Date Night

Don't be fooled by this title.  I am not referring to my own personal date night.  I haven't had one of those since my pre-Riley days, and even on that one I was 8.5 months pregnant so it's not like I really let loose or anything.  My back was killing me, I couldn't sip wine (because we all know I am a wine-sipper), and I needed to be home to get in bed by 8PM.

What I'm referring to is my social media "friends" who have date nights and how envious I am.  Ryan and I aren't big on leaving the kids with anyone besides family, and the one family member we have locally works two jobs - one in food service and one at a bar, so she might be able to give us "date early afternoon" but date night is pretty much out of the question.

Maybe my lack of date nightingness is my own fault, since I can't let go enough to let someone who doesn't spend Christmas morning with my kids watch them for a few hours, but that's a neurotic tic I've accepted about myself, kind of like the fact that I'm pretty sure if you took my blood pressure when there are dishes in the sink, I'd be having some kind of cardiac event.

Moreso than my parents friends who are date-nighting it up on the reg (power to you, know how lucky you are and how jealous I am), I would like to address my non-parent friends and point out to you that it's not date night for you.  

I know the experts say that kids or no, married for forty years or two, you should always "date" your partner.  But I have to pause and wonder for a minute if these experts have witnessed the miracle of birth, held their wife's hair while she violently threw up (let's just call that a stomach bug), or seen what happens to the female body after it carries a child for nine months.  You can't date someone you've seen go to the bathroom.  You can't date someone you've seen ugly cry.  And you can't date someone who has made you blind with rage because they won't PUT AWAY THE CLOTHES YOU FOLDED FOR THEM.  So I contend that these relationship experts don't have kids, always close the door when they go pee, and are already on anti-depressants or anti-anxiety medication.  But I digress...

It's not date night for you.  You've never sat down for dinner at a restaurant, had the waiter bring you your plate, and had someone say "Mom, I need to go to the bathroom."  Really, right now?  We've been sitting here twenty minutes waiting for our food, and right now when the waiter brought me my nice hot plate, you have to go to the bathroom?

It's not date night for you.  You've never had your meal interrupted by bending down to pick up a sippy cup literally one thousand times.  You have intelligent, coherent, uninterrupted conversations about politics and travel (because you have plenty of time and money to invest in them), and your hobbies (which don't include 'going to youth soccer games' and 'Pokemon cards').  You can finish a thought without being interrupted by "MAMA!" and yourself saying "Don't crawl on the floor."

It's not date night for you.  Every night of the week you can go out to dinner with your significant other.  You don't have to plan it a month in advance and pray no one gets sick (because they always get sick at the worst times) and that you don't find yourself just too exhausted to go anywhere.  You can wear whatever you want without being afraid the baby will pull your earring through your ear, pull down your shirt, or someone will think "She's a mom, why is she dressed like that?"  Makeup and a nice dress aren't a break for you - you can wear them whenever you want because whenever you want you can go eat at places where they don't have crayons and paper menus and gross wooden high chairs.

Look, I get it.  You're "dating" your partner.  You're making it a special event so you don't get complacent in your relationship.  I support you.  And I wouldn't trade my rugrats for your child-free dinners (most of the time).  Post your pics because you look hot in your LBD and your heels.  Check in at Bordino's and make me jealous - don't have too many chocolate martinis.  But can we just agree that it's "Saturday night" for you?

Date night!!!!

Oh wait, no.  Just Saturday night!!!!!

Adventures in Grocery Shopping

Remember when you could decide to go grocery shopping at the last minute late on a Sunday night?  Maybe you threw together a list, maybe you didn't.  Who cared?  If you forgot anything it was just a quick trip to swing by and pick it up.  Maybe you had a complicated dish you want to try, or maybe you just needed some snack foods for studying, but either way, grocery shopping was easy and almost fun.  Remember when you didn't almost want to take a vacation day from work just to grocery shop?

