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I realize, the title up there is extreme. But just listen.
Almost two years ago, the fall after Avalon was born, Rob and I learned that U2 was going to be in concert the following summer in Chicago. Neither of us had seen them live before, and we’re both pretty big fans, so realizing that it seemed like a bucket list-type of activity, we jumped on some tickets – and even spent decent money on them, justifying them as part of our Christmas presents to one another.
Fast forward to eight or so month later, the beginning of the next summer, and we get notified that Bono was undergoing back surgery and the concert we were scheduled to go to was being postponed until the following year. No money back for our tickets. Just waiting a whole year to see them.
Super-fast forward to this summer, and here I am, nine months pregnant at the U2 concert, FINALLY.
Only we almost didn’t get go to again because SOMEONE forgot to bring the TICKETS to CHICAGO and realized this only AN HOUR BEFORE THE CONCERT STARTED.
So there we were in our hotel room, getting ready to go to the concert; Rob making himself a little pre-concert cocktail and me, very much not drinking any cocktails, though in the following minutes I would have practically eaten a baby for a shot or five of vodka.
All of a sudden, Rob sits up really straight and smacks himself on the forehead with a very dramatic and panicked “OH MY GOD.”
Right then, I knew what he was going to say. He forgot the freaking tickets. He starts frantically rummaging through his backpack looking for them, as if they were going to magically jump out of thin air and into his hands along with a flurry of sparkly pixie dust and miniature unicorns.
I decide in this moment to just keep my mouth shut and not say anything. Granted, OF COURSE I wanted to start bitching and moaning and even crying a little bit, but instead I knew I just shouldn’t. Let him figure this out. Let him freak out. Pretend to be calm. Callllmmmm. So I turn to Twitter. Maybe I can get some sympathy there.
Meanwhile, Rob is practically clawing at his iPad trying to dig back into his email archives and find our ticket purchase receipt, hoping we can contact the seller to have them email us a new PDf of our tickets. Rob calls, and WOP WOP, they can’t help us.
I’m seriously on the verge of crying now and am giving the stink eye to the canteen of vodka sitting across the room. After more frantic calls on Rob’s part to various family members asking them go to our house to take cell phone photos of our tickets (which were IN HIS DESK DRAWER, FOR THE LOVE OF GAWD) and then text them to us, we jump into a cab and head over to Soldier Field in hopes that maybe our little janky cell phone photos are enough to convince the ticket nazis that we really did buy tickets to the concert and to PUH-LEASSSSSE LET US INNNNN, I’M NINE MONTHS PREGNANT, GIVE ME SOME SYMPATHY.
Well, it worked. The guy at the ticket office admitted that although it was possible for us to pull the wool over his eyes, he didn’t think we looked like the type of people to do that. I’m not really sure what that meant, other than the fact that he must not have had much personal experience with swollen, waddling, with-child thieves. He was able to use our printed-off email receipt and give us new, official tickets. We made it to our seats with plenty of time to spare before Bono rocked out the most killer concert ever.
And our marriage survived it all.
Happy anniversary to us!
Happy 4th of July! It’s now 8:22 pm and I’m typing this blog post from my bed because evidently babies who go to bed at 7 aren’t all that much fun and don’t really allow you to party on holidays that require you to stay up til it finally gets dark, which is practically midnight thanks to Daylight Savings. However, I can’t complain about missing out on all the fireworks this year, and if you read my rant from last year all about the loud, obnoxious shenanigans that go on around this time of year, it’s no surprise that I don’t really feel bad about being in bed before the sun even sets. Now I just get to lay here and cross my fingers that all those janky firecrackers popping all around our neighborhood don’t wake the baby up. I have a feeling that all mothers of young children unite during this holiday, and that we’re all feeling a bit anxious about All The Noise So Late At Night While Our Kids Are Peacefully Sleeping, So Don’t Anyone DARE To Wake Them Up Or We’ll Shoot That Firecracker Up Your…yeah.
