Christmas morning video

Man, does it seem like Christmas was FOREVER ago, or what? I’d go into my crazy spiel about how the crappy weather slows down time and makes the winter months drag on and on and how much it suuuucks, but I promised myself I’d try not to talk about that sort of misery on the blog anymore, or at least until next January.

You’re welcome.

Anyway, I just wanted to share a little video that we captured from Christmas morning. We have a tradition of spending the night at my parents’ house on Christmas Eve and then waking up, opening presents, and eating cinnamon rolls together all morning long. Here’s a little sneak peek into what went on this year:

Please note: Avalon’s reaction; Courtney’s reaction; and Mom’s reaction. Pure gold, all of them.

We’ll talk more about this later

I’m S.A.D.

I know I sound like a broken record every year, but this winter stuff IS GETTING TO ME, MAN. Like, bad. The relentless gray sky, frigid temperatures, and inches upon inches of snow put me in a constantly cranky, depressed mood. Just the other day my new brother-in-law pegged me as “the person who hates winter more than anyone else he knows.” Shouldn’t that be HIM? The person who just moved here from the warm, sunny state of Arizona?

But whatever. I’m taking it as a compliment.

I’ve never been formally diagnosed, but I’m fairly certain that I suffer at least a little bit from Seasonal Affective Disorder. In the past, I would try to combat my blues by hitting the tanning bed every so often. Now, in my older and wiser age, I realize that avoiding the potential wrinkles and skin cancer trumps trying to achieve the bronze glow that I once mayhavebeenobsessedwith. But even without the tan, I thoroughly enjoyed the whole tanning experience during the freezing winter months – the warmth and light was sure to perk me up every time I went.

As a replacement, I’ve been researching light boxes, which claim to help battle the winter blues. I’m wondering if I kept one on my desk and sat by it each day if it would help lighten (gaggy pun!) my mood. Anyone have any experience with this?

My other option is to fly to Florida every other week. Don’t think I’m not seriously considering it.

Wait, I have a blog?

It seems like we all have the same general reaction when the writer of one of our daily blogreads all of a sudden goes weeks and months without posting anything: Where did she go? Why hasn’t she written anything in forever? WHAT’S WRONG, ZOMG, WHAT’S WRONG? WHAT HAPPENNNNEEDDD???

I’ve obviously been out of the blog (and Facebook. and Twitter) loop for a long time now, and believe me, I know how lamesauce it is. I think I sort of got sick of hearing myself talk, honestly, and decided that I would just be quiet for awhile. But the good news is that I’m alive and well and life has been wonderfully normal for the past couple of months. I have no excuse for not blogging except for being busy, maybe a teensy bit lazy, and OH, THERE’S MY TODDLER SITTING IN A PILE OF COFFEE GROUNDS. But I gotta admit, while I was gone I was swept right off my feet when I kept getting so many sweet emails and comments from my bloggirls (see what I just did right there? KEEPING IT!) wondering if I was all right since I hadn’t blogged in awhile. So thank you, everyone, for your concern and thankfully it was over nothing more than me vegging out on my couch in front of my DVR’d House Hunters reruns.

So, hm, what else to say. You would think that I’d be puking words out all over WordPress, wouldn’t you? I’m realizing now, though, that blogging and exercise are a lot alike; it’s really hard to get back into the habit once you’ve let it go. Like right now, the way I’m pecking the keyboard and digging around in my brain for words and how to string them together, it’s like I’m one of the new Biggest Loser contestants who can barely keep up with a walking pace on the treadmill and ends up rolling right off the back of it. Here I am, a sweaty heap on the floor. But what better time than the new year to dust off the WordPress dashboard and get writing again?

So, hey everybody! How are ya?

Broken down in purple glasses.

At the risk of sounding like Me-Maw, I’m going to go ahead and admit that at the ripe old age of 26 I’m already falling apart. And I don’t mean mentally or emotionally, though I know I’ve hinted at that faint possibility a time or twelve before. No, I’m talking physically falling apart, one body part after the other, breaking down like a rusty old ’87 Ford Escort.

First it was my eyes. Every now and then I get this strange infection-y thing, where for some reason my contacts irritate my eyes and they get all red, itchy, sensitive to light, and watery. I’m then forced to wear my glasses until they clear up and you can imagine how dangerous the driving conditions are when I’m driving down the road with sunglasses stacked on top of my regular glasses (enter SIX EYES joke here), eyes squinting and gushing, me trying to keep at least one eye half way open at all times, you know, to be safe. I know I should probably get to the eye doctor, but the problem is that I already had my annual eye exam back in January and our insurance won’t cover another exam until after the beginning of the new year. But I think I’m about to cave and go anyway because purple glasses aren’t always the perfect accessory.

