with boxes and scattered belongings. Yep, we've been in the process of moving into our new house, with the Big Day of Moving scheduled for this coming Saturday. Anyone want to help? In addition to the moving, there's painting, putting up insulation, removing some bad-ass wallpaper, and figuring out what to do with wood paneling.
Baby is doing great. You wouldn't know it by my lack of updates and pictures, but he's growing well, kicking a lot, and preparing to make his grand entrance into the world in just a few short months.
On that note, I need to get some work scrubs that say, yes, I'm pregnant. Because I'm sort of getting hurt that whenever I mention to someone that I am pregnant (usually in response to their request to help them move a 400+ patient up in the bed) they look at me with utter surprise and say, "Really?" I'm just carrying him really high and really spread out, and scrubs are the great figure-hiders. Oh, I know several pregnant women who feel like whales who would probably smack me for being whiny, but I've waited 30+ years to be big-bellied with no apologies...
It's true: I'm officially a tweeting fool. I've even gotten twhirl, which takes the tweeting to a whole new level, I'm afraid. And if you thought I didn't have enough excuses not to blog, people, I've just acquired the biggest attention-diverter of them all with this one.
My mom started nursing school this past Monday. She's also moving in with me and Jason into the new house. Plus, she did a pretty good job raising me, and kids in general love her. All of this conspires to make her the best babysitter ever.
I have an apartment filled with boxes and scattered belongings. Yep, we've been in the process of moving into our new house, with the Big Day of Moving scheduled for this coming Saturday. Anyone want to help? In addition to the moving, there's painting, putting up insulation, removing some bad-ass wallpaper, and figuring out what to do with wood paneling.
Baby is doing great. You wouldn't know it by my lack of updates and pictures, but he's growing well, kicking a lot, and preparing to make his grand entrance into the world in just a few short months.
On that note, I need to get some work scrubs that say, yes, I'm pregnant. Because I'm sort of getting hurt that whenever I mention to someone that I am pregnant (usually in response to their request to help them move a 400+ patient up in the bed) they look at me with utter surprise and say, "Really?" I'm just carrying him really high and really spread out, and scrubs are the great figure-hiders. Oh, I know several pregnant women who feel like whales who would probably smack me for being whiny, but I've waited 30+ years to be big-bellied with no apologies...
It's true: I'm officially a tweeting fool. I've even gotten twhirl, which takes the tweeting to a whole new level, I'm afraid. And if you thought I didn't have enough excuses not to blog, people, I've just acquired the biggest attention-diverter of them all with this one.
My mom started nursing school this past Monday. She's also moving in with me and Jason into the new house. Plus, she did a pretty good job raising me, and kids in general love her. All of this conspires to make her the best babysitter ever.
Friday, May 16, 2008
the hardest things I've ever had to do
(Stolen from Kelly with much gratitude for breaking me out of my blogger writer's block)
Become a daughter of divorced parents
Remain a daughter of divorced parents
Move to New Jersey from Florida to go to grad school
Leave grad school and come home to Florida to save my sanity
Leave the sharp pain of school years behind me, again and again
Forgive myself for past screw-ups and failures
Be happy with my body
Let go of the children I lost and never met
Love my husband well
Know that God is in control of my life, so I don't have to be
Some of these are still works in progress, particularly the last one.
Tell me yours, too.
Become a daughter of divorced parents
Remain a daughter of divorced parents
Move to New Jersey from Florida to go to grad school
Leave grad school and come home to Florida to save my sanity
Leave the sharp pain of school years behind me, again and again
Forgive myself for past screw-ups and failures
Be happy with my body
Let go of the children I lost and never met
Love my husband well
Know that God is in control of my life, so I don't have to be
Some of these are still works in progress, particularly the last one.
Tell me yours, too.