Man how things change, right?  Now I start dreading the grocery trip when I wake up on Sunday morning.  All through breakfast or church or football pregame, I'm thinking about it.  We have a great little app on the iPad that's linked to both of our phones, so I can tell Ryan's thinking about it too.  "Bananas" pops up on my phone.  Then "yogurt," "apples," "chips."  Ryan's adding things as they come to him.  The knot in my stomach gets bigger.  We're rapidly approaching the first big hurdle...

He's two Cokes and a bag of Doritos in...it's about to go down

What's for dinner?  No single question strikes more fear in my heart.  I don't care if we're in town, out of town, eating in, or eating out.  I abhor this question.  Preparing for a week of groceries means you have to answer this question for the next six nights.  So I have to decide what we're in the mood to eat, what I'm going to have time to cook, and how many times we're actually going to cook.  And menu planning for a picky eight year old is no joke.  You wouldn't believe how many recipes I've crossed off for a single ingredient just to avoid a fight.  Getting Alli to settle down and eat at dinner is challenging enough - I don't need to be fighting her over what we're having.  So Ryan and I discuss the menu, and we probably settle on the same three or four things - spaghetti, a variation of pork chops, and a chicken dish.  Here lately with the baby taking up so much time, we've really taken a liking to the crock pot, which means we have a weekly rotation of about three dishes.  I wish I were more inventive in the kitchen, but I'm just not.

So once that hurdle is cleared, it's time to actually load up and go to the store.  This takes a lot more planning than it used to with Riley.  We usually time it right after she eats so she will either be happy or sleeping.  Once it's time, we head off to Wal-Mart.  Wal-Mart is always an experience in itself.  Depending on the season and whatever Alli's latest obsession is, we probably have a whole section to browse through before we can even start shopping.  Today it was the Halloween section.  And somehow, I walked out with a 3.5 ft blow up ghost that you'll be seeing on my lawn in a week or so.  I'm not really even sure how it happened.

Ryan has a perfect system for Wal-Mart.  First he hits produce, then meat, then dairy, then chips and snacks.  Then he winds his way towards the front, hitting the aisles he needs to on his way back to the light (aka the exit door).  I'm sure without the three of us girls in tow, it would take him fifteen minutes.  But since grocery shopping is a family affair, this becomes an hour long ordeal.

Alli spends the majority of the trip acting like a ninja.  Not sure if you've ever met a ninja, but they are stealthy.  So a portion of this time, she's attempting to sneak up on or hide from Ryan and I.  She's peeking around the end caps, she's hiding behind the displays, and I am saying for the forty fifth time "Where's Alli?"

Have you ever actually tried to navigate Wal-Mart on a Sunday afternoon?  It's literally like walking through a battlefield.  Ryan's well-equipped for such things given two tours in Iraq, but Alli and I struggle.  While she's stealthing around, she almost gets run over twenty times by people in pajamas who seem to think they are in a bigger hurry than anyone else.  I mean really?  You're wearing pajamas.  Wherever you're going, it can't be that critical.  I've been bruised on the hip from a cart, had my heels run up on, and have sniped repeatedly at anyone who almost rams the ninja master.

Once we finally make our way to the checkout and we're only fifth in line behind people with carts as full as ours, Alli nearly always finds something she needs.  Never mind if we just bought her something.  Never mind if she already has something similar.  And never mind if it's just a literal piece of crap, she's decided she wants it and she's going to bring it up multiple times while you're in line.  "Hey, I really want that stuffed unicorn with a flashlight in its belly that neighs.  Remember that unicorn flashlight?  I really want it.  Can't you buy it with all of your money?  Don't you have lots of money?  Can't you buy it?  It's so cute.  I really want it.  It's a unicorn and a flashlight.  I don't want to save my money, can't you buy it?  I really want it.  I love it.  Remember that unicorn flashlight?  I need it."  At some point, the "No no no no no no no no" you've been repeating since she brought it up finally sinks in and she looks something like this:

Feelings were hurt in the making of this picture.  But no unicorn flashlights were purchased.

Cue the arms crossed pout for the next five minutes.  Or until the next toy comes along.  Walking out today, I spied a mom of three leaning against a beer display with her head in her hands.  Why, Arkansas, why will you not sell us beer on Sunday?  It's grocery day, and she's shopping with three kids.  This lady needs some beer.  Help her.

