the first

I’ve had lots of firsts in my life.

My first words: “Ruff Ruff!” Do you know the song “How much is that doggie in the window?” My parents used to sing that to me, and one day, we were all in the car together on our way to somewhere, and they sang it to me, and right on cue I added in the “Ruff Ruff!”. I, of course, don’t remember this, but my parents were so stunned that it has been burned into their memories.

My first serious injury: When I was five years old, and my brother Zach three, myself and some of my friends were standing in my front yard watching as Zachary practiced his golf swing. I thought he was doing it wrong (because I was such a golf expert at the age of 5, dontchaknow) and moved up behind him to tell him so. I told him not to swing, but he did anyway, and hit me on my head about an inch or 2 away from my temple.  My mother, who was pregnant with the twins, had to rush me to the emergency room to get stitches. I do remember this event, because frankly, getting smacked in the head with a golf club isn’t something that’s easy to forget.

My first kiss: I was 13 and moving into my rebel stage, and so my boy of choice was 18-year-0ld Larry who was all thugged out in his FUBU t-shirt, Timberlands, and jeans which hung down to his knees. I’m pretty sure that in addition to smoking weed (which I’ve never done), he sold it, as it was his only means of making money (in his mind). The only positive things that I remember about him are that he was always really nice to me (I’m sure this was because he wanted me to do more than just kiss him) and that he was extremely good-looking.

There have been many more firsts, both good and bad, along the way, and today I added a new one to my list:

My first unhappy home-related expense.

My hubby had the day off today and went down into our crawl space to check something out when he notice a leak. No -  not a leak, a leak gives the impression of a slow drip. This was more like a stream, coming from our hot water heater. Apparently, the pipe that gives us hot water was “leaking” and causing condensation (because the water was, um, hot), and, horror of all horrors, mold. Praise the Lord that my husband chose that exact moment to go down into the crawl space.

Fortunately, it was a relatively “easy” and “inexpensive” fix at $175, (“Goodbye Pottery Barn curtains!”) but now because of the water and mold down there, we have to buy a de-humidifier; which, if I know my husband (and I do) will be the cheapest one that we can find.

And so it begins.

reason # 4,238,568 why i love Brad Paisley

I’m quite certain that only Brad could mess up like this and still make it seem SO unbelievably adorable!

a phone conversation with my husband

“Hey, whatchu doin’?

“Nothing, just playing video games.”

“Oh, well did you go to the post office?”

“Yup, I picked up our mail and bought 2 books of stamps for the rest of those ‘we’ve moved’ cards that we still have to send.”

“Oh great! Did you stamp them and mail them out?”

“No, I didn’t want you to have nothing to do when you got home.”

“Gee. Thanks.”

inspiration re-discovered

I’m having a ball with this painting stuff.

There is nothing more gratifying than watching a wall go from white/off-white to something other than white/off-white. You’ve got to understand – Husband and I lived in apartment prior to his deployment. What does that mean? White walls. Everywhere. From there, we moved into my parents’ house. The walls weren’t white, but it wasn’t our space. It wasn’t personal. We had a bedroom (for which we are eternally grateful, the words just don’t do it justice) and that was it.

Now we have a house. With walls that are changing color by the day (or week, but who’s keeping track?) And it is so exciting to see it all (slowly) come together.

That brings me to my wall.

When it comes to wall colors, I play it safe. Conventional. Well, figuratively speaking I suppose. I’ve never had my own house to play with before. But prior to actually closing on and moving into the house, when I thought of the colors that I’d use, I imagined low-key tans, sage greens, blues. Nothing that requires going out on a limb or being daring. And that’s when I caught my first glimpse of the Simone Print from Pottery Barn. They showed it as a Roman Shade, and I fell in love. The green and cream colors in the print match the dishes in my kitchen and since the kitchen connects to our dining area (I call it an “area” because it’s not a formal dining room but it’s not just an “eat-in” kitchen, it’s somewhere in between) I thought the Roman Shades would look nice in a room that separate but apart from the kitchen. And so that was the plan. So I got daring, and because of these shades, decided that I wanted to paint the big wall in my dining room a burnt orange color. Daring.

So I found the shade of orange I wanted, painted the wall, measured the windows for the shades, went online to Pottery Barn when what to my wondering eyes should appear, but the words “Not in Stock” next to my precious Roman Shades. The inspiration behind the orange wall – gone.

Then just yesterday, I finally decided to get the ball rolling and call my local Pottery Barn to see if they had the proper lamp shades for those great lamps I purchased way back when, and they had them in stock at the store, so they put them on hold for me.

