Happy Mother's Day

Being a mom is just… wow.  I know people say it way too often, but there are literally no words, but I suppose I could try.  Magical.  Tiring.  Amazing.  Incredible.  Tiring.  Interesting.  Hilarious.  Tiring.

One year ago, I announced to the Facebook world that I was going to be a mother.  I remember writing something along the lines of “joining the mother’s club,” and I think that’s exactly what it is.  A club.  Only members of the club understand each other.  Only moms understand that 3:30am can be so damn cute (sometimes).  Only moms know the feeling of wanting to scream, and smile, and cry, all at the same time (please tell me I’m not alone).  Only moms know the guilt-ridden feeling of just leaving the dirty dishes and the laundry until tomorrow… or the next day… or the next day.  Only moms know the power of an afternoon nap (or morning nap, or evening nap… any nap, really).

I know it sounds cliché, but I am indeed the luckiest woman on the face of this crazy planet.  I have the most beautiful daughter, a Superwoman of a mom, and a “club” of incredible mothers in my life (grandmothers, aunts, in-laws, sister, friends, etc).

And now, on the eve of my first Mother’s Day, I have to go to bed, at 9:15pm, on a Saturday night, because I have a cranky four (almost five) month old who absolutely controls my life.  And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Happy Mother’s Day, moms.  You all deserve an award.  Or a giant trophy.  Or a candy bar.  Or a nap. 

354 Days

It has been 354 days since my last blog post. Do you know how many things can happen in a year minus 11 days? I'll tell you. Life and death and everything in between. Quite literally.

The last time I blogged, I was on a plane headed from coast to coast. I was headed home after telling my family that I was having a baby. I had known for two weeks before I left, but couldn't bring myself to break that kind of news over the phone. So I waited. And I waited. And I almost burst at the seams. But I made it. People cried. Happy tears.

And if I had known what I know now, I would have cried happy tears (and sad tears) as I hugged my dad goodbye. Instead, we opted for quick hug and a “see you later.” I wish I had hugged a few seconds longer, breathed in his smell (cigarettes and aftershave) a bit deeper, appreciated everything just a little more.

July 22. The worst day of my life. There are not enough words in the world. That's really all I have to say about it. Less than 12 hours later and I'm headed again, coast to coast. After a day of crying and sobbing and whatever else people do when they begin to grieve, I spent the evening on an airplane with my cousin. And in the light of awful and unbelievable tragedy, we laughed. We laughed a lot. We laughed until people thought we were drunk. But instead, we laughed because we didn't know what else to do. But having a friend to sit next to you and laugh with you and understand your silent pain – it's beautiful. And because we were sitting in an exit row, I had to hide my baby bump every time the flight attendant walked by. Having a friend to laugh at that, to keep your mind busy, to share your insanity – it's beautiful, really.

And an incredible thing happened on that plane ride – a few incredible things, in fact. We hit turbulence, worse than I'd ever felt before. And out the window, we watched a lightning storm below us – a fascinating view, with a hint of fear etched in the back of my mind. And then it happened. I felt a feeling, like someone was tickling me from the inside. And I realized it was my sweet baby – the first movement of my girl (only 48 hours earlier, we had learned it was a girl). A little eerie, looking back on the whole situation. When one life ends, another begins – a dark and magical and defining moment.

I'm not sure I can relive the details of the funeral, nor do I want to. I think about it enough – almost every time I close my eyes. Skip ahead four months. Childbirth... there are, again, no words.

Motherhood is wonderful. And hard. So hard. It's not always snuggles and rainbows and whatever else people make motherhood out to be. Don't get me wrong. There's a lot of snuggles. A LOT. But it's hard, and don't let anyone tell you otherwise. Because they're lying. Tears and laughter (from baby and mother alike) have packed our past four months, but it has been an incredible ride.

