***Obligatory “please vote for Kellan by clicking here” header***
I’m pretty sure this post would be better if I just gave you a bunch of eye candy instead of trying to explain it…
So…I give you our wedding…decorations.
***Obligatory “please vote for Kellan by clicking here” header***
I’m pretty sure this post would be better if I just gave you a bunch of eye candy instead of trying to explain it…
So…I give you our wedding…decorations.
Back in Georgia, Tim and I used to have this…tradition, we’ll call it.
It didn’t happen every week, but it may as well have because this is how I will always remember Friday nights after a long week at work.
Inevitably, Fridays meant neither of us had the desire or the energy to cook anything for dinner so, instead of slugging through the process, we’d usually meet somewhere near the house to have dinner.
More often than not, I’d call Tim to let him know I was leaving and then, because he worked two miles away from the house (I know. Not fair), he’d meet meet at a restaurant we agreed upon instead of us both going home first.
I’d be famished and ready to kill somebody by the time I made it there, thanks to the horrendously famous Friday traffic in Atlanta.
We used to make fun of ourselves, wondering if people thought we were cheating on our spouses because we met at the restaurant in different cars and both had wedding rings on…anyhow.
It was almost always Longhorn Steakhouse.
There weren’t many options out where we lived and this – along with Jim n Nicks and a pizza place called Amici’s – were the ones we seemed to agree on more often than not.
After sitting down, we’d both just expel everything that was driving us crazy about work.
We’d both feel better afterwards. Well, I felt better. I’m assuming Tim did, too.
Sometimes we would stop at this frozen yogurt place on the way home. It was kind of like a one-off Pink Berry type place. I don’t even remember the real name of it because I always called it “Confetti’s.” I have no idea why…just something I did once and it stuck.
Once we were home, we’d veg out on the couch and watch the TV shows we had recorded during the week that we didn’t have time to watch until we started falling asleep. Then we’d make our way up to bed.
This didn’t happen EVERY Friday…but that’s how I remember them. Exhausted. Mentally worn down. Vent session and salad at Longhorns.
It was Friday.
It was comforting.
Granted, at the time, I would have given anything to *not* have to feel that way at the end of every week. I wanted to be somewhere else. I’d moan and complain and beg to be anywhere else but where we lived. I didn’t want to feel so stressed out over my job.
Never in my wildest imagination did I think I’d MISS those Friday nights.
But I do.
Maybe it’s because I know Tim and I will never have a Friday night like that ever again, especially once the sprout is here.
It’s hard to know you are going to have to let go of what you’ve always had…knowing your life will never be the same again. It’s hard to prepare for that…to wrap your head around it…to accept it willingly and with a smile on your face.
I love Tim and me.
I’m going to miss those days where it was “just us.”
It’s really difficult to let go of that life…I can see it slowly slipping away as the days tick closer to the arrival of the sprout.
No longer will life be simple…just the two of us…
I know it will be all that and much, much more with the sprout. I know life will be more fulfilling and full of love with the sprout.
I know it will.
I’m just having a hard time seeing it right now.
I know I’ve been harping on how every. single. holiday. Tim and I will have from now until the sprout comes is THE LAST ONE AS A COUPLE and I’m sure you’re super tired of hearing about it….
Don’t you want to see what all went down during our last Christmas as a pair instead of a threesome?
It’ll be like you were right there with us…only…slightly delayed.
This Christmas, Tim and I wanted to do everything…cookies and a real tree and decorations and anything and everything else we could possibly cram into the holiday.
(Maybe it was just me who wanted to do “everything,” since I found out this year that the only reason Tim puts up lights outside is because *I* like them)
There would be no slacking like last Christmas where all we had was a fake tree.
In our defense, we had just moved to Colorado and had to move from our temporary asspartment to our house a few days after Christmas, so it didn’t make much sense to go all out, only to have to add extra work to our already overflowing plate of stuff to do. I digress.
This year was completely different.
This year Tim put up the lights for me and we made little boughs for the porch and bought wreaths and it all turned out super freaking adorable, if you ask me.
(I took this picture right after we got something like 10 inches of snow…the piles on either side of the driveway were up to my HIP!)
(And yes, that’s my car in the garage)
Tim and I LOVE tradition. We live for it.
It’s funny…Tim, as an individual, fell in love with tradition on his own, as did I. And here we are. Thirteen years separating us in age and we both value many of the same things…
Tim and I have traditions for everything…all of the big holidays and even the “Hallmark” ones.
The big holidays tend to be some of Tim and some of my childhood traditions melded together. The smaller ones….not so much.
Like, for example, Tim has always gotten me roses on Valentine’s Day.