Now I have an achy back. Ol’ Bitty here was getting a little carried away with her Max Interval Sports Training Insanity DVD and woke up the next morning unable to twist, bend, arch, or otherwise move in any position besides completely vertical. Poor Avalon was practically dropped down into her crib at naptime yesterday due to my inability to bend over, but no worries because her mattress is verrrry springy. Obviously working out is out of the question, even today, the one day a week when my grandma comes over to babysit Avalon so that I can go to a kettlebell class at the gym. I should probably mention here, in the spirit of full disclosure, that instead of sulking about my back I took advantage of the Grandma/Granddaughter bonding time and spent my child-free morning at Ann Taylor Loft with a coffee in one hand and a grip of coupons in the other. It’s at this point some of you are wondering why I would ever want to go to the gym when I could be burning up the plastic of my Loft card every Wednesday morning, am I right? The only upside to this crick in my back is that Rob has started nice, hot bubble baths for me for two nights in a row while he cleans up the kitchen and gets Avalon ready for bed, so what am I supposed to do? I have no choice but to laze around in the tub with my book until the water turns cold, or at least until my toes are so wrinkled it feels like they’re going to shrivel up and snap right off my foot.

See what I just did right there? Another ailment. Snappy-off-y toes.

We’re going on a little jaunt this weekend and I really hope that I’m in better shape because I’ve got big plans that involve Jason Mraz, Dave Matthews, and standing in the middle of Wrigley Field. My aching back and six eyes will NOT get in the way of that.

And that was really weird.

I have this thing. This problem; this nervous tic. Some people may call it a virtue, but I’m convinced that on random Tuesday nights at 10:48 pm it’s nothing but a big old pain in my ass.

Most people already know I’m the firstborn and as such you could rip a page out of your Psych 101 textbook and what you see right there? That page about Sigmund Freud and Alfred Adler and psychoanalytical theories? And then that paragraph about anal-retentive personalities? OH, HI! WELL, GASP, THERE I AM!

What this all means, then, is that it is physically impossible for me to sit at my desk at any point during the day or night and not do my work, even if I try to convince myself that it’s really okay, that I have plenty of time an hour from now, tonight, tomorrow to get it done. If there is anything at all that needs attention – a bill to be paid, an email that needs answering, a paper that needs hole-punched – I have to do it immediately and then get it out of my face forever. I can’t ever ignore it or pretend like it’s not always there nagging at me. Work always comes first before anything else, no matter the due date. (Oh, well doesn’t that just do all the explaining about my blog neglect?. Huh.) And in addition, every night before I go to bed I absolutely must clear off my desk and finish all of my responsibilities so I can peacefully go to sleep and avoid the panic attack I would have walking into my office the next morning to find my desk full of clutter and to-do’s.

I blame it all on Freud, man.

Anyway, amidst all of my work I like to browse the web when I have a break in-between tasks, to catch up on Facebook and blogs and search high and low for the perfect brown riding boots (which, has anybody found these? Please let me know immediately if you have.).

So here I was this evening, sitting at my desk reconciling my books and bank account, when I flipped on over to Facebook. And you know the side bar over the right? The one that lists “suggestions” and “requests” and whatnot? Well I’ve noticed recently that there are also little reminders about what an unfriendly biatch you are.

Has anybody seen this? The little “reach out” box, with friends’ photos and a little blurb next to them with lame little conversation starters like “share the latest news!” or just simply “say hi!”?

Hey Facebook? I already knew I was a social idiot and an introvert. But thank you for the reminder that I am such a sucky, unfriendly individual.

Those pesky reminders typically annoy me on any normal day, but today was the real tipping point. Because you know who Facebook thought I should “reach out” to? Ex-boyfriends. TWO OF THEM. PHOTOS RIGHT THERE, TOGETHER. Pretty sure the Ghost of Boyfriends Past is invading my computer. Gah. I mean, really, what are the chances of Facebook harassing me so accurately?

Well. After that it was certainly back to work. And a few refreshes on the Facebook home page for good measure.

Or as Rob refers to us, “The Geek Squad”

Last week I had some girls over for our first book club meeting, a random hair-brained idea of mine, finally brought to fruition after rolling around in my brain for most of the summer. I figured it would be something fun, something to look forward to each month; a chance to get out of the house, see friends, and generally be my main source of social interaction.

After putting the idea out on Facebook, there were ultimately ten girls interested in participating in a book club, way more than I ever suspected. Because let’s be honest, a book club? Those two words together, book and club, it’s like they’re reserved for geriatric Patsy’s only, and you can almost smell the moth balls and putrid perfume permeate up from those eight letters. Why is that ‘book club’ has that kind of connotation written all over it?

Because book club is AWEESSOOMMME!!!

