Our 4th wedding anniversary was March 17th (St. Patrick's Day!) and H went ALL OUT on the gift. And I'm not using any sarcasm when I say this either. The poor guy might have failed miserably on Valentine's Day for two years running, but I must admit he knows how to give good gifts when it comes to the most important occasions. He got me a delightful gift card to Nou Veau Salon & Spa. Although I've had massages in the past, I've never been here because it's a little on the pricey side. His gift card was over the top, but this pregnant lady NEEDED a good rub down! So I escaped to the spa on Saturday afternoon while he hit up the golf course. It was a win-win situation for both of us, what can I say! I got the "Mommy-To-Be" Massage and it was everything a massage should be. Relaxing, soothing, wonderful, etc, etc, et al. But....yes, I've noticed all my stories have a but. I'm really not a complainer, I swear to you. These are just a couple of random things I noticed while being groped by a woman named Yolanda. First of all, when you walk into the treatment room she says, "Please get as undressed as you feel comfortable, and get under the sheet." I immediately think, "As undressed as YOU feel comfortable, or as I feel comfortable?" If it were up to me, I would strip nekkid as a jaybird, tell her not to waste time with that sheet, and get to rubbin'....but I figured that might get be disbarred from the spa and therefore make the rest of my gift card amount null and void. Sooooo...I strip to panties and call it a day. Question: Is "underwear only" too naked? Should I have kept my bra on, too? Yolanda was wonderful, really she was. But she was a talker. And I as talkative as I am, there are some times when I just want you to shut up. The little Vietnamese ladies that do my nails? You know the ones--I feel no need to carry on a useless conversation about my day, my job, my family, my belly, or my weekend plans. Just paint my toenails, rub my feet, and let me read about Charlie Sheen in peace, thankyouverymuch. Same goes for Yolanda. As happy as I am that you thought you pooped on the table during childbirth, I just want to check out and relax for the next 60 minutes. Overall, it was a wonderful experience. If any dudes ever read this and find their wife/girlfriend/booty call in the family way--PLEASE buy her a Expectant Mother Massage. It will make her feel relaxed and loved, all at the same time! And on a totally different note: Apparently we are back to the drawing board with names. H informed me he wasn't crazy about Dayleigh. Personally I think the next time he pushes a baby out of HIS vagina he can name it whatever in the hell he wants to name it, but I guess that wouldn't be very nice of me. So.....Baby C is unnamed yet again! :(
Whew. I'm pooped! It's bad when you need to come back to work just to recover from the weekend. And that is especially bad if the weekend didn't even involve any alcohol beverages and Waffle House trips at 2 am!
My parents came down for the weekend and we set out to conquer quite a list of chores. H was working, so he foolishly thought he would be let off the hook. Little did he know....our kitchen sink and my dad had other plans.
Friday night we rode down to The Wharf in Orange Beach for the Zac Brown Band concert. I only go to few concerts every year, and most of them are Widespread Panic shows so this was a treat for me. Plus it's really nice to do something fun with the parentals every now and then. I realized my mom obviously hasn't been to a concert or sporting event in about 15 years because she was shocked and appalled by the $6 beers. Note to mom: Don't ever go to the Super Dome where Bloody Mary's are $12 and domestics are $8! The bleachers are much more uncomfortable when you are 6 1/2 months pregnant, but other than that it was a blast. And it was cute to see mom and dad snuggling and dancing to the slow jams.
Saturday morning, my parents where up with the chickens AS USUAL. Apparently no one ever told them that weekends are for sleeping in because they were up at the crack of dawn. Seriously--we had walked the dogs, gone out for breakfast, and taken showers before 8. Sigh. Unfortunately I will never break them of this habit. Trust me--I've tried.
Mom and I set out to register for baby items. It is just as much fun as it sounds! I'm not really much of shopper, it's just never been my cup of tea. I'm good for an hour or so and usually one or maybe two stores. But all day trips are just not for me. I think it stems from an incident in my childhood that I refer to as "The Living Room Curtain Debacle of '94". It was a terrible, horrific day of my life that involved my mom dragging me to multiple department stores in and around the Wiregrass area in search of living room curtains. We spent 9 hours looking at-you guessed it-curtains. And we went back to the same stores more than once to "get a second look" at things. I eventually passed out from exhaustion in the floor of Dillards and got a good 2-hour nap.
It took me an hour to pick out my wedding dress, if that tells you how hard that whole experience was for me.