Sure, some people may find it cornballish but it is something I look forward to every year. We also get all dressed up and go out to a nice restaurant for dinner. Typically, it is a restaurant that Tim picks, makes reservations for and then takes me to without my knowing where we’re going.
It’s not cheesy.
For the big holidays, through trial and error and compromise, Tim and I have done a pretty good job merging our traditions together.
We tried to go cut down a tree because Christmas isn’t Christmas unless WE HAVE A REAL TREE.
But since that didn’t work out, we ended up with this one…still pretty…still real…just…from Oregon instead of the mountains of Colorado.
(I have no idea why they came all the way from Oregon when we have plenty of trees here…)
We tried something new, which was to go into downtown Denver and take a picture of this building. We passed it by accident on our way home from one of my OB appointments and I was all, “WE HAVE TO COME BACK. PICTURE.”
So, we did.
I can’t even begin to describe the details on this building…ones you can’t even see in the picture. The windows have nutcrackers and tin men…Santa and his reindeer are on the roof…it is insane the amount of effort that must go into this display.
And how they make sure none of the lights go out is beyond my realm of understanding. Tim and I almost had a breakdown with our icicle lights not working. I couldn’t even imagine taking on that kind of lighting responsibility.
I’ll settle for this one, instead:
I have no neck in this picture and it made me sad in the pants and I didn’t even attempt to “fix” the brightness due to said no neck but long story short: no other pictures were attempted….this year.
We also baked cookies, all from Tim’s family. My family wasn’t huge on baking specific cookies every year, so I was happy to indulge in Tim’s traditional cookie feast.
I say “feast” because if we had REALLY gone all out, we would have had to make somewhere around five or six different kinds of cookies.
I just didn’t have that kind of patience or resilience.
Instead, we settled for the favorites: jammies (probably better known as jam cut outs or jam cookies. I failed in taking a picture of ours but the finished product will look something like this), hazelnut balls (which, by the way, the version Tim makes doesn’t even *have* hazelnuts in them) and one new “thing.”
We’ve yet to repeat a new “thing” yet but we keep trying to see if we find something we really like and want to start making every year.
This year, Tim tried his hand at candy making with peanut brittle.
He did a fabulous job but I’m not sure if we’ll end up making it again next year. Personally, I think sugar cookies with icing for decorating would be fun, since baby sprout will be something like 10 months old and might be able to get into it.
I also want to make a gingerbread house with baby sprout every year…but I’m getting way ahead of myself…
The beginning of the jammie creation process:
And the “hazelnut I mean really pecan” balls:
Cookies are vital because one of the traditions we have continued comes from Tim’s family. While everyone is opening gifts on Christmas morning, there is always a plate of cookies out for everyone to eat.
My family never did the cookie thing but we also kept the Christmas morning tradition that my family does as well, which is to have sausage balls and orange juice after all of the gift opening has commenced.
(We didn’t take a picture this year…these are sausage balls from last Christmas at the asspartment but that’s basically exactly what they’re supposed to look like)
When I first told Tim about the sausage balls he was all, “That’s disgusting.“
Then he tried them.
They’re BFF now.
All of these baking projects start a day or two before Christmas and are finished sometime Christmas Eve in the early evening.
Then, on Christmas Eve, we watch the Polar Express, our movie of choice every year since we’ve been together.
That’s the first movie Tim and I saw together on our very first date ever in the history of us.
Awww…so cute, right?
This year we also “read” one of those recordable story books to baby sprout. My mom sent it with her voice as the narrator for The Night Before Christmas.
Super sweet, I know.
Then, Christmas morning, we get up before the sun, Tim takes the obligatory “before the chaos” picture…
sets out the plate of cookies and then…..
We broke tradition.
Typically, Tim and I always open our stockings first, before any presents are even touched. I’m not sure if he did that with his family or not, but in mine, brother Jeff and I always opened our stockings before anything else.
This year, however, baby sprout had about a million gifts to open, so we decided to do his first before we opened anything for ourselves (basically practice for next year, right?).
If you think I’m kidding, here is a picture of the gifts under the tree before Tim and I put any of our gifts to each other under the tree.
That – the presents under the tree thing – doesn’t happen until right before bed on Christmas Eve. I had to (gently) talk Tim into wrapping and putting the sprout’s presents under the tree before Christmas Eve.
He was all, “Good thing I did!” because it took him somewhere around five or so hours over the course of a few days to wrap them all.
All of the gifts for the sprout, of course, had bows and pretty name tags and the paper was coordinated with who got us each gift.
And that was all Tim’s doing.
Zero percent influence from yours truly.
Anyhow, under normal circumstances there are not any gifts under the tree until Christmas Eve.
The kid cleaned UP!
