Now that I'm newly married and starting a whole new chapter in my life, I figured my all new stories deserved an all new blog. You can now catch me over at Happily We Roll Along! If you were receiving my blog through email and want to receive the new one as well, follow the link to the blog page and on the right hand side is a section where you can "Subscribe by email". Just fill out the little box and you'll be all set!
A.) you're planning a wedding
B.) you're starting your own business
C.) you're adjusting to your own new schedule as well as the schedule of your live-in loved one
D.) you've just discovered that Netflix offers Wi-Fi streaming of Bones Season 1-6 (commercial free viewing WOO-HOO!)
Well, that about sums up the last month (at least) of my life. I'd love to write a witty, awe-inspiring blog of how I'm spending my last few months of bachelorette-hood, but the truth is that my "bachelorette" days have been far, far behind me for many years now (good thing I wasn't keeping a blog from age 19-25...). Now that the holidays are over (thank God-I love Christmas but it was a bit stressful this year), we are in full wedding mode. I don't want to go into too many details, but I am definitely not dealing with the stress well. I don't think I've quite reached "Bridezilla" stature yet (please don't ask my mother for confirmation of this as I'm sure she disagrees), but I was pretty much done with the wedding once the dress was picked out. I've been very lucky to find special vendors and a wedding planner who completely understand what I want, and as far as I'm concerned at this point, I'm just showing up and getting married-which, after all, is the point. The problem is, there are still a lot of questions I'm required to answer, and after about two I start to feel all wound up in the pit of my stomach, my ears start to burn, the room starts to spin, and I feel the need for a priest, some holy water, and a good old fashioned exorcism. Blake deals with this in several ways: leaving the room (if possible), not asking me any questions about the wedding (if possible), or delaying the questioner (if possible). When all else fails, he just reminds me that we can elope at any point, then I feel guilty since I'm the one who wanted a wedding to begin with. So far he still wants to marry me, which means the subliminal messages I've been playing while he sleeps must be working.
Last October I quit my job at Microsoft, for several reasons. Quitting my job and all the decisions we had to make following that is a story in itself, but ultimately I decided to do something my mom and I had talked about for the last year. I decided to start my own business. I learned to quilt last year, and I have known how to sew, knit, and crochet for years, but I had always done it as a hobby. My mother also sews, and we had joked for some time how we could have our own craft show booth someday. Well, I took it to the next step and decided to do it right. I set up shop on Etsy with the intention of eventually having enough inventory to do a craft show. Eventually (which for the time being means "after the wedding") mom will begin stocking her own inventory, and I want to do my first craft show in October. There are many things that go into starting any business, no matter how large or small, and I am keeping track of all the steps-my real fortune may be in a "How To (or NOT to, only time will tell)" book that features helpful practical hints like, "Don't try to start a business when you are planning your wedding unless you have unlimited funding, God-like patience, and a metabolism that can handle 4 glasses of wine at dinner. Even then, you may want to think twice." I digress.
Minus the funding, patience, and metabolism, I have opened shop as The Sewprano. I am extremely proud of myself to have gone as far as I have to this point. I don't have a huge inventory, and I don't have much listed yet, but my goodness, just to be recognized as a business took a lot of work! There was paperwork to be filed, tax numbers to be acquired, and websites to be set up. I have learned how to "Photoshop" (I can't afford Photoshop so I use a free online program called Gimp that I like very much and is very similar), and I have learned to create my own logo, blog background, headers, etc. This requires a lot of time on the computer, and I'm still trying to get stuff made to list on the Etsy site, so all in all it's slow going. The point is-it's going!
Sooooo, with all that you can imagine that Blake and I are still struggling to adjust to our life together. I absolutely love being home when he walks through the door, but we are still very much on different schedules. I am trying to figure out the whole "work at home" thing with the whole "housewife" thing, and I've never been very good at housekeeping to begin with. I haven't quite got into a routine yet of when I do chores and when I work on The Sewprano, when I work out and when it's ok to watch Netflix. Unfortunately, by the time I've figured it out for the day, Blake has walked through the door and is ready to relax, preferably with me. I don't relax-well, ever. When I do, it's not until 8 or 9, and by then he's almost ready for bed. We're slowly striking a balance between our schedules and our natures by keeping open lines of communication, taking things day by day, and making out madly after disagreements.