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
Kathie Lee Ick
Still waiting on those Colorado pics. Also waiting for Jason to come home to take a very late Belly Monday photo (we might have to permanently change these to Belly Friday photos...). In the meantime, here's a clip of one of my all-time favorite mommy bloggers, Heather Armstrong, putting up a brave face in the presence of catty computer-phobe Kathie Lee Complex Gifford. Heather looks adorable. Kathie appears dated, eyebrow-less, and only slightly hypocritical, given the number of years she spent on television gakking about her own children:
Someone, please, take that woman off the air permanently.
Someone, please, take that woman off the air permanently.
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
he sings for you and you and you
In order to distract myself from the hormonal-coaster going on with my emotions, I stumbled upon this collection of the worst album covers ever, run by the Orlando Sentinel. I am simultaneously laughing and gagging uncontrollably as I look through the contenders - they want me to just vote for one as the worst? Which one do I pick? Do I select:
...the many complex facets of Roger?
...or "little" David Wilkins, King of all the Taverns?
...and I can't ignore the handless organist:
...or the sweet stylin's and hawwwtt facial hair of Country Church:
...little Gary Dee will sing you a haunting rendition of the classic song "He Touched Me" followed, non-disturbingly, by "Get All Excited":
I was really stumped... but in the end, one album cover stood out above the rest. And if you know me, and know where I get to worship each Sunday, and know this man's namesake, well, I think you'll agree that this one takes the cake:
No, Mike, thank YOU.
...the many complex facets of Roger?
...or "little" David Wilkins, King of all the Taverns?
...and I can't ignore the handless organist:
...or the sweet stylin's and hawwwtt facial hair of Country Church:
...little Gary Dee will sing you a haunting rendition of the classic song "He Touched Me" followed, non-disturbingly, by "Get All Excited":
I was really stumped... but in the end, one album cover stood out above the rest. And if you know me, and know where I get to worship each Sunday, and know this man's namesake, well, I think you'll agree that this one takes the cake:
No, Mike, thank YOU.
Monday, May 5, 2008
the good, the bad, the ugly cry
Oh, it was a lovely week. Lovely mountains, lovely friends, lovely food, lovely times. I was in desperate need of a vacation, and I got a GREAT one, folks. I have never been more in love with a state than I am with Colorado. (Photographic proof of loveliness to come soon, I promise)
My last night in Colorado was perhaps the most fun, since my husband and my friends took me out for majorly yummy fondue in downtown Denver. I have officially restarted my love affair with cheese, and I also had a chance to reconnect with friends I hadn't seen in a very long time and meet some amazingly witty and fun new ones. I don't think I've ever laughed so hard over a discussion that ponders why Sean Bean's name doesn't rhyme with itself, but should.
The only crap-ass thing about vacations is that they eventually end, and this one wasn't a lovely end, not like the week was lovely. In the space of 24 hours, I:
--had major indigestion from the cheese-lovin' (okay, getting used to that one as an everyday occurrence, but still)
--got up at the butt crack of dawn to go to the airport
--didn't get to give the Clark family a huge hug goodbye (still in bed, recovering from the cheese love themselves)
--had to leave my husband in the beautiful, cool mountains to go back to flat, hot Florida
--sat in an aisle seat getting one elbow whacked by a beverage cart, the other squished by a very obese woman, and my back kicked and jostled by a very rude businessman
--was temporarily locked out of my apartment upon returning home
--faced a seemingly impossible amount of packing to do before our closing on Friday
--cleaned up some major cat barf on my carpet
--discovered my toilet was broken, uh, too late
--felt lonelier and sadder than I had in years, thanks to pregnancy hormones
--called Jason about 23 times in 4 hours, sad and sobbing each time, begging him to come home instead of going to Atlanta for a conference
So, it was maybe not such a great ending to my vacation. Thankfully, today is much better, thanks to a dose of 1980's Molly Ringwald movie therapy, an amazing new flavor of Breyer's ice cream that rocked my world (vanilla ice cream with chocolate crackles - ohhhhh), and a good night's sleep with a snuggly cat and without a single alarm to interrupt it. The sun is shining, I'm not minding the heat so much, I still have a LOT of ice cream left, and I just feel much better, though it feels strange and lonely to separated from my better half after spending the entire glorious week together.