So anyway. I’ve had sort of a whirlwind last couple of days. Rob and I headed up to Chicago for a little overnight getaway on Friday, which was somewhat of a surprise on my end. The U2 concert that we purchased tickets for last November ended up being postponed because Bono up and decided to get back surgery during the dates of our concert. Unfortunately for us, we don’t get our money back, either – we just have to wait until to see them in concert NEXT summer. How much does that suck? Anyway, this was the weekend that we were going to see them up in Chicago anyhow, so since it got cancelled we thought we may as well still go up there and enjoy a little mini-vacay.
We stayed at the most kick ace hotel ever, The Wit. Very modern and brand new. Plus they have the most hip rooftop bar that I’ve ever been to…not that I’ve been to any other rooftop bars, but still. This one totally wins. There were so many beautiful Chicagoans all gussied up in their summery chic maxi dresses and designer aviator shades, and no kidding, I don’t think I’ve ever felt so uncool.
(Photo courtesy of The Wit)
The surprise of the day was when Rob told me that I had an early birthday present/spa appointment at 3:00, complete with a massage, manicure and pedicure, and I was so relaxed when I walked out of the spa that I could have cried.
After that we got ready, went and had a few drinks up on the roof, and headed to a quaint little Italian restaurant for dinner where I ate more carbs in an hour than I’ve had in the past month. I was so thrilled about all the bread that, again, I could have cried.
It was still warm and slightly light out after dinner so we decided to take a little stroll down by the river, where Rob proceeded to try and get artsy with our crappy camera, resulting in these potentially-pretty-if-they-weren’t-so-grainy photos:
The next day we did a little shopping before heading home, and while we were in Nordstrom I spotted Kelly Ripa’s YSL black pumps that I’ve been lusting after. The $795 ones. Those. And while I still can’t really believe I did this, because it’s such a slimy thing to do, I went ahead and tried them out with no (NO) intention of buying them. I think the salesman totally knew I wouldn’t be handing over my credit card and taking them into my possession right from the get go, but whatever, who is he to judge? So I tried them on, and guys, I can’t believe I’m admitting this but I totally didn’t even like them! I know. How is that possible? But they just didn’t feel good. I think it was due to the platform on the bottom of the shoe that they didn’t feel high enough. And if I’m going to be wearing heels, I want those suckers to be as high as Snoop Dogg. Call me crazy, but I feel like my legs look better when I’m wearing four inch heels. ADMIT IT, YOU DO TOO. So, whew, cross my heart, I really didn’t like them. Or want them. But I did have Rob take a very incognito photo of my feet in those billion dollar shoes which is good enough for me:
Now I can die happy and $800 richer.
A few things:
- Valentine’s Day was last week.
- Today is not Valentine’s Day.
- This arrived at my door today.
- I almost didn’t answer the door because I am a crazy, very paranoid freak.
- I finally did answer the door after the second doorbell ring.
- So glad I did.
Yesterday I received an email from some random ticket retailer about upcoming U2 concerts. If you read my blog way back when (when exactly, you ask? Oh, you remember, those days when I was new to blogging and a really crappy writer. Remember? Yes, those days.), you may recall me writing a post about concerts I wanted to see sometime in my lifetime, and of course it’s obvious, SINCE I’M WRITING THIS BLOG POST, that U2 was on that very list. So I naturally was really excited to see that they were going to be performing in Chicago next year and immediately asked Rob if we should bite the monetary bullet and buy tickets.
We decided to take the plunge and spend the (lots of) money to buy some killer tickets for their concert next summer at Soldier Field. However, since we never did get around to planting that money tree in our backyard, I made Rob promise that the tickets would be our Christmas present to each other. And even though he “promised” I still have my doubts about Rob because he loves to buy gifts for people. Anyone. Hey You, want a present? Rob will buy one for you. Buying gifts is like some kind of trippy high for him, and okay, I kind of like that quality about him, like when I got home from Florida a couple of weeks ago and he had a gift waiting for me on my pillow. No matter that it was in one of those pink bags from that one lingerie store in the mall, NO MATTER, I SAID. That point is, he’s thoughtful. So I wouldn’t be surprised if, come Christmas morning, Rob has more gifts for me after we promised each other we wouldn’t do that. And then I would feel bad because I took our promise seriously and didn’t have anything to give to him Christmas morning.
Yeah, he would totally do that to me, DANG IT, HE’S TOO NICE.