When you finally do make it out to the car alive, it dawns on you.  You totally forgot toilet paper.  When you got near the toilet paper aisle, your kid was fake whirling nunchucks and almost took out a toddler.  After someone tried to run her over.  Before you almost lost track of her for the third time, but after she saw the Ninja Turtle activity book she thought she needed that you said no to.  And you think to yourself, "We can go another day or two without toilet paper, right?"

The Waiting Game

A few appointments ago, our OB commented to Ryan and I that were in the "boring part" of the pregnancy - if only I had known how right he was!  Don't get me wrong, I am so grateful that it's been "boring," that's about the best thing you can ask for when there's a little bitty on the way.  But we just flipped the switch to full term (37 weeks) on Thursday, and I have almost everything checked off my to do list.

My bags are as packed as they can be.  All of Riley's clothes are washed and put away.  Her room is totally done and ready to go.  Ryan is going to put the carseat bases in the car this weekend.  I mean, all we are missing is her!

I am trying to find peace in these last few weeks (days, hours?) until she is here, because I know our lives are going to be upside down for a while.  But I can't help but be just a little impatient - I want to meet her, I want to hold her!  I want to get labor out of the way!  But at our last OB appointment on Monday, I was only a half centimeter dilated and she hadn't dropped.  So I am guessing we are in for the long haul.

Today Ryan is helping a friend move, and I am trying to focus on enjoying Alli's last few weeks (days, hours?) as an only child.  We watched the new Ninja Turtles show this morning, went for a walk/scooter ride around the 'hood with the dogs, and then went to the neighborhood park to play.  We even broke into the pool area to look around - I can't wait for that thing to be completely up and running!

What is everyone else up to on this beautiful Saturday while I'm bored, broody, and waiting for Riley?  I hope you're outside - it's gorgeous here!

#HusbandProblems

So with all of my baby growing, I tend to get a little worn out and achy right after (and sometimes before) we put Alli to bed.  Ryan and I used to play games or watch TV on the couch until 10 or 11PM.  But with the backaches and sleepiness that accompany the wonder of pregnancy, I have to go lie down in our bed as soon as my schedule allows.

More often that not, especially in the first trimester and the beginning of the second, I was asleep between 8PM and 9PM.  That left Ryan a lot of time to himself, most of which he spent incessantly flipping channels on the TV.

I know I am not the only woman whose husband has terrible taste in movies, right?  I mean, how many times have you seen Back to the Future III and My Cousin Vinny?  More than I care to count.  And this man can turn to a movie, watch 10 minutes of it right in the middle, and then flip the channel to start it all over again.  Drives.  Me.  Crazy.  Hand me the remote and give me HGTV and Bravo.

I really love my man, I do.  But one more Karate Kid, and I might just scream!!

Pressured for Perfection

Let me share with you a text that I just sent to Ryan:

"I need new clothes!  I need to get our new house decorated to perfection!  I want to be a great employee!  I want to be the perfect mom and wife!  And I want to make fun food and decor for the holidays!  Why am I so tired all the time?"

Do any of you other moms feel this way all the time?  I am pulled in one hundred different directions from the moment I wake up in the morning until the second my eyes close at night.  Most mornings I am scrambling to get myself and my second grader ready for the day in a timely fashion (failure rate: 70%), then I spend the majority of the day at my challenging and dynamic job, and then my evenings are full of cooking dinner, getting homework done, walking dogs, and doing all the things that keep the household running (cleaning, laundry, etc).  When do I have time to do anything else?  Where do these moms find time to interview their kids, put together scrapbooks, and bake cookies shaped like reindeer?

I have a fantastic husband who helps me every step of the way - his mornings, days, and nights look exactly like mine.  Where does the time go?  I don't feel like I give anything the attention it deserves because I'm always spread so thin!

Oh and the guilt.  Do they ever tell you about the guilt when you're a new mom?  Never.  They tell you about the exhaustion, the lack of patience, the weight gain.  But they never even begin to mention that new emotion that you're doomed to spend the rest of your life with: guilt.  "I should be doing this.  I should want to do that.  I should have done this.  I'm not doing that enough."  All.  The.  Time.