Which means we're ahead of the curve with the marriage game in my opinion. Now if we could just survive the wedding.
Cookie Day! This year was the best yet. Well, actually it was relatively uneventful-no exploding baggies of chocolate or extra butter in the nut bars. Last year's Cookie Day didn't even get a blog, due to the fact that I had bronchitis and pneumonia for most of the holiday season and I can hardly remember if there even was a Cookie day. I did, however learn some valuable lessons from the past two years of baking that led to oodles of goodies and not too many "oops"-es.
Cookie Day this year did not begin on a Friday, which was the actual baking day. I started gathering recipes a month in advance, and narrowed them down by the Monday before. Then Blake and I made a spreadsheet-yes, folks, a spreadsheet-for ingredients. We went shopping on Wednesday, and I had piles of cookie sheets, mixers, ingredients and everything I could think of that we'd need ready to go by Thursday night. Friday morning rolled around and we hit the road for Bubbi's Big House (we ended up only forgetting a few things-like the extra eggs and butter. Hey, no one's perfect).
Ahem. In case you didn't know, Bubbi's Big House is my parents' new house, not something out of a Pee Wee Herman episode.
So, we hit the road for Bubbi's Big House. We were only on the road for five minutes before I exploded into some very colorful language about some very bad drivers. I don't know what it is about the Christmas season, but it seems to bring out the stupid in anyone driving around me-and I'm not exactly known for my patience. It makes me feel better that Blake at least agrees with me on this point: we should probably be the only two people allowed to drive as we seem to be the only people who understand the actual rules of the road. However, I digress. Rules of the Road by Nikki and Blake can be another blog.
In any case we managed to make it to Bubbi's Big House (as we all call my parent's house now) without getting in any wrecks or shooting anyone (anything other than the finger, that is). We unpacked (Dinner Impossible style)...
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| Blake cut the gumdrops while Jack and I tossed them in the sugar... |
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| Then we put them in a separate bowl to dry. Jack liked throwing the gumdrops around in the sugar...but he liked eating them better. The special project ended when he started licking the sugar off his palms. But hey, not bad for his first Cookie Day! |
AHHHHHHHH!!!!
It's December already!
Seriously, I can't believe how fast this year went. Wasn't it just January like yesterday? Seems like not too long ago my years were measured by school-Christmas vacation-school-spring break-school-SUMMER!-back to school already? Even now mid-December and end of May rolls around and my internal clock slows down. Bedtimes should be later and alarms should be shut off. More importantly, responsibility should be limited to what movie are we going to and whose house are we hanging out at after?
HA.
It's December 1, and I'm already panicking that A) I don't have all my Christmas cards signed, sealed, and delivered, B) I have exactly 2 Christmas presents bought, and C) before you know it, it will be January 1st and I will be 90 days away from being married in a still not completely planned wedding. By the way, if this were a multiple choice test, the answer is D) ALL OF THE ABOVE.
So let's look at the positives for a moment.
Today I picked up my wedding dress. I wore my hair up today, and when I tried on the dress it looked beautiful with my hair up (I wanted to wear my hair down for the wedding, but now...). I caved and asked to try on one more veil (I didn't want a veil). The veil looked beautiful. I now have a veil. I am dying to just put the whole outfit on and stare at myself in it for hours-because God knows I probably will never put it on again after the wedding (although if any of my girlfriends are reading this and want to get together post wedding for wine in wedding dresses, I'm totally up to hosting). Unfortunately the dress will be living at mom's house until the wedding, so I'll just have to hop over there every once in awhile to gaze and adore.
