The Big Day Is Here!

For the past two and a half years, I have watched my husband power through nursing school. I've watched him sweat over test grades, study until his eyes were crossing, and celebrate when another class came to an end. 

I've tried to help him maintain some semblance of a normal life, and a normal marriage, when the majority of his time and energy was used up just trying to get through. 

I texted him (constantly) and sent him emails and wrote sappy blogs about him while he was away for fourteen to sixteen hour stretches at a time, pairing a half day of classes with a full day of work. 

I held his hand as he wept for a patient, high-fived him the first time he started an IV by himself, and cringed through all of his "poop" stories.

I have witnessed his growth as a student and a nurse, his excitement over his new career path, and all the hard work that went into it each and every single day. 

I watched him sacrifice sleep, food, fun, and practically every ounce of his social life, just so he could make our lives better with that Oh-So-Coveted degree.

And today, after the books have been put away, the caps put back on all the highlighters, the flash cards stowed and the tests all passed----today, we celebrate that hard work and dedication.

Because today, my husband graduates from the nursing program.

He really IS Superman, y'all.

Congratulations, Brian! I couldn't be more proud of you if I tried. Enjoy every single minute of the festivities today. Soak them up. Because you deserve it all, and a million times more. I love you to the moon and back. XOXO, Abby

Super-Quick Saturday 'Post'

I Was Born To Be In An All-Male A Cappella Group.

While you re-arrange your face into a more normal appearance, let me back-pedal a bit and explain why.

You see, Christmas at my house just isn't Christmas without a little Straight, No Chaser. We LOVE this group. My husband, who was always the semi-Scrooge in our little family, was completely won over when he first heard their version of The Twelve Days of Christmas. When he showed slight enthusiasm for a Christmas song, I immediately went to iTunes and downloaded every single Christmas song they've ever done. And now, each year the gentle strains of Straight, No Chaser, can be heard in our home as we deck the halls.

Still, that doesn't explain why I believe, in my soul of souls, that I'm meant to be in an all-male a cappella group. Specifically, I'm meant to be in THIS all-male a cappella group. (And not just because their name is grammatically correct.) Here, let me make my case. 

#1: I think I'd fit right in.
Sure, it's a bunch of boys who can sing. And I'm a girl who can't sing. BUT, (hear me out, readers. The argument is about to get good.) I am all about cheese. Not just the kind you eat, but the really theatrical, cheesy goodness that comprises a majority of an a cappella group's performances. Need someone to pull a face and do jazz hands? I'm SO your girl. 

Photo source

#2: So what if I can't sing...
I could easily be the member who makes funny noises, says something campy or snaps my fingers. Plus, I can lip-sync like nobody's business. Can you tell me, based on this photographic evidence, that I am not, in fact, singing in perfect harmony? No, you cannot.

Photo source

#3 I already know all the words.
It's true. I know where all the high notes in "Jingle Bells." I know all the places to chant in "Who Spiked the Egg Nog." And I always know where the high kicks begin in my all-time favorite Straight, No Chaser Christmas tune---The Christmas Can Can.


I even taught myself the Spanish parts of "Donde Esta Santa Claus." See? That's some true dedication right there.

So, Straight, No Chaser? Can I be your first female member? I promise I can make up for my lack of vocal abilities and slight stage fright with an enthusiasm that is promised to be contagious.

My New Shoes

When I was a kid, it didn't take much for my Mom to convince me that spending an afternoon shopping was a good idea. Truly, I've always loved to shop. It didn't matter to me if we were going for a quick ten minute perusal of the hardware store, or if we were going to spend all day bouncing from shopping mall to outlet store---Mom said, "Let's go shopping!" and I said, "I'm in!"

But the two words she could utter to really get my 7-year-old inner shopper excited?

"New Shoes."

Oh yeah. Especially if they were dress shoes.

Mom, actually, wasn't usually too thrilled when I needed dress shoes for some special occasion. Not because she didn't like to shop. But because I had a very specific test for whether a particular pair of shoes was going to work for me or not. And that often involved doubling our time at a store.

You see, it didn't matter to me if the shoes were comfortable. It didn't matter what color they were, or what style. It didn't even matter to me if they had snaps, straps, or laces.

