There's a Milk Monster In Our Midst...

It all started when Dizzy was a kitten. You know---adorable, small, rambunctious. One day he discovered the milk at the bottom of our cereal bowls. And the obsession began.

It was all fun and games at first. He'd hop up in my lap, nudging his tiny little nose toward the bowl. I'd give in to the cuteness and let him lap the milk from among the Fruit Loops, and we would all giggle at the cute little slurpy noises he would make as he gobbled it all up.

Fast-forward a few years and now Dizzy is a full-grown, 10-pound cat. He's still adorable, but he's much bigger now. And much more insistent that he gets his milk prize every morning. He still jumps up in my lap, but if I'm less than agreeable with his begging, he takes matters into his own...paws.

When he's satisfied that he's saturated his paw in enough milk, he'll sit back and slurp it right off of his foot. Loudly. Usually in my ear.

This habit annoys me. It all but infuriates Brian. Being the Dad in this scenario, Brian usually puts Dizzy on the floor with a firm "NO." And Dizzy, knowing which side his proverbial bread is buttered on, will sulk for a moment, then mosy over to my corner of the room.

His M/O has changed a bit over the years. He will find a perch that is as close to his goal as possible (usually the arm of the couch) and stare at me as I eat my cereal. Sometimes his face is less than an inch away from mine.

He doesn't always wait so patiently, but for the most part, he'll allow me to eat at least 3 spoonfuls of cereal before he makes his move. And then, ever-so-slowly, he'll start to creep closer, and closer, and closer, until...

Most of the time, I get relatively annoyed, and relatively quickly, and wind up pushing him out of the bowl. But some days...most days, as soon as he starts making that same slurpy sound...

...I cave in and let him have his fill.

It's worth it, even if I have to eat my Cheerios dry.

Things I'm Loving Lately

After this weekend's somber post, I decided to do something much happier to kick off the week. (I know you're relieved. Truthfully, I used up half a box of tissues just writing Saturday's post. I'm ready to move on to the happy stuff, too.) So, I'm turning to the blogging tool that has been so successful for me in the past. I'm sharing with you a list of the things that are making me smile lately. (If I use it as a tool to turn my frownies upside down, well, that's just an added bonus. Right?)

Things I'm Loving Lately:

1. This house in Kansas:

As it turns out, it was purchased by activist Aaron Jackson, who bought this house just to send a message to their neighbors: the Westboro Baptist Church. A peaceful, and colorful, protest to all the hate speech---I'd say this is a must-visit location to any and all living and vacationing in Kansas. It makes me so happy, I'm not above declaring that if we buy a house with siding, it might just get the same treatment. (Somewhere in a hospital room far, far away, my husband the nurse just collapsed when he read that statement.) Visit CNN to read the entire story.

2. Smash.

I know, I know---I've gushed all about this show here on AbbyGabs before. But the new season started a couple of weeks ago, and I've got to tell you----I'm just as addicted in season 2 as I was in season 1. I know I'm not supposed to like Ivy, but I absolutely adore Megan Hilty, and I'm excited for what's coming up for her character in the episodes to come! For your viewing pleasure, here she is again, as Marilyn Monroe. LOVE.

Sigh. My Broadway tendencies get tickled every time she performs. I really want to be her when I grow up.

3. Lego City: Undercover (for the Wii U)

This game has everything we love: Lego-themed puzzles, fun game play, and silly narration. We simply can't stop playing. The only thing it doesn't have is multi-player...but it's only making us look forward to future Lego games on this new console that much more. My favorite mantra while playing Lego games? BREAK STUFF!!!!

4. Searching the internet for nerdy t-shirts to wear to Comic-Con in July.
Believe me when I say there are a treasure trove of them out there. I've got an entire Pinterest Board dedicated to the subject. Here are a few of my favorites, for your viewing pleasure.