My house is unpacked and decorated for Christmas, and most of our big projects have been tackled. Blake has turned into quite the handy man. I think he has surprised himself at some of the projects he has taken on. I happen to think he's Superman, so I'm not at all surprised. My favorite renovations are the small ones. The new backsplash in the kitchen is AWESOME, but the new toilet seats in the bathrooms that actually fit our toilets as opposed to extending four inches out from the edge of the bowl have revolutionized my bathroom experience. Also, we have (after trial and error) finally installed a door on our bedroom. Once upon a time we thought (okay, I thought) it would be a good idea to sand the door before we painted it. Only the door wasn't actually wood, it was plywood with some kind of plastic veneer that should most definitely NOT be sanded. Then Blake had the brilliant idea that maybe we could sand off the veneer which resulted in a door that looked like this: ~~~ So we bought a new door which of course didn't fit because the old door was pre-hung in the frame and they don't make doors that size. Out came the saw-problem solved. Until Blake tried to chisel a place for the hinges and the crappy $20 door literally split in half, showing us it's styrofoamy innards. So ~~~ with white paint doesn't look so bad now. Actually, you can hardly see where we tried to sand. And now I can't hear Blake open his cereal in the morning and he can't hear me watch TV at night. Thanksgiving never ends around here.
Speaking of Thanksgiving, we are on a tryptophan high (or is it low?) around here. With all the turkey leftovers from two families, I've had the chance to try out some creative leftover recipes. I'm getting pretty good at it, if I do say so myself. I made a turkey gratin (fancy phrase for turkey/pasta/LOTS of cheese) that was super delicious. If I can edit my notes to resemble a recipe I'll be happy to share it on the blog. Unfortunately right now it includes phrases like "throw cheese in the pot until it looks right". Guess I'm not winning any culinary awards any time soon.
I can hear gentle snores coming from behind my new/old bedroom door, which means it's time to wrap this up and go snuggle with the biggest positive on my list. Happy holidays ya'll-the craziness has officially begun!
It was a Friday night and Blake was out with his friends while I was home relaxing with a bottle of Chardonnay. I found myself with nothing to do (which means I was playing Farmville on Facebook and had 30 minutes left till I could harvest anything...) so I decided to play one of my favorite random games: Google That! I made it up all by myself. Just go to Google, start typing in any random question, and hit enter. Ok, so maybe that's why Google was invented, but still, you get some pretty interesting answers (and questions, now that they have Google Instant).
And somehow during this random question game I thought to ask the almighty Google, "What does it mean to be a wife?"
This was my personal favorite answer:
"It means you have promised to have and to hold, from that day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness or in health, to love and to cherish 'till death do you part.
It also means you may now fart in front of him."
I laughed. And then I got kinda sad. Because that was the only semi-decent answer to the question. What DOES it mean to become a wife? I haven't found many positive or affirming answers out there. On top of that, I'm Blake's second wife (which I rarely think about, I have never once felt "second" in his life)-and the Google results for "What does it mean to be his second wife" were even more disheartening.
I have been very fortunate in that Blake and I have encountered very few obstacles as a couple. I think it's a combination of the fact that both of us were in very poisonous relationships prior to meeting each other (and therefore infinitely more grateful to find a partner who was also grateful), and that we are just suited for each other in just about every way. We complement each other very well. However, that does not mean that it hasn't taken us time to adjust to being a we after being just a me for so long. Dating is/was fun (I say that because I believe that in order for us to remain a successful couple we will need to continue "dating" each other in some form or fashion for the rest of our lives)-but the moving in together presented a major stepping stone and change in how we spent our time together.
For instance, the first month we lived together Blake asked me every single night, "What do you want to do tonight?" And finally, after a month, I explained that some nights I wanted to come home and do nothing. And nothing means nothing. Not sit and watch tv with you. Not play a game together. Not talk about our days. I mean I want to come home and no offense but I don't want to talk to you or anyone else I just want a glass of wine and my computer or tv or book and do what I do without being watched, talked at, monitored, followed, or otherwise reminded that I currently share this space with another human being.
Of course that doesn't mean I love that human being any less.