I went to pick them up today, and while the lovely sales lady went to get them for me, I made my way back to where all the curtains are displayed. Then I saw it. A full-sized drape in the Simone Print. “They have drapes in this?” I asked. “Yes, but that’s the last of them, because the print was discontinued” she replied. I told her the size I was looking for, and they had just 2 left. “I’ll take them” I said.

And so, just like that my orange wall will not be without a companion; in fact, I’m more excited about the drapes that I was about the Roman Shades.

This is why you should always go into the actual store – you never know what you’ll find!

it’s really been a month

I promised several readers (who I know personally, and see on a pretty frequent basis – but apparently I’m much more exciting in the blog world than in person) that I would post something today.

I’m posting from my living room couch which has been pushed to the center of the room, along with all of my other living room furniture, so that I can paint. I’m living in chaos, but here I am.

I’ll start from the beginning.

Husband and I closed on our home on Saturday, October 24th. Three days prior to closing, I contracted the flu. (I’m assuming now that it was not of the swine variety because I have since looked at a chart of the symptoms of a regular cold, the flu, and the swine flu, and my symptoms were more in line with the flu) Even still, I had a fever, chills, aches, chest congestion, and a lovely cough. I sat in closing, sweating and only partially aware of my surroundings. Even still, a home we acquired:

(Please try not to look at the horrible landscaping. It’s on my list of things to fix.)

I spent the week after closing cleaning the house in preparation for moving into it on Saturday, October 31st.

With lots of help from family and friends, we moved in, unpacked the “essentials” (kitchen items, bed and bath linens) and were left to our home, just the 2 of us for the first time in two years. That’s right – my husband and I, who have been married for three years, haven’t lived with each other or alone with each other in 2 years. I bet you have a brand new appreciation for your circumstances now, huh?

Then the painting began.

In the week after we moved (again, with the help of family of friends) almost the entire first floor was painted. It is my goal to finish it up entirely before Christmas. Maybe even Thanksgiving. I just have trim, a 2nd coat on the living room, and the foyer left to paint.

And so, I’m off to paint.

one of those annoying “no specific topic” posts

The realization that we’re buying a freaking house has sunk in. It’s big. Huge. Ginormous. In fact, I think I’m hyperventilating a little bit. We now have just less than 2 weeks to pack up the crap we have here at my parents’ house to prepare for the move. Which isn’t actually a lot. Of crap, I mean. Because most of it is in storage. Actually, the only crap we have here are clothes, our bed and our couch, our computer and accompanying desk and a file cabinet.

I’m also feeling slightly overwhelmed at the thought of cleaning and painting the house. Several friends and family members have offered to help paint – for which I am eternally grateful. But, I’m a control freak, and trust very few of those people to actually do the job correctly. So it’s my own fault that I’m overwhelmed. Because I can’t just let go.

I am surprisingly not concerned about moving day. Because we don’t have much, and, as previously mentioned, most of it is in storage, so it should go smoothly.

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I bought this end table on Columbus Day from the Pottery Barn Outlet, but got it $70 cheaper. I’m sure that’s not such a great deal to you, but I was pleased. Because the table is just so darn beautiful. And also, we don’t have any end tables, so I would have probably paid twice that just because.

(We were using tv trays as end tables at our apartment. Barbaric, right? I just couldn’t bring myself to allow that in our home though.)

I also got three really cool wooden candle pillars for 99 cents each (!) but the Pottery Barn website doesn’t have them anymore.  You should know that getting them that cheap was an EXCELLENT deal, because they were originally $30 and $40. I almost had to fight a lady for them. Just kidding.

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My sister, whose name is Andrea, (which is relevant to the story) works at a grocery store (also relevant) and told me this story the other day, and I nearly died laughing:

“I was standing at my register waiting for the next customer. A man came into my line, and while I was ringing his purchases up, he was staring at my name-tag. Finally, he asked me – “Do you pronounce your name Aun-dray-uh (Aundrea) or An-gel-uh (Angela)?” “Um, neither.” I said “My name is An-dree-uh (Andrea).” “Ohhhh! Aaaann-dree-uh. So it’s not Angela?” he asked “No.”

You’re welcome.

wearing it well – classic look

Here’s this week’s wearing it well look -

Hey, I never said I would capture it well. I’m working in limited space, people.