Nyan Cat Meets Doctor Who

Star Trek Awesomeness

The Entire Buffy Gang--The Peanuts Version

5. Remix (I Like The)
Don't throw stuff at me. I know I told you all about how much I love this new video by NKOTB in my last video blog. But someone happened to point out to me that I failed to leave a link to the video on that post, and so I'm sharing it with you here. (Remember--part of this blog is so I have something to look at to make me smile. And this video makes me smile. So there.)


It's not just the hotness of the band in suits, or the fact that the lead in the video is a big girl like me, or the ADORABLENESS that is the dance sequence with Donnie Wahlberg near the end. It's the WHOLE SONG, and the knowledge that I'll get to see them perform it live in T-minus 2 1/2 months, that gets me all giddy and grinny. I can't wait for the album release in April. Yay!!!

Ok that's it. My list of happy things. I've got a few more, but I'm too busy rocking out to Remix and pretending I can sing like Megan Hilty to write any more. 

Coping

Today's post is going to be raw, emotional, and probably painful for some of you to read. In truth, I started not to publish it. But this has been sitting with me for awhile now, and so I wrote it out in hopes that it would bring me some comfort and closure. I didn't write it to seek out sympathy, or to evoke any particular emotion for my readers. I simply wrote it for me. Any of you who have ever suffered with infertility will understand that sometimes, crying it out and exhausting all emotion is the only way to pick yourself and move on, to give yourself enough courage to take the next pill, the next shot, or the next test. That is what this post is for me.

I'm sitting in the bathroom floor, legs tangled beneath me. The towel I'm crying into smells of Brian's body wash. A nervous cat who managed to get closed into the bathroom with me sits by the door, tail twitching, waiting for a chance to escape. The digital pregnancy test still sits on the counter where I left it, the words "NOT PREGNANT" in stark analog print, breaking my heart again.

It's 4:30 in the morning.

Last night, we sat at the kitchen table, holding hands, the truth of the situation like ashes in my mouth. "I'm 15 days late," I say.

"I know," he replies.

Like a sorrow-filled waltz, we dance around the topic of conversation. He asks me if there are any signs of impending doom. I show him my ovulation calendar. We talk about the "peak fertile days" we managed to hit in the last month. Hope blossoms like spring flowers where one would think the roots were dead.

"Should I take a test?" I ask him.

"Maybe. But let's wait until morning," he replies.

And so we walk through the rest of the day, preparing meals and cleaning dishes, hugging cats and laughing at sitcoms, until the time for bed arrives.

As I brush my teeth, I rummage through the cabinets until I find what I'm looking for: a box of pregnancy tests, one left, waiting for the chance to make our dreams come true. I set it out, unwrap it, and stare at the blank screen, wondering what judgement it will have for me. I spit in the sink, and a spot of toothpaste lands on the digital screen. I wipe it away with my finger.

An hour later, my husband sleeps deeply beside me. I slide the bookmark between the pages of my current novel and turn out the light. My cat snuggles up on my chest, and I pet him while I think about what the morning might bring. So many possibilities. 

I try to keep myself from thinking it, but as usual, the laundry list of those possibilities begin to rattle off in my brain. If it's positive, I could have the baby by Christmas. If it's positive, I'll want to schedule an appointment with my doctor as soon as possible. If it's positive, I want to tell my parents first. If it's positive, I'll have the chance to tell Jenna in person this weekend. If it's positive, we'll have to do something about that middle bedroom. (I've always loved the idea of a Dr. Seuss-themed nursery.)

If it's positive, will it be a boy or a girl?

If it's positive, I will cry and laugh and dance and celebrate.

If it's positive.

I fall asleep with visions of round cheeks and tiny feet dancing in my head.

When I wake up with a full bladder at 4 a.m., my whole body comes to attention. I slide out from beneath the covers, leaving husband and cats undisturbed. I take a deep breath and do my duty, waiting the unbearable 2 minutes before allowing myself to read the screen of the pregnancy test.

And the new, more familiar laundry list of possibilities take over. If it's negative, I will not beat myself up for days on end. If it's negative, I will not let it ruin my week. If it's negative, I won't tell anyone about it, because I don't want people to feel sorry for me. If it's negative, and of course it will be negative, I will mark it on my calendar and move on.