I just need some me time, and I know myself well enough to know I'm always going to need that. I'm going to have to figure out how to explain this to my kids someday. But that's a WHOLE other blog.
See what I mean? Right now I'm just the live-in girlfriend/fiancee who is trying to find a balance between the "me" I know and the "we" I want. And I've been a "we" before, so this isn't exactly new territory.
"Wife" is an exciting, alluring, strange, frightening, important and yet at the same time almost mundane thing to become. I mean, come on. We all know "wives". Nearly all the women in my life are or have been at one time a wife. Does being a wife take on new meaning as you celebrate your 35th year with the title? Or does it just become another way you define yourself? "Oh, I'm so-and-so's wife..." Most women I've talked to have said that being a wife is definitely different from being a girlfriend, but none of them can really define what changes.
My girlfriend Lindsay is a very different wife from my girlfriend Lauren, who is a very different wife from my girlfriend Emily, who is a different wife than my mother, who is a different kind of wife than my grandmother was or what my sister-in-law is. I will be a different wife than they are. I wonder how I will define "wife" when the time comes.
And I wonder how life as a "wife" will define me.
I am getting married. I have a website that counts down the days (157, if you're curious). Getting married sounds like a lot of fun. I certainly am excited to marry Blake. I really and truly cannot wait to spend the rest of my life with him. And have lots of babies with him. Or just the two he says I can have before he cuts me off. Whatever.
Anyway, getting married sounds like fun.
Planning a wedding is not.
First off, let me start by saying I don't want a traditional wedding. I am not one of those girls who grew up dreaming about her wedding day and planning it and scrapbooking it and stop me now before I puke. Not that there is anything wrong with that-I'm just not that kind of girl. I didn't think that would be such a problem-in fact I was heavily leaning towards a small elopement, except for the fact that I can't pass up a big ole party where there's wine, beer, and my favorite people. Throw in a pretty dress, a diamond ring, and the man of my dreams-well pretty much it's a no brainer. And hell, it's a wedding, aren't people supposed to bend over backwards to make all your wishes come true?
(Insert evil laugh)
Turns out people have pretty strong opinions regarding weddings. Not just mothers and mother-in-laws and friends and family. Nooooooooo. All those wedding vendors you're going to shell out big bucks to? They have pretty strong opinions too, and they're not afraid to voice them. At almost every turn where I've requested something unique or out of the ordinary, the vendor in question has raised an eyebrow and less than gently tried to steer my opinion back to the road more traveled.
As if I need anyone telling me what MY wedding should be. Bridezillas suddenly seems to deserve a little more sympathy.
It hasn't been all bad. I found a fantastic photographer who today relieved some of my wedding stress by sending us our engagement photos. Looking through them I fell in love with Blake all over again. And I remembered why I was going through all this (drinks, diamonds, man of my dreams...).
So as long as Blake is waiting for me at the end of that aisle, and says "I Do", then it won't matter what I'm wearing, what color the cake is, or if it's pouring rain. And really, that's what it's all about.
(Yes, I quoted the Hokey Pokey. I think it's pretty deep stuff. Better be prepared to dance it at my wedding. With no complaints. Thank you very much.)
I've been sadly neglecting my blog, and thanks to my good friend Lauren Parr from "The Fabulous Life of Lauren" I have a nice little push to get back into the blogosphere. Lauren tagged me in a blog survey (TAG! you're it!), and I thought it would be fun to answer. So here we go...
I'm at home alone tonight, a rare occasion now that Blake and I live together, and I had a "Eureka" moment.
I'm so lucky.
I'm so very loved, in love, taken care of, needed. I have a roof over my head. I have my best friend and soul mate by my side.
The last 6 months or so everything has gone by in such a blur. I haven't felt like myself-I didn't want to sing, to be outspoken, to be creative-I just was existing.
Tonight, I'm belting out Air Supply, Jason Mraz, and Martina McBride (thanks largely in part to an excellent Pinot Grigio) and wondering where the hell I've been. Where's the feisty, bull-headed, whimsical, loveable me that all who love me...well, know and love?