Today Rob and I celebrate two years of wedded bliss.
But not really. We kind of already celebrated on Saturday night by splurging at Ruth’s Chris on a to-die-for steakhouse dinner followed by a trip to Best Buy to purchase a video camera. We always thought it would be cool to have one, but now that a baby is on the way it’s not only cool to have one, but absolutely necessary to have one. Wouldn’t want to miss an opportunity to document a single burp or coo, now would we?
It’s so crazy to see how much we’ve managed to squeeze into just two years (numerous trips, building a new house, pregnancy), yet it seems like just yesterday I was stepping into my wedding dress getting ready to make a lifetime commitment to Rob. It’s fun to reminisce about where we’ve been, yet even more exciting to dream about what is still on the horizon waiting for us to experience.
I love you, Rob. Happy Anniversary to us!
Okay, so this has to be a quickie post. The Bachelorette starts in only half an hour, and my priorities lie square between the confines of awkward fairy-tale dates and red rose bouteonnieres determining magical, true love.
So this weekend – Rob’s birthday – was a good one. Since he doesn’t have a blog on which to recap the Big Day’s events, I thought I would give him one last present and do it for him on MY blog. That way he can look back throughout the years and recall just how young and exciting his life was when he was a wee young man. I wish there was a way to wrap a bow around this blog post because, really, what’s better than this gift that keeps on giving?
For some reason Rob decided to start his day out by torturing himself. If you ask him he’d tell you that he just ran ten miles, but if you ask me? TORTURE. Apparently he enjoys self-inflicted birthday pain, whereas if it were me then I’d allow my birthday to serve as my free pass to skip the workout all together, which is exactly why he’s training to be a half-Ironman and I’m not. But if there were a race to finish half a pan of rice krispie treats I would totally dominate.
We then went up to his favorite bike shop so he could shop around for some things that he had been wanting. That was basically my birthday present to him, since I didn’t buy him presents. The thing is, Rob is kind of particular about all things bike-related, so I don’t dare take a chance and buy him THE WRONG THING, THIS IS JUST WRONG, ALL WRONG! Life is much better that way, as he has a touch of The Picky in him.
Later that afternoon his family stopped over to shower him with love and gifts, then we headed to church and to Bonefish for dinner. See Exhibit A.
(Exhibit A)
Mm hmm, it’s a dark, crappy photo. Since I’m not the Photoshop wizard of the family, please just pretend that the photo was lighter, my cheeks were thinner, and Rob wasn’t tanner than me. Thank you.
(**SIDENOTE** Did Melissa just do the ol’ Running Man on DWTS? I believe she did. Can someone please tell me if that’s cool again?)
After dinner we made the fateful mistake of going to Cold Stone to get ice cream even though our stomaches were already beyond their maximum capacities, where Rob treated himself to an overly-indulgent “banana with bananas” mixture and I, on the other hand, decided to keep things a bit more festive with the Birthday Cake Remix.
(I know, these details? They’re a bit much, aren’t they? It’s all for Rob, guys, all for Rob. His memory is already fading.)
(**SIDENOTE** On the preview I just saw for The Bachelorette, they showed a guy who is obsessed with Jillian’s feet. Disgusting. I HATE FEET. My dinner just came up and burned my throat, if you know what I mean, and I know you know what I mean.)
When we finally got home, the old man got into bed to watch SNL with me and wouldn’t you know, he was sawing logs 10 or 2 minutes into the show. He’s such a party animal, which is exactly why I love him. Because I would be lying if I didn’t admit that I, too, was asleep before the opening skit was even over.
But I swear, I’m only 24. He’s the 30 year old. Don’t you forget it.
So, the word is officially out now. You know, the baby thing.
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (Insert obnoxious crazy girl scream here.)
I’m ten weeks along so far, which puts my due date around August 25th. I have always wanted to have a summer baby, so when I saw those two pink lines appear on December 14th and did some quick math in my head, I was thrilled to know that I’ll be delivering the baby in the warm, sunny summer months.
And, not gonna lie, I was totally thrilled at the fact that when I am at my fattest point in my life I can laze around in flowy sundresses and flip flops instead of trying to bundle myself up in some extremely oversized wool peacoat. Really, it’s the little things that make me happy.