Yet we STILL have a million things we need to buy for him. They aren’t even wants or ‘it’d be nice to have…’ They are MUST PURCHASE ITEMS like a carseat and a stroller and diapers.
You think I’m joking….
Having your first child is asspensive!
Why so much stuff?!
Anyhow, after we spent an hour on the sprout’s gifts (for serious), we finally got to our stockings and gifts.
We’re one of those households who open one present at a time, alternating who opens a gift from the other person.
I know this kind of slow opening drives some people crazy, but it’s what we like to do…and hopefully when the sprout is old enough, he’ll enjoy it, too, instead of ripping through everything in five seconds and then running off with his new toys…
We end our Christmas day with this meal (minus the peas this year).
This is the meal my mom makes and when we lived in Atlanta, the one we would have either on Christmas Eve or Christmas Day, depending on which night she had my two younger brothers (my parents are divorced, so they alternate who has them on these two days each year).
Basically – a honey glazed ham, brussels sprouts, macaroni and cheese.
Completely delicious and not exactly health conscious but when you eat sausage balls and cookies for breakfast…….
I think Tim’s family usually has Italian…lasagna, maybe, on Christmas day.
Tim and I moved that to Christmas Eve instead and we have some kind of Italian meal that night. This year it was chicken parmesan…last year was stuffed shells.
Only time will tell.
**DISCLAIMER** Anyone related to me, please do not take this personally and instead read it as a satire
If you haven’t read this yet, you should, or else you’ll probably be really confused and pissed off. And I don’t really want to be responsible for anyone feeling that way when you’re all, “I blew up the giant Christmas tree because SHE made me. Who’s she? That damn booshy girl.”
Are you all brushed up? Awesome. Read on.
Whoever said that it was super important to have family time during the holidays obviously never really *had* a family. They had a dream.
My mom happens to be one of those people who relish in big, massive gatherings that mostly involve people we know. I say mostly because I think the older I get, the less I actually *know* some people that apparently belong to our family? Maybe it’s just me? Hell, it probably IS me…but I digress.
For some bizarre reason, Auntie, Ashleigh and Ashleigh’s two children (who have since morphed into six, I think. But it might be seven. Ashleigh wanted a girl…and said girl didn’t pop out until the sixth or seventh attempt. I think her husband *might* be fixed now).
Anyhow, the “Florida” relatives rarely made the trek to Georgia. Prior to this impromptu visit (which probably had something to do with a Catholic function taking place in Atlanta and who wants to pay for a hotel when there’s a perfectly good bed at the Younger Sister’s house?), the last time I remember them visiting was during the sad days of my brother’s funeral. A downer, I know. They probably should have considered returning for a happier memory that would have been stated in place of this one. I’d count the wedding, but at this point in history, there was no wedding. It was Tim + Jessica = Boyfriend and girlfriend.
The more I think about this, the more I’m starting to believe that the cosmic stars called shitballs had aligned in a straight line that first pierced through this Christmas and then pointed directly to hell (Sorry, Jesus. At least I’m not lying).
During this particular Christmas, not only did I have a boyfriend, but Jeff also had a girlfriend. We usually didn’t match up like that…I’d be all dating someone and he’d be single and then I’d start to realize “the boyfriend” was actually “the mooch” and kick him to the curb while Jeff found something resembling love in a chick. This time, we were apparently on the same wavelength. My boyfriend? Awesome and way older than me. And Jeff’s girlfriend was…also older. Older as in: if we lived any closer to Alabama, he’d be dating me. Or dating someone my age. Or something like that. Whichever way it goes, it’s gross and we’re moving on.
Jeff’s girlfriend’s name was Heather and was my age…chronologically. Mentally I think she was stuck somewhere between 13 and 15, depending on when she hit puberty. Now had I believed in things like name-karma, I would have immediately dismissed her and called her psycho-bitch-ballerina under my breath. Jeff’s Heather turned out to be exactly like one of Tim’s ex’s, also named Heather, who decided her beloved dog was more important than things like responsibility. And groceries. And sex.
Tim, however, was apparently Mr. Sex to Auntie, who refused to give any sort of pelvic distance during their first-ever embrace and probably gave him a slight pinch on the ass whenever she walked by. Her husband? Still in Florida. This was probably the only thing that saved Tim from an unpleasant sensation in the twigs and berries, resulting from the kick of a heavily booted foot attached my my uncle (who is technically my step-uncle. I’ve never actually *met* my real uncle. Apparently he’s an asshole not worth meeting).