Well, she's been bogged down (as usual) with things WAY beyond her control and focusing too much on what she can't do and not enough on what she can.
So watch out. I'm back.
I was single, lonely, lost, and convinced that I would remain so for the rest of my life. Then, one day, there was Blake.
And after surviving nearly two years of my constant stressing, overscheduling, nagging, and the general mayhem that is my life, Blake proposed.
And I accepted.
Which is a really nice way of saying he shocked me into silence for one of the few times of my life, I cried, and managed to squeak out a "YES!" before running around to every person I could find screaming "I'm engaged!!!!!"
And for those of you who haven't already heard, here's how it happened:
Since last year we had been planning a vacation with my parents to Hawaii (yes, I'm a very lucky girl, and yes, I have tried endlessly to thank them). Since Blake had taken me ring shopping in February, I suspected that a proposal might be in the works, but Blake kept insisting that the ring wasn't ready and Hawaii just wasn't the right time or place. Blake is, generally speaking, a terrible liar and if Christmas is anything to judge him by, he has a hard time holding on to presents and not just throwing them at me once he's gotten them. The girls at work kept telling me, "Oh, come on. Hawaii is the perfect place for a proposal." But I knew Blake, and I knew it wasn't happening.
Blake had made one request on the vacation, and that was for us to have one evening all to ourselves. He planned the whole thing-oceanside dining for two with a private waiter and a 7 course meal during sunset. When the waiter brought out dessert, a selection of sorbets, I saw perched on top a Ring Pop, and I started laughing. I had always joked with Blake that I didn't really need a diamond, he could propose to me with a Ring Pop and I would say yes-I just wanted to marry him!! Well, that served me right. Blake took my hand and said, "I really wanted to propose here in Hawaii, but the ring just wasn't ready. I promise that I will upgrade that Ring Pop soon." I laughed (only a little disappointed) and kissed him, telling him of course I knew he would and I didn't care, as long as he wanted to marry me. He smiled at me and we talked a little more as we ate our dessert. When we were as full as we could be the talk turned again to marriage and Blake looked at me and said, "You know, I don't think I can wait." He got up and walked around our table, pulling something out of his pocket. "I think I need to upgrade that ring right now." Then he fell to one knee and proposed...
and I said nothing!! For once I was completely shocked into silence, tears streaming down my face. He slid the ring on my finger as I nodded vigorously, and then finally managed to squeak out a surprised "YES!"
Well of course the rest is engagement history. We celebrated that night and haven't really stopped celebrating since. Here's the best part-he really did completely fool me! He took my parents out MONTHS ago for dinner to ask their blessing, and arranged the whole proposal with my dad. My father, who has as big a mouth as I do, managed not to tell me or my mother what was going on (although he did manage to tell just about everyone at the convention were with in Hawaii). He had faked emails to our insurance person about the ring in case I saw anything, and the ring was in the fireproof safe under our bed for quite some time. He even got it to Hawaii in his carry-on...the one we had stashed all our food in! The day of the proposal he accidentally showed me a picture of the ring on his iPhone as we were flipping through shots of Hawaii-but I was so convinced that the ring was still at the store that I just wrote it off as the picture he took when we went shopping in February.
So the point is...I'm getting married ya'll!!! Bring on the wedding plans, the dresses, the stresses, and the I Do's-I'm ready for my happily ever after =)
I knew that moving in together would present new hurdles for me and Blake. We both have been single and living alone for so long...how could we not develop some habits that would seem downright silly to each other? For instance, I tend to leave half empty glasses wherever they are. For days at a time. When I finally realize they need cleaned they usually look like a science experiment, but I just dump it down the disposal, throw it in the dishwasher, and hope for the best. Blake seems to find this unusual and disguting to say the least (so do I, but I guess not enough to change the habit). And apparently I never eat restaraunt leftovers, which I didn't realize until Blake started eating them. "Hey, I was saving that!" "Really? Because it's been in here for a month." I guess you could say that's one of his quirks-he'll eat anything. He thinks he's impervious to any food generated illness.
