What is happening to me?

Ya'll, I've got it. Bad.

Before I start the post (I guess, technically, it's already started, but, just go with it), I should probably throw out a disclaimer.  I love where I am right now in life. I love my husband more than the average high schooler is in love with Lil Wayne or Ke$ha (seriously? Ke$ha???). My daughter is a barrel on monkeys, and so much more fun.  But...

So last night, we were busting out the Christmas decorations. I LOVE this time of the year (even if Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday and I refuse to move on to Christmas until the wishbone has been snapped and the football played, I LOVE this time of year).  But, it wasn't cheerful. It wasn't full of our traditional "Elf" followed by rockin' some Christmas tunes, all while sprinkling holiday cheer all throughout the house, including the back of the toilet (yeah, that's right. If you're gonna sit on my toilet, you're gonna enjoy some Yuletide cheer while doing so).

We went to pick out our tree from the local home improvement store. And, I felt rushed. Which is NOT cool.

For those of you that may sport the faux tree, you probably don't fully understand the task of picking a real tree. I'm not knockin' you at all. I simply mean that if your tree is a little bare in one area, you can bend the metal infused branches and voila! Your tree is full!

For those of us that opt for a large, moulting, dead tree (hmm, doesn't sound so magical when you put it that way) beautiful, crisp, pine-scented frazier- or douglas (I'm not a hater)- fir, finding a tree is the first battle of many that you fight.

Picking a tree? A LONG process, often involving multiple men to hold the 10-foot-trees side by side, turning, modeling, trading trees, moving to the 8 footers, turning, swapping, switching, looking, leaving, coming back, wash, rinse and repeat. That's the way I roll.

But, last night, not so much. The hubs insists that he was not trying to pressure me into "picking a stupid tree and leaving" (quotes mine). And, I believe him. However, even if it wasn't his intention to pressure me, his demeanor, along with the snotty-nosed whining kiddo that was trying to climb up her daddy's leg, caused me to make a hasty choice. Let me just add that it is a good thing that I had great friends in high school whose only "pressures" on me involved participating in some dumb skit (say, dancing to NKOTB on video) or buying matching shoes (yeah, I was a nerd.). Actually, who am I kidding? I love NKOTB even to this day.

Where was I? Oh, yeah. The tree.  Which, is currently still on my front porch because I didn't get enough cleaned to bring it in last night.  But, what's my point (I'm actually asking myself the same thing. Right.Now.)

The point is, as I was unpacking the Christmas tubs, I was thinking "what IN THE BEAUTIFUL WIDE WORLD convinced me that this was  beautiful decoration? I'm not a fan." Last night, I felt ashamed to decorate my house with said decorations.

Like I said before, I LOVE my hubs. And he is totally a kid at heart, which warms my soul. Just the other night, he was laughing so hard at Home Alone, I seriously thought he was going to stop breathing. I really do love it. Many of our Christmas decorations reflect our youth, and the excitement that comes with the season. We have very colorful, glittery, Santas all over the house. We've got partially melted snowmen, nutcrackers, nativity scenes with little children as the characters (actually, now that I think about it, those are a little more disturbing than simply being tacky).

My tastes have changed. I think I'm finally growing up! I'm beginning to like classic decorations like burlap and lace. And white lights that don't blink. And having a CLEAN house! And Willow People, of course:



Beautiful, no?  I like the simple things, without a lot of sparkles.

And I felt horribly guilty. Because I felt like it meant that I was not thankful for what I have.  WHICH IS NOT THE CASE. Our current decor is very special to me, as it was collected during our first years of marriage and is very representative of where we were at the time. But, I think it's time I finally grew up. And, I understand that just like my tastes didn't change overnight, I'm not going to get where I want to be quickly either. I've got to look to a very wise man for direction:

I got it one piece at a time, 

and it didn't cost me a dime.

Thank you so much for that advice, Johnny Cash.  I'll take it (minus the whole stealing a car one piece at a time). Oh, and, I'll pay for it.

So, I invite you to join me on this journey. This journey of shedding my glittery Santa figurines (along with my Aeropostal clothes, which, it happens to be pretty embarrassing when you are wearing the same shirt that one of your middle school students is wearing) and stepping into a more clean, classic holiday look. Basically, it's finally time for me to put on my big girl pants.