Finding out that I was pregnant on the afternoon of December 14th was great, although it made the following eleven days extremely difficult. Rob and I decided that it would be so special to wait and tell our families on Christmas. It was a great plan in theory, but those days were some of the longest of my life. Some days I felt like the pregnancy was just a dream, that it wasn’t really happening, because I wasn’t able to talk about it at all. It felt like it was all in my head. However, we both stuck to our guns and held it in until Christmas.
The picture in the previous post – the one of Rob and I looking deliriously happy, as though we had just won a multi-million dollar lottery – was how we chose to break the news to our families. (And contrary to what most people thought, that picture was not taken recently. It was actually taken the first day of our honeymoon, at the moment when we finally got to Grand Cayman after a horrendous day of travel, one that included losing our luggage.) We printed up the picture with the words “We’re pregnant!” floating along the top, wrapped them up in individual gift boxes, then passed them out to each person when all the other gifts had already been opened.
As was to be expected, there were many tears and hugs and “how far along are you?”s. I wish we would have been better at documenting everyone’s expressions, but we were too into the moment to try and grab the camera and worry about things like, you know, pressing buttons. Luckily I think those memories are permanently burned into our brains and will never be forgotten.
Many people have asked me how I’ve been feeling…and I’m amazed to reply that I’ve been feeling great. Up until a few weeks ago I felt like I had no energy and was amazed at how this tiny little embryo could suck every ounce of life out of me. Besides being extremely tired, however, I have been lucky and haven’t gotten sick or even nauseous at all. For those of you who have had gut-wrenching pregnancies (literally), I cannot imagine what you went through and I admire your perseverance. I’m not sure why I was let off the morning sickness hook, but I’m eternally grateful that I was.
The reason that I finally felt like this week was the perfect time to announce our pregnancy to the world was because we had a great doctor’s appointment on Wednesday. As I said, I’m ten weeks along, and going into the appointment I had assumed that that would be the day when we would get to hear the heartbeat. However, as I was sitting there talking to the doctor (pre-stripdown), he quickly mentioned that, “I’m not going to get the heartbeat today”. My ears perked up REAL fast, and I was all, “what? So when will you do it, then?” to which he replied “next month’s appointment”. I quickly realized that that particular timeframe equated to AN ENTIRE FOUR WEEKS FROM NOW. Needless to say, I was a little heartbroken.
After that he left the room so that I could undress, and when he came back in he stood next to the table I was sitting on and pulled out this little handheld machine. With a sly little smile on his face he said, “Well, I could tell you were a little disappointed. I don’t think we’re gonna get it, but we can try”. And with that, he placed the cold Doppler on my stomach, cranked up the volume, and began looking for the heartbeat.
Static. Static.
Then all of a sudden we heard a quick and steady boom, boom, boom, boom, boom. I must have broken into a phony Cheshire cat-style smile because my doctor said he wished he had a camera to capture that very first look on my face.
I turned and looked over at Rob with tears welling up in my eyes. It was unreal. I actually had a living, breathing baby inside of me. It completely changed my perspective on this pregnancy, like all of a sudden it was actually really happening. I knew I was pregnant before. The doctors and nurses knew I was pregnant before. But now…now I really know.
Dear Kaley,
The all-awaited Big Day is finally here. You are more than ready, so stop being so nervous, biting at your acrylic nails and pulling on your hair extensions as you nervously twist them around your fingers. The ceremony will be beautiful, and the reception will be a blast – albeit more so for your guests than for you, to be honest. Don’t be surprised when you eat just a few bites of your dinner and only have half a drink; you’ll be way too busy attempting to talk to everyone, which you may as well give up on. As hard as you try, you’ll never get around to every single person, so give yourself a break, grab a drink, and head out to the dance floor. It is your party, after all.