Blake, on the other hand, is of the opinion that if you use it everyday it doesn't need to go in the cupboard or pantry. So at his apartment nothing was in the cabinets, and I think milk only made it in the fridge because he likes it cold. Needless to say I nipped this one in the bud as soon as we moved in. I took over unpacking and organizing the kitchen immediately and got it all in the cabinets before he could claim counter-space for say...peanut butter.
Fast forward a few weeks.
Blake has been wonderful about trying to keep up with my constant rearranging of the kitchen, since we keep finding more kitchen stuff as we unpack. Most of his things end up back in the cupboard they belong in when he's done. There was just one teeny tiny little thing that was driving me a little crazy...
We have two peanut butter jars. A very large fat-free version and a small regular version. Blake uses the fat-free PB on his morning toast every morning. Every morning he would stack the very large jar back in the pantry on top of the much smaller regular jar. Every morning after he left and I started to fix my breakfast I would inevitably knock into the stack and send both jars flying (thank God for plastic). I would restack them with the large peanut butter on bottom and go about my day. The next morning, there it would be again-the large PB jar taunting me from the top of the little one.
Finally one morning I opened the pantry and saw the jars, stacked big jar on top of little, and turned to face Blake.
"Why do you stack the big peanut butter jar on top of the little peanut butter jar?" (*I had already had my morning coffee and this was said with some actual decency and more than a little curiousity)
"BECAAAUUUSE! It's REALLY HARD to put everything AWAY when I use it EVERY SINGLE DAY and I'm not LEAVING IT ON THE COUNTER and then I have to MOVE THE OTHER JARS OUT OF THE WAY and I'M TRYING REALLY HARD HERE!!!!"
I'm probably a really terrible girlfriend, but I laughed.
And then I moved the little peanut butter jar to the bottom shelf, out of sight and away so that he had one less thing to have to remember. Because he is trying so very hard to put up with my constantly changing demands and kitchen organization. Because he is more than patient with my mercurial nature and unpredictable whims. And because even though I don't want the peanut butter jar on my counter, I don't want him to have to change who he is completely for me or anyone (and I still don't want the peanut butter jar on my counter).
Epilogue
Two days later...
I open the pantry door to retrieve something for dinner and see, once again, that oversized PB jar on top of the ridiculously small one. I turn, hands on hips, to face Blake, who says, "What?!"
I reach into the pantry and remove the large jar, a million variations of "Haven't we already discussed this..." running through my head and ready to burst out of my mouth. As I lift the jar, I see a small sticky note attached to the jar below:
I love you :$
(that's the emoticon Blake gave me...he says I have a million dollar smile and that's why he fell in love me. I know, it's disgusting isn't it? I love it!)
I think when I turned around my face must have frozen somewhere between "I can't believe you stacked these jars like this AGAIN after I MOVED that little one for you!" and "I can't believe I'm such a jerk to complain about stupid peanut butter jars". Blake nearly fell over laughing, and then wrapped me in his arms and said with a big grin on his face, "I've been waiting two days for you to find that."
Which pretty well ended the peanut butter jar debate.
My nephew Jackson turned two last week! I honestly can't believe how much time has flown...I remember getting the phone call (as I was speeding through OK to try and make it for the birth) that Jackson James had entered the world. That news changed the course of my life. Up to that point I had been seriously considering (and even planning) to move back to New York City to try and make a career as an actress. The moment I laid eyes on that beautiful little boy I knew I could never again make the choice to be away from my family. It was always hard when I was on tour to be missing important family events (birthdays, weddings, holidays), but I could always justify it with the thought that everyone knew and understood that my job had different demands than the average 9-5 gig. But when I started to think ahead (and BINGO-that was milestone #1 for me, actually thinking further ahead than the next 6 months), and I started to imagine explaining to little Jack why I missed Christmas...or his birthday...or his graduation...
It just wasn't worth it.