Shall we continue?

The giving of Thanks

Today is the day. The day where emergency room visits due to cuts increase tenfold, along with cholesterol and waistlines. It's the day that brings in the OFFICIAL start of the Christmas season (not Halloween).

It's Thanksgiving!

Today started early, with Ansley waking at 6. After crawling around in the bed, she finally fell asleep on my arm. We reawakened at 9, not cause of the kiddo, but because the pups needed a bathroom break.

I love playing hostess. I love cooking and opening my home. But that isn't what this day is about. It's about setting aside a special time just to realize how much we have to be thankful for. Though should we really only express our gratitude once a year?

No. But I must admit I struggle in that department. I don't let the hubs know how thankful I am for his willingness to work as he does to provide. I don't let my parents know that I'm thankful for them, because it has made me who I am.

I don't let other family members know how much they mean to me, and how thankful I am for the sacrifices they have made along the way.

I have so much to be thankful for, and I pray that every day I will realize just how many blessings I have. Even if one of the best ones has forgotten how to sleep.

Blessings to all, and a very happy holiday season!

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The good, the bad, and the flippin' awesome!

Yesterday, I went to the grocery store to gather up the fixins for a spectacular Thanksgiving feast.

I opted to go to the store while on my lunch break, because that would save me the trouble of shopping with Ansley, which isn't as easy as it used to be (you know, back when you could put the carrier in the seat part of the buggy and they slept the whole time? Except, that was never really easy for me because I'm so short I couldn't see to push the thing).

Anywho, I ventured to the store, traversing through the wilderness that is our newly remodeled Walmart.  Sweet potatoes, check. Ham, check (yes, my family eats both turkey and ham on Thanksgiving. We like our food, yo). Brown sugar, egg nog, new cups, and rolls. Check, check check and check.

I made it to the checkout, and as the cashier started doing her thing, I realized I had two things of egg nog. "I'm sorry, ma'am. I just realized I got two of these, and only needed one. Would you like me to take it back?" She said not to worry, that's what the strong young men were for.  Then, it happened.

I started to get out my debit card. Hmm. Not in my wallet.  I stopped to get gas this morning, so I probably just shoved it in my pocket. ::checks pockets, with increasing anxiety:: Hmm. Must be in the car.

"I'm sorry. You are totally going to hate me. But I think my debit card is in my car and I need to run out there super fast. I'll be right back."

By this time, people were starting to line up behind me.  Luckily, having been a track star  team member in high school, I got out to my car in a quick fashion. Only to realize that my debit card was not there.

No worries. That's why there's a checkbook.

Yep. It was out of checks. Isn't that spectacular? So, I had to go back into the store, and tell the cashier that I did not have the money to pay. There were people lined up behind me, I was turning every shade of red possible, and it was awful.

That meant my debit card had to be in one of two places: a local middle school gym, or the gas station.

After a quick call to both locations, which proved fruitless, I was left with one option: call the bank and cancel the card. And, you know what thought went through my head? This means that I'll have to have the hubs with me when I go shopping on Friday so he can pay... Needless to say I grabbed a checkbook as soon as I got home.

When I called the bank, I didn't know my account number. And when the teller asked me my address, I fumbled!  I couldn't even remember my own address because I was still so flustered from the Walmart fiasco. After checking my drivers license and enjoying a few chuckles with the teller, we canceled my card and ordered another one.

I ventured back to Walmart last night, and despite removing the ingredients for a mocha cheesecake from my shopping list, I managed to spend about $2 more than I would have if my earlier trip had been successful.  Hmm.

So, the flippin' awesome?  Remember this?



Guess what??? I won the Modern Bird Studios giveaway from Harper's Happenings!  I found out as I was rummaging through my car for a debit card.  And, seriously, I almost peed my pants.  I am so EXCITED to get an original piece from them.

Time to make a decision.  Which picture???  Good thing the certificate doesn't expire for a year. Cause it may just take that long to make up my mind.

Unless...

Here comes Peter Cottontail...

Hoppping down the bunny trail.

By this point, you probably understand that if I'm not running behind, something is terribly wrong. So, here's an update about Easter, only a few days (ok, weeks) late.

