Top 5 Seriously Random Closet Finds

So, Ryan over at The Woven Moments is the only person who responded to my post about period polish saying she would TOTALLY wear something with Menstruation in the title on her fingertips. Is it weird I liked her more after that? I relate to most of her posts, but this post about the terrible twos starting much earlier had me nodding the whole time. Go check her out for some TRUTH.

I was recently (inexplicably) motivated to clean out my toddler’s closet.

Wait, wait. Before you roll your eyes and wonder why the hell Steph let me guest post, let me explain.

Before my daughter (blog name Pumpkin) was born, this room was an office-slash-guest bedroom-slash-place-to-throw-stuff-where-no one-would-see-it.

You’ve got one of those, right?

When Pumpkin was born we transformed the room into a nursery. The room got painted, furnished, and decorated. The closet got ignored.

And now, almost two years later, that closet was calling to me. Beckoning me. I spent hours going through boxes, bags, and piles.

And now I give you, my top 5 favorite random closet finds.

#5. CD BINDER SHEETS

WTH?????

We made the digital music switch about five years ago. But in this closet, I found enough CDs, CD binders (remember 3-ring binders? Yeah, me neither.), and CD binder sheets to make 19-year-old-me cackle in Eve-6-and-Third-Eye-Blind delight.

I wracked my brain for a new use for these CD binder sheets. Ironic coasters? Waterproof toddler mattress pad?

Destination: Donate Pile. May they make some archaic music lover very happy.

#4. EMPTY DAY PLANNERS AND JOURNALS

Think of the tasks left undone! The appointments never scheduled! Tragic, really.

This is a perfect example of doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result. My darling husband (B) is a brilliant problem-solver type who struggles with organization. And writing things down. And remembering to do things because he hasn’t written them down.

So here I come, Miss I-Can-Totally-Fix-You-By-Teaching-You-To-Be-More-Like-Me, and buy him a day-planner. Which he promptly throws away when I’m not looking loses.

So I buy him another.

And another.

Changing tactics, I bought him a journal. So he could write about his FEEEEELINGS about being disorganized. (I realize I need help.)

Eventually, I decided to stop badgering him and just accept the lack of organization. He has a whole room in the house that he can trash enjoy. It has doors that close and lock when anyone (ANYONE) comes over.

So it’s no surprise that I found the unused day planners when I cleaned out the closet. They are about as useful to my husband as the CD binder sheets are to me.

Destination: Trash Pile (outdated planners) and Donate Pile (sad, empty journal)

#3. AN OLD LOVE LETTER

Oh! The cheesiness of young love!

Most love letters are, well, LETTERS. Leave it to me to create a handmade valentine, complete with glitter.

Shut up. I was an elementary school teacher. I was 22. I was in love.

Destination: Memory Box. Because my kids will definitely want to make fun of me for this someday. And let’s be honest, I deserve it.

#2. TOBACCOLESS CIGARETTES

Box of Illegal-Smelling Awesomeness

Remember smoking? I do. Fondly.

When I first quit smoking, I faced a seriously uphill battle of cravings for nicotine. The gum never appealed to me; I wanted to smoke. A friend recommended the nicotine-free cigarettes.

I immediately ordered a carton.

The problem? Well, when you pull a big bright green box out of your pocket that has the words “Ecstacy” written on it, you tend to get some questions.

But the sideways glances really start when you light up and everything starts to smell like pot.

I found no fewer than six packs of these babies in the closet that day. Sigh.

Destination: Trash Pile but only after seriously considering smoking one out back, then reconsidering because I live next door to a cop.

#1. MY HUSBAND, THE (NEARLY) FAMOUS ACTOR

Hands down the best part of cleaning out this closet was finding the old pictures. And with that, I introduce you to my husband, B. The Scottish stone mason.

I'm completely overwhelmed by caption possibilities here.

I wish I could have a caption contest for this picture. My entries would be:

“I take my re-enactments very seriously.”

“Stop pretending you don’t love these bloomers.”

“This is me sniffing the air of my own awesomeness.”

The truth of this picture is pretty great. B was an extra in HBO’s Emmy- and Golden Globe-winning mini-series, John Adams. It was filmed near our home in 2007.