Anyway....back to my point. She really helped me with the registeries because if it would have just been H and I, we would be lost. As a matter of fact, our first trip to Babies R Us should have been filmed we were so clueless! So now we will have a ton of stuff, even if we don't know how to use half of it! Who am I kidding--I don't even know the purpose for half of it! And mom had me registering for everything under the sun. I bet the CEOs of Graco and Walmart are sitting in their plush offices having a good 'ol laugh at the suckers who find it necessary to buy some of this stuff. And then they go out on their yachts and toast to my mom--the lady who thinks it's necessary to buy a mesh sack to wash baby clothes in. Because obviously you can't just put clothes in the washing machine!
Meanwhile back at the ranch...dad was busy fixing a leak in our kitchen sink, which I thought meant replacing the washer in the faucet. I came home to discover my husband and dog under the house and half of the backside of it laying in the yard. Apparently our drain pipe was half rusted through and the contents of our garbage disposal have been piling neating under our house for the past few years. Yum.
After MANY enjoyable hours of my dad (the perfectionist) and his son-in-law (still tired from his night shift the previous night) working on the pipes AND 7 trips to the local hardware store, everything was patched up and ready to go. I bought pizza for my labor crew and they settled in to watch a bootleg copy of True Grit while I hit the hay at the exciting hour of 9 pm.
Woo hoo for Saturday nights!
Good thing I went to bed early because I was up early AGAIN the next morning. But sadly not early enough to catch the sunrise trip to Krispy Kreme donuts that our two houseguests took. So mom and I walked the pooches while daddy did a final inspection on his handywork from the day before.
And lo and behold...the dang pipe was leaking again! Arghhh. It's enough to make a saint cuss--and he did, actually! But after one trip to Lowe's and about 3 more hours worth of work--the pipe was repaired and the giant gaping hole in the back of my house was patched. Patched with plywood, but it was patched nonetheless.
Then mom and dad got the heck out of dodge before he found another task to tackle.
And I promptly took a 2 hour nap to recover from my hard job of supervising the repairs.
Overall, it was really a great weekend. Dayleigh's room is painted, furniture is en route as I type, and the registries are DONE. I kid and joke and give them a hard time, but it's always great when I get to see my parents. I love them dearly and they provide some nice perspective into the Hysterical District. Plus my mom likes to clean, which is an added bonus!
And she can always find some dog hair to sweep up!
Consignment Shopping: The verdict is in and it's not for me.
I had a very interesting first-time consignment sale experience that probably doesn't really show me in the best light. But....the truth will prevail, I suppose.
After listening to countless mommy friends talk about the wonders of consignment shopping, I really and truly thought it was going to be the best thing since sliced bread. In my consigning dreams I imagined beautiful pink smocked dresses just waiting to be monogrammed with little Dayleigh's initials, scores of miniature Ralph Lauren Polo dresses and onesies, and cheap furniture without a single scratch or dent.
My dream was a little off.
I don't want to sound like a snob. Trust me, I am not. I have clothes from Walmart that I sport just as proudly as a dress from The Limited. We have a pretty strict budget that I am learning to stick to, even though budgets are hard for me. So basically I want to preface this by saying it's not the fact that my darling will be wearing some other little girl's dress. I just don't like the atmosphere of digging through racks and racks of crap to find a treasure. Some folks love a good treasure hunt. I don't. I like it when the treasures are neatly laid out in plain sight, I pick it up, buy it and get the heck out of dodge quickly.
I'm just not a shopper.
Since I was not a cosignor (meaning I didn't have any baby clothes to sell in the market), I had to actually volunteer to work--get this--8 HOURS of my life in order to shop the pre-sale. The pre-sale allows you to shop before the actual event opens to the public, i.e. before all the adorable smocked dresses get picked over and I'm left to choose between a stained Miley Cyrus onesie and bloomers with no ruffle. (God forbid, my child MUST have ruffles on her little diapered booty) As much as I questioned giving up such a huge portion of my life to volunteer where other people can make tons of money, I was disillusioned by thoughts of cheap baby clothing and stuff that my unborn child simply could not live without.
So I pre-shopped the pre-sale. It was scary. And that's an understatement. First of all, I was grossly unprepared and that was obvious when I was the only gal without an Olympic-sized shopping bag or my clothes basket to carry my loot in. I walked in carrying my Blackberry and keys. First fail.
Then I elbowed my way among women with no bras, women with crying children who also didn't want to be up at that time of morning, and more than one mullet. I found a few smocked dresses, a few Polo outfits (stain-free, score!), but no cheap yet beautiful furniture that was longing to live in my delightful nursery. Sure, there was furniture. But it was mainly odds and ends that would have taken much more interior decorating prowess to bring it all together than I currently possess.