And that was the day I decided my life was going to be different. I decided that what was most important to me was the kind of LIFE I had, not the kind of JOB I had. My father has always told me that whatever I decide to do, I should do it with passion. I am passionate about my family. I complain about them, whine about them, give them a hard time, but at the end of the day I would rather have had a life full of family than anything else. I want to be cool Aunt Nikki, weird Aunt Nikki, fun Aunt Nikki-not absent Aunt Nikki.
My life turned around completely in a matter of 24 hours. The Monday morning Jack was born, I was merely Nikki, undecided. Monday evening I was Aunt Nikki, smitten and galvanized. I wonder if my nephew will ever know or understand what a wonderful birthday gift he was, and that if I spoil him rotten it is not just because that's my job but because he gave me such a wonderful gift. He gave me the life I always wanted by showing me the possibilities of family.
In the two years that have passed, Jack has grown from a fussy infant to a clever toddler. I suppose the same could probably be said for me. We've both done a lot of growing up over these last 24 months.
Happy birthday, Jack. And thank you :D
Since it's chaos around my house, this will be less of a post and more of a random bulleted update. Enjoy!
I love my family. I love Blake's family.
I do not love moving.
You know how they say "Man plans, God laughs"? Well, God was roaring all day Saturday. I had the whole move planned. I knew what furniture I wanted moved and where I wanted it moved to. I knew what I wanted packed, and where I wanted those boxes. I knew what order we should hit our apartments in, and I knew what I wanted unloaded and where.
What I didn't plan on was 4 very opinionated, very enthusiastic men steamrolling over my pretty little plan with their dollies and packing tape. One little girl, even a very loud, very stubborn, very frustrated, and foot-stamping little girl, could hardly be noticed by the all-mighty quadrangle of alpha males that found themselves bonding in my living room and garage.
It mattered not that I mentioned (yelled, even) that I only wanted my furniture moved out of my apartment since I didn't have to be out for another week. Blake, Albert (his brother-in-law), Pat (Blake's dad), and my dad swept in like a tornado and grabbed whatever was within reach to toss in the truck.
Once at the house I managed to get the majority of the boxes and furniture in the rooms I meant to, and the guys (seeing my red face and sensing a breakdown of Mount Vesuvius proportions) actually listened to me. There was the small incident where they tried to hook up my washer and found the hoses had corroded onto the taps (and leaked to boot). My dad may have gotten a bit vigorous with his wrench and slightly bent the pipe out of the wall (plumber fixed it in about an hour yesterday). There was also the hour spent putting together the new bed frame-no headboard or footboard, just a frame-a project I started that was quickly taken over by-I mean assisted by-Pat and dad. There was a lot of measuring and hammering and debating and Corona (for me) involved.
My mother says it was fun for the two families, a real bonding experience. I think they all bonded over my exploding head.
In any case, we're moved in (mostly) and beginning to unpack (a collaborative process that may take another year to complete). My temper has mostly subdued (due to the fact that I got Blake to agree to hiring movers the next time no matter what-as much as I love volunteers, I'd rather save our relationship and spend money on people I can force to listen to me). Now if I could just find a clear bit of couch to sit on, it might actually start to feel like home.
Here we go again! Once more I'm moving...leaving my tiny apartment and moving in with Blake into our own home. It really is becoming a home already, even if we aren't living in it yet. The main rooms are painted, repairs have been made, some old features stripped down, and some new things installed. I, of course, have grand plans to continue renovating (a kitchen/wet bar backsplash is on the horizon...), but this week the majority of the work has stopped so we could clean up. Here's a rundown of what we've accomplished in the last month and half:
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.)
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.
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 :)
Now don't jump to any conclusions, and don't get too excited (I'm talking mainly to myself here), but...
Blake took me ring shopping on Saturday!!!!!!!!!
I will try to relay the afternoon's events with as much calm and decorum as I can manage, but just know that on the inside I am giddy, absolutely GOOFY with excitement. After all, Blake and I have been talking about getting married for a long time now. As my father puts it, it has never been a question of "if" but of "when". Blake has been trying to pay off all his debts from his previous marriage, which I respect, before starting our new life together as man and wife, and he didn't want to ask me until that debt-free day was closer at hand. So I've been uncharacteristically waiting patiently, concentrating on the other exciting things going on in our lives and trying very hard not to picture myself in a flowy white dress gliding down an aisle on my father's arm to my rock star of a boyfriend so that I can call him husband...
