A Funny Thing Has Been Happening Lately...

...and it all started a few days ago, when I brought home a certain new CD. I'd be sitting at the computer, writing away, when from the kitchen I'd hear Brian humming.

Brian: *♪♫ quiet humming ♪♫*

And I'd be all like...

"What in the world...?"

A few minutes later, I'd hear...

Brian: "♫♪...Ohhhhh ohhhhhh....♪♫"

And I'd be all like...

"Is he singing what I think he's singing...?"

As if he were unknowingly trying to answer my question, he would then start singing a little bit louder...

Brian: "♪♪ I like the Remix, baby....Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh, oooohhhhhhhhhhhhhhh...♪♪"

And I'd get all silly and giddy and be like...

"Tee hee! He's TOTALLY singing New Kids on the Block right now..."

After a few minutes of belting out the chorus of the Kids' latest single, Brian would inevitably realize what was coming out of his mouth, and, well, his reactions were sort of like...

Brian: "DAMMIT."

And I'd stay sitting quietly in my little computer chair, like...

"...I wonder if he'll stop now?"

Adorably, wonderfully, after a few minutes of silence it would start all over again.

Brian: *♪♫ quiet humming ♪♫*

I just can't help it. Hearing him sing New Kids songs makes me kinda...well...

Stupid Happy.

Addendum: When I finally pointed out to Brian that he'd been singing Remix all the live long day, he looked at me with a totally straight face and said, "What? It's a catchy tune." I may have swooned. Just a little.

AbbyGabs in April

Here we are, a brand new shiny month. This year is flying by already, and I've got so much stuff to look forward to in the coming months. April is a big one, and I thought you might like to know what's coming down the pike for me, my family, and my blog. So here's a peek at the first few weeks of my calendar for this month.

April 1, 2013:
Day one of Camp NaNoWriMo--the online support system for budding writers is at it again, and I'm jumping in with both feet.  And as usual, the 50,000 word count goal in 30 days is plenty enough to get my competitive juices flowing. I've managed to do it twice...and I happened to bang out a my very first novel by participating in NaNo 2011 and 2012.

source

The real beauty behind Camp Nano is that, while you can start a brand new project, you're also encouraged to take that thirty days and do pretty much whatever you want to do (involving writing, of course.) Edit a past project, write poetry/blogs/short stories, work on a timeline for your next big idea---the point of Camp NaNo isn't just to write a new work. It's to write. Period. The End. That's All Folks.

I'm really jazzed about Camp, especially since I've not been writing nearly as much lately as I'm used to, and I'm missing it fiercely. So, I'm going to stoke my inner campfire, blow the dust off of my very first novel and edit the crap out of it every single day in April, in hopes that by the time I'm finished, it will be 100% publishable material.

You guys know the drill--I'll still be posting here as regularly as I can manage. I plan to set aside one day a week to write several blogs, and they'll all be scheduled to post while I'm doping up on coffee and popping aspirin to battle my keyboard-hunch back pain. And with you cheering me on, anything is possible! Hi ho, Hi ho, it's off to Camp we go!

April 3, 2013:
Appointment with my OB and fertility specialist.

I'm scared and excited and worried and nauseous and thrilled, all at the same time. We've waited years for this opportunity, and I'm *trying* to be hopeful that we will receive some helpful answers to solve our fertility problems. And since I cried all over you guys a couple of weeks ago in a blog about that very subject, it seemed only natural that I tell you about this latest development in our journey to become parents.

Don't worry, I'll keep you in the loop. Especially if there are hormone replacement drugs involved. Because they make me a little crazy, and more prone to film video blogs involving tears, snot, and smeared mascara. So stay tuned, friends. Stay tuned.


April 7, 2013:
The Inaugural Tournament of the Incredibly Excellent Wii Bowling League.

Yes, you read that correctly.