Anyway, I’m not so sure that there’s a piece more classic than the black turtleneck. I love that thing. With a passion. Obviously, it’s not my new(ish) item. I wore the heck out of that thing last fall/winter, because for one, it’s black, and apparently, my taste in clothing is the depressed, sort of poetry-reader look. Secondly, it came from the tall women’s section from Gap, and so, that means it’s long enough. For this, I am eternally grateful to those lovely folks. But y’all already know how I feel about that.

My new(ish) pieces are the boots and the skirt.

I’ll start with the boots.

Since I purchased them, (2 years ago? maybe?) I have probably worn them a grand total of 3 times. Pathetic, huh? They go with everything. I’m not sure what my problem is. Fear of being way taller than everyone else maybe? I dunno. Either way, I will be wearing them more often from here on out.

On to the skirt. I saved this for last because I’m ashamed of myself regarding this skirt. I’ve had this thing for well over 5 years, and I can count on just over one hand how many times I’ve worn it. I’ve never transitioned it into the fall, so this will be new for me.

All in all, I feel pretty confident that this outfit is a good one. It’s a nice mesh of classic and trendy, and I usually feel most comfortable hanging out in that particular department of the fashion world.

What do you think?

Do you want to participate in Wearing it Well? Dig out those items from the back of your closet, put together an outfit, and then post your picture! Be sure to let me know if you participate!

tired of the same old, same old

Imagine the scene…

You’re out shopping, you walk into a store, you buy a shirt/pair of pants/some shoes or boots/a purse/jewelry that you think just looks adorable. It’s trendy, but you think to yourself that you don’t have too many trendy items, and so you can add this one teeny tiny little thing to your wardrobe.

You take it home, put it in your closet, and next thing you know, it’s 2 years later and you find it buried in the back with the tags still on it.

No? Just me?

I’ve got to tell you something, if ever there was concrete evidence for excess, I’m living in it.

In an effort to make our lives (and the lives of those helping us) easier when we move into the new house, I’m trying to take care of the tedious stuff up front. Pulling out fall/winter clothes, putting away spring/summer clothes. Packing up bags, purses, shoes that I don’t use frequently. And i’m telling you, that when I unloaded fall stuff, and packed away summer stuff, I was disgusted with myself.

In addition to 2 large trash bags of stuff I’ve given to Goodwill, I had another trash bag worth of stuff that I passed to my sister and mom. Add to that a full closet, and full dresser, and you’ve got mind-blowing excess. But that’s not even the most bothersome part -

Most of the junk I have, I either haven’t worn at all and it still has tags on it, or I’ve only worn it once or twice, certainly not enough to get my money’s worth out of it.

Well, I’ve had enough.

I have decided that from now on, I am going to try to wear at least 2 new(ish) items a week. It doesn’t have to be on the same day (although what a bonus that would be!) but I’m tired of the money that I waste on this stuff, money that, if I’m being honest with myself, really isn’t even mine. For crying out loud, I don’t think my husband was deployed for a year so that I could buy 3 (yes! three!) pairs of boots and only wear them each once. (yes! once!) I shudder to think of the extra money that we could have had in our savings account if I didn’t go through my “you’re gone, and I miss you, so I think I’ll spend un-nameable amount dollars on a bunch of stuff to fill the void” phase.

Why should you care?

Because from now on, there will be a weekly “Wearing it Well” post of my 2 new(ish) items of the week. Until I get through them all. Hopefully, you’ll get some fun outfit ideas from them, and you can copy them for yourself!

And if nothing else, at least it’ll stop me from constantly posting my house-woes. It’s really win-win.

every silver lining has a big fat rain cloud

I’m telling you, if I were to stop highlighting my hair, I’m sure I would find a head-full of grays popping through my scalp. And not the pretty silvery kind of gray. The ugly, wirey kind of gray.

This post about the house was supposed to be happy. It should have been something like:

Best! News! Ever! We got the house!

Or something equally as exciting.

And now it’s just:

Oh, the house? Well, maybe we’ll get it, but who really knows?

The good new first – we did get the house. Not the exact one that I told you about before, but the one across the street from it which is identical. The details behind that story are not very interesting, nor are they relevant anymore, so I won’t bore you with them.

But.

Everyone signed and initialed where they were supposed to, details were ironed out, and a copy of the contract was given to me so that I could turn it over to my lender.

And then.

I contacted my lender so that we could lock in our rate and cover any last-minute details for this whole we’re-lending-you-a-crap-load-of-money-so-I-need-to-know-every-detail-of-your-life process. She asked me when our closing date was set for.

“Saturday, October 24th.” I said. “I know it’s atypical to close on a Saturday, but my husband is in the Police Academy, and they won’t let him leave for something like this, and the title people are ok with it, so we have to do it on a Saturday. Plus, the couple from whom we are buying the house is divorcing, and the wife is leaving to go back to Poland that afternoon, so we can’t do it any later.”