B got to rub elbows with Laura Linney (swoon) and even got to be in a scene with Paul Giamatti. You can view that scene here…but you totally can’t see can baaaaarrrrreeeeely see B.

Destination: Memory Box. Because we are still waiting for HBO to send B his little gold statue. Any day now....

This is Stephanie and I am totally initiating a Caption Contest. I don't know what the prize will be, but I really am dying to see what people write.

The Corer Was Our Separator

Before we get started here, I'm looking for some good folks to guest post for me in August. Comment here or shoot me an e-mail if you're interested.

Recently, I've been reliving my wedding planning with Kat from Tenaciously Yours. Go visit her and offer your congrats on her recent wedding, which if the pictures are any judge, was a complete party.

I wasn't much into wedding planning myself. I was probably the worst bride, not in a Bridezilla way, but in whatever the opposite is. I just couldn't bring myself to care what colors the tablecloth were or whether the flowers matched the cake. Just didn't care.

I only really cared that I looked good in my dress, people had fun, and the groom showed up.

Also? I kind of cared about the registry.

Our registry was a challenge, our first real one in wedding planning. We had made most of our other wedding decisions very quickly (a necessity since we got engaged in February and married in October), but the registry was a bit of a stumble for us.

Scott was of the mind that we should go for the big ticket items, as we already had between us some of the best kitchen tools out there. I was of the mind that if we went for big ticket items, we'd get nothing from our registry and people would take to buying us what they THINK we should have, and spending the week after my wedding in return lines was less than appealing to me.

So we compromised and agreed we would do one registry at Target for the more reasonable registry items and Williams-Sonoma for our more extravagant wants and needs.

Scott virtually skipped into Williams-Sonoma on registry day. Under normal circumstances, we do not enter this store because I begin howler monkey screeching: "$25 for a measuring cup?? I could get four of those at Target for half the price!!"

So knowing he had carte blanche to wander and admire and shoot a gun at items in Williams-Sonoma may have made him happier than me saying I would marry him.

I began to dream of wine glasses, mugs, and serving ware when I heard my name shouted across the store.

Scott was standing near a saleswoman whose eyes told me she was getting commission and was about to buy herself a new living room set.

Thank God I was smart enough to keep the gun myself, but I wandered over and indulgently smiled at the saleswoman. She showed us what I like to call the "trinket aisle." You know the one, right? Magnetic conversion charts, mini spatulas, cookie cutters.

And the piece de resistance: a pineapple slicer and corer.

I wish I had taken a picture of Scott's face when he saw this.

Never mind we had never had a pineapple in our time together. Never mind that we had registered for some very expensive knives that would quite easily cut a pineapple.

HE.HAD.TO.HAVE.THE.EFFING.CORER!!

I could not talk him out of it.

In retaliation, I registered for a cow coffee creamer. The creamer comes out of the cow's mouth in a barf-like manner.

Source: Williams-Sonoma

So we do the gift opening, and I get the cow coffee creamer and everyone who has heard our story dies laughing.

Scott is slightly pouting. We are corer-less.

For Christmas this past year, my parents broke down and bought Scott the pineapple corer and slicer.

Scott, this is the closest you'll get to a "you were right."

I confess, we do buy pineapple once a month or so. I confess, the pineapple corer and slicer is pretty slick. I confess getting a whole pineapple and cutting it is more economical. I confess a grilled pineapple is one of the most amazing summer treats ever.

Allow me to demonstrate:


Cut the top off the pineapple.



THE CORER!

Corer goes in. I totally forgot to cut off the bottom of the pineapple. Rookie mistake.



So I had to cut the skin off the sides.

Out comes the core! Easy peasy!

Cut up to put on the grill. Is there ANYTHING better than pineapple on the grill????

 
So what registry arguments did you have, or what is on your dream registry when you get hitched?

Keeping the Home Fires Burning

On one very hot day in May when my husband was away, I looked at my roommate and declared "I am going to have to use the grill."

We've had the grill since we moved into our house three years ago now. I refused to touch it. Refused, in fact, to go near it until early spring when Scott insisted I learn how to turn it on.

Luckily for all of us, the instructions on turning this machine on are also on the grill itself. Yet, still, I held my breath.