I blame some of this on social media.  When I'm on Pinterest, I'm pinning ideas that I know I'll never get to carry out because I'm to tired/busy.  When I'm Facebook, I'm looking at someone else's highlight reel while living my own outtakes.  And when I'm on Twitter, I'm indulging in sports talk and celebrity gossip (enter guilt).

When am I going to host a Southern Living Thanksgiving?  When am I going to be dressed like I walked out of Vogue?  And when is my house going to be decorated like an HGTV show?  And when am I going to realize that living and being happy means that none of these things will ever come true?  More important than a Southern Living Thanksgiving is one where I'm surrounded by family enjoying themselves (and a Cowboys win).  More important than being dressed like a super model is being there for my child and my husband.  And more important than a pristine and well-decorated museum is a comfortable, homey place for the whole family to relax.

And I need to give myself credit.  Cooking two days out of seven isn't that bad.  The house is usually pretty clean considering the zoo that resides there.  And I do just fine decorating most of the time (I think).

But until I learn the accept the above, this is how I feel most of the time:

Via

The Best Lunch Ever

Today was Alli's annual doctor's visit.  We haven't had to go to the doctor a lot lately (knock on wood!), so I scheduled her annual check-up just to make sure everything was going well.  I scheduled it for 10:30AM, knowing that would mean I could take her to get some lunch afterwards, which I try to do any time we have an appointment.  I get to hear all the time from her about how other mommys come eat lunch with their kids, so the few times a year I am in Fayetteville around lunch time, I try to make sure we spend it together.  Darn you, stay at home moms.  Thanks for adding to my guilt.

She's always really worried about time, so when I told her I would pick her up at 10:15 and I showed up at 10:17, I heard about it.  Then she jabbered the whole way to the doctor's office about her day and the upcoming weekend.  Like seriously.  I couldn't hear myself think.  I missed the turn into the entrance of the office because she was yakking in my ear.  Where does this kid get it?!?!

So anyway, in we went.  First they measured her - she's 4'1" - and then they took her weight (48 lbs).  After than was blood pressure, some general questions, and then we waited for her doctor.  I really love her pediatrician.  Several years ago when I was afraid Alli was having trouble talking (ah, those were the days...), he came highly recommended from a friend of my mom's who works at Children's Hospital.

Dr. Ball came in, read her measurements, and told me she was in the 50th percentile on her height.  I couldn't believe it!  She's always been taller than most kids her age, but I guess the world is catching up to her.  I should have known something was up when she went from the back row of her kindergarten picture to the second row of her first grade picture.  I went from the back row of my kindergarten picture to the front row of my first grade picture, but I was really hopeful she would get Ryan's height.  Looks like she's doomed.

She was in the 25th percentile on her weight, and he said she was skinny, but not too skinny.  Trust me, I can tell by how I can't get any clothes to fit her.  I have to tell you, every time we go and I hear she's skinny, it's kind of a relief.  This baby was in the 98th percentile on her weight when she was three months old.  We had a chunk on our hands.

Alli got a great report from the doctor, and then we headed to McDonald's.  Her choice, of course.  She got her usual, I opted for Chicken Selects (which I don't recommend), and we went and sat in the play place.  After she ate her food, opened her toy (the Victorious microphone she's been wanting!! SCORE!!), and played on the play place for ten minutes, she asked if we could grab a cookie on the way out.  Of course we did, and when we got in the car, she proclaimed this "The Best Lunch Ever."

In your face, stay at home mom.

Disclaimer - I have lots of friends who are SAHMs, and I respect what they do.  It's pure jealousy and guilt.  I have a lot of that to go around, and I write all of this in fun.  Mostly.

Be Our Guest

I just want to warn you, this isn't your usual fab unveiling and chipper post.  This is a lament.  I know we used to get a lot of laments here on the Lowe Down (check the side bar for a few to get you warmed up for this one if needed), but I started to feel like all I ever did was lament and that would be too close to real life!  And this is blogland, right?  I only have to tell you about things I want to tell you about, and I can angle the camera just so I crop out the cat condo and you don't see the clothes piled up in the chair.

