Also - anyone know where I can get some cute business/contact cards? I'm afraid of designing them myself online, but I am tres jealous of these.
I'm looking for a quick way to jot down contact information, pass along my website address or just plain impress people with the pretty cards I've got.
I might also scribble STAY-AT-HOME-MOM on the back and hand them out to anyone who asks what I do.
Or who refers to this as my retirement. YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE.
Yesterday our furniture and boxes and boxes of stuff arrived. It is now all piled up in our house, pretty much willy-nilly. I am totally stressed out about it but no way am I unpacking all of that crap just to re-pack it in however many months it takes us to find, and buy, a new house.
I'm trying - my big thing right now - is just trying to trust in time. One step, one step. I can't get up one morning knowing I have eight things to do outside the house, begin to unpack a box frantically, feed Truett some kind of slapped-together breakfast then holler at the dogs to go lie down. This NEED TO DO IT ALL NOW OH MY GAHD THERE IS NO WAY, is the main reason I am a bitch. To my husband, to my son, to my dogs, to the poor unsuspecting Mormon knocking on the door, "I SAID NO JESUS, DAMNIT!"
PS - to facebook, I do still try and be nice to people in the service industry. BEEN THERE. It's mostly those closest to me who suffer and then I drown in the guilt.
I have this inherent fear - do any of you - that if it doesn't get done RIGHT AWAY, I will end up living in a hoarder-like pile of uglyness and nothing will ever get better. It's the, "go all the way or go home" mentality, and I wish, I so wish I had Bud's more even-tempered, "hey, it'll get done, let's just begin at the beginning,"
What happened to me? I think we all know the answer to that question and it's that my mother didn't breastfeed me long enough.
This weekend, while supervising the final furniture move-out (and crying, and crying) (I'm better now. Turns out Summer's advice was sage, just to let the tears happen.) and visiting with friends and having so much Birmingham fun! How could I EVER have complained about moving here and missing Blacksburg (I still miss Blacksburg)? I also went shopping with my three foot tornado and two girlfriends. I went to...A Pea In The Pod. The reason this merits an ellipsis pause is because that place has before been TOTALLY OFF LIMITS DUE TO PRICES. This is how pregnant women talk:
"Have you been to Motherhood Maternity?"
"Yeah, I found these (points to lackluster mom-pregnancy jeans) there. It was okay. (It was not okay except for maybe tshirts and sleeping bras)."
"Well...I shouldn't recommend, because it's so pricey, but...have you tried A Pea In The Pod?"
"No, because then I'm afraid my head would explode from the cute + my inability to pay for the cute."
I think they are owned by the same parent company but dude, the cute preggies walking around have been to A Pea In The Pod and are just waiting to let you know. I instead went to Kmart and got this stretched out polka dotted monstrosity that I am looking to burn IN THE HOSPITAL ROOM.
Okay I'm kidding a little. I've been very fortunate both pregnancies to borrow awesome hand-me-downs (damn how tiny my older sister is though) and I do indeed have a few cute pieces from MM. Plus, mamas-to-be out there, Craigslist is a veritable gold mine for that shit but I have no patience for those ugly pictures people post.
Here's what I got:
NOT $200! My main goal was to buy cute jeans, prices be damned. I lucked out on these for sale.
This peachy, summery little number because I have a hunch I'm in a hot climate for a while yet.
These shorts because I am tired of wearing my one pair of maternity jeans in three hundred degree weather. They are elastic waisted so I intend on wearing them post-pregnancy too. SEE? Double-duty!
Don't think I won't.
I also got suckered into buying the sweetest little lambswool hat for baby to wear home from hospital (it'll be February in South Carolina, brrr-ish!) BECAUSE I was just short of the $100 mark and for every $100 you spend at A Pea In The Pod in August, you get $40 off on a purchase in September. The only catch is that you have to spend ANOTHER $100 to get the $40-off PLUS the closest store to me now is Charleston, SC so whoops! Looks like SOMEONE has to take a vacation to get some more overpriced clothes TO SAVE FORTY DOLLARS.
I do have my eye on a fall dress that would look spectacular with my rider boots.
Lastly, Georgia has promised to come visit and do a maternity style post for GDI. A promise is a promise, Georgia.
*Oh wait, I just re-read this post and it reads like I came into a bunch of money or something (...previously been off limits...) NOT TRUE. I just convinced Bud that please, please pretty please I will stick to sale items. And I did! The entire purchase was just over a hundred dollars!
I had no idea, I repeat NO EARTHLY CLUE, I was going to react this way to our final move.
Yesterday afternoon we drove into Birmingham after the sixish, sevenish hour drive with a toddler from South Carolina and pulled into our driveway for our final, furniture move-out. OUR driveway damnit! It's MINE. For a couple of days still. I think I burst into tears almost immediately after opening the front door. It smelled the way it did when we first moved in. When I was about this pregnant with Truett and didn't even know he was a little boy who was about to totally change my life and make me want to race home after only a few short hours on my own.
And no matter how I try, every room I walk into reads like This Is Your Life: remember when Truett was only a few months old and you'd watch the sunrise out the front door? How about his first few stumbly steps in the living room? Remember bringing him home and sitting on that couch, the little brown one and finally having a beer?
Or looking out into our backyard and seeing the beautiful deck Bud built us, the lush grass (it doesn't help we now live on a sandpit), the trees we planted, the muscadine vine waiting to be picked. I want to tap my feet together and go back a year ago and live there again.
I'm just, sad. So sad. There's no other way to put it and it sucks because it's a lot like watching your baby turn into a toddler. You know it's only going to keep going this way plus, hey, you LIKE this older child you've got who tells you, "My busy mama, my washing your car!" I'm glad we took on this adventure, I'm excited about what South Carolina has to hold. But I'm also really, really sad. And just really, really want to still live in our perfect little first house.
I want to leave the new owners a note saying I hope they love it as much as we did.
I feel like all, knock, knock? Anyone there? No? Nope.
It's been a while!
I think I can make it up to you though:
Bada BOOM! RIGHT? That's a motherfucking BEAR in the back of our Subaru!
And before you get all, "Hooope, that's WILDLIFE. It needs to be all RESPECTED and shit." Let me assure you that I resisted - TOTALLY RESISTED THE ENTIRE VACATION - from throwing it apple cores or shoot, an entire bottle of honey just so it would stick around and we could get pictures. Also, make no mistake, Bud took this picture while I hollered from the doorway GET THE BEAR'S PICTURE! To be fair, he used the zoom lens SO NO ONE PANIC.
We really did abide by the rules, or tried, except for the trash cage was a bit hard to manuever hence THIS GUY, who also raked his claws across my dad's cooler while we all watched - redneck stylezzz - from the living room. Bud actually tried to shoo him off once because he was afraid he might start eating our headrests or something - excuse me for one second (AHAHAHAHAHAHA GASP). My husband, we're all watching a bear while he's busy calculating our insurance deductible and wondering DOES IT COVER BEAR MAULING?
We had a great mini-vacation and I have a bunch more pictures to share - my favorite is unfortunately un-shareable and while I wait while you get your mind out of the gutter, yes, yes waiting - I'll just tell you it is of a suburban dad WHO WILL NOT APPEAR ON WEBSITES DUE TO IMAGINARY STALKERS OR SOMETHING, as his soul slowly leaks out of his ears and he rides a carousel horse around, and around, and around.
Oh suburban dads, we love you.