My ingenious husband finally figured out a way to cram our tiny apartment to the brim with practically every person we know within a thirty-mile radius---and all in the name of bowling. He created a Wii Bowling League, and we are having the first tournament at our house this weekend.

source

There will be brackets, bowling-themed food, fierce competition, and trophies. (Yes, he bought trophies. Just like the one pictured above.) It's going to be epic, and we are hoping to turn it into a regular thing. Once we weed out the serious competitors from those more interested in the bowling ball cupcakes (yes, that would be me you're picturing with chocolate crumbs on her chin) we may just invent team names and create bowling shirts (which I will have to beg for, because I'll be the one losing on purpose so I can sit in the kitchen and chat with my friends between turns.) Don't worry, readers...there will be a full blog with pictures after the event. It's going to rock.

Sometime Mid-April:
I'm moving.

Not me, personally, but my blog. 

That's right, I'm making the leap from Blogger to Word Press. 

source--and also not the website I'm using to navigate my move. That's HERE.

It's been a long time coming, and I've been thinking about it, and planning for it, since the beginning of the year. I've finally convinced myself that I can do it without the help of a paid professional (although I'm considering asking my doctor for a prescription in Xanax). With the support of blogger friends who have done it before, a father-in-law who I'm convinced could fix the internet if it was completely broken, and pep talks with some of my favorite Word Press bloggers, I'm ready to make the leap.

If you'd like to send assistance in the form of tequila, email me and I'll send my mailing address.

April 10, 2013:
Abby hosts Dinner Club for the first time.

Back in January, two of our favorite couples contacted us and asked if we'd be interested in joining a dinner club. For those fuzzy on the details, it works like this: the host couple comes up with the theme and provides the entree. Couples two and three are in charge of the appetizer course and the dessert course, respectively. 

Truth: it's a great excuse to get together with our friends not once, but twice, to eat great food, drink great wine, and enjoy each other's company.

Most people, while in the planning stages of this event, would be focused more on coming up with a menu that will be pleasing to the palate, but will allow them to act as hostess and spend more time with their guests.

You read the part above about my "competitive juices" though, right?

I'm feeling very...."Barefoot Contessa" about our first club where I'm in charge of the culinary experience. As in...I have to rock this, and rock it hard.

Abby rockin' the kitchen, circa 2010.

I'm not looking to intimidate our friends and make them worry about the contents of their spice racks before the next dinner...much. I'm just looking for everything to be so awesome that we're still talking about "that first dinner club at Abby's house" five years from now.

And maybe, just maybe, I'm holding out hope for a gold ribbon of cooking genius. 

So that's what's going on with me, friends and neighbors. No huge announcements, just lots of little stuff to look forward to. What's going on in your neck of the woods? (Be forewarned: if it sounds like a good time I might just crash your party.)

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.

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.

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.

Munchkin Quest--Our Newest Obsession

This post is going to read a little like an advertisement. But that's ok. Because Brian and I have a new nerdy obsession, and I absolutely must share it with you. 

Raise your hand if you've ever heard of Munchkin Quest!

***crickets***

Yeah, that's ok. I'd never heard of it either. But in our eternal quest to reach "Nerdvana," we stumbled upon this little board game in the vast reaches of the world wide web. And since it arrived at our door step a few days ago, we have been playing it non-stop.

Munchkin Quest is a dungeon-crawler board game, much like Dungeons and Dragons (so I've heard.) (Dungeon Crawler=Role-playing game where players explore a labyrinth, fighting monsters and using magic along the way.) (Still with me? Ok, good.)

Anywhoo, the purpose of this little game is to wander from room to room, defeating scary monsters, and leveling up your player. Sounds pretty simple, right?

WRONG.

This game has eleventy-billion rules. Seriously. It comes with a rule book 20-pages thick. There are numerous dice to be rolled, a mountain of cards to figure out, and rules upon rules to be memorized. 

But don't let that information daunt you. There are SO many things I love about this game. 

*It is cutthroat. It is way too easy to pull the rug out from beneath your opponent's feet. All it takes is the luck of the draw, and the guts to actually play the card when the time arises.

*It has a sense of humor. What other game do you know of that allows you to curse your opponent by tossing a chicken on his head, rendering him unable to fight with 100% accuracy?

