Takin' A Break

I don't know how I can make this any clearer:

Being a grown-up is HARD.

Why was I in such a hurry to move out of my parent's house, where I lived rent free and my dad filled the beer fridge weekly?  Why did I think it was so important to get a "real" job when, as an actress, I was required to only work 5 hours a day and go to amazing parties afterwards?  Why oh why did I think buying a house with my boyfriend would far outweigh living in separate apartments when buying the house meant that we would be managing three households, two families, one dog, and a partridge in a pear tree?

I might be exaggerating a bit.  We don't actually have a partridge.

I know it sounds like I'm complaining, but I've already had a glass of wine and I'm well into my second.  I'm just mildly cranky.  I absolutely love our new house.  I do.  I love working on it and dreaming about it and spending every weekend there.  I don't love coming home to a small disaster of an apartment.  I've completed neglected my actual living space, so there is a trail of laundry piling up from the front door to the bedroom.  Dirty dishes were piled mile high in my sink until Blake took pity on me and did my dishes last night.  Random knick knacks are strewn across the floor wherever they happened to last fall, since these days I generally am only home long enough to strip off my paint covered clothes and fall into bed (my parents are reading this right now and thinking, so what's new?).

It's all completely worth it.  I'm going to be living with the only man who could possibly put up with me in a house we are quickly making our own.  That's the light at the end of the tunnel.

But DAMN, why's it gotta be so hard?

(Insert cliches about how working hard for the things that matter blah blah blah.  Pour more wine, talk less cliches.)

The OTHER Man In My Life

This weekend Blake and I drove up to Kansas to spend a little time with my nephew, who will be 2 years old soon!  It's so wonderful and strange to watch him as he grows.  I imagine my awe will triple when I have my own children, but it is nice that I have this remarkable little man to observe and love on.  Actually, nice doesn't even begin to describe it.  Blow my mind is more like it.

He's such a complete little person already, at 22 months.  He has an active imagination that I only wish I could see more fully.  He understands just about everything you ask him, and even makes little jokes.  We were sitting together watching TV when I felt a tell-tale rumble from his bottom, and I said, "Jack, did you fart on me?"  He actually giggled and said in a sing-song-I-know-I'm-gonna-lie voice "Noooo...."  Maybe my favorite moment all weekend was at the mall when we rode the elevator for the millionth time and Sara finally said "Enough."  Jack insisted on riding one more time and when Sara counted to 3 he merely marched over to the button, pressed it, and turned around crossing his arms as if to say, "So what?"

We cooked imaginary meals together, read the same 3 books a million times, destroyed and put back together puzzles, looked for Tate (the dog-every five minutes Jack looks up and says "Tate?" and won't resume his activity until he has seen the dog with his own eyes), and shared pizza.  We rode swings, watched cartoons, and made up funny games chasing each other.  I became fluent in Jack-speak.  Which is why I was absolutely mortified when I climbed up the stairs Sunday morning and was greeted with Jack walking right past me to the stairs to yell, "Blaaaake!  Blaaaake!"

Actually, it's more like "Blay" which is close to his word for "play" and "bottle" ("bay" which isn't a bottle at all, it's his sippy cup), but still!  I've only been waiting his WHOLE LIFE to hear him say my name, and I get brushed aside for Blake!  I admit, I don't blame him.  Blake is a pretty awesome guy.  I just don't think Blake's heart would break into a million pieces if Jack learned MY name first.  I'm just saying.

The only thing that made me feel better and simultaneously worse was that he cried so hard when we left.  Partly it was because he really wanted to go "Ooooouuuut!!" and for a ride, but when I talked to my brother later he said Jack was pretty upset that we actually left.  I can tell already it's going to be terrible when we leave and he actually has the words to say "Don't go" or "Please can I come with you?"...

For now we'll just work on "Aunt Nikki".  And trust me, that kid will get whatever he asks for.

No One Told Me Turning 30 Meant My Body Couldn't Keep Up Anymore

Blake and I are now officially homeowners, which means...

I'm tired, sore, out of clean clothes and dishes, and completely unaware of what day of the week it is or what my real address is.  I have spent hours painting, trimming, taping, cleaning, organizing, and fixing anything and everything in our new home.  Not alone, for sure (our families have been a HUGE help), but apparently turning 30 activates something in your DNA that blocks your body from recovering as quickly as it did when you were 29 (or less).  Poor Blake has spent the same hours ripping up linoleum (at my request...I wanted a tiled kitchen floor, not knowing that it would take superhuman strength and 3 full days just to get rid of the linoleum).

We have already discovered that a toilet won't stop running, our kitchen sink leaks and molded the cabinet, our closet door sticks, the construction people who worked on the house before we moved in left both our trash cans full to the brim, and our 80-year old next door neighbor wants us to fix the backyard fence asap because "it's a privacy issue" (she also has a diabetic cat and a blind dog in case you were wondering).  We've left the back door unlocked at least once because we're too used to apartment living where you only have one entrance/exit to worry about.  We managed to change the locks on the front door (replacing the old brass handle with a spiffy silver one) but discovered that the door, now brown, had once been painted robin's egg blue-on both sides.  We know this because whoever painted it brown did not remove the handle to paint the door, and of course our new handle is not an exact match.

In other words, we are discovering the joys of being homeowners.

There are a few things that make the sore muscles and mold-induced headaches worth it.  Our bedroom is a beautiful relaxing blue color and our master bathroom is on its way to being a spa-like haven.  We found ceramic tile for 85 cents a square foot-and we should be able to lay it soon becuase the linoleum is almost gone.  Blake's parents bought us a beautiful red rosebush for our backyard (and promised me cuttings from their rosemary bush to grow my own!!!).  My parents brought us sandwiches, snacks, and beer to sustain us.  And, most importantly, in two months I will be living full time with the man of my dreams in our beautiful new home.

Mold beware.  Love is moving in soon.  There is no room for you here :)