Not today, kids.  Today I tell the tale of the guest bedroom.

Most of you faithful readers are single or married with no kids.  You are comfortable in your 3 bedroom homes, and why shouldn't you be?  You have a bedroom to yourself, plus two extra bedrooms to do whatever you want with.  Gym, gameroom, man cave, craft room, office, whatever.  Even if you want to have a devoted guest suite, you still have another room to house your junk.

Not so once you have those babies you long for, my friends!  Say goodbye to your plethora of space!  Your guest suite and workout room!  Your sanity!

See, kids generally get their own room.  And then, you only have one room to work with it your cozy 3 bedroomer.  And it has to serve nearly every purpose:  office, guest room, pet area.

I think a picture is worth a thousand words, but before I launch a photo session, here's the prequel.  I repainted this room a mossy green about a year ago and got a new bedspread from Overstock.com with a pretty, graphic white print.  We added a desk in the corner for our computers.  Oh, and most importantly, this room mainly belongs to Queen Lola and Crazy Ginny.  You'll see what I mean.

So there's the desk, complete with a hot pink chair I got at Hob Lob on clearance, and some a dresser from my great aunt that I repainted a few years ago.  It was her wedding furniture, so it's 50+ years old and was in great shape.  Not exactly my style, but definitely a freebie that I am so grateful for (it along with the bed served as the master bedroom furniture for the first 3 years of our marriage), and sometimes you gotta work with what you got!!

I think a nice touch in any guest bedroom is framed pictures of your guests - and since my parents and sister are our most frequent guests, they stay in the frames year round.  But if I love you, know you're coming, and make the time to do so, expect to see yourself in the frames too.  I just got those new curtains - the previous set was hung far too low.  I think I have an addiction: white 95" sailcloth panels from Tarjay.  Sisters of these beauties in the kitchen.

Oh, and those are cat food bowls.  Seriously.  I move them out when people come.  But yeah.  Drives me insane.  And yes, see the window sill?  Thanks, baby Landry.

Here's a shot of the bed - I do love the bedding.  And above the bed is my absolute favorite shot of Marilyn Monroe.  Gorgeous.  But alas, there are no nightstands.  No bedside lamps.  Nothing.  What?  I'm working on it.  I should probably DIY a headboard in there - the current one isn't really cutting it from a focal standpoint.  But really, why work on a room overrun with cats?  Help motivate me.

Oh, why yes, that IS a cat litter box on one side of the bed.  Thanks for asking!  You tell me where else to put it in this tiny little house and I'll try it.  Seriously.  Same goes for the bowls.  I'm taking suggestions.

Pride and joy right here.  I wondered to myself at what point you become a crazy cat lady.  And when I walked out of Petsmart with this and I was excited about it, I realized I was at that point.

So that's that.  Do any of you have pet problems?  How do you keep a showroom perfect guest room with four pets?  Or do I need to resign myself that I'm always going to have to deep clean that room and move my cat crap out of it before anyone arrives?  On the list for the next house: cat room.  They should make those.  And maybe a special little litterbox closet.  And a pristine guest room with a closed door to keep the animals out.  A girl can dream.

Sniffles

I am going to do something I never EVER do.  I am going to whine.

I think I am coming down with a cold!!  I am so sad about this.  If you know me at all, you know I absolutely hate sickness.  It's pulling teeth to get me to admit when it's coming on.  However, there's something about this scratchy throat and constant sneezing that I simply can't deny.

Ryan and I have some huge, fun plans for the house this weekend.  And here I am, feeling like crap.  A logical person who can admit when they are sick would go to bed right now.  And yet I can't tear myself away from my 9 loyal readers long enough to go get a good night's sleep!

So I'm going to try right now to do the right thing and go crawl into bed and get some zzzzs.  Unless there's a Project Runway marathon or a new Glee I need to watch.  What?  It's not like I'm sick.

Dear Blogspot, I am so mad at you.

I just finished typing a fantastic post revealing our master bedroom, and blogger didn't save it.  Mad.  Furious.  Going to bed.