When it was time to hit the ingite button, I scooted as far back as humanly possible so that only the EDGE of my finger was near enough to be singed off when the entire thing exploded. I mean, let's face it, I would NOT look cute sans eyebrows.

In a frightening WHOOSH, the thing was alive and I was cooking with gas.

I managed to burn neither myself nor my dinner.

I was pretty damn proud of myself. But also still totally petrified of the grill.

During another heat spell here in Minnesota, I bucked up. Because I telecommute, I am the one who is responsible for at least getting dinner started. And there was no way said dinner was going to be made in my house.

Having not experienced my first success at the grill, I was excited to show Scott what I knew. And to my delight, so was he. In fact, three grilled meals later, he declared me a Grill Mastress.

For Father's Day I suggested we grill and asked him what he wanted. He gave me the menu and then dropped this little bomb: he was turning the tongs over to me!

You read that right, the man told me I was a better griller than he, and that I should go with my strengths.

My strengths being, I think, an ability to not open the grill to check on meat 100 times in five minutes, therefore regulating the grill temperature to some degree of accuracy.

Anyway, I was only too glad to take the task on, feeling like kind of a badass. Kind of like the first time in my single life I used an electric drill and did a Tim Allen grunt before putting together my Target bookshelf.

You know who wasn't glad? Scott's dad. HORRIFIED, in fact. Throughout the entire dinner, he just kept shaking his head and said "can't believe you turned grilling over to your wife. It's the only thing we men can do other than sit and drink beer."

Well, no argument on the latter part, anyway.

My husband shrugged his shoulders, complimented me on an awesome kabob, and went about his beer drinking.

That, my friends, is why I married this man. Secure enough in his manhood to occasionally give me good shoe advice and gracious enough to let the best man win in the grilling war.

Who does the grilling in your house? Safe to say I'll be grilling our 4th food. What's on your menu this glorious LONG WEEKEND??

My 5 Things to do Before Getting Married

Shine ran this article on things you should do as a couple before getting married. Their list:

1. Living Together
2. Babysit
3. Get a Joint Checking Account
4. Couples Counseling Classes.

I actually think this is a pretty good list given that it represents the common pitfalls for couples in marriage: household duties, children, money, and long-term relationship health.

But I have a slightly different list, although I am going to co-opt their #1 for mine. I understand completely that some people don't believe in this, and that is of course totally your prerogative. But I think for most couples, cohabitation is imperative to really understanding how your relationship will progress. When you each have your own corner to run to when things get tough, it's just not the same as having to be in the same space and work it out. You can read my opinions and recommendations on this here.

2. Travel Apart and Travel Together. When Scott and I first met, I took off for four days with my friend to Rome. It was important to me to have this time away and be on my own a bit. I missed him like crazy and it took our relationship to a more serious level when I returned because I realized I missed HIM, not just having a relationship. So then we also traveled together. And one of the highest compliments Scott has ever paid me was "you're the only person I can travel with for more than a day or two without getting totally sick of them." Though I don't like the thought of a "test", traveling together is definitely a good indicator of the foundation of a relationship. Before I met Scott, I had traveled with a guy who liked to get to the airport 30 minutes before the plane takes off (I'm a 2-hour before girl) and planned a million things to do right off the plane (whereas I like to settle into my hotel, get organized). Don't believe me that it's a test? Just look at the Amazing Race.

3. Live on Your Own. Yes, living together is crucial. But living on your own before that is crucial, too. You don't know who you are until you're paying your own bills, cleaning your own place, cooking your own meals. You start to separate your needs from your parents and roommates. And then when you go into a relationship, you go into it with a solid idea of who you are and your wants and needs.

4. Make and Keep Your Own Friends. I can't tell you the number of people who "joked" that Scott would never be "allowed" to go out once he got married. I was horrified. Why should a piece of paper and a name change alter the fundamentals of our relationship with each other and our friends? Keeping your old friends and making ones outside of your marriage is crucial to a healthy separation of church and state when it comes to coupling. But also?

5. Have Stuff That's JUST for You Two. My first fight with Scott was over hobbies. He was afraid we didn't have much in common because I wasn't into the outdoorsy things he was. BUT, we found common ground on cooking, reading, watching the same movies, and even kind of silly things like UFC (I freaking love UFC, I have problems). We like to spend our spare time doing the same types of things. And even more long term we agree on how we want to spend retirement.