There's a lot on my plate this week, but it's mostly positive: birthday teppanyaki and ice cream with dear friends tonight, packing to move to our new house, another ultrasound tomorrow morning, a close friend's wedding, Mother's Day. Jason comes home late Wednesday night, too, from a conference that I hope will add more fuel to his growing ministry fire. And I do still have a couple days yet before I have to go back to work.
Happy birthday to me, happy birthday to me...
My last night in Colorado was perhaps the most fun, since my husband and my friends took me out for majorly yummy fondue in downtown Denver. I have officially restarted my love affair with cheese, and I also had a chance to reconnect with friends I hadn't seen in a very long time and meet some amazingly witty and fun new ones. I don't think I've ever laughed so hard over a discussion that ponders why Sean Bean's name doesn't rhyme with itself, but should.
The only crap-ass thing about vacations is that they eventually end, and this one wasn't a lovely end, not like the week was lovely. In the space of 24 hours, I:
--had major indigestion from the cheese-lovin' (okay, getting used to that one as an everyday occurrence, but still)
--got up at the butt crack of dawn to go to the airport
--didn't get to give the Clark family a huge hug goodbye (still in bed, recovering from the cheese love themselves)
--had to leave my husband in the beautiful, cool mountains to go back to flat, hot Florida
--sat in an aisle seat getting one elbow whacked by a beverage cart, the other squished by a very obese woman, and my back kicked and jostled by a very rude businessman
--was temporarily locked out of my apartment upon returning home
--faced a seemingly impossible amount of packing to do before our closing on Friday
--cleaned up some major cat barf on my carpet
--discovered my toilet was broken, uh, too late
--felt lonelier and sadder than I had in years, thanks to pregnancy hormones
--called Jason about 23 times in 4 hours, sad and sobbing each time, begging him to come home instead of going to Atlanta for a conference
So, it was maybe not such a great ending to my vacation. Thankfully, today is much better, thanks to a dose of 1980's Molly Ringwald movie therapy, an amazing new flavor of Breyer's ice cream that rocked my world (vanilla ice cream with chocolate crackles - ohhhhh), and a good night's sleep with a snuggly cat and without a single alarm to interrupt it. The sun is shining, I'm not minding the heat so much, I still have a LOT of ice cream left, and I just feel much better, though it feels strange and lonely to separated from my better half after spending the entire glorious week together.
There's a lot on my plate this week, but it's mostly positive: birthday teppanyaki and ice cream with dear friends tonight, packing to move to our new house, another ultrasound tomorrow morning, a close friend's wedding, Mother's Day. Jason comes home late Wednesday night, too, from a conference that I hope will add more fuel to his growing ministry fire. And I do still have a couple days yet before I have to go back to work.
Happy birthday to me, happy birthday to me...
Friday, May 2, 2008
and your wallet, too
Overheard at dinner tonight:
"Hey - Sharon said I could have free office space in her basement if I wanted it."
"Honey, no."
"Why not?"
"Why not? Her basement is unfinished. AND she lives an hour away from us. Can you imagine driving two hours to commute every day?"
"So? I could drive that."
(look of incredulosity, points to large SUV parked outside) "SO? You drive the gas-guzzling machine of the century. You might as well STAB THE EARTH."
"Hey - Sharon said I could have free office space in her basement if I wanted it."
"Honey, no."
"Why not?"
"Why not? Her basement is unfinished. AND she lives an hour away from us. Can you imagine driving two hours to commute every day?"
"So? I could drive that."
(look of incredulosity, points to large SUV parked outside) "SO? You drive the gas-guzzling machine of the century. You might as well STAB THE EARTH."
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)