Things That Make Me Happy.

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I’m starting a new category. It’s called “things that make me happy,” because so many things do.

Example: here is my sad, tired old ironing board. It’s a depressing shade of bluish purple that’s fading in spots.

Today while shopping at Sears, I came across a new ironing board pad and cover that was marked down to $13.99. I snatched it off the rack with the lightning-fast speed that can only be seen when a woman has spotted a bargain.

Look how well it goes with our super cheap bedding!! I tried to explain it to Husband, but he just rolled his eyes.  

BUT LOOK. It was simply meant to be.















 

It matches, but not too well. My favorite kind. I’m girlifying our bedroom, one step at a time.

Ugh.

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Today I was reminded of two things:

1. I dislike old movies. I wish I liked them, but I don’t. They bore me to death. 

TO DEATH.

2. I dislike the Hallmark Movie Channel. I want to like it. But I just. Can’t. Do. It. 

 … no thank you.

I figured it was Christmas, I should watch Hallmark movies. Right? Yesterday I tried. I gave it an honest effort. It was some awful movie about a couple trapped in a strange town, in the snow — of course. It was so annoying. 

Today I got 8 minutes into the “Gift of the Magi” before I gave up. And don’t even get me started on “The Santa Suit.”

Have too many episodes of Dexter and True Blood ruined my TV palate? Perhaps.

The Truth.

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I like to think that I’m a person who can handle an occasional dose of honesty. 

I appreciate people who can tell it like it is. It means that they aren’t afraid to speak their mind. I like that. Sometimes people who have that quality tend to be labeled “abrasive” or “rude.” A lot of the time, I get along just fine with them. Why? Because my label is”nice.” 

HOW BORING. 

Now, I’d love to believe that everything I do and say is the right thing at the right time, and all my decisions are sound … but the truth is, I am kind of a screw up. I need people in my life who can gently point me back in the right direction if needed. Sometimes it’s hard to hear that you messed up/look like death/are being an idiot, but the worst thing in the world is for the people who love you to let you run amuk without saying a word until it’s too late.

This post is just a general thank you to all the people in my life who put me in my place when I need them to.

12 Days of 30.

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Yesterday, whilst sitting in a meeting I cared nothing about, I was lost in thought and realized … I’ll be 31 years old in just a few days.

12 days.

I don’t know what it is about this year that I have found so liberating, but I am loving being “in my thirties.” I feel like I’ve learned more this year that in any other year of my adult life. I’ve given myself permission to mess up, to make things right, to be myself without apologies and to live with a frankness that I wish I’d discovered a little sooner. 

This year has brought me intense stress, overwhelming sadness, then joy; and finally blessings beyond belief. My husband and I held on to the hope that things would work out when life got difficult — and they did. They always do.

I have started a mental list of things I want to accomplish in my 31st year and I hope that I can achieve at least a few of them. If I don’t, oh well. I’m over putting *unrealistic expectations on myself.  

*Like getting myself back into the jeans I’m wearing in the picture below. That’s not going to happen any time soon. I accept that. Maybe in my 32nd year?

Me and a bowling ball on my 30th birthday.




Not Your Mama’s Dinner.

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There are few things in life that I hold true, and one of them is dinnertime. Actually, let’s be real–I love meals. Any meal will do.

I grew up in a happy household and I like to believe part of that had to do with dinnertime. It seems to be one of the keys to family togetherness. There is a part of me that longs to replicate what Italian families do best – meal time. They gather, they banter, they eat amazing food and drink amazing wine. The women hover, whisking away dirty plates and doling out second helpings. The traditionalist in me finds this scenario appealing.

Please note that I am not Italian; I do, however, love me some wine.

In today’s fast-paced world, you have to wonder HOW and IF people manage to pull off family dinnertime anymore. Does traditional “dinnertime” still exist? Does anyone even bother with it?

Well … I bother with it. But it’s not pretty.

Read the rest at birminghammommy.com!

I Hate Walmart.

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I recently discussed my love of Publix. Now I shall discuss my hatred of Walmart.

Generally, I’m a big fan of the bargain … but only to a point. If said bargain requires a lot of aggravation, it’s not worth it to me. I’ll gladly OVERpay to avoid needless aggravation. This is why I don’t go to “doorbuster” sales the day after Thanksgiving. I’ll just pay full price, thank you.

Obviously, Walmart has an edge when it comes to price, and that is the only reason I go there. Diapers and Pull Ups tend to get expensive. I really dislike the place, but I put up with it because I live on a budget. If we had more money (even just a LITTLE more money), I would never step foot in there. Never.

Today, I had a short list of items which contained red lentils — I needed them to make a soup I found on a food blog. Of course, Walmart does not carry red lentils. In fact, all of the dried legumes were Great Value brand, which I was not okay with. Sell your store brands if you must, but give me real brands to choose from too, please. 

My visit went downhill from there. It was ridiculously crowded. There were not enough cashiers. My patience wore out before I even paid for my items, but the final straw took place on my way out. 

I was thirsty and tired and really wanted a Coke. I rolled The Toddler over to the drink machines by the exit and put a dollar in. I’m not quite sure how to explain what happened next. I heard the can descending so I leaned over to grab it.

As usual, the can rocketed to the bottom … but this time,  Coke spewed all over me. I still don’t know how or why, but my favorite yellow coat is no longer yellow, my hair is crunchy and my clothes got soaked. It was like there was a water hose of Coke spraying out of the machine.

Since my son was with me and I was trying to set an example, I calmly said “time to go” and we rolled out. I crankily unloaded him and my three bags into the car while a line of people waited impatiently to nab my spot. A Walmart employee stood right there staring and did not offer to help when I dropped one of my bags whilst struggling with my Toddler.

I wanted to say a bad word. I thought one in my head. 

Next time I need anything, I’m going to Publix. My husband will just have to deal.

WHAT DID YOU SAY?!

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What do you do when your child uses a “bad word,” in context? 

You see, that’s the kicker. It’s one thing for the little parrot to repeat everything he hears, but to use an unsavory word in the correct way means that he understands it’s meaning enough to know when to use it.

And THAT, my friends, is not okay. It’s more not okay than Old Navy’s new shipment of floral prints. My son is two. He just learned how to say “I’m thirsty” and “Daddy’s at work.” He just learned who Santa Claus is.  He can’t even walk down the stairs by himself yet.

He didn’t hear it on TV. We are TV Nazis. He didn’t hear one of us say it. Someone TAUGHT him that word. This seems to be my introduction to the part of motherhood when you realize that the environment that your child is in really does affect them in a deep way. 

I know this is just the beginning. I have many more years of this ahead of me … but the first experience is a shock, like getting ice water dumped on your head. My child is a sponge, and I don’t have as much control as I would like to over what he absorbs in this world.