So, tell me, what are your 5 things you think need to happen before someone gets married?

I Never Learn

In the five years I have known my husband, I have never won a bet.

I’ve won my share of Super Dates.

But no bets.

It took me about three years before I just stopped betting him. He says it’s no fun. I say it’s about preserving our relationship.

But today, you guys, today I was SURE I had him.

We were at Costco and as I was pulling out my checkbook. Scott rather gallantly announces: “I’ll pay for this one.” Yeah, we have separate checking accounts. Let it go, it works for us.

I hesitate for a second and then ask him if he really has that much cash? We had gone a little overboard on olive oil and diapers, people. This wasn’t a small bill.

He looks at me oddly and says he will put it on his card.

I tell him Costco only allows you to use American Express. They were very adamant with me on this point. I choose not to get an American Express, so I always bring my checkbook.

He says he can use his card, no problem.

I start writing out my check. He’s still insisting he can use his card.

So I challenge him: Wanna bet? He immediately says okay. We bet a date night.

I am so smug. I grin at him and say “know what? I am going to sign this check because I don’t want to hold up the line with your wrongness.”

So we get up to the checkout and I ask the girl: “you don’t accept debit cards, do you?”

And I am already packing up the groceries, planning on where to make him take me for dinner. It’s restaurant week next week in Minneapolis, what bliss!

So I barely here her say: “Welllll, some…”

I look at her and sort of choke. But I think I can still save this bet because she may not take HIS debit card.

He hands it to her confidently. Turns to me and grins and says: “I’ve used this here before. A bunch of times.”

BURN!

Although…he did buy the groceries. So, life isn’t all that bad.

But the moratorium on bets is SO back on!

New Years Revelations

I’m not much for New Years Resolutions. In my slightly more than 30 years, I’ve done more than my share of resolutions. Usually they are an epic fail. Why set yourself up? Even my masochism knows some bounds!

I’ve made a few goals in the last few years. Usually they revolve around simple things like take more pictures, eat more vegetarian meals, etc. Nothing earth-shattering like lose 100 pounds or read 100 books or something.

If you have been following my blog, you know when I plan a timeframe and an outcome, I’m generally not successful. Exhibit A: any walking/workout plan I have done EVER.

I was surfing around for some prompts after deciding I couldn’t write any more complaint blogs this week. When I saw this prompt , at first I dismissed it as a resolution prompt. But I kept coming back to it because I was having a major case of writer’s block and because I was thinking about it a lot.
December 11 – 11 Things. What are 11 things your life doesn’t need in 2011? How will you go about eliminating them? How will getting rid of these 11 things change your life? (Author: Sam Davidson)

The good news is, I couldn’t even come up with 11 things! Or at least 11 things I felt worthy of including in this blog. I mean, I could do without fleas or lice or more boxelder bugs or crazy neighbors.

But I thought now (versus when the prompt was released on the 11th) was as good a time as any to go ahead and release these…not resolutions, not goals, maybe just hopes and things I am attempting to do. With a few revelations thrown in. Yes, those terms give me a decent out should I epically fail again.

So here are some things I can do without in 2011:

1. Comcast: once my year-long deal ends with them, so does my relationship with cable. Not only will it save us money, but I think it will encourage us to be more choosy in what we watch and how much time we spend watching it. Maybe I’ll read a book or two.

2. Constant Background Noise: This goes with the release of cable. Back when we were living together before we were married, Scott and I tried to have a quiet night each week. One without TV or radio or anything, just us reading a book or a magazine, curled up together on the couch. Scott constantly fights for this now, and I am just ambivalent. I edit for a living, so reading sometimes is as taxing as work. I also have a tendency to get deep into a book, to the point where I don’t sleep until I finish it. I am a fast reader, but it’s meant many a late night trying to get to the last chapters when I should be sleeping. It’s much easier to turn off the TV in the middle of a Simpsons rerun than it is at the climax of a good juicy novel. But it’s important to turn the noise off sometimes, I know, and this is something I am dedicating myself to, even if it means a night of writing instead of reading.