Though we were sad that not everyone could make it to the first get-together, those of us that were in attendance had an absolute ball. We ate fish tacos, drank lots of red wine, got acquainted with one another, told embarrassing stories, and then finally at the end picked which book we intended to read first. (The Help, by the way. So good!)

From texts and Facebook messages here and there I can already tell that we’re all really enjoying reading the book and have totally used the excuse “but I HAVE to lay here on the couch and read instead of doing the laundry – it’s for book club!” a time or two. Or, wait, is that just me?

I’ve already discovered that this book club is about so much more than reading, and is absolutely more about the people than the books. Who knows how much we’ll actually discuss what we read or not; what I do know for certain, though, is that every month we’ll all talk about what’s going on in our lives, how we’re doing, what really sucks at the moment, what’s really spectacular at the moment, how our husbands really pissed us off, how our husbands really made our day. And you know what else we’ll do? EAT. And DRINK.

So all of that to say, I’m really looking forward to the first Tuesday of every month, and even though it would be possible for me to feel like an old granny dork, I don’t. So there.

(And really, Rob’s just jealous.)

Secretly in love

I’m having a really hard time coming to terms with myself; similar to that episode not too long ago when I totally betrayed myself and everything I stood for and ordered my first pair of skinny jeans from Ann Taylor Loft. When they arrived on my doorstep and I ran inside to try them on I actually…I…I…liked them. Then I immediately sat down and had a meeting with myself because where’s Kaley and what did you do with her? It’s like I’d been brainwashed by Rachel Zoe only a couple episodes into the new season of RZP. Next thing you know I’m going to be ordering rompers and crotch-high hooker boots.

Only this has nothing to do with fashion. Well, it kind of does, but I’ll get to that. What I’m saying is, after a hotter-than-normal summer with humidity so thick you could do the backstroke everywhere you went, the weather is finally starting to cool off and crisp up. The fact is that summer is coming to a close and all signs are now pointing to fall.

While tailgating last Saturday I was able to wear a new cardigan (and we all know how much I love my cardigans, I mean, if I had to choose between between a pair of underwear and a cardigan…) and Avalon has even been found snuggling up in her new fuzzy Gap hoodie from time to time. When I take Oliver for walks I don’t have sweat dripping down my nose by the time we reach the end of our street. I’m already making plans to pull my petunias out of the flower beds and swap in some jewel-tone mums in their place. I’m mapping out which apple orchards we’re going to visit to pick bushel after bushel of sweet, crispy apples. We’ve opened all of our windows and let the cool breeze blow through the house.

Guys, I’m liking fall.* A lot. And now I’m going outside to pelt myself with stones.

I’m a summer girl, is the thing. Always have been. My birthday is in July, school is out of session, days are spent swimming and tanning and topped off with Miata rides to Ritters for creamy custard sundaes. I mean, who doesn’t love all of these things?

But what I’ve discovered lately is that summer isn’t as awesome when you’re an adult, because adults aren’t able to spend every day at the beach with friends, slathering on tanning oil and munching on Doritos. Adults aren’t allowed to suck out every single delicious second of summer because we’re not on summer vacation, alas, the real world still beckons during the warm sunny months.** Instead, we’re forced to continue on in our daily lives, running errands, working, and taking care of the kids, all the while sweating our asses off in the three seconds it takes to walk from Target back to the car and then having to stand in the blistering hot sun until the air conditioning kicks on and cools off the car enough before we get in so we don’t suffocate and die from the pent up heat.

I know, first world problem. I KNOW.

Anyway, as I’ve grown older each year it’s like summer slowly creeps down the friendship scale day by day, sweaty body part after sweaty body part, slipping from BFF4LIFE to STARTING2H8U.

The number one reason why I’ve never been able to fully embrace fall is that it means the inevitable, dreaded winter is approaching. And dude, winter is totally dead to me. I hate – LOTHE – cold, snowy, slushy, winter. If the planets got all juggled up and earth spun out of its orbit and the seasons got all jacked up resulting in winter never happening ever again, well, I peed my pants just thinking about it. In fact, that’s probably what heaven is like: winterless. Pretty sure that’s in Genesis somewhere, even.

But I’m coming out of the closet right now, blissfully ignoring the fact that winter will be here in just a few short months, and am instead choosing to fully embrace and own my love for the fall season.

Fall, I want to make out with you.

*Remember Courtney, you know, my sister that was married just a few weeks ago? She’s living in the desert now until December and is totally missing our midwest fall. So Courtney? Don’t cuss me out after reading this. Mmmkaythanks.

**Unless you’re a teacher, in which case, I want to be you.***

***But during summer months only.

The most pointless post in the history of blogging

Dude, I’m so conflicted right now. I’m sitting here having just finished my work – stuff people actually pay me to do – and I’m dead tired, yet I want to blog so bad. And not this crappy excuse thing I’m doing now, I’m talking a real blog, one with big words I had to look up on thesaurus.com and funny analogies and capital letters because you know my pinkies can’t always resist the shift key when there’s a point to be made.