*It is about luck, not skill. It doesn't matter how awesome you think you are at this game, if the cards and the dice aren't with you, then you will not win. (Unless the cards and the dice decide to join your team about halfway through---then it is entirely possible to win, even if you've been down by 5 or 6 levels the entire game.)

But my FAVORITE thing about Munchkin Quest are the cartoons on the cards. They are HILARIOUS, people. You'll draw a weapon that is a Sword That Kills Everything (Except Squid.) You'll fight monsters like the Leperchaun (a leprechaun with leprosy) or the Zombees (undead bumble bees). 

Just to give you a small taste of the Munchkin realm, here are a couple of illustrations depicting how Brian and I ended our most recent game.

Brian as an Elf Warrior, sporting Butt-Kicking Boots,
carrying a Step-Ladder (for those hard-to-reach monsters)
and cursed with an Evil Chicken.

Me as a Halfling Wizard,
wearing the Amulet of Fire-Breath,
with a Fire-Breathing Shoulder Dragon as my pet.

 The hairy toes are my favorite part.

So if you're looking for a board game to while away the hours while you slowly become the nerdiest person in your social group, I suggest you pick up Munchkin Quest. It's a little on the pricey side, but it's definitely worth the gold pieces you'll throw down for it. Because I promise you--you'll be speaking the lingo and tossing around the insults like a true Munchkin in no time.

Our Battle With The Bulge Begins With My Personal Battle With The Alarm Clock

Do you know how many muscle groups it takes to lift a hair dryer, and then blow dry one's hair?

Almost as many as it takes to successfully remove clothing, step into the shower, and bathe.

Of course, I was never really aware of this until recently. You see, Brian and I joined a gym.

It's a small little place, with tons of equipment packed into it. Each elliptical and treadmill has its own television, which works out well for those that want to watch ESPN (Brian) or Jerry Springer (the chick next to me the other day) while they sweat away the pounds.

Me? I'm an iPod girl. All the way. Put some tunes in my ears and I'm ready to go. (Especially if it's the New Kids on the Block.)

We've been at it for a little over a week now. For the first few days, we were going in the evenings after work, just to get the feel of the place and the people who worked there. But as we pulled into a packed parking lot last Wednesday afternoon, we decided that it might be better to try the early mornings before work, in hopes that the line for the water fountain wouldn't be three people deep at any given time.

And it works. Arriving at the gym before 7:00 a.m. ensures us side-by-side training equipment for the duration of our stay.

However, when the alarm clock rings in the wee hours of the morning, we inevitably have a conversation that goes something like this:

Brian wakes gracefully, for the most part. It takes him a few minutes to get the brain engines revved, but once they are, he's up and pleasant and ready to face the day.

Me?

I SUCK at getting up early. Always have, and probably always will. I'm usually cranky in the mornings, I rarely say more than five words at a time, and if you were the one who woke me, then you should rue the day you were born. I'm not a nice morning person. Which is why, when Brian first suggested getting up early for morning workouts, I may or may not have growled at him.

But, believe it or not, it seems to be working. I'm awake and chipper (and sore) by the time we leave the gym. I have more energy throughout the day. And I'm hoping to start racking up some serious pounds lost soon.

Just promise me you'll pray for Brian, y'all. Because he's in charge of waking me each morning. Poor guy.

Meet Captain McSneezyPants

I believe that everyone has their own special brand of super-hero-ness. You might not know it, but there's something about you that could be construed as a super power. Maybe your smile can light up a room, or maybe your soprano high notes shatter glass. Either way, it makes you special. Unique.

I mean, Mary Tyler Moore can turn the world on with her smile.

Donnie Wahlberg can turn the world on with his abs.

And not to toot my own horn or anything, but I can turn the world on with my homemade cupcakes.

My husband's super power, however, isn't always one that puts a big grin on Earth's face. In fact, if he's not careful, Brian's super power can part hair, break windows, and startle someone into a panic attack.

My husband's super power is his sneeze. Let's call them his Super Sonic Sneezes.

