Posts Tagged 'random'

goooodbyeeeee junk

So, there’s this book making the rounds called ‘The Life Changing Magic of Tidying Up.’ Maybe you’ve heard of it, maybe not, but the basic premise is if any of the “stuff” you have  in your house doesn’t bring you joy (or serve some actual, daily or at least more than once every few years, functional purpose), it goes. Get rid of it. There is no need.

My friend gave me the book ooooohhhhhh I don’t know. A year or so ago? She read it, followed it, and now has one cutting board and two measuring cups in her whole kitchen. There will not be ten different measuring spoons in her household. Nooooooo way. Not having it. But, she was like, “It is so nice to get rid of all the STUFF.”

And I agreed with her. Because I am over all the STUFF collecting in our house. There is too much. It is overwhelming. I cannot handle it anymore.

About ooooohhhhhh I don’t know…a year ago, I told Tim we should do the same thing and he started hesitate-stuttering all, “But sometimes we use that. We might need this. You never know when it’ll come in handy.”

Yada yada yada and so nothing happened.

You guys.

We literally own a chair that NO ONE IS ALLOWED TO SIT ON because it’s too old and fragile.

It collects dust.

It’s a dust collector and a Tim hat stand and sometimes a clothes pile-up-on-er.

(Some of you may say, well, that chair absolutely serves a purpose! Look at all of those functional operations if performs!)

(But honestly people. We do not need another THING to hold more THINGS when those THINGS should really be put somewhere else…like the closet where the clothes and hats live)

The other…probably month by this point…I stood in the garage all, “I need another tote for this stuff…”

And then as I was standing there, it hit me and I was just like…ooooookay….if we are having to buy more totes to put more THINGS in because there are entirely too many THINGS floating around, there is a serious problem, here. Bordering on ridiculous.

So, suffice it to say I’ve been wanting to get rid of the stuff for quite some time now. I’ve just been waiting on the other half to get on board, and we all know nothing happens until it is their idea.

I mean it went something like this, out of the clear blue sky one Saturday morning:

Tim: I AM SO TIRED OF ALL OF THIS STUFF. IT HAS TO GO.

I used to go crazy over things like that all, “Um hello? I’ve been saying this for how long? And you think this is a new idea like some amazing lightbulb just went off in your head that has never been mentioned before? OMG. Are you serious right now?

But now?

Me: Yes! You’re right! Let’s do this!

Because I’m getting my way, after all….albeit months later…but we’ll just call it a win and move forward. I’ve learned a lot about being married and what you need to do to keep the peace and to also get what you want done. And when that delayed lightbulb goes off, you just roll with it, ladies.

We spent that entire weekend going through the garage and donating or shredding or recycling or putting items into a garage sale pile. After awhile we were both like, “WHY? Why in the world do we even have college notebooks and binders from however many years ago? Are we ever going to reference any of this? Can we even read and understand our own notes? Have we even opened these binders since the day before the final exam of whatever class?”

No, no we have not. We never will.

It brings no joy and serves no purpose other than to make us crazy.

AWAY IT GOES.

Tim was all, “I just want a conveyor belt to put it all on so it disappears and we don’t have to deal with it.”

Unfortunately, dear husband, the “dealing with it” is part of the process.

So, for this entire year, we are going to go through the entire house and attic. Every box and tote and drawer. We are going to ignore our sentimental side that wanted to keep a sticker from high school or a champagne glass from a college dance. We both like to keep sentimental things…but at this point the practical side is taking over and the type A personalities that cannot handle the clutter is behind the wheel because we are both. going. crazy.
Goodbye stuff.

Hellllllooooooooo freedom!

 

 

 

 

 

 

random hello

Ahhhhh so what’s happened lately?

My brother came to visit. Kellan is now 15 months (!!!!!!) old and is teething like CRAZY. Drool everywhere. EVERYWHERE. Also, I have a multitude of projects going on, zero completed, and we’d really like to plant some flowers outside, but I always seem to kill them (the sun is apparently hot and plants need water. Two obvious concepts I seem to forget).

(How is it flowers live just fine, all by themselves *in nature* but the second they grace my yard? Brown. Brittle. Dead.)

I am actually working on something kind of exciting, I think. I’m not sure when it’ll be finished but you’ll be the first to know when it is. Promise.