Easter was wonderful! The weather was beautiful, Ansley was cute as a button, and the Easter bunny was good to us! We even tried, with marked failure, to catch a baby bunny that was munching on some grass in the back yard.

Though Ansley is a bit too small to go hunting for eggs, she did get to enjoy *part* of a chocolate covered marshmallow bunny. Needless to say, it was a very trying task to get it away from her, but we managed.

She wore her beautiful "Jackie O." dress, and afterwards at lunch with some close family friends, no one commented on my handsome son!

Now that the weather is warm, I've filled her dresser with a ridiculous quantity of dresses. That should help curb the problem.

Easter was such a huge event for me as a child. In fact, believe it or not, I think I can say the anticipation of that furry friend's visit was just as high as the excitement of the jolly fat man's annual squeeze down the chimney.

Growing up, my whole family was within about 50 miles. Christmas was divided between the two sides, but Easter was a different story. Easter was reserved for Mom's side of the family. And it was HUGE.

Typically, there were only about 9 of us that would hunt for eggs. There were 13 of us all together, but the youngest ones weren't really on the scene yet.

There was always a prize egg. And there was always money inside. There was also a prize for the most eggs. It was always difficult to decide if I should only hunt for the prize egg, and be assured of a nice monetary blessing, or, if I should use my position as the oldest and push the other kids around in an attempt to collect the most eggs. However, seeing as how I was the oldest by three years but the smallest by a few inches, there really was no point in putting myself through the turmoil. I went for the prize egg.

The aunts and uncles would hide the eggs, and then line us up by age. I was at the back because I was the oldest, and, quite frankly, the best stinkin' egg hunter in the fam. I was unstoppable.

I was famous for finding that prize egg, despite all the ridiculous hiding places. In the bottom of a trash can full of rain water (that involved a dive to the bottom, and assistance getting out), in a briar bush, in a dog house, and in a cedar tree. Funny thing is, I can't seem to remember what I even spent the money on.

Gradually, as the years went on, we all seemed to outgrow the event, yet we still managed to gather for some rockin' good food. Then, eventually, as time went on, we just stopped all together.

Now, this isn't a sob fest, but I have a lot of memories tied to Easter, and every once and a while, it's nice to look back on those events. The good as well as the bad.

Not only was Easter time for the egg hunt, but it also marks the anniversary of a huge event in my family. Our house was destroyed by fire one Easter Sunday a few years ago. On that day, we lost everything.

Which, really is contrary to the purpose of Easter. No matter how much I enjoy the ushering in of spring, and the ability to wear open toed shoes and white skirts, Easter is so much more to me, and I hope it will be for Ansley.

Easter is the day that death was defeated. It doesn't matter what was in that house as the flames engulfed it, because death was conquered! His word was kept.

So, I hope you enjoyed your holiday, and I look forward with great anticipation to the things I can pass on to Ansley. She's sure to be a master egg hunter, but, more than that, I hope she understands that on that day, so many years ago, the tomb was empty.

Ok, fine. And I hope she learns not to wear white shoes before that holiday.

He has Risen.

Valentine's, a little late

Happy Valentine's Day! Yes, I realize that day has already passed, but we have yet to celebrate that day in my house. Well, at least, Paul and I have yet to celebrate that day. Ansley got a few kisses of her own.

It's tough documenting all the "firsts." I don't have pictures for each month she ages. I can't remember exactly when she smiled. I can't remember what she wore on Thanksgiving. And I can't remember the first time she laughed.

But I remember what I felt.

And, maybe that's what is more important. I can't remember all the gifts that Paul has given me for Naked Cupid Baby Day, but I can't forget how I felt.

Each and every day, I feel loved. Each and every day, my heart overflows with the joy that Ansley has brought to my life. Each and every day, I smile when I picture her gummy grin, or Paul's goofy expressions.

And, that's love. It isn't the hearts or stuffed animals, or even the chocolates (::gasp!::) that my friends in high school would get on Valentine's Day. It isn't a dozen roses, or even though butterflies you feel with your first kiss. But, it's those memories.

So, today, not just on February 14, I choose to remember those feelings. I choose to smile back at Ansley, and I choose to let those butterflies take over like the first time.

Love is more than a feeling. It is a choice. And today, I choose to love.