All of these things coming together at once - the girlfriends, boyfriends, relatives and young children – caused an explosion of excitement resembling tiny, winged ponies and kittens that flew around in my mom’s brain, knocking out things like commonsense and reality. Said ponies and kittens were apparently responsible for my mom’s brilliant plan to rent a van and take everyone to the Holiday Nights of Lights at Lake Lanier. Carpooling wasn’t an option. This was FAMILY TOGETHERNESS TIME. A carpool would probably have resulted in peacefulness and how can anyone make a memory out of a calm, serene atmosphere?
And had I listened more closely, I probably would have heard my mom mumbling all, “The kittens said it would be a good idea and the damn ponies actually made the phone call to the rental company. I had nothing to do with this. Blame them.”
And before I go any further, let me just say that these kinds of vans should really only be used for things like ladders covered in paint and probably bodies, but our van had windows, so I’ll stick with the ladders. The windows would ruin the whole secrecy bit that’s one of those important things to remember when concealing bodies.
Also? We probably should have considered the bodies, since the bottom of Lake Lanier is an entire town plus bodies. We could have provided some excitement for everyone hanging out under the surface who are pretty much about to go ape shit all, “Dammit, Franklin! If I have to hear about how fish are nibbling on your ass one more time…”
Oh? Lake Lanier? You don’t know? Well, that’s how we do it in Georgia. Water? Lakes? No, we weren’t exactly *given* those by Mother Nature, so we made our own and in doing so, flooded a perfectly happy town because it was kind of in the way since the architect fucked up the blueprints for said lake.
Anyhow, during this point in history, my mom was still attempting to include the one person who caused her to have an involuntary gag reflex, my dad, in “family” activities, which means she basically hired a driver for free. On the day of the event, we first had to participate in the arts and crafts that go along with Christmas, like making gingerbread houses from milk cartons and graham crackers.
You thought I was kidding? Allow me to present Exhibit A: Tim with goatee + gingerbread house. He is an Engineer. I swear.
Once everyone was pretty much high on sugar, it was time to load up into the van. I say “load” because Kid 1 and Kid 2 required car seats, diaper bags and blankies while the rest of us were biting, clawing and slapping to get the seats in the back, the farthest away from Kid 1 and 2. Everyone knew a long car trip + kids high on candy = disaster.
Tim and I lost and were stuck directly behind the car seats. Mostly because I was still on my best behavior, not yet ready to show Tim my cutthroat attitude towards competitions. As in: I win. Always.
Jeff and Heather got the primo seats, which was, in hindsight, probably a bad move on Jeff’s part. Any noise tended to bounce off the back windows and was subsequently carried from back to front. 20-20′s a bitch, isn’t it brother?
My mom pretty much called shotgun before anyone even stepped into the van. She dubbed herself navigator to the “Nights of Lights” because it was impossible for my dad to successfully get anywhere by himself, seeing as that he never could quite figure out how to get his head out of his ass.
Auntie and Ashleigh sat with Kid 1 and Kid 2 and Mason and Troy removed themselves from the required family activity and found a new, magical world that had nothing to do with us called the space between the back row of seats and the end of the van. Had we been hit by an asshole (because it’s only the assholes that hit anyone from behind), they probably would have regretted their decision. Thankfully, no assholes were ever behind us during the trip from cosmic shitball hell.
Now, if you ever plan to go to the Holiday Nights of Lights, let this be your warning: There is only one way in and one way out of the park called a single-lane road that goes on for fucking ever. You inch your car along about one foot every five minutes while watching a snake of red tail lights ahead of you crawl along for miles and miles and miles. That’s really the Nights of Lights because by the time you actually get to the park you want to leave. Lights? I think I saw a snowman attacking a reindeer while Santa cowered behind a giant gumdrop. I think that means danger and we should probably leave. Immediately. Think of the children!
And by the way, fucking ever is a long ass time with two kids whose glucose levels are zero and who are now screaming like their arms are getting ripped off by savage cheetahs and only Elmo and Magic Carpet Man could cease the carnage, which, by the way, are impossible to produce shadow-puppet style. Damn you, Ashleigh. Next time, pack the whole fucking zoo instead of a few wimpy stuffed monkeys.
I offered to leave and get sustenance from the Golden Arches that I could see looming in the distance, convinced that I could swipe a few Happy Meals and return to the hell-van before they managed to travel two feet farther than when I left.
The driver, aka my dad, aka adventure ruiner was all, “That’s too dangerous. You might not be able to find your way back to the van.”
Exactly. Anyone else want a cheeseburger?