3. Customer Service Complaints and Appeals: I’ve got to accept customer service doesn’t exist. I have to start choosing my battles. Calling insurance and telling them their billing is unfair is not worth it. Continuing to blanket Comcast with complaints and my disgust is not worth it. It feels good in the moment, but ultimately takes time and rage I can no longer afford.

4. Solitude in Motherhood: I have to continue to reach out to the moms I already know, and try to continue to find moms in my community. Wee ‘Burb is in such a crazy time of change, I need that support to get through her becoming a toddler and person.

5. Letting Myself Go: I have been appalled recently that when it was time to go out, I didn’t have anything nice to wear. Somehow I had become unaware that nothing fits right because I’ve been living in sweats. And this isn’t even a “how did I get so fat” post because honestly, I’ve been losing weight. I’ve been focusing on it, it isn’t happening magically (as much as I wish that to be). But somehow it never occurred to me that since I lost over 30 pounds since this time last year, perhaps I shouldn’t try to wear last year’s outfits? I’ve simply got to invest some money in myself and my appearance. To this end, I did get a nice Sephora gift card for Christmas. If you have any suggestions, speak now or forever hold your awesome glowy skin a secret.

6. Skipping Date Nights: So many weekends, Scott and I will say we should go here or there. We never make final plans because of his insane work schedule. So when it comes to a free day, I always figure he would rather sit at home with some beer and catch up on Tivo. And confession: so would I! Him being at work means I am home with Wee ‘Burb, or out doing 150 things at once so Wee ‘Burb and I aren’t bored at home. To avoid the avoidance this year, I’ve created a Christmas present that will ensure a bunch of date nights: The 12 Dates of Christmas! I went through and picked out 10 places that we have been forever talking about, and then kept two open for us to choose if a new place opens up or if we just have an alternate hankering. While it’s sad that we need this prescribed date time, I think it will be a really good game changer for us. And will make #5 even more important! I can’t go on date night as dumpy wife.

So again, I could only come up with 6. I’m going to count that as a good thing.


What things can YOU do without in 2011? Do you make resolutions? If you do, do you stick to them?

Christmas Nazis and the Men Who Love Them

I love Christmas. I’m obsessed. I was once (affectionately, I choose to believe) called a Christmas Nazi. I may or may not have insisted her topiary in a red pot was NOT a Christmas tree. I can’t be held responsible when I am in the season, people!

To keep myself and those around me sane, Christmas and I have a strict no contact order until the day after Thanksgiving. Then I can do all the calling and stalking (stocking, hee!) I want.

And I do. Ohhhhh, but I do!

This may be happier than ACTUAL Christmas day, when I pull all my stuff out of storage. Especially because last year, I saved my money and bought a TON of stuff the week after Christmas. And like a good little girl, I put it in my Christmas bin. And promptly forgot what I had purchased.

So it was like…well, Christmas…opening everything on Friday and seeing all the goodies I forgot I had.

And then…well, then Christmas opened up and spewed more gooey happiness my way.

My husband, who I am slowly converting from years of Scroogedom, looked around and said to me: “I don’t think we have enough Christmas decorations.”

And he was serious.

How The Other Half Lives

People, I have seen how the other half live, and not only is the grass over there greener, it sprouts martinis and chocolate trees. I am sitting here sipping wine after a day of embarrassing luxury. Scott, referred to as TGTIMH (The God That Is My Husband) for the rest of this post, hired me a housekeeper for a day before a party we are hosting. This was not only the sweetest birthday present EVER, it also serves as a guarantee that we will be happily married for another year. No matter how prepared we are, we ALWAYS end up in an argument or with a major case of the grumpies after cleaning and cooking all day for a party.

So this time, TGTIMH drew the line and said no cleaning or cooking! We’re doing mostly potluck, making only sangria, some burgers and dogs, and some chips and dip for our guests. And I got to make my grocery list while lifting my feet for my new best friend to happily clean around.

You guys, I need to have a full-time housekeeper. When I win the lottery or that elusive rich relative dies, I am going to hire this lovely woman full-time. Possibly as a live-in. Possibly move to Utah so TGTIMH and I can marry her in a lovely commitment ceremony and we can live as sister wives, where she works and cleans and I cook and, you know, tend to the husband.