After the honeymoon (where you will no doubt spend way too much money on fruity drinks and fancy dinners, so please brace yourself when you get your bill on the way out because you are THAT way), you will get home and that’s when being ‘married’ will really settle in. It will be a huge adjustment, living with a man. Your husband. At first, however, it will be a total fantasy land. Your daydreams of sleeping in, drinking coffee in your pajamas, and cuddling in bed will finally come true. You’ll make him dinner every night using your fancy new kitchen paraphernalia, and frankly, won’t have a clue as to what you’re doing. Luckily, over time, the many hours you spend watching the Food Network will eventually pay off and you’ll finally figure out the difference between a clove of garlic and a bulb of garlic.
You will slowly start to get into a rhythm, Rob and you, learning how to live together. Figuring out who does what around the house and what role each of you will assume. And Kaley, let me tell you something; you may think you know someone pretty well, but honestly, you don’t know JACK until you live with them. What I mean is, you’ll encounter some personality quirks about your new hub that you never knew about before. And don’t be diluted- Rob will figure out all of your quirks, too.
For you, you will be eternally irritated when Rob leaves dirty dishes in the sink. Even worse, he’ll leave food in the sink (think cereal and/or granola chunks), which will dry up and harden like the bird poop on your windshield. And in a lot of cases, you will be one attempting to scrape it all off. Chalk it up to it just being a part of marriage. Learn to deal with it and move on. And definitely don’t forget that you’re not perfect, either. Rob will learn all about your flaws, and FAST. You know all that hair you have on your head? It will end up covering the bathroom floor within no time, freaking Rob out and giving him cause to wonder if you are going bald at 23 years old. And when you’re in the living room watching the aforementioned Food Network, you will probably make him feel bad when you diss him because you don’t want to miss Rachael chopping up an onion. RUDE.
Probably one of the biggest changes that you two will encounter after being married is sex. A whole new world, really. And you’ll like it, it’ll be great fun.
(Random groomsmen standing near: “Rob, quit grabbin’ her boobs! Get a room!”)
It’s ok, Kaley. He can grab your boobs, you’re married now. And while everybody knows that sex is so great (and it will be), it will also be the most controversial issue in your marriage. Basically because the two of you will find that you’re an anal, OCD, verging-on-the-edge-of-touch-o-phobe-type weirdo. But don’t worry, you’ll learn to work that out together, and even have some fun doing it. Wink wink.
The year will pass at incredible speed, and before you know it you will be celebrating your first year of (mostly) wedded bliss. You will still be madly in love with each other, and falling even more in love with one another each proceeding day. He will be your Honeybear and you will be his Baby Girl. Forever. You’ll sing stupid songs to him to make him laugh, and he’ll pinch your butt when you’re trying to unload the dishwasher. Probably forever, also.
So today, on your wedding day, have fun! Enjoy the day, and take it all in. Just remember that although it is so easy to get swept up in THE DAY, there is way more to a marriage than than your white dress and towering cake.
You found a good one, Kaley. He will take care of you and nurture you, even though you’re a butthead and sometimes don’t deserve it. But most importantly, he will love you. And you will love him.
Keep on loving each other.
Love,
Kaley
Because this trip was smack-dab in between my birthday and our first anniversary, Rob wanted to celebrate both occasions down here in Florida. The birthday part was taken care of a couple of days ago, and the anniversary part was celebrated last night at an awesome restaurant, Blue Water Bistro.
Right as we were about to leave for dinner, Rob stopped me and asked if I would open something first -a very small, green box. And as every girl should know, small boxes are very, very precious. So my eyes lit up, and I quickly opened the box to reveal an anniversary band that matched my wedding band.
See before:
(sorry for the crap photography, just work with me here…)
And after:
See how he added that third band at the top? I love my husband. He is too, too good to me.
(And please dismiss the swollen fingers and unpolished nails. Shame on me. Goes to show that a girl should do better at taking care of her nails because, apparently, you never know when you’re getting some new bling.)
So anyway, the rest of the night encompassed good drinks, excellent food, and a great time.
And the sweetest card that he has ever given me, which made me cry right in the middle of the restaurant.
The ironic thing about the card, just so we are all on the same page, is that he didn’t used to even give me cards at all. Last birthday? No card. Last Valentine’s day? No card. But I think he finally got the point now, of how I love sweet simple cards even more than new diamonds most presents.
We had a perfect time celebrating the first year of being married. And I hate saying this, due to me sounding OLD when it comes out, but how does time go by so fast?!