Where was Tim? Well, I would have invited him to escape to freedom with me, if for no other reason than to have an alibi when questioned the next day by my mom, royally pissed that we skipped out on the family togetherness. We’d be all, “We were looking for McDonald’s but we got lost, which is why we called a taxi because hell, you wouldn’t want us to freeze our asses off, would you? Why didn’t we continue on to the Nights of Lights? The taxi driver didn’t speak English and all I could remember from Spanish class was homo…which I’m pretty sure isn’t even Spanish…but it must have sounded something like home so he stole my driver’s license and then I think he must have shot me with an invisible dart because the next thing I knew I was in my bed? Alone, mom. In my bed alone. Damn.“
Except none of that could actually happen because Tim was too busy sleeping – completely and totally assed out, oblivious to the decibel level that had already cracked two windows while people in nearby cars were staring at us like we were performing a sporadic surgery without anesthesia. Or they had finally noticed the cheetahs yanking off body parts.
I kept poking at him all, I’m sorry, how in the hell do you fucking sleep through THAT?
So my partner in crime was lost to the Sand Man and my dad kept doing that lock, unlock game with the doors…fuuuck.
Enter sunflower seeds. I’m not even sure how anyone wrangled them away from the front console but I think a few of the tiny miracles may or may not have been lodged in Kid 1 and Kid 2′s throat. That or they were spiked with crack, because after a few minutes of stuffing their little faces, they calmed right the hell down.
Auntie was all, “They’re not old enough to have sunflower seeds! Ashleigh! LET. THEM. SCREAM. It’s the only way.”
Ummm…don’t be an ass-hat, Auntie. I don’t think anyone – including Ashleigh - cares if they eat sunflower seeds or start puffing on a doobie. Anything to maintain a least half of my ear drums. I’ll even roll it for them. Not that I’d know how, exactly…but the point is, they’re not screaming.
The blissful silence was short lived but only because the dispute between Heather and herself started to get intense. I’m pretty sure Jeff had already checked out, so Heather was answering all of her own questions for him. I mean, at least she got the answers right? Or maybe not, because somehow kept getting angrier…at herself.
I guess all those cotton balls she ate during her tippy-toeing days finally found their way to her brain.
It went something like, “Hold my hand!”
Jeff: Wha…? Why? You’re mean?
Heather-psycho-bitch-ballerina (“Heather”): I said so. That’s enough.
Jeff: Fine. Whatever.
Heather: While you’re at it, disown your friends.
Jeff: What the hell?….
Heather: All of them. Even that weird one who thought it was funny to put dynamite into a cake.
Jeff: He’s awesome. And that whole dynamite cake was funny…we even have it on video and…
Heather: He’s an asshole.
Jeff: No, actually, he’s awesome. You’re the asshole, I think.
Heather: HOLD. MY. HAND.
Jeff: The fuck? I am?
Heather: THE OTHER HAND
Heather: You know, I’m not an asshole. I’m important. So important you need to throw away your phone. Here, this is a pre-paid one with only my phone number.
Jeff: That phone is pink?
Heather: Pink’s my favorite color.
Jeff: But it’s pink?
Heather: And it’s yours. Give me your phone. What’s your pass code?
Jeff: The fuck?
Finally, my mom’s sing-song warning voice rings out all, THIS IS FAMILY TOGETHERNESS TIME!! THAT DOESN’T SOUND VERY TOGETHER-Y…
In other words: Shut the hell up or there will be consequences.
Heather: But…he won’t give me…
Begin uncomfortable silence that lasted until we made it to the *actual* Night’s of Lights.
Do I remember them? No. I think I fell asleep or knocked myself out with my shoe. One of those.
Kid 1 and Kid 2 also fell asleep, which had Auntie’s panties up her ass all, “WAKE UP! IT’S FUCKING SANTA!”
When they didn’t, she shook Ashleigh to semi-consciousness all, “WAKE UP! IT’S FUCKING SANTA!”
Heather was giving Jeff herself the silent treatment.
Mason and Troy were still in their fort, plotting a super secret attack on the front console to obtain the magical seeds.
Tim was still fucking asleep.
I vaguely remember someone asking if we wanted to get out and visit the Santa Shop. I’m pretty sure we all said not unless Santa is handing out packs of mixed medications including Xanax, Prozac and Valium. He’s out? Keep driving.
And my parents fought the entire way home on how to actually *get* home.
I don’t think we spoke to one another until July, probably.
Happy Christmas Eve!!
Who gets to open one present tonight????
I used to look forward to that tradition every year. We’d all come home after the Christmas Eve church service and then my brothers and I would get to go to the tree and pick out a gift to open.
I remember one particular year my Omi had bought brother Jeff and I Indiglo watches and we both decided to open her gift on Christmas Eve. Not that we knew they were watches when we opened them, just that we both picked her present to open. We had veeerrrry slim pickin’s when it came to which present to open, since the only wrapped gifts under the tree were from relatives. The ones from Santa didn’t appear until the next morning.
