Blogs about trips are so hard for me to write because so much happens that I don’t know where to begin. I don’t want to overwhelm you with every little detail of our five day trip, but I don’t want to forget the good stuff, so I am trying something different. I’m going to make this a series of short stories so I don’t forget anything while simultaneously not boring the heck out of my readers. Let me set the scene: Continue reading
Immediately before I started writing this post, I was on Pinterest to look up nursery ideas for our new baby GIRL. I wanted ideas for her nursery. As I saved my first pin, I noticed that “Baby Girl Devens” was already a board on my profile. I had forgotten that years ago I had been searching for ideas for the possibility of a girl. Funny enough, while I did want a girl-you can read that blog here-I REALLY wanted a boy for my husband. His want for a boy outweighed my girl and I wanted him to be happy. Plus, I’d have another chance.
This go round, I just couldn’t hide it. I REALLY wanted a girl. I know some people don’t care if it’s a boy or a girl, and maybe this makes me a bad person, but I wanted a girl and there isn’t a thing I could do to change that. I have spent the past few months telling myself that another boy would be fine. I love my son more than I could possibly describe. Brothers would be so special. Two boys dressed as knights and slaying dragons and building Legos is a world I could imagine with love. Continue reading
Every time I write a blog, I get comments about how thoughtful I am or how wise I am for my years. When I post something on Facebook, I get comments like, “Oh, you guys are so much fun!” “Never a dull moment with you!” “Beautiful family!”. The one that makes me most insecure is “Well said” or “Perfectly worded.” Obviously, these things make me feel GREAT! However, they also make me look a little closer at myself and wonder if people see me as a little wiser and considerate than I actually am. Any thing I ever write comes from experiences, and I enjoy looking back on them and finding something meaningful. The thing is, to get to the point where I can evaluate my own behavior to the world around me, I have to mess up-ALOT-first. As my mother can confirm, I am definitely a “learn the hard way” kind of person. Continue reading
I haven’t really talked too much about my new job because I was afraid it was too good to be true. Having actually worked it a few weeks and gotten good feedback from my new boss, I think it might finally be safe to mention. When Jack was born, Rick and I both wanted me to stay at home as much as possible. I was a daycare baby (and obviously turned out totally fine), but for some reason, it was just something I wanted. When I actually met my child, I KNEW it was something I wanted. When he turned six weeks old and I didn’t have to go back to work, I was elated. I was exhausted and happy and fat and miserable and my body was nowhere near fully recovered from birthing a human being. I remember thinking about the many women who (by choice or by need) send their infants to daycare and return to full time at six weeks. How do they do it?! I didn’t get a full night’s sleep for the first six months of Jack’s life. I can’t imagine adding a full time job to the mix. It is seriously insane to me that six weeks is the norm. Continue reading
Last weekend, we finally finished our play. Wow. What a learning experience. It was one of the most fulfilling moments of my life. All the rehearsals, set building, costume searching, and time away from home were definitely worth it. The audience laughed at all the right moments, the crew moved the sets correctly, and the sound and lighting guy timed everything perfectly.
You know the type. They’re pretty, they’re popular, and you just KNOW they’re shallow. They have no depth. They think they’re the greatest little tanned bodies south of the Mason Dixon line. They could wear the exact same outfit as you and be the winner of “Who Wore It Best?” every time. You know what else they are? Totally unapproachable. When they walk up to the group you’re talking with you think, “What do I have to say to her?” and “How can she take this perfectly great conversation and turn it in to something I have no input on whatsoever?” We all have those girls that we don’t want to talk to. The girls you don’t even want to see. Those snotty, two-faced, fancy pants-wearing, jerks. Ugh. Continue reading
This morning, as I was clearing the counter off, I asked Rick while picking up random items, “Is this trash?” (It’s super weird the things that AREN’T trash, so I’ve learned to ask.) Anyway, today, he says, “I always write trash on items that are trash. If it isn’t marked, it isn’t trash.” Obviously, I don’t have to tell you that this idea would be absolutely ridiculous. Choosing to write “trash” on something takes more time than throwing the trash in…the trash-but Rick is a man of his word. I watched him from the living room as he finished the last of the milk, opened the drawer, pulled out a permanent marker, and wrote “TRASH” on the milk jug, setting it back on the counter. All while complaining that it’s not easy that he has to write “trash” on all of his trash. I guess the point of this little story is to let you know that my husband is weird. Like…really weird. He’s so weird that I am in awe of the creativity required to carry out this weirdness in a hilarious manner. Continue reading