If it's negative, I will mention it to Brian over breakfast and we won't talk about it anymore.

If it's negative, I will let myself cry, but only for a few minutes.

If it's negative.

I give myself ten minutes to mourn the baby that never was, and then I wrap the test, that thing, in toilet paper and throw it away. I toss the box and instructions away, too. I wipe down the counters, the sink, and the mirror just for good measure. I splash my face with cold water, blow my nose, and brush my hair. I never look at my reflection because I know I'll only see misery and regret. I turn out the light and open the door, freeing the trapped cat from the confines of his prison cell. I tiptoe back into the bedroom and ever-so-gently lower myself back into bed.

His voice pierces the night.

"Negative?" he asks.

"Negative." I reply.

And we wrap ourselves in each other and cope.

Magical Godmother Moments

We celebrated my godson's third birthday this past weekend. And we celebrated in style, with the whole Sesame Street gang. It was a day filled with laughter, presents, Elmo, and all the cuteness that comes with a child's party. 

As usual, there were plenty of moments that I tucked away into my heart for safekeeping: Ellie napping on my chest, Jacob's delight with his giant balloon bouquet, quiet conversation with Jenna over a cup of coffee. 

But there was one moment in particular that was so special, I'd like to share it with you today.

As usual, Brian and I arrived hours before the party so we could help Jenna set up. There were decorations to be hung, fruit and veggie trays to prepare, and games to organize. Naturally, all of those things were sprinkled with pauses for the tickle monster, singing songs, and kissing babies.

Jenna's mom (affectionately known as Gran) arrived shortly after we did to help with "kid wrangling." She bundled them up, tied their little shoes, and whisked them outside for playtime. The rest of us got busy setting up for the party.

At some point in the morning, Brian and Jenna were busy at work, moving furniture to make way for guests. I took my cup of coffee and joined Gran and the kids in the backyard, where my godchildren were happily swinging in the hammock. 

I stood with Gran, admiring their adorableness, commenting on the warm spring day. Suddenly, Jacob decided he wanted to get down. He reached out his arms to us, and together, we hauled him up and out of the hammock. Ellie was retrieved by Gran, and it looked like it might be time to find a new game to keep them occupied.

Just as I was about to head back into the house to make myself useful, Jacob walked over to me, put his arms around my leg and said, "Aunt Abby, I swing with you?"

He looked up at me with those big, beautiful, chocolate-brown eyes. And I simply melted. 

"You want me to swing you in the hammock?" I asked.

"NO, swing WITH me, Aunt Abby!" he said enthusiastically, and pointed at the hammock.

I had a brief panicked feeling. Will I be too big for the hammock? Will it break? But I didn't have time for my insecurities to keep me from enjoying the moment. I followed my godson as he tugged me toward his goal, his feet crunching in the leaves on the ground.

I steadied the hammock, sat back carefully, and helped him climb in beside me. "Are you ready?" I asked.

"Ready!" he said.

And so I lifted my feet, allowing the momentum to swing us forward.

I looked down at the child laying beside me, and my heart swelled at the sight of the smile on his face. He scooted over as close to me as he could get, snuggling up so that his head was on my arm. 

We got comfy and enjoyed the gentle swaying of the tree branches overhead. Sunlight warmed our faces, and the birds chirped us a sweet spring lullaby. 

I sighed with contentment, and caught Jacob peeking up at me from beneath his cap. "I could do this all day," I said to him quietly.

"I could do this all day," he parroted. 

And when his hand curled up over my heart, I pushed off with my feet again, and we laughed as the hammock lurched forward, higher than ever before.

Tweezers: Beauty Tool or Means of Torture?

A girl I admired in high school once told me I had really nice eyebrows.

It as one of those rare, odd compliments that has always stuck with me. Here I am, nearly 14 years later, and I still think of her when I examine my eyebrows in the mirror. 