Until…well, the next time, here’s a little eye candy. Also known as my life.

Yes, I realize my hair is crazy in that picture below.

20130522-111104.jpg

20130522-111145.jpg

20130522-111226.jpg

20130522-111306.jpg

20130522-111337.jpg

it happened. again.

The key to nowhere happened…again.

Tim is convinced our post office dude dudette (as I learned from the post office) is smoking the Mary Jane. I’m inclined to agree.

We cannot even figure out how this happens. A mail person has a package for us. It’s too big to fit in the small, personal mailbox. So, instead, they place it in a larger mailbox. The larger mailbox has a key. The large box and the key have a matching number, say 2.

That key – the one that opens the larger box where our package is, is placed into our small, personal mailbox, so when we get our mail, we see the key, look at the number on the attached keychain, and then open the larger box matching that number.

Inside the larger box?

Our package?

Nope.

The key to nowhere.

Shouldn’t that be Mail Delivery 101?

PACKAGES ONLY IN THE GIANT BOX. NO KEYS. ALWAYS.

The next morning, I took the key up to the post office. I pressed for answers but the post office people couldn’t even explain it, other than to stare at me blankly, write my address on a post it, tell me they’d look for my package, and that they had “a lot of mail yesterday.

Ok…ummm….that’s your…job?….

So, later that afternoon, I go and retrieve the mail, with a very low expectation as to what I would find.

And then this happened.

I had to take a picture because I couldn’t even believe it myself.

wrong box 1 (1)(And yes, my address is blurred out but that’s THE POST IT from earlier in this story.)

Does that look like #3 to you???

Me either.

Want to see what was in Box #3 – which was broken, by the way?

empty box

And to make it even more amusing?

That certainly does not look like the third box from the left.

wrong box 2

I’M JUST SAYING.

Dear USPS: Your mail delivery people apparently never learned their numbers OR how to count. In other words, they need HALP.

******

Also? Before this key debacle, Kellan received this in the mail. I meant to share it earlier this week but I currently have a child who wants me to help him walk EVERYWHERE and that leaves little time for anything else, including eating. We got to the bathroom in pairs, now, in case you’re wondering how that all works out.

Anyhow…

20130131-074127.jpg

To make a fairly long story short, I’ve been on the hunt for dragon baby stuff, since Kellan was born in the year of the dragon in Chinese culture. I know I talked about this a loooooong time ago – probably a year ago – on here.

Except, I’m just now realizing that I should have probably collected neat dragon things for Kellan’s box like, a year ago, but, that never happened and now, hello, baby requiring 110% of my time.

Anyway, so I come across this book all about the year of the dragon and decide that, like those Wolf Creek blocks (that I found and purchased, by the way), I must have it. The book is perfect. Kellan will love it (when he’s old enough to appreciate it)!

And, yooooou guessed it: CAN’T FIND IT ANYWHERE. The 2013 book? No problem. Same with every other year except 2012.

So, what’s a girl who can’t take a baby on a wild goose chase to do?

Email the author on a whim, hoping he can help.

And help he did – what a sweet and thoughtful gesture!! Not only does Kellan get to have this book as a keepsake, it is signed by the author and also contains a nice note to Kellan on a card.

I was truly blown away.

There are still amazing, kindhearted people in the world who will do something special for a complete stranger.

And I am so thankful that I have come across one those people.

i’m judging you

Is it bad that I judge people based on their cars?

Wait. It’s deeper than that (not really, but let’s pretend).

If you have a sketchy looking beater car with dents and rust and scratches?

I am afraid of you.

Well, maybe bot afraid, per se, but I definitely give you a leery eye all, “I’m onto you.”

Lucky for me? There are two of these particular kinds of cars in our neighborhood. One with rust, one without. Both fitting the sketchy, you belong on CSI and not in the crime fighter type way description.

Every time Kellan and I go on a run (which hasn’t happen in awhile…no judgement…I’m already judging myself for you), I am terrified someone is going to jump out with a shank and rob me. Or something. Kind of pointless to rob a runner (“Give me your….your….hmm….your….damn….YOUR SHOES!…?”).

But that’s beside the point.

I give both cars the Bold eye (I learned from Tim. Ask him to do it for you sometime. You’ll turn to stone. Immediately.) because *if* anyone *is* in there or behind it or watching me?