Anyhow, the watches. Suffice it to say we spent the remainder of the time we were supposed to be sleeping playing with our watches and watching them “glow.”
Anyway, I *used* to get to open a present on Christmas Eve until I got married…and then that little bit of joy ceased happening. Tim wasn’t very keen on that idea, I guess. I don’t remember, actually. I just know there was no longer a gift to open on Christmas Eve anymore…
I one hundred percent plan on reviving the one-present-on-Christmas-Eve tradition with the sprout because OMG.
I might love Christmas Eve more than Christmas day. I have no idea why…there is just something about it…maybe I’m still hoping Santa drops in…I mean, if you decide to believe in something SO MUCH it just has to come true, right?….Right?!
Tim and I spent all of yesterday checking items off a list that is entirely too long.
The good news is that the dogs no longer smell like…well…suffice it to say they needed a bath, all but one Christmas sugary delight has been created, the house is clean, the cats nails are trimmed (What? Don’t you cut the nails on your cat?), we gave the neighbors our “Happy Holidays” treats (read: tied them to their front door), I picked out THE glider-rocker for the nursery (there was some debate over which one I liked…mostly because I couldn’t remember, even with pictures) and we went into Denver to capture the most insane display of Christmas lights ever. Pictures to come.
Anyhow, my point, because I do have one…probably….
Tim has been home since yesterday and will be home ALL NEXT WEEK. This? Awesome sauce for me and not at all awesome sauce for the blog.
Soooooooo instead of me disappearing for entirely too long (because one day in blog world is like a year in real time), I’ve planned some mostly funny *holiday throwback* blog posts for you.
If you just started reading this blog, first of all, THANK YOU!!! It means so much to me that you take a little time out of your day to come and visit my little corner of random and second, you’re in for a real…um…inside look at my life over the past few years.
I’m pretty sure anyone who actually read my blog back when these were first posted no longer drop by anymore (sad face…I guess I’m boring)…so, really, everyone is probably in for some entertaining reading.
The throwback starts tomorrow.
A belated Christmas “card” to you…from all of us over at booshy.
(may as well start the throwback with a picture of the cutest Christmas kittens EVER, Chloe and Gracie)
We hope you have a very Merry Christmas or a Happy Hanukkah or Fabulous Kwanza or whatever it is you celebrate, celebrate it to the fullest!
If I were you, I’d live it up now because Paris and London and cosmic shitballs will soon be flying in your direction…
I’m not even sure where I’ve been the last…ohhhh…however many days. I feel like everything is coming down to the wire and there is so much still to do before baby sprout and OMG I’m so far behind…..anyhow.
Welcome to my world.
Wherever I’ve been, I’m pretty sure it wasn’t “online,” unless you count the Christmas shopping I did yesterday…all day. I *did* actually purchase a few things in a real live store, though. I think that kind of task – when going it alone, 31 weeks pregnant – deserves some kind of credit.
Remember how I said on Friday we had all these awesome things to do over the weekend?
Like go to a holiday party Friday night? Or test drive a car? How about that second work party on Saturday? Cutting down my very own Christmas tree? Grocery shopping so we have food in the house?
The Friday night holiday party turned into Smashburger and recorded TV.
(Smashburger…super delicious but not
exactly super healthy. It gave me the Smashpoo the next morning…zero percent fun)
Saturday’s test drive was a bust because Tim and the car people couldn’t work out whatever it was they needed to work out to make it worthwhile to drive an hour to look at a car. Apparently, *my* car isn’t selling very well and so the amount we owe versus the amount the car people want to give us isn’t jiving.
We did, however, find out that Saturday morning would be the last total lunar eclipse in three years and that we were lucky enough to be in a really great spot to see (most of) it.
Tim and I love nature-y stuff like this and were willing to drag ourselves out of bed at five in the morning to capture these…at a dog park, no less.
(You can see the definition of the moon/eclipse better if you click on the picture and zoom in…)
(This is how the magic happens)
After freezing in 14 degrees, we grabbed a quick breakfast to fuel the chopping down our Christmas tree.
I was super excited about
cutting down a tree watching Tim cut down a tree……..until we got to the tree farm and they pointed us in the direction of an open, empty field with like, seven trees, all under four feet tall.
Tim and I were all, “Seriously?!….Seriously?….You’re…this? These?…No….”
I wish I had taken a picture…but my mind was reeling something ferocious…like, “WHO CUTS DOWN SAPLINGS?!”
We tried looking for a few other places but those didn’t really pan out, either, mostly because the closest one we found where we didn’t need a permit required us to bring all of our own supplies and we would have to drive through the snow on non-roads into a forest to find a tree.