Truthfully, I never plucked a single hair out of my brow-line for years. I was probably 27 or 28 before I even thought about it.

That thought was made possible thanks to a less-than-friendly manicurist at a local nail salon.

I'd gone in with a friend for a pedicure, and was looking forward to being pampered for that blissful thirty minutes. I was not, however, looking to be dissed by the guy who buffs my heels. He took one look at my face as I settled into the massage chair and said, "You want I do your eyebrows?"

Thinking I'd somehow communicated that I wanted 'the works' instead of just the pedicure that day, I answered, "No, just the toes today. Thanks."

He had the audacity to smirk at me, then said, "Ok, lady. But I do eyebrow for ten dolla'. Wax away those ugly hairs." Then he put his fingers over his eyes and waggled them at me.

I was shocked. I had perfect eyebrows! Didn't he know?? I wished I was still in touch with that girl from high school, so I could call her up on the phone and let her wax philosophical about my forehead hair with Mr. Manicure. 

That evening, I came home and studied myself in the mirror. Ok, so there was an errant hair here and there. And to my horror, there was a weird one growing out of the center of my forehead. 

But other than that, my eyebrows were normal. 

Weren't they?

I turned to Google for help and realized that at some point between 1999 and 2007, the natural eyebrow look had gone out of style in lieu of the perfectly sculpted eyebrow, complete with a nearly-architectural arch.

Well, my eyebrows had never had much arch to them at all. They were sort of...flat. Like someone took a ruler and drew a line of hair across my forehead, leaving just enough space between them so I didn't look like Bert sans Ernie.

I began to doubt my friend's kind words, and myself. I immediately went to the drug store, bought my first pair of tweezers, and set to work trying to remedy this hair-fashion problem.

Let me say that whoever devised plucking as a method for hair removal was a sick, sadistic freak. I don't care what anyone says---every single hair you pull out of your face hurts like holy hell. You never get used to it. 

I'm not sure what led me to the conclusion that pulling them all out at once would hurt less than one at a time, but my next move was to schedule an eyebrow waxing from my hair stylist, LeAnn. She is wonderful, and as gentle as can be...but it still hurts. A lot. 

But, with each waxing, I get that perfect, shaped, arched eyebrow that all the fashion magazines say is the number one accessory must-have.

Still, I can't help but miss the days when I didn't have to pluck at all. Mainly because ripping hair out of my face on a regular basis seems like a form of torture that should be reserved for terrorists and the mass murderer guy that Kevin Bacon is hunting on basic cable.

Either way, I'll continue paying LeAnn to wax my eyebrows every 8 weeks. And I'll keep yanking that one weird forehead hair out on my own (before I go see her, because WHO HAS A HAIR IN THE MIDDLE OF THEIR FOREHEAD?) 

Why?

Because I liked being the girl with the perfect eyebrows.

Would An AbbyGabs Coffee Mug Make Your Life Better?

The other day, I posted this thought on Facebook:

And believe it or not, I got quite a responses in favor of an Abby Gabs t-shirt. In fact, many of you requested one to add to your own wardrobes. 

I have to admit, I'd be lying if I said I hadn't thought about opening a little swag shop associated with my blog. I've actually thought about it quite a bit, mainly because a few of my favorite blogs (Late Enough, Crappy Pictures, Hyperbole and a Half, The Oatmeal) all have shops of their own.

Not to mention my father-in-law, Walt, author of The Lucky Puppy, who launched his shop years before I ever heard the word "blog." 

After about an hour of scouring my blog, looking for items that might make cute t-shirts, I find that I have a few. All they require are a little editing, some funny catchphrases, and a vessel on which to print them up. For instance...

How cute would this be on a coffee mug?:

And I had already thought of this one for my nerdy Comic Con t-shirt...(Saying something like L8 Nerd.) 

I have a few that I could take ideas from, too...like Super Abby:

Or the classic "I Survived the Red Roof Inn:"

Of course, there would be Abby Gabs swag, too---bumper stickers derived from my banner, t-shirts with just the blog logo on it, etc.