Then she said.

“Well the earliest that we can do it is October 27th, but that’s ok, all of the paperwork can be signed on the 24th and then we’ll just wire them the money on the 27th.”

“Ok, do I need to take any action regarding that process?”

“No.”

“Ok.”

So, I called my realtor and tried, to the best of my ability, to relay the information that the lender gave me.

“This is a HUGE problem.” He said “It’s illegal in our state to do a settlement like that, (he called it a wet settlement, or a dry settlement, I can’t quite remember which) so they HAVE to get the money ready BEFORE settlement day. Or we could lose this thing because we’re contractually obligated to the 24th. And if we don’t stick to our end of the bargain, they could just walk away entirely. You call your lender right back and have them fix this, and if they have any problems, they can call me directly.”

So, stricken with panic, I called my lender. And they were closed.

Now I’ll have the entire evening and morning tomorrow before they open to think about how I could lose my house.

Don’t you wish you were me?

you are my sunshine

On December 25, 1995 my siblings and I sat around the Christmas tree with the anticipatory glow that all children have on Christmas morning.

Santa had come, and didn’t disappoint.

After the fanfare of the present-opening ceased, my dad had us all sit in a row and watch at the end of the hallway for my mom to come out with a special surprise.

It was a puppy.

Our first as a family, he was something special. He was tiny and fuzzy, and extremely nervous as a result of the 10 little hands all trying to grab at him at the same time.

We named him Blitzen, after the reindeer, in honor of his status as a Christmas present. We all loved him.

In the early years of his life, he was forced to tolerate some circumstances that are not ideal for any creature of his size. My youngest brother, Ben, who was 2 when we got Blitzen, somehow managed to convince himself that Blitzen was a horse, not a Miniature Schnauzer, and would try to ride him whenever the opportunity arose.

When he was about 1, we found out that Blitzen had parvovirus and that without treatment, his chances of survival weren’t good. This wasn’t good news to our family. My mother was a stay-at-homer and my dad a blue-collar worker. With five children to feed and bills to pay, spending lots of money on the dog was not a top priority, so they planned to put him down.

Fortunately, I overheard this conversation. And cried.

Anyone who tells you that tears don’t change minds is lying.

My parents shelled out the cash, and after an overnight stay at the vet, our Blitzen was back to normal.

When he came home, I sat out in the kitchen where he was, he crawled into my lap and I sang to him:

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy, when skies are gray. You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you. So please don’t take my sunshine away.”

I loved this little companion, this friend, and I just couldn’t imagine our lives without him.

We didn’t have to worry about that really. Schnauzers are tiny dogs and tend to lead long and healthy lives. Blitzen has been around for birthdays, graduations, and was even here when I got married 3 years ago. He has been loyal and loving, a part of our every day. A fixture in our world.

Once he got into the double-digits in age, each passing birthday made us all more nervous that this might be “the year”. The one in which we would have to say goodbye to our friend who has a unique “relationship” with each person in our family.

Dad is his favorite. For years, as soon as my dad would make his way through the door, Blitzen would be right there to greet him. Dad would scratch his head, give him a treat, and then make his way into the living room. Blitzen always followed closely behind.

Mom is the caretaker. If ever there was anything that Blitzen needed, she took care of it. From shots, to pills, to switching his food when we found out that he had an allergy. He’s alive to this day because of her.

I’m like the fun big sister. We cuddled and played, and just enjoyed one another’s company. I was hardly the disciplinarian, and would surely let him get away with most anything.

Andrea is the no-nonsense one. If Blitzen needed to be combed out (which he hates) or given a bath (which he hates) Andrea was right there to do it for him. He’s pretty because of her.

The boys are his boys. They play and wrestle with him, and what fun-loving dog doesn’t enjoy that?

Today, at 3:30, we will take Blitzen to be put to sleep. This has not been an easy decision for anyone in our family. No one wants to see him go.

He would have turned fourteen at the end of October.

For almost fourteen years, we have learned patience and understanding; responsibility and compassion for something other than ourselves.

I have struggled over the last couple of days whether to post something about this dog. I know people who have lost children and spouses, grandparents and friends. How could I possibly compare my loss to theirs? I can’t.

But God saw fit, for whatever reason, to give us this wonderful creature for whom we would care, and I can’t just ignore it either.

So, here’s to you Blitzen, you’ve been wonderful, and none of us would be the same without you. You are our sunshine.