Probably not a very smart idea with a growing-by-the-second preggo wife.
Did you know that after you reach something like 30 or 31 weeks, your belly can grow a half an inch to an inch a week? A WEEK! OMG!
So…anyhow…we ended up……
….I’m almost embarrassed to even admit to this…
…we ended up…here.
And on the way here Tim was all, “I feel so bad. We’re not doing anything on your list from your blog!”
I just laughed all, “It’s no big deal…we’ll call it the weekend of fail…plus one add! The eclipse!”
Little did we know the “laughing” was only going to get…um…better.
When we got to the
tree farm parking lot, we both looked at each other like, “You have got to be joking…“
But, we resigned ourselves to, at bare minimum, go out to look at what they had.
Wouldn’t you know it? I ended up picking out the biggest Nobel Fir I’ve ever seen.
As in the biggest tree Tim and I have ever purchased.
As in it is probably at least seven feet tall.
When the guy working the tree place saw Tim pull up our car he was all, “Uhh…how about I put this on my Durango and deliver it for you?….”
We have a small, four door car.
(I guess this is the part where I tell you which car…because “small four door car” isn’t very descriptive…)
Our “small, four door car” is a BMW
325i. Sorry…I’ve been corrected. It’s a 328xi.
What his mouth didn’t say but his eyes were screaming was: There is no way in hell that tree is going onto your car without something catastrophic occurring.
Funny, though, Tim and I both had overheard another family, not five minutes before we picked out our tree, asking if they’d deliver.
We don’t do that.
Maybe it was because I was pregnant.
Or maybe it was because his daughter and I shared a name…minus a C, plus a K…
She’s a cheerleader, didn’t y’know and they just had their “Super Bowl” where she cheered on the big, high school field….
After we had our tree?
Operation Christmas was ON.
We may have failed at almost everything we had planned over the weekend, but we did a ton of other things, like decorate the inside and outside of the house.
Mini RANT: What the hell is wrong with Christmas lights? Tim and I tested every single strand and replaced every single blown bulb so everything was in perfect working order and 100% lit before we started putting them up outside.
And putting them up wasn’t exactly a walk in the park. Tim had to maneuver and stretch and teeter on the ladder while I had to hold his body weight plus the ladder on the areas where it was just snow and rocks and when we turned them on?
FULL SECTIONS OF A FEW STRANDS WEREN’T WORKING.
RANDOM, SINGLE LIGHTS ON OTHERS WERE BLOWN.
We had to replace the random single lights that, magically, no longer worked and then take down the entire we-worked-inside-but-just-kidding-we’re-broken strands and put up new ones.
This took twice as long as putting up the lights alone and by the end of it all Tim was cursing every step on the ladder.
I can’t really blame him.
We also made the little boughs + bows on the porch posts.
I love them…even though there were also a PITA to put up.
(I really have no idea why we torture ourselves like this every year. Tim says he does it because I like the decorations…so I guess it’s just me who likes the pain)
But, still. Lookit how pretty!
(We’ve since added a wreath to the front door and red bows to the lights on either side of the garage…)
And our tree!
(The mantle is like a feast for the eyes with all of the random…things…we put up there…including the freaky, bendy red-headed bald santa that we’re not entirely sure how we obtained)
And the puppies, Maddie and Lexi, with the tree!
(I had to coerce them with promises of “big treats!” while Tim took the picture)
We also started the Tim’s Direct Reports Holiday Gift Project. I made puppy chow (have you read my 4th grade mortification story behind this, yet?) while Tim made fudge.
We’re doing the baking for this project in stages because I cannot possibly make puppy chow, fudge, chocolate dipped pretzels and sugar cookies (including icing) in one day without wanting to murder someone.
The cookies are happening today…the pretzels + assembly of the treat tins tomorrow.
I’ll post the finished product when it’s all said and done…plus recipes.
Yay for high calorie holiday treats!
I’m also thinking of making some kind of “We’re the people who never really talk to anyone” goodie bags for our neighbors. Mostly so they know we’re not Satan and because if we have any leftover puppy chow, I’ll eat it with reckless abandon….like I’ve already been doing…it’s like I can’t stop…and the only way to quit is to remove the temptation.
I just don’t see myself sneaking into the neighbors home to take back my puppy chow all stealthy like.
For one, I’m not that brave.
Two? Pregnant does not equal stealthy.
Pregnant equals dropping your iPhone in a bowl of cereal.
(I’m so not kidding)
(I totally did that last night)
(I don’t even know how it happened)
(It wasn’t my fault)
I hope everyone had a fantastic Thanksgiving/Black Friday (OMG. People are CRAZY)/Regular weekend (for my lovely non-Americans).