But, gah, I just can’t find the time. There’s always something more ‘important’ to do, and when I recently complained to Rob about feeling like I can never get caught up with my work, he reminded me that that’s what most people call Job Security.

Touché.

Still, every morning I hope that I’ll get my work done throughout the day so that I can blog in the evening. Then the day comes and goes, and I realize, crap, that work is still sitting on my desk unfinished, so I work until ten pm and now my eyes are throbbing and I’m squinting at the computer with my face four inches from the screen because everything is blurry and, dammit, I’m getting old already!

So for now, I’m going to bed. But I really am going to be better about blogging. Even if I have to sit here all cross-eyed into the late hours of the night.

A response to all (ALL) the questions.

It’s sort of like after you get married.

You know, when all of a sudden – usually only a couple of months after you officially tied the knot and escaped to a tropical island for a week of frosty drinks and spa appointments – people start crawling out of the woodwork to ask you the exact same question over and over again: So, you guys gonna have a baby soon or what?

And now, three years down the marriage road with a baby approaching her first birthday, comes the next round of questioning: So, you gonna have another baby soon or what?

I realize it’s to be expected, I mean, these questions are as predictable as what’s going to happening the morning following a bean and cheese burrito. And most often people aren’t trying to do anything except strike up some surface-y conversational banter. But there are times when I feel like a broken record explaining to people why hell NO I’m not ready for another baby, when what I really should do is escape to the nearest craft store to pick up some poster board and Magic Markers and create a sign a sign that reads “not anytime soon, thanks for asking” to wear around my neck.

If the question is do I ever want to have more kids? Then of course. Totally. I’d like to have an entire tribe if Rob would let me.

But am I ready to have another kid right now? Not so much.

For one thing, I finally feel as though life is getting back to my idea of ‘normal.’ I feel less tied down to my house and free to go places, see people, do activities that weren’t possible before Avalon grew up a little bit. I feel like I have finally reclaimed my pre-baby body again, and I’m once again confident and happy with myself. I feel like Avalon has gotten easier, happier, and more portable. She’s predictable. She sleeps awesome every night, which means I sleep awesome every night.

WHY RUIN ALL OF THIS ALREADY?

Also, in case I haven’t fully expressed this enough already, dude, Avalon sort of made me lose my mind for awhile. And I’m just gonna be honest here, I’m living a little bit in fear of the next baby and what he or she may do to my sanity. And that last sentence just caused Rob to run off and buy five more boxes of condoms so that he can double up from now on!

So for everyone who’s wondering, the real answer to your questions is that no, we’re not ready for another baby. We’re thinking that we’d like to spread our kids apart by about three years or so. Then again, we realize that we’re not God and that He has his own plan that is, of course, much more awesome than ours.

Let’s just suffice it to say that if I get on here and write about me being pregnant anytime before the year 2012 we can all exclaim a resounding SHUT THE FRONT DOOR! together.

Things I love that other people don’t get

One of my blog buddies, Mrs. D., recently wrote a post called “Things I Love That You May Not Get.” I found it fascinating, not just because I agreed or disagreed with some of the items on her list, but because I love discovering random facts about people. It’s those minute little details that make us who we are as an individual and what makes us unique. I thought it would be fun to write my own version of that post, so I asked for her permission and got to making these lists.

So here we go! Things I love that other people just don’t get.

1. Working out to the point of needing to hurl
2. Almond milk
3. Cloth diapers
4. Pricey jeans
5. Sonic diet vanilla Dr. Peppers
6. Rachel Zoe
7. Excel spreadsheets
8. Watching the Food Network 24/7
9. Short hair
10. Having my feet massaged
11. The scent of burning leaves
12. My lack of cleavage
13. Buffalo burgers
14. Even numbers
15. Organization
16. Swiffering my floors eleventy times a week
17. Structured schedules
18. Kelly Ripa
19. Always driving at least 5 MPH over the speed limit
20. Blogging, ie: putting my life on the Internet

******************

Now for a little switcheroo: things other people love that I just don’t get. Note that this isn’t necessarily a list of things I don’t like, just things I literally don’t get in general – don’t understand, can’t do, etc.

1. Skinny jeans
2. Sports – watching or playing
3. Country music
4. Running
5. Talking on the phone
6. Burger King
7. Twitter
8. Cutting coupons
9. Chick-Fil-A
10. Snow-related outdoor activities
11. TJ Maxx/Marshalls
12. Sororities
13. Budgeting
14. Cats
15. Black licorice
16. Being in photos
17. Formspring
18. Gladiator sandals
19. High school
20. Being the center of attention