The question is: are you guys really interested in this idea? Would you be willing to buy a $5 bumper sticker with my face on it? Would you really wear a t-shirt with a badly-drawn, caffeinated dinosaur on the front? 

So let's put it to a vote. If you'd love to see an Abby Gabs swag shop, vote below. And if there's an illustration you adore that you'd pay to see on merchandise, and I didn't mention it above, let me know which one you're interested in!





I'm curious to hear your thoughts, readers. I will say, I'm probably going to create the nerd shirt for myself, but opening up a shop would be a totally different endeavor! I think it would be fun, and I'm hoping you will, too. Let me know your thoughts in the comments below. 

Happiness Is A List (An AbbyGabs Video Blog)

It's a good day. The kind of day that makes me happy to be alive. In fact, I'm in such a good mood that I made a list of all the things that are making me happy and turned them into a quick video blog, all for your viewing pleasure.  





What are you happy about today, readers? Tell me all about it in the comments below. Happy Weekend!

This video is dedicated to gal pal, Arielle, for lodging a formal protest yesterday about my lack of video blogs lately. She's a fan, and that's one of many reasons why I adore her. So I whipped up this little ditty just to make her laugh.

Funny Conversations With My Husband: The Difference Between Presents and Necessities

Brian recently started working full-time as an RN. It's so exciting!! Not just because he's finally living his dream, and putting his education to good use. But because he's nearly tripled his salary.

That's right, I said tripled.

So naturally, when he got his first pay check, we sort of felt like this:

We're not exactly swimming in cash, but his first check, paired with our tax refund money, left us giddy with that "holy crap we're rich" feeling. And so, we did what all good Americans do when they find themselves "in the money."

We went out yesterday and spent some.

After months of dreaming about, talking about, and drooling over an air brush kit for his most recent hobby (customizing and hand-painting Transformers), Brian finally took the plunge yesterday and bought one. This particular kit, and all the bells and whistles needed to make it actually work, set us back about $250. For the housewife who recently was trying her best to stretch $50 to last two weeks (i.e., ME) I had a little bit of sticker shock. But he's really been wanting one, and we definitely had the money in the account for it. So the "green light" was given, and he happily marched up to the register at Hobby Lobby with the air brush kit under his arm.

(Not really, because Jacob the cashier wouldn't let us walk through the store with the giant box by ourselves, because we might stuff it under our shirts and try to walk out with it.)

(Also, if you haven't noticed the money puns I've been using, I'm very sad. Go back and look for them. I'll wait.)

As we loaded his purchases into the back of the car, the following conversation took place:

Abby: So, when do I get my big ticket, $250, "We Have Lots of Money Now Woohoo" present?
Brian: Oh, yeah. I've been meaning to tell you, if you wanted to go ahead and schedule your eye exam so you can get some new glasses, that would be ok.
Abby: Are you kidding?
Brian: ... ... ... What?
Abby: You get to spend $250 on a super-fun toy, and you think that is equivalent to me getting my eyes dilated and getting a new prescription for glasses?
Brian: I mean, you've been asking for glasses for awhile now...
Abby: That's because I CAN'T SEE!
Brian: Ok, Ok...I get it...
Abby: It's been THREE YEARS since I got new glasses, and I have to squint with the ones I'm wearing now just to read road signs!
Brian: I know! I'm sorry, I didn't mean...
Abby: I mean, seriously...that's like winning the lottery, and you get a shiny new car, and I get to go in for a colonoscopy.
Brian: I get it, I get it...I'm sorry. 
Abby: ... ... ...
Brian: So, what big ticket item do you want?
Abby: I don't know. Diamond-studded glasses?


Watch out, world. Here I come.

Addendum

After publishing yesterday's post (all about how I fell in the shower and the subsequent pity party I threw for myself), I managed to trip no less than four times in front of Brian, nearly wiping out each time.

In complete seriousness, he looked at me and said, "If you don't stop it, I'm going to wrap you in bubble wrap."