So basically I spent about $60, and had to donate 8 hours worth of time. That equates to $7.50 a hour worth of stuff I bought. And honestly...it wasn't worth it.
But then something terrible happened.
I blew off my scheduled work time. Oops. (Insert evil grin here)
I actually went to the market to work my first hours, then realized there were more volunteers than shoppers. So I quietly crept out after only staying about an hour of my 4-hour shift. Don't judge me! I work a 40-hour week and the last thing I want to do after I get off work is go to more work--especially work I don't get paid for.
And then later I discovered the director of the market does a roll-call at the end of the evening. Damn. Second fail. So I faked an illness circa my college days by pouring on a few sniffles and sounding extra pitiful.
And it worked!
But then, as time wore on, my Baptist guilt (much like Catholic guilt--or really any sort of religious guilt I guess) started to weigh on my conscious. I felt terrible for taking advantage of the pre-sale, even with its assorted masses and lowly finds, and not putting forth the required work.
So what did I do?
I spent last Saturday working the 75% off sale, CASH ONLY consignment sale that benefitted the American Cancer Society and the Mitchell Cancer Center. I felt needed because there was only a small handful of volunteers (like 3 of us) and the crowds were large and in charge. And my conscious breathed a BIG sigh of relief.
Hopefully I have made amends and my karma, or juju, or whatever you want to call it is all right again.
Just a little somethin' to think about this weekend....
It's interesting that in the Bible, in the book of Ecclesiastes, the only practical advice given about living a meaningful life is to find a job you like, enjoy your marriage and obey God. It's as though God is saying write a good story, take somebody with you, and let me help. -Donald Miller A Million Miles in a Thousand Years
Well kiddies, I would love to claim that I've just been too darn busy to post any new posts, but that would sadly be a lie. I haven't been busy at all, just lazy and uninspired.
Actually I get inspired about lots of things but I'm afraid to post my opinions on things that really catch my attention lately. Things like our first amendment rights to freedom of speech, politics in general, and the vast difference between the Baptist and Catholics faiths....but I digress. That mess is boring to most and highly offensive to some, so I shall move on to less provocative topics.
Like the season's first crawfish boil! Woo hoo! Last Saturday we attended a crawfish boil/engagement party for my sweet friend Melissa who just so happens to be my favorite attorney in the world, too. She recently got engaged to her sweet beau, Robert (who we affectionately call Bob when he isn't listening) so we joined them in celebrating. Crawfish, taters, corn, and the occasional piece ov spicy garlic (if you're lucky) = AH-MA-ZIN! I had to load up on my Zantac first, but it was well worth the threat of indigestion.
For those that don't live in our fair city or participate in the Catholic faith, we are knee-deep in Mardi Gras and Fat Tuesday is fast approaching. I know it is all going to be worth it in the end and this sweet baby girl has arrived, but I must confess Mardi Gras is simply not as much fun when you're sober. There is just something to be said about waiting around downtown Mobile with a chilly cocktail in your hand, waiting on the next parade of revelers to come throw some more useless stuff.
Except for moonpies and cups, which are hardly useless. Minus the orange flavored moonpies.
In the midst of the Carnival and Crawfish season, we are also working (somewhat) hard on getting the nursery ready for Dayleigh. Yep...that's her name! A combo of my maiden name and my middle name, which originally came from both of my great-grandmothers. We are turning the room that my girlfriends and I called the "Beaudoir", although it was technically my dressing room/closet, into the nursery and it has been a TRYING experience to say the least. Apparently I did not make a wise decision 3 years ago when I painted the room French Red with Doo-Doo Brown trim. (Yes, that is the official Benjamin Moore name in case you were wondering) It has been incredibly difficult to paint over with the new fabulous Sleek Gray and white trim. Virtually impossible, actually. After 3 coats of trim paint, I think we are going back to Lowe's for some oil-based rather than another coat of water-based crap.
Pics to come later (maybe!) once I figure out how I'm actually going to decorate her room. So far...I'm not much further along than picking a paint color. I thought picking a name was hard, but decorating is proving to be harder than I ever anticipated.
Wish us luck that H makes it through this stage alive and I don't lose my mind or spend my annual salary hiring an interior decorator and calling it a day!
I am a true Southern Belle--a girl that knows how to ride a horse, write a thank-you note, and down a bourbon drink. I live on the Alabama Gulf Coast in historic (and hysteric) Mobile, AL, with my adorable hubby Harris, my blue-eyed beauty Charlotte, and the pupper dogs, Lois and Charlie. This is our story....chock-full of witty banter, bar gymnastics, home renovations, dog hair, parties, and fun as we conquer parenthood and the fabulous life. I hope it doesn't disappoint!