Weighing In

For those of you who haven't been around me over the past three weeks, I have developed a somewhat minor cough.  Physically I have felt completely normal, but I am just occasionally very rarely coughing a teeny bit.  Apparently a few people had started to notice and comment, especially my mother, so I decided to schedule a doctors appointment for today.

I should let you know now that I am not huge fan of medicine.  I mean I like doctors and everything they do well enough, but I mean I don't like actual medicine that you take.  I'm in the "if I can't beat this little cough on my own, I deserve to die" camp.  Cancer is one thing.  A sniffle is another.  I like to beat colds, flu, strep, etc. on my own.  Hello, I got strep in Myrtle Beach and didn't miss a day of beach time or happy hour.  I thought I was going to die, but I figured I might as well die tan and buzzing with the waves crashing around me.  Who could ask for more?

But after three weeks of very minorly coughing delicately, I decided to go in and get the prognosis.  I mean clearly I am not beating this and will die from it, so let's figure out how much longer I have.  I do love my doctor.  He's an old high school friend of my dad's and I just adore his whole family.  But I grudgingly missed an hour or so of work to visit Dr. Mark and present my I'm-not-that-sick case so my mom could sleep at night again.

Apparently everyone is sick or injured right now.  The waiting room was packed.  What a perfect time to Facebook stalk all of you and your friends and your friends of friends.  Peaceful.  Maybe this was worth it.  And then my name was called.  Headed back.  Followed the nurse down the hallway, smiling.  Happy.  Unsuspecting.  Full of Facebook gossip and excited to talk to Dr. Mark about Razorback football.  And then the nurse stopped.

At the scale.

We looked at each other for a minute.  About five thousand thoughts ran through my head like why does she have to weigh me for a cough?  Why did I let my mom make me come here for a cough?  Why did I decide to pig out at Las Fajitas for lunch?  Whose idea was it to skip my long run this week?  If I split, could the nurse catch me?

She looks at me like I'm crazy.  "Please step on the scale."  I stammer, "I wasn't prepared for this."  She just smiles.  A really awful, knowing smile.  She's thinking someone had enchiladas for lunch.  I then say "Um, should I take my shoes off?"  She says, "It doesn't matter, but you might want to put your purse down."  Thanks for the tip, woman.

I got on the scale and looked anywhere but the reading.  She says "Mmm hmm" like she was right about something.  Then she asks me "Would you like to know what it was?"  No lady.  No one in their right mind wants to know definitively from a doctor's scale what their weight was.  I thought that was why you guys used the weird metal bars that you move the little plastic things around on.  So I can't read it.  Has anyone ever answered yes to that question?  "Yes, you know, I've been curious what my weight is without a loose tile in the bathroom or an old uncalibrated scale or a minor monthly bloating to blame it on.  Tell me, what do I officially weigh?" 

I can't read these and I'm ok with it

"Um, no.  Thanks though." is all I can muster.  Shaken, I head back to the room, questioning my every food-related decision since about April.  We go into the exam room.  She gets out the cuff and takes my blood pressure.  "Hmm, your blood pressure is normal, but a little elevated for you.  Is something stressing you right now?"

I look at her.  Really?

Things I Suck at: Finishing a Room

I hope this does not be come a new segment here on the Lowe Down, but here's how I'm feeling:  I stink at home decorating.

I'm really good with picking a paint, painting the room, getting the big stuff like bedspreads, art, couches, etc. done.  It might not be a universal taste, but I do have taste and can be true to myself when starting a room.  However, once the big art is on the wall, the linens are on the bed, the shelves are hung...I lose steam.  Every.  Single.  Time.  The finishing things in a room are what make the room special to me.  They make a space feel full and "done" rather than "college kid just moved in."

This is the part I stink at.