I digress. All this talk of wedding makes me think of dresses and quite frankly I can't wait to try on every dress in the state.
So anyway, ring shopping. We had one failed attempt on Valentine's Day to look at engagement rings. What started out as a romantic gesture quickly became a disaster as we pulled into the Galleria parking lot only to realize that it was NBA All Star Weekend and most of the "stars" were shopping at the Galleria. Which meant half of Dallas was there NOT shopping but star-gazing. After fighting our way through the crowd the one store Blake was looking for turned out to be out of business. Not the best way to start out.
Then on the way to dinner we passed this 3 story building with a giant diamond ring in the window. I pointed it out to Blake and laughed, saying, "That's where we should have gone!" while inside I'm thinking "Three stories of diamond rings? Are you kidding me? I bite my nails. They won't let me try on rings in a store like that."
Turns out a store like that not only will let little old me try on diamond rings by the score, they will serve you coffee and water while you ogle their shiny shiny goods.
The store was Robbins Bros., and my advice is that if you are going to shop for an engagement ring this is the only place you should go. You can make an appointment with a personal shopper (which, of course, Blake did, ours was named Susie), and she meets you at the giant diamond ring with offers of coffee and water. Blake had emailed a list ahead of time of rings he thought I might like, and she immediately took us to the case that housed the most likely candidates.
And then she let me try on every ring in every one of the 20+ cases in the store. Big rings, little rings, wedding bands, three stone, pave, vintage, modern, classic, solitaire-you name it, they had it. When we finally settled on one-wait. We didn't settle. We-and by we I mean I-fell in love with a ring. So Susie shuttled us over to the "diamond education room" where we learned about cut, color, clarity, and something else c-related (I was in oooo shiny shiny mode, so this is the part where Blake was paying attention). THEN they ushered me out of the room so Blake could talk to her about his plans without me listening. Later he told me some of what they discussed, and Robbins Bros. helps with everything related to the wedding, even offering "proposal specialists" to help the less creative male propose in style.
All in all I left with diamond dreams in my eyes and head, and now I'm afraid Blake has no choice but to ask me soon or else watch me slowly slip into a wedding dream coma. When I conveyed this to him his response was, "You just have to forget about the ring. It won't be hard. As soon as we close on the house, poof! you'll forget you ever had diamonds on your hand."
It is safe to say that he still has some things to learn about me.
Every once in a while I pat myself on the back because I've finally got my shit together. Besides the obvious good turn my life has taken since the Great Breakdown of 2007 (post breakup, pre-Blake), I'm generally more responsible and organized than ever before. I pay my bills weeks before they're due, I take my trash out regularly, and I manage to make my bed at least one week a month (come on, it's still me. Some things will never change.). I even know where my important paper work is-I have a file cabinet AND a fireproof safe. Impressed?
Don't be. Because this year when my W2 came I put it with all my other important papers at the time, which included the last two years income tax statements, last year's W2 from my work at Garland Summer Musicals, last 2 paystubs from last year, and everything else I needed not only to file my taxes but to give the bank for the loan for the house. And where is it now?
I still have the income tax statements, last year's W2 from my work at Garland Summer Musicals, last 2 paystubs from last year, and everything else I need to file my taxes and get the loan for the house. This year's W2?
Now would I be sitting here blogging about it if it was exactly where it was supposed to be?
So this quiet Friday night, in true Nikki-style, I have spent what should have been a stress-free, relaxing, possible craft-filled-wine-drinking-book-reading evening going through every single piece of paper in my apartment because the bank called today to inform me they hadn't asked before but is it possible to get a copy of this year's W2 to them by Tuesday to avoid delaying closing?
Thanks for the reality check. Good to know I still have room for improvement. =D