When we first started living together, a sneeze from Brian was enough to leave me huddled in the corner, arms over my head, preparing for the ceiling to fall. Seriously. They are that loud. It got so bad that I finally asked him to try and devise a way to warn me when he feels one coming on.

It took a few years, and a few trial runs. Flare guns don't work inside. Tapping his leg didn't help much either, since my clogging background brainwashed me to recognize that sign as the beginning of a hoe-down.

After years of practice and polish, Brian finally has a signal down. It works in almost every situation (although we find it can be slightly dangerous when he is driving.) But regardless, it gives me a chance to batten down the hatches, prepare myself for the thunderous sound that will issue from between his lips, and grab a hold of any expensive vases.




You can imagine our surprise (and dismay) when we discovered that another person on this planet uses Captain McSneezyPants' Super Secret Sneeze Signal. And not only is he using it as a source of adorableness, but also to sell people on a service plan with AT&T.




Uh-Oh. Your Super Secret Sneeze Signal has been compromised. Back to the drawing board, Captain.

Note: I'm not selling anything for Disney, nor am I making any money for posting an AT&T commercial. Both videos just help me illustrate my point a little better. And the kid in that phone commercial cracks me up.

Further Proof That I Married The Perfect Man

I'm having an Ugly Duckling Day.

You know, the kind of day when you wake up in the morning and, upon perusing your reflection in the mirror, wonder just why in the hell it doesn't break? 

Today, my hair is frizzy, my skin is badly broken out (stress and chocolate does that to a girl,) and my jeans are feeling too tight. I didn't even bother with makeup this morning. "What's the point?" I thought to myself as I tossed the mascara tube back into the bag. "This isn't going to hide the ugly that's all up on my face."

In short, I felt like this:

I slapped on some chap stick, picked the scab off of a nasty zit, and called it a day.

As I wandered into the living room, Brian beamed up at me from the couch. "Good morning, pretty lady," he said, and kissed me with some enthusiasm.

A small piece of ugly cracked off and fell to the floor.

Then, completely unaware of the inner dialogue I had going on in my Ugly Duckling brain, he said to me, "You look cute today."

Another piece of ugly was blasted away by his kind words.

And just a few minutes ago, he looked up at me and said, with utter sincerity, "You're the most beautiful girl in the whole wide world."

I won't go so far as to say that, after a few sweet sentiments from my husband, that I'm feeling like a swan. However, I'm feeling a lot less Ugly Duckling, and a lot more:

Thanks, honey. You always know what to say to this lucky ducky.

I Survived The Red Roof Inn

Brian and I recently took a little overnight trip to Columbia, so he could take his state boards. Considering the fact that we're still on a "student" budget (until he gets his nursing license) we weren't willing to spend much on a hotel room for the night. 

Brian found a great deal on the internet for a room less than five miles from the testing center for $43 a night.

Naturally, I was slightly skeptical. But Brian, who's much better at being frugal than I am, was adamant.

"We're just going to be there for a few hours. To study, to sleep, and to shower. That's it. How bad could it be?"

Tuesday night, we checked in, got our keys, and were directed to room 122. We unloaded our bags and headed to our room. Upon first glance, it looked like we were the only ones staying in the hotel. And as we approached room 122, our theory was confirmed. 

The rooms weren't just empty, they were all under construction.

Thanks to all the practice, I felt my eyebrows automatically go into "The Rock" position. (It really is so handy in instances like this one.)

But I kept my mouth shut. After all, it was my chance to show solidarity. Team Abby Gabs, for the win. 

And since the rooms on either side of us were empty, I was slightly relieved to know there wouldn't be any drug deals or hooker sightings going down while I tried to watch reruns of Betty White's 'Off Their Rockers' on the twenty-four inch television.

Upon first inspection, the room wasn't all that bad. It was clearly newly renovated, and even smelled a bit like fresh paint. 

Upon second inspection, I couldn't keep my mouth shut. So I went around the room, pointing out all the things wrong with it.