But seriously, this woman cleaned spots I didn’t know my house even had! Did you know this whole time my cabinets were not meant to have food splotches and grime on them? I know, the shocks keep coming! Did you know that the natural color of my carpet is not beige with spots of kid spit-up or dog pawprints?

I should be horrified at how we’ve been living, but I’m too relaxed to be horrified.

Because in addition to having my own little Hazel Helper today, courtesy of TGTIMH, I got an amaaaazing hour-long massage from MPWWASPM (My Parents Who Will Always Spoil Me). I found this masseuse when I was pregnant and fell in love with her immediately. She was gentle, but managed to get every kink out, and it was the first time I had ever fallen asleep during a massage.

Usually I get an intense deep-tissue massage, so I wasn’t sure about this woman because she’d only really touched me when she needed to treat me fragilely. But she was one of the first to listen to me when I said, “seriously, you can NOT hurt me.” I know this will kill tomorrow, but I so do not care. Every touch was a magical release of months of tension. She even mother henned me to come in more often and take care of myself now that I’m a mommy. I’ll have to find other people besides MPWWASPM to sponsor these sessions, I’m afraid.

The only break between that and my magical glass of wine was a trip to pick Cous Cous up at doggie daycare. Yup, you read that right! I once thought people who took their dogs to doggie daycare probably shouldn’t have puppies if they couldn’t take care of them. But I relented in the winter when we had a sleepless baby and an incredibly alienated dog. When the choice was between her eating or peeing on everything in my house or putting up some dough to send her to daycare, off she went! When she came home totally exhausted and didn’t so much as move a whisker for 24 hours, I was sold. But I wasn’t sold on the price and as soon as the weather turned nice, I intended to keep my $17 to myself, thank you. But today, such a special day, I sent TGTIMH to bring her in and he came home, shaking his head. Apparently he’d parked between to Infinitis and passed a Lexus on the way out. What? Our Saturns aren’t the epitome of bourgeoisie? The things I thought I knew.

In Which I Confess, It Must be Embarassing to be Married to Me

I always make attempts to be glamorous. I would start a new job, and vow to refresh my lip gloss and makeup every two hours. I would set out jewelry to match every outfit. I would carefully put product in my hair and style it just so.

About a month in, I barely remembered to swipe my dry lips with chapstick, I would keep the same pair of earrings in for weeks at a time, and my hair never saw daylight from underneath the ponytail or bun.

It was the same with working at home. When I started working at home, I created a routine. By golly, I would get up, make my bed, brush my teeth, exercise, and make a glorious pot of coffee to start each day. About a month in, my routine looked something like this: snooze on the alarm until exactly 5 minutes before I had to clock in (the time it took to start up my ancient computer and get on the exhaustingly slow VPN). No time to exercise, and what’s the point of brushing my teeth if I am just going to have Folgers coffee? Showering? Meh, optional. Very, very optional.

When I moved in with Scott, I tried very hard to cover up this slovenly exterior, made a good show of at least being showered by the time he got home, hiding the remnants of my cheap coffee in the freshly emptied dishwasher. Well, you can see where this is going. But he married me anyway. A fact which, possibly, he regretted last week when he brought one of his new co-workers for a visit.

I hear “are you decent?” and him walking through the door with company. I look down. Red Sox t-shirt, pajama bottoms. “Yup! I sure am!” I went down to greet them with no shame.

This is not going to endear me to the Suburban Working Moms, but I have invented the concept of Work Pajamas. Maybe invented is a strong word, although they do say necessity is the mother of invention, and my Work Pajamas are a necessity. This is my last vestige of hygiene when I am working at home…I do not work in the PJs I slept in. Yes, they are pajama pants. Yes, it’s an oversized t-shirt. But…and this is VERY important…I did not sleep in them.

I forget the outside world may not consider this the height of hygiene. Not that I think men expect to come home to Donna Reed in heels and lipstick, holding a cocktail while fretting over a roast. But maybe they have the right to expect the little woman to be slightly put together.

Or the right not to have this conversation with their co-worker: “I’d really love you to meet my wife and baby, I just…well, I should warn you, I don’t know what she’ll look like.” I’m imagining a horrified look on the co-worker’s face, thinking he’s already dogging his wife. Is he going to smack her around in public?

Scott quickly backtracks: “No, I just mean…well, she has these work pajamas…”