All I REALLY cared about was how they sounded when I walked on a hardwood floor.

Luckily, most of the shoe stores we frequented back in the late 80s came equipped with a handy-dandy little section of linoleum near the front door. Mom would strap me into my shiny new patent leather mary janes, and before she could complete the "where's your toe?" test, I was beating feet up to the linoleum to check out the "clippy cloppy" factor of my new kicks.

Anything that made a sound other than "clippy cloppy" immediately got sent to the rejection pile, much to my mother's chagrin.

I don't think I've ever tried to explain what it is that I love so much about shoes that make that sound. I think, when I was a kid, it was because they made me feel grown up. Important. Like the kids in my class would hear me coming, just like Miss Green in her fancy black pumps.

There may have been some fascination with noisy shoes from the time I was 4, and strapped on my very first pair of tap shoes.

In truth, "clippy cloppy" shoes made me feel glamorous. Like a tiny version of Miss USA, except with even bigger hair, and a hot pink dress. Because hot pink was my favorite color from age 7 to 10. And we all remember how big hair was in the 80s.

Fast forward to my adult years, and the sound a shoe makes on hardwood rarely comes into play when choosing new shoes. In college, it was about fashion. Now, it's about comfort (and some semblance of style.) 

But a few days ago, I spotted a pair of boots that I knew just had to be mine. Sure, they had a slight heel--something I usually avoid at all costs--but everything about them....from the sleek design to the silver side buckle...made me dream of making them mine. Eagerly, I slid them onto my feet and admired them in the tiny little foot mirror. As I started walking around in the carpeted store, I had a flashback to the many times I tapped my way through the shoe stores in my childhood. Noticing a bit of hardwood near the entrance, I grabbed my purse and sneaked over, tapping my toe tentatively on the hard surface. And when the "clippy cloppy" sound reverberated back to my ears, I knew I'd found the perfect pair of boots for me.

Yes, I bought them. Yes, I giggle like a school girl every time I wear them.

Video Proof:


What can I say? These boots have the capability of making me feel like a fashionable, slightly-fancy, grown-up version of the kid I used to be, in all their "clippy cloppy" glory. I say every girl needs a pair of shoes that can do that, am I right?

This post is dedicated to Mom, for all her patience and infinite wisdom when it came to shopping for shoes.

Christmas in the South

Hooray!! December has arrived in all its glory! Please note that I have decorated Abby Gabs in the appropriate fashion to celebrate the season. And now, share with me another celebratory "Hooray!"

There is so much to love about this time of year. Twinkly lights, gift wrapping, baking marathons, cute clothes, even cuter shoes...it really is the best time of year. 

One of my favorite December pastimes is to brew myself up a piping hot cup of coffee, and watch the birds eating at my feeders.

The picture through my window is of a chilly winter's morning. The sky is grey and gloomy around these parts this time of year. Clouds threaten rain, the sun barely makes an appearance, and the grass gets all crinkly and dry. It's wintertime perfection.

Except...

If you actually venture out of doors, believing the picture out your window, you're in for a big surprise. Because in all reality, the weather in Charleston in December is less-than-snowy.

By noon, it is usually getting close to seventy degrees outside. Sure, we have had a few cold Christmases (we're talking upper thirties here, people.) But for the most part, the nine Christmases I've spent here in Charleston have been relatively warm.

Don't throw things at me, Readers From the North! Believe me when I say there are many a winters day that I miss having seasons. I miss the turning of the leaves, and the crispness in the air as summer turns to fall. I miss being able to find winter coats with substance, and ice scrapers for your car. I miss that feeling of frost "nippin' at your nose." I miss snuggly sweaters!!

However, I do not, in any way, shape, or form, miss snow.

So I'll take my seventy degree weather today. I'll still wear long sleeves and cute shoes, and just crack the windows or, in a drastic measure, turn on the air conditioning. I'll wear my favorite knitted hat and I'll crochet a dozen new scarves.

Because even if it is seventy degrees here today...

Photographic Evidence From My Awesome i-Phone

...it's still the holidays in my heart.



Ok, I just gagged a little. Sorry about that last line.