Case in point:

Shelves in master bedroom

I got a great start on these shelves in our master bedroom.  These doves were a steal at Arty Crafty ($11 for the set) that I got for our dresser several months ago, but once they got replaced by a bigger ceramic animal on our dresser, I knew they would go well on a shelf somewhere (a story for another post).  I found the shelves in black at Bed Bath and Beyond and spray painted them a nice antique white.  The vases I collected as I went from various home decor stores, and the topiary was another Arty Crafty aquisition.  But now, I'm stumped.  I need one or two more things on that bottom shelf and I can't for the life of me figure out what needs to go there.  Picture?  Canvas?  Vases?  I keep thinking I'll know it when I see it, but so far, nothing.

Shelf in the master bedroom

Another case in point.  This shelf in our master bedroom actually looks pretty done with a vase, candles, art, and picture of the princess on it.  However, look at all of that glaring wall space underneath it!!  I need some kind of bench with pillows on it to go under there, but I haven't found the perfect bench for the perfect price yet. 

And finally:

End table in living room

Nope, I'm not ready to fully reveal the new living room to you yet - and here's why:  Finishing.  There are about three areas of the wall and both end tables that need that special pop to make our living room complete.  I promise I'm not going for a minimalist look here, I just can't find the right final touches.  Right now it looks like "oh wow, you're getting there!" but I'm ready for it to look like "oh wow! it's done!"  That could be never.  When is a room really complete anyway?

I'll gladly take thoughts and suggestions if you have any ideas for the spaces in the pictures I've shown you!

I need more sleep...

Yes, I'm up.  And guess what I'm doing.  Slaving over spinach dip and a chocolate layer dessert.  Today (well, the 4th) was Ryan's birthday.  We went to Hugo's for dinner with my sister and our great friends Dave and Lindsey.  Then we came home and had a yummy cookie cake.  Once the dust settled, I put on a load of clothes and promptly snoozed on the couch (estimated time: 10PM).  Ryan woke me up at 12:30 to tell me to go to bed, and I realized I had not prepared my dip for food day or my chocolate layer dessert for a girls' night Valentine's party tomorrow night.

So that's what I'm doing.  6 more minutes left on the crust for the dessert and then it has to chill.  And load 2 of laundry is on (only 67 more to go).   I think I need to start going to bed earlier...

And you all better enjoy the spinach dip tomorrow.

I Suck at Blogging

Apparently, I am a terrible blogger.  I suspected this might be the case in the beginning, but so many of my equally busy friends did it so well, I thought it would just come naturally to me.  Fun, witty posts, roughly 3 times a week that people would enjoy.  Nope.  Nada.  I'm averaging 3 per month.  So, I must be a truly horrific blogger.

However, I will soldier on.  I can do this.  I don't have to have something funny and focused to say every time I write.  And this is supposed to be an outlet for me, not for other people, hence the limited list of people allowed to see it.  And if you're the one who gave this link away to Drew or Kyle, you owe me lunch.

So...odds and ends around casa de Lowe.

• I'm almost done with my Christmas shopping.  Miracle of miracles.  I have my mom, my pets, and my grandparents left.  And for those, it's just a matter of going to get them.  I already know what I'm getting.  It's a serious Christmas miracle.  I hate Christmas shopping.
  
• Alli just told me Rob Pattinson was her boyfriend.  Two thoughts:  Maybe time to delete pictures of him out of my phone AND I wanted to fight with her about it.  I almost said "No, that's Mama's boyfriend."  Then I realized I was arguing with a 5 year old about a celebrity.  I need counseling.  Here's the pic she liked.  

• Alli's birthday party was this weekend at Fayetteville Athletic Club.  We had 7-8 kiddos there along with their siblings.  We had some great grown-up friends too - thanks for coming, Nicole, Kerri, and Lindsey!  Our good friend Deena who works at Ricks made the cake and it was wonderful!  At the bottom are cookies Deena made for Alli to take to her class on her birthday.  I can't believe my little princess is 5!!
  

 

At the rate I'm going, I'll write again next month.  Or year.

Unfinished Projects

I am officially one of those people.  Yes, I have unfinished projects.  It horrifies me to even type it, but it's true.  I used to scoff at people whose remodeling, repair, and small project list went unchecked for months on end.  I was so smug.  How could they stand half-painted rooms, missing moldings, and art propped up against the wall for more than ten minutes?  Once I started on a project, I obsessed until the project was done.  I threw myself in wholeheartedly, despite the toll it took on my sleep, job performance, family life, or, most importantly, TV watching. 