Cuz I'm first class cargo, readers.

Thanks for all your comments and concerns. I'm on the mend and feeling much better (and brighter) today. But don't be surprised if, the next time you see me, I'm wrapped in yards of bubble wrap. He sounded serious, y'all.

How I Lost My Battle Against Gravity And The Bathtub

So, last Wednesday, I slipped and fell in my tub.

Now, I know what you're thinking, readers. That sounds HILARIOUS! Surely, this post will be filled with a humorous story, illustrated with funny cartoons...and it will most certainly finish with a zinger of a punchline! This is gonna be great!

But in truth, friends and neighbors, it's hard for me to joke about the incident just yet. Mainly because laughing (as well as sneezing, yawning, farting, stretching, and lifting) hurts like hell.

Here's how it went down. If you'll recall, we live in an apartment that was decorated in the early 80s. We have the pleasure of enjoying fake wood paneling, cheap carpet, and a wallpaper-covered piece of plywood that serves as the back splash behind our oven. Needless to say, the tub is no exception to the rule. It used to be one of those with a textured bottom, to help keep its inhabitants from slipping. But since it's been used now for almost 25 years, that helpful texturing is now gone. 

In the past few years, we've spent a fair amount of dough trying to remedy this problem, mostly with bath mats. We've had them in all shapes, sizes, and textures. 

And recently, we'd found one that seemed to work. Sure, it would gradually slide a little to the right from time to time, but we always were able to pull it up, and restick it to the bottom of the tub for maximum anti-slippage. 

So after an hour-long torture session at the gym on Wednesday morning, I wasn't even thinking about the potential for a rib-crushing fall as I stepped into our middle-aged shower. In fact, I was more focused on my aching legs and abs---which is why, when the bath mat came out from underneath me like Tony Hawk's first skateboard, I was more shocked than anything else.

I vaguely remember thinking to myself, while staring at my red toenails as they soared over my head, that I was impressed my pedicure was going on 2 weeks old without chipping.

And then...impact.

If I'd just let gravity take its natural course, and landed on my really round rumpus, I probably would've bounced a couple of times and been fine. However, in an instinct older than time, I tried to catch myself by putting my arms out. It worked---I did manage to catch myself. But  my entire body weight came crashing down onto the lip of the tub, ribs-first, where my arm worked as the brake. I also bashed my head into the wall. I was left breathless and seeing stars.

I sat in the bottom of the tub for what felt like hours, the water beating down on me, trying to take a breath. But the impact had knocked the wind out of me, and the only thing I was able to squeeze out were a few rogue tears. 

My cat, Dizzy, however, had no problem filling his lungs. As soon as I started trying to gasp for breath, he instantly knew something was wrong and began yowling at the top of his voice. I thought for sure that Brian would have come running at this point, but he'd been vacuuming the living room when I'd headed toward the shower. Naturally, despite Dizzy's best efforts, Brian couldn't hear him over the roar of the vacuum. Finally, I took a huge breath, and my chest filled with fire and glass. I shouted for Brian--once, twice, and finally a third time. By the time he found me, the pain associated with the fall had started to set in, and my muscles began shivering in protest.

I came away from the accident with bruised ribs, achy muscles, and a very minor concussion. 

Sounds pretty bad, right?

That's because it was.

So much so that I threw myself a big ol' pity party this weekend. Party excitement included: closed blinds, stretchy pants, pain killers, multiple blankets, junk food, old movies, avoidance of phone calls and text messages, occasional mournful glances at my bruises in the mirror, and absolutely no eye-contact (even with my cats.)

I watched depressing movies, cried a lot, and generally felt sorry for myself, from morning till night. It was SO much fun. Aren't you glad I didn't invite you?

In conclusion, I'll be adding the following items to my 2013 wish list: anti-gravity boots, full body armor, and a football helmet.

Oh, and a new bath mat would be nice, too.

(Look at that! I managed a somewhat snappy punchline after all. Go me.)