Abby: There are ants on the bathroom vanity.
Brian: Pretend we're camping. It's fine.
Abby: Do you hear that? I think the toilet is humming.
Brian: Call it white noise and come to bed. It's fine.
Abby: So I just tried to brush my teeth, and when I turned on the water in the sink, it also came out of the shower.
Brian: That will come in handy if one of us is brushing our teeth while the other is showering. No big deal. It's fine.
Abby:  We only have one towel. And it's a hand towel.
Brian: I'm sure I can fix that. I'll just go up to the front desk and ask. Don't worry. It's fine.

So off he went to the front desk. When he asked for towels, the manager told him she was going to have to "find some." 

Ghetto-fabulous status, confirmed.

Exhausted from my criticism of the room as a whole, I decided to just let the whole thing go and settle in for the night. Pajamas were donned, teeth brushed, and bed checked for stray hairs and stains. And then I climbed into bed, hoping beyond hope that it would be the diamond in the rough that was the cave of our hotel room.

OMG, the bed. I'm convinced it wasn't really a mattress, but a pile of all the hard things in the world covered with a scratchy comforter.

We took out Brian's lap top and flash cards, and pretended we were comfortable on the rock-hard king-size "mattress" while we studied for his test.

Needless to say, sleep was elusive.

Wednesday morning, I drove Brian to the nearby testing center, dropped him off, and headed back to the ghetto fabulous hotel to shower, pack up, and check out. I was only slightly nervous about being in this part of town all alone (<--understatement of the century.) In order to assuage my nerves, I took my iPhone into the bathroom with me, in lieu of a radio. There were no shelves or anything to support my phone, so I put it on the floor in the corner. Eighties tunes bumping, I hopped in for a quick shower.

Ten minutes later, freshly scrubbed and wholly relaxed, I wrapped up in one of the three tiny towels we'd managed to procure from the front desk, whipped open the shower curtain, and stared at the floor in horror.

The tub had flooded the entire bathroom. The only dry space was the 1 foot square around my iPhone. And the water was quickly infringing upon that space.

I hopped out of the tub, snatched up my cell phone, and put it up on the safety of the bed. Then, butt-naked, I proceeded to try and mop up about six gallons of water with 3 towels the size of postage stamps.

By the time Brian called and said he was ready for me to come pick him up, I was MORE THAN READY to check out of this hotel. 

A little while later, as we chatted over our pancakes, I told Brian the story of the Great Flood of Room 122. Expecting him to finally relent and confess that the room was horrible, I was surprised with his response.

"It was the Red Roof Inn. Not the Ritz Carlton. You survived. It's fine."

I need a t-shirt.

For those who are curious, Brian did very well on his test. We won't find out his official results for a few days, but he's confidant that he passed. Thanks to all who texted, called, or sent messages of support! Hopefully, the next time we stay in a hotel, we'll be able to afford the Ritz Carlton instead. Or at least we'll be able to afford to design and purchase the awesome t-shirt seen above.

January in South Carolina

Not too long ago, I told you all about Christmas in the South. Caroling and apple cider and water-skiing in the balmy South Carolina air....

Well, winter isn't that much different. In fact, it's exactly the same. I know I'm not the only one here on the Eastern Seaboard who's been enjoying the weather of late. Seventy-one, seventy-four...we even had a day recently where it got up to eighty degrees by mid-morning.

And so, Brian and I donned our flip-flops and decided to spend the day at a local park, The Boardwalk at Shem Creek, to take in the sights and the sunshine.

I would like to point out that the day started in a most-excellent manner. Not only was I super-cute in a new top from Old Navy, but I was having a good hair day AND I'd found a necklace my mother gave me back in high school, and was able to re-purpose it for present-day wearing. Score.

After much deliberation, I decided to leave my camera at home, because I wanted to focus on nature while we were there. But I wound up taking a million pictures and video with my iPhone instead. So sue me. You can take the girl out of the blogosphere for a day, but you can't take the blogger out of the girl. Or something.

Anyway, to say that it was a gorgeous day is really an understatement. The sun was shining, the seagulls were circling, and the breeze was salt-water-y. Much to our delight, as we approached the end of the boardwalk we noticed a fishing boat just coming in from the harbor. And any good beach-goer knows---where there are fish, there is wildlife. 