But here I sit, in a living room that has a few teal stripes on it (considering a new LR color for some reason), a few unpainted moldings (untouched since Ryan finished the hardwood floors a few months ago).  My master bedroom only has one coat of paint on the ceiling.  It's been like that since Ryan got home from Iraq.  Ryan got home from Iraq 11 months ago.  And last week, I got a wild hair and repainted the master bathroom.  But I've only done one coat.  It covered relatively well, thanks to the new Behr Ultra paint with primer in it.  So I'm trying to convince myself that a slight bit of hot pink shining through an othwewise sage green wall will be all the rage any day now.

Why can I not finished projects these days?  I am going to blame part of this on my husband.  Mostly, because I don't want to accept the responsibility and because he doesn't read my blog much.  But he is not a project person.  He would much rather watch DVR'd Jeopardy and play Farmville than spend an hour painting a bathroom.  I don't blame him much, but I do wish he would step up and take charge of at least some of the unfinished projects.  You can't tell me he's sad to see the pink bathroom go.  He should at least stick the paint brush in my hand when I say "I think I am going to go reread Twilight again."  I had no trouble finishing projects when he wasn't here, and it wasn't for lack of things to do, was it?

Okay, okay.  Clearly this is not all his fault.  I generally take on more than I can handle and then take a few weeks off.  Or months.  I think the root cause of this situation is football season.  By Thanksgiving, I will have seen the Hogs play in 9 games this year.  That is a lot.  So here's hoping, after the holidays I get my rear in gear.  Or that pink/green streaked bathrooms get popular.

I can check one thing off my unfinished project list, for another few weeks anyway:  Blog updated.

Skinny jeans...ugh

So I made a huge purchase today.  Yes, it's true.  I bought a pair of skinny jeans.  Shoot me.  Yesterday I hit a boot sale and I bought 4 pairs.  I woke up this morning and realized that I could not wear boot cut jeans with these adorable boots.  So what did I do after work today?  I went to buy skinny jeans.  This is another trend I have been resisting for some time now.  As you can probably tell already, I am not into trends.  I just now got one of those weird long cardigans that doesn't button.  What's up with that?  But I think I like it.  Anyway, skinny jeans.

Buying skinny jeans should be some sort of torture method.  Seriously.  First of all, you have to ask for them.  They don't just set them out.  I think that's specifically so you have to ask the tiny Mason's salesgirl, "Excuse me ma'am, do you have any skinny jeans?"  She looks you up and down, mentally muttering something about "fatty jeans" but asks you for your size.  You give a generous answer - maybe a size lower than you think you are.  She frowns and says something about them running small.  Ugh, ok.  Bring me a damn 29.  You think the worst part is over once you have the jeans alone in the dressing room.  Oh no, the fun is only beginning.

Once you do the jeans dance (you know, the dance you do every time you have to put your jeans on), you realize you have fat calves.  Fat calves?  When did your calves get fat?  Can they even get fat?  How do you target tone your calves?  Did the birthday cake you ate this weekend go straight to your calves?  Impossible, you think.  But there you are, face to face with the reality that you are one of those people who has fat calves.  You don't even know yourself anymore.  The thighs you saw coming, but the calves?  Timidly you ask the salesgirl about this condition.  She gives you a knowing smile and says, "Mine are like that too."  Okay, so maybe your calves are fine.  Maybe it's the style.  Like a corset, but for your lower legs.  You can deal with that.  Until you notice how short skinny jeans make you look.  No, that whole "make you look longer and leaner" thing is a a myth.  You look 4'11. 

But hey, you tell yourself, it's what all of the twenty-somethings are wearing.  And dammit, you are twenty-something too.  And even being someone's mom, wife, and looking distinctly like a pear with toothpicks coming out of the end isn't going to stop you from being en vogue.  So you take a deep breath and head to the checkout with them, vowing to yourself you will never be seen in these Godforsaken skinny jeans without boots covering your big fat calves.