I want them to know I mean business and my kid looks weak but he’ll kick the crap out of your balls…just ask my husband…AND I HAVE PEPPER SPRAY! SEE! SEE IT?!

And these people who own these cars?

They play right into the sterotype and park the things ON THE SIDE OF THE STREET instead of in the garage or the driveway.

So you can see my fear is totally founded in facts. Solid. Facts.

****BACK STORY****

I feel obligated, now, to say something else. I never grew up with new cars. We had this blue Toyota van that had zero air conditioner (hello, blistering hot Georgia summers and eight hour drives to Florida) and is actually probably still running, somewhere. That car WILL. NOT. DIE. After my mom finally decided to part ways with it, it went to someone else…and then someone else after that…and now it’ll probably end up in our driveway one day soon…like a lost dog finds it’s way…anyhow. *I* never had a new car, either. I had old cars. Used cars. Cars with 100k plus mileage on them by the time they made their way to me. So, I have nothing against keeping a car or having an old car. I just have issues with scary looking cars because I actually had one follow me during a run once and the giant dudes – three of them – inside were up to no good and let’s just say had I not had the wherewithal to dive into and hide in the bushes while they drove past me, at a snails pace, I might not be here right now, writing this.

****END BACK STORY****

Then, one day not too long ago, on our way home from a run, we met the owner of the non-rusty beater car while he was standing in the driveway coming at me with a shank retrieving a ping pong ball.

His young son was waiting in the garage behind a ping pong table.

The dude smiled and said hello.

I froze.

Do I smile? You have a kid! You are normal! And you are not scary!

BUT YOU HAVE A SKETCHY CAR!

My brain still isn’t even sure what to think about this whole “situation.”

I’m going to wrap Christmas presents now. That seems like a safe plan.

i made that

For anyone who is a parent…have you ever had a moment where you sat back and looked at your child like, “Wow. I MADE THAT.”

Especially us women.

Because, really, we actually made that.

I’ll never forget the first time I looked at Kellan and thought, “So that’s you.”

The you who kicked me at 3am or who stuck their little bum up in my ribs or who got the hiccups all the time and I’d put my hand on my belly, hoping to pacify you, if only just a little bit.

You.

It is kind of an otherworldly experience, really, because that tiny person started out as two cells – TWO CELLS – and now, look at him.

Mr. Personality.

Mind blowing.

This little person who I knew last year as – literally – a bump that moved and punched and hiccuped and gave me heartburn. One year later, he’s a lively baby boy who does all of that, still, minus the heartburn.

They are born…and then they grow…it’s a little person. A teeny, tiny human.

I made a teeny tiny human.

MADE ONE.

From basically nothing.

That’s like, crazy alien type stuff right there.

I legit grew another person.

Until this actually happens to you, you really have no idea how crazy weird that it all really is. I think seeing the end result – a la baby – is where it finally hits you like WHOA.

TEENY TINY PERSON.

I did that.

Obviously, I am failing miserably to find an eloquent way to say this. You know, I don’t think there is an eloquent way to explain the feeling and the reality behind tiny person creation. If you find any, it was probably written by a man who has no idea what he’s talking about.

Their “part” in the creation process is all of two seconds…or five seconds…minutes…whatever.

They don’t…they can’t know.

Well, until the baby is actually here, in the flesh, and then their eyes get all big and they’re like, WHOA.

YOU MADE THAT.

y-o-u

I know I don’t say it enough. Let’s be honest. Who does, really?

I am thankful for you.

You who listen to me drone on and on and on about NO SLEEP and BABY and WHY ME.

You who subscribe to my blog – I get so, so excited whenever I see an email saying someone has subscribed. It doesn’t happen all the time but when it does?

Happy face!

You who comment…even though I rarely comment back. I read all of them. I comment to all of you in my brain, each and every time. And then Kellan needs something or I forgot I was supposed to be doing something or I start thinking about something and completely forget what I was doing previously. All excuses, really, and pretty poor ones at that. I will try to be better. Just know I love your comments and they are never unnoticed or unappreciated. EVER.

I used to be so crazy about blog stats – like obsessive crazy – to the point I would check them all the time, hourly…by the minute if I thought I had posted something extraordinarily fantastic. I told myself I had to stop caring.

Having a baby will make it happen.