So we hunkered down for the next hour and watched the gulls, pelicans, and a family of dolphins, as they all enjoyed their lunch. 

And being a TRUE blogger, I got the whole damn thing on film. So, here's a few little snippets of our day.





I was so very pleased with myself (minus the thumb incident. That was kinda embarrassing.) I've been living 'at the beach' since 2002, and have never managed to get photographic evidence of dolphins in the Charleston waters. But to get them on video?? Unheard of. Now I know we have a spot to go dolphin-watching, and we'll be visiting it frequently in the warmer months.

Wind-blown, smiling, and happy, I shot this "self-portrait" moments before leaving the boardwalk:

The rest of the day progressed with shopping, lunch out, and general merriment with my husband.

By the next afternoon, we watched as a storm front moved in, covering the sky in gloom and doom. And in the span of forty-five minutes, the temperature dropped from 80° to a disappointing 51°. And by the time we went to bed, it was raining, foggy, and 45°. We actually had to set a drip last night as the temperature bottomed out at 28°.

Sad face.

But I take solace in the knowledge that the 80° weather will be back before long. And I'll be planting my garden, smearing aloe vera on my nose, and soaking up the rays at the beach.

And not to be a brat, or anything, but you'll probably still be shoveling snow out of your driveway. Don't be mad. Come visit instead. ☺

If you can't see the video above, click HERE or copy and paste the following link into your browser: http://youtu.be/r01jGK67C4Y

Let Me Take Off My Invisible Super Hero Cape For A Minute...

Sometimes I worry that I'm an over-helper.

When I hear that a friend has suffered a loss, or a family member is sick, or someone I love had a bad day, I immediately want to jump in with both feet and help.  I'm the one who offers to get your mail, feed your dog, or fold your laundry. I'm the one who scours the internet for articles specific to your plight, sends them to you in an email, triple-checks every hour to make sure you know I sent them in that email, and then sends them to you in a text message just to be sure you got the info. I'm the one who wants to show up with a casserole, two pies, and a week's worth of magazines.

I know, I know. I'm sure most of you are thinking, "Oh, she must be a nice friend to have!"

Maybe. But I worry.

A lot of my desire to help comes from that period in our lives when Brian had first been diagnosed with cancer. Each and every person---from the maintenance workers at the hospitals to the dear friends who dropped off sub sandwiches so we wouldn't have to cook---were so very valuable to us. I'll never forget the kindnesses we were shown--from friends, from family, from nurses and doctors and surgeons and techs. It was the only thing that kept us standing, kept us moving toward a destination rather than staying stagnant, cooped up in our own sorrow and fear.

And so, when I hear there's trouble in the neighborhood, I feel called to action, ready to offer my services in any way, no matter what is needed.

I show up with my casserole and my two pies and my week's worth of magazines, hoping that the help I'm offering is appreciated. Wanting to be helpful. Wanting to be valued. What I tend to forget, in my gusto, is that every person reacts differently in any given situation. Where I might be thrilled to my toes to hear the doorbell, my friend may rather be left in peace to deal with life in their own way. 

And sometimes, their own way doesn't include a stack of magazines three miles high.

I'm glad now, looking back, that I wasn't given much time to grieve and worry and pace. Relieved that our friends and family filled the scariest moments with conversation, casseroles, and consolation. I know, for us, that it was exactly what we needed.

I think it makes sense, then, that my immediate reaction to a friend in need is to don my "Save The World" cape and swoop in to save the day. Often with baked goods and some form of mindless entertainment.

So I'm learning to offer a kind word instead of a pot of chicken noodle soup every once in awhile. I'm trying to hold back that part of me that wants to rush to everyone's rescue when, in fact, they may not need rescuing at all. But above all else I'm trying to remember that, while a stack of magazines a mile high might just be the ticket to someone's happiness, it might just be coffee table clutter for another one to deal with later.

But don't worry. If you give me the green light, I'm still going to offer to bring them over. Especially if you haven't read the latest issue of "O." But I won't be offended if you say no.