It’s like the five days where Tim wasn’t at work flew by faster than one when he is there. I really enjoyed having him around for more than a few minutes in the morning and a few hours in the evening. I kind of forgot what that was like…
I wanted to make this Thanksgiving special…to make it memorable…to make it ours. I don’t know why I struggle so much with the “last” of everything. Thanksgiving was the first last holiday Tim and I will have together before the sprout comes into our lives as a real, live, baby (versus one who kicks me spontaneously in random places all along my torso). I can’t believe Christmas is right around the corner…because I thought about all of these holidays as SO FAR AWAY.
Yet here they are.
Flying before my eyes.
It scares me.
Baby sprout will be here sooner than I realize. I just know it.
Funny, I passed a milestone on Thanksgiving day. I hit the third trimester.
The very last one.
The one where, on my pregnancy app on my phone, I can see that I only have 12 weeks left instead of only being 12 weeks pregnant – and I vividly remember being 12 weeks pregnant and dying to tell everyone “the news.”
Seriously, where does the time go?
I can tell you where the belly goes, though.
Holy moly, Batman.
I feel like I’m growing by the minute. Everything feels tight and full and getting up from a lying down or a seated position requires five minutes and a fork lift.
Compare this most recent picture to this one at 20 weeks!
My belly now dwarfs my boobs (sad face)
Also: my butt is increasing exponentially in size.
Triple sad face.
At 28…almost 29 weeks, pregnancy is beginning to become uncomfortable. My back hurts a lot, especially if I stay in one position for too long. I’m hoping my continuation of light weights will help…Also? My belly button looks like an alien ready to pop out of a secret hiding place. The skin around it is all stretched out and firm and it is only a matter of time before the whole thing comes out to say hello.
Did I mention I have the world’s deepest belly button? So this non-deepness is really saying something about what is going on inside…
And for you foodies, here’s a little bit on our Thanksgiving smorgasbord:
I felt bad because I A: meant to buy sparkling apple juice or some other kind of beverage to have with our meal, but my pregnant brain completely forgot and I was lamenting before we ate all, “I meant to…but I forgot! We can’t just have water!!!”
So, Tim made…lemonade.
(the irony here is palpable)
And did we eat?
Oh, yes, we ate.
This plate was the only plate of food I had. There was no room for going back for anything else…except pie.
Because who doesn’t love pie?
And these two pies? Homemade crusts and freaking fantastic.
The whole cooking of the meal was really….non-eventful. We spent a few hours on Wednesday, baking the pies and prepping things for Thursday and let me – the worst cook ever – tell you: THAT WORKS. Instead of flying around the kitchen like chickens with our heads cut off, we leisurely prepared the food and everything came out on time and I even had time to put on a dress.
Guess what else we did over the weekend?
That fun comes at you tomorrow.
Yes…redirect is still retarded.
Proof of the fact that my husband remembers ZERO is here.
The disaster is posted here.
Sorry for the extra click, y’all. But I didn’t want you to miss out.
If you haven’t read this yet, you should. Just sayin.
As for our Thanksgiving # 2…
It started with Turkey Trot # 2. They had chip timing and everything…or something like that. We’re still not entirely sure if we were being timed or were on probation…
The race course went down country roads and through neighborhoods. Where, exactly? Shit…I couldn’t even tell you how we got there if I wanted to…it’s all roads and trees and random houses to me. Ask Evelyn, the GPS.
In the neighborhood section we were almost run right the hell over by an irate woman in a minivan. Apparently, she had somewhere she needed to go and apparently some runner dude decided that wasn’t happening. He ran right along beside her, yelling into her drivers side window all, “Stop your car, asshole! This is a race…which means you need to park your fat fucking self on the curb and WAIT.”
Anyway, after the police (yes, the police) stopped her at the end of the neighborhood, everyone was fairly complacent until we hit the end of the race where the course squeezes down into a 2 foot wide muddy, downhill, root infested track where Tim and I almost ended up on our asses about 17 times in the span of 30 seconds – it was THAT bad.
(notice how I said *almost* which means: it didn’t happen)
We finished without going the wrong direction (yay us!), ate a cookie and an apple (well, Tim had a banana, but, whatever) and then drove back to his parents house to participate in the gluttony that was to be spread out over the remainder of the day.
This is us, post-race and pre-feast.
We have nothing post-feast…blame it on the food-induced coma. Or the pies.
Today brings another tradition: Croissant sandwiches with leftover turkey, cranberry sauce and stuffing.
Yah…I thought it was disgusting too when Tim first told me about it.
But it’s actually a mouth-gasm and I’m recommending you try it.
Oh, and tonight, if you’re an East Coaster, wave!
Our asses will be flying home.