It’s not that I don’t care about YOU WHO READ. It’s that I no longer care if I have more people read than yesterday or if my stat graph starts to look super sad and low. If you come to read, you are awesome. If you don’t, I’m ok with that, too. I know I’m not always super interesting. I think I’m pretty boring, actually, so I’m impressed you’ve hung on this long.

Impressed…and grateful.

For some reason, just writing words without people reading them does not have the same cathartic effect as writing them and you reading. YOU reading is what makes the difference. I’m not sure why. However, if you stopped reading, I would want to stop writing…in a way…and that would be sad, right?

Some of you are actual, in real life friends. Some are bloggy friends. Some of you I don’t even know and have no idea you’re reading in the first place. Some of you may come and go…I have no idea.

Point is, I am happy you are here. I am grateful you come to my little corner of obscurity. I am glad you share a little bit of our life with us.

Thank you.

I’ve set aside a nice chunk of my advertising revenue each month for giveaways, like a KitchenAid mixer. I like buying them for the audience, because without the audience I wouldn’t have the blog or the revenue in the first place. Ree Drummond

(and for the record, I make zero dollars from this blog, so I can’t give away a KitchenAid mixer, though I wish I did and could…maybe one day…)

(also for the record, Ree Drummond – aka The Pioneer Woman – is all sorts of awesome. I’d like her to teach me how to cook…just sayin)

woe, woe, the ravages of time

I go through these cycles – maybe I’m not alone in this – where I feel just…wiped.

Exhausted.

Burnt.

I have zero energy even though I’m getting the same amount of sleep. It’s like one day bleeds into another and there is just no….end.

I think I am finally coming out of another one of these…episodes? I have no idea what to call them? It’s like the magical energy fairy comes in the middle of the night and breathes life back into me. Or maybe it’s because I’m exercising more days of the week than not. Something.

Randomly, I was reading about breast feeding and the hormones that go along with it and how sometimes a mother will almost feel depressed when her child weans because of the hormones that go along with weaning.

YIKES.

Lately, Kellan has stopped nursing AS MUCH as he used to (read: all night long most nights, a handful of times throughout the day and now down to once – maybe twice – at night and a handful of times throughout the day), so maybe I’m getting a small taste of what those hormones feel like? It’s probably a good thing it has been a slow process so far (the decrease in nursing) because WOW if I had to stop cold turkey.

White room, padded walls, please.

I really had no idea how crazy hormones could make a person until now. The imbalance? Your body trying to get back into balance?

WHOA.

No thank you.

I already had a difficult enough time every few months (because why would I be *normal?* Exactly).

But I had my cues and those would clue me on onto why I was feeling all “Oh, woe, woe, the ravages of time….”

For instance?

I MUST HAVE CHEESE FOR DINNER?

It was only a matter of time (read: hours) before my (not)BFF was coming to town.

Now?

I have no cues. No clue. And lots of up and down. Not like down like I’m crying in a corner, feeling like the world is caving in on me. More like sheer exhaustion, frustration over little things (but never with Kellan), wanting to not feel like a frumpy mom, the desire to just have a short break to be able to pee in peace and the constant “I never seem to have enough time to do X and Y and LMNOP.”

THAT kind of down. But not sadness down. Just over-tired, down.

Though right now, I feel really “up” but I am attributing that to Kellan and my play date today where I learned that I am NOT. ALONE.

However, with the “down,” the hormones seem to make it worse because the hormones make the big picture hazy and that is hard to see through, sometimes.

Tack on Tim and I still trying to find our own balance being married with a child (because that is totally different from just being married) and WOE, WOE, THE RAVAGES OF TIME.

I have never been more grateful to have found friends in the mom’s group I joined however long ago.

They definitely help clear the haze and show me that I’m not abnormal when it comes to things like this.

It just is…like this…until Kellan gets older and things get better and life gets just a little bit easier.

(and until the hormones finally stabilize…which isn’t going to happen until well after Kellan weans himself…and I have no idea when that is going to take place because I’m taking a passive approach to that as in: WHENEVER YOU’RE READY, BUDDY)


this is where you ask those burning questions

Enter your email address to follow booshy and receive notifications of new posts by email.

Join 1,410 other followers

OR follow booshy with feed burner

my past…it happened

clever girls

stealing is not nice