Today, something amazing happened. Maybe it won't be amazing to you, but it was amazing to me. My sweet babe rolled over, all by herself. And you know what I was doing? I was on the computer, checking my email. Seriously. Nothing says awful mother like deleting spam while my kid is achieving a milestone. And I'm pretty sure I'll never forget that moment, when I walked in to her on her belly (both arms out and all – a big step for a little baby). I almost cried (sad tears, for being busy with something so meaningless) when I should have been sitting there, cheering her on with happy tears.

But that's what motherhood is, I've learned. And that's what life is, really. Time passing too quickly. Blinking and missing the most important things. Moving too fast, with such insignificance, that we miss the big things. Like rolling over, or the last hug.

My sweet girl.  In her daddy's Air Force hat and her grandpa's Air Force dog tags.

Life and death and beauty.

Something 'bout an airport...

Something about an airport makes me want to blog. People are just fascinating.

Currently I’m being a creep (what's new) as I sit here and watch these two adorable twin boys (adorable like I almost want to shove them in my pockets and take them home with me... almost...) as they stare out the window. I’ve never seen a human being more excited about an airplane in my life. And for once, children in the airport are NOT driving me absolutely insane. Instead, they’re just entertaining. I can tell they’ve just learned to talk and I have a feeling “airplane” may have been their first words.

I remember the days when I got so excited about something so little (not that an airplane is little, but you get the point). If more people got excited about things like airplanes, or you know, whatever else, the world would be a happier place. Just ask the twin boys in matching green IRELAND t-shirts in the Logan Airport.

After 12 days of being home to visit family (one last time before we leave California!), I’m finally headed home. Time flew by too quickly, as it always does, and I’m not especially ready to head home. I do miss my mister, though, and of course my cats (crazy cat lady status).

It’s going to be a long night and already at this point, I can hear our TempurPedic calling my name. I know, sweet bed, I miss you too.

Until next time...

What's Up, Buttercup?

Hi bloggies (noun; people that read blogs – I just made that up), it’s been a while. I bet you’re wondering where I’ve been and what I’ve been up to. Wonder no more. I’ll fill you in.

Life has just been… life. I’m still cranking away on my school work. I finally got my Associate’s Degree. It only took me 14 years (it felt like that long, anyway). I’m working on midterms right now for two completely random, but equally interesting classes. Midterms suck, though, no matter how interesting the subject is, or how smart you are, or how lazy you are and don’t read the chapters ever ever ever. My sweet mister is just about to graduate from an intense, year-long class of learning to speak another language. He is so incredibly smart that it makes me feel bad about myself. I can’t even speak proper English half the time, and he’s heading into class number two (which will make him trilingual by the end of the summer… yeah, TRI). I’m counting down the days until my mom is here to visit and to watch the mister graduate. I’m practically counting down the hours, at this point. I’m so excited and ready for a little fun in my lackluster daily schedule (and a shopping buddy that appreciates a solid trip to Goodwill). If the mister was any other branch besides the AF, we would be packing our house as we speak, getting ready to make a big move. Instead, we wait until August, which sucks… but it could certainly be worse. I’m planning the road trip of a lifetime for the beginning of August with my best friend. Can I say “road trip of a lifetime” if I just made this near-exact coast-to-coast trip last March? Sure I can. This road trip will include my bestie (yep, I said it) turning 21 in Las Vegas. There are no words for what kind of experience this is shaping up to be.

The things that are new in my life include the following: I turned 22 since I last posted. It wasn’t as painful as I thought it would be. I played a role in the best couple’s massage to ever occur on this Earth, which happened to fall on my birthday evening. I practically melted into the massage table, and there was never a sadder time in my life when she told us it was over. My mister bought me the softest, comfiest sweatpants ever for my birthday. I haven’t taken them off since. Am I joking? No. I am still wearing them… cranking on 28 days in a row. I’ve been to the doctors twice, which is almost a record for me. We bought a new bed. I’ve never felt lazier and more comfy in my life. It was worth every single penny that we have to pay for the next 20 years (2 years, whatever). I’ve been renting Gilmore Girls from the library – they own all seven seasons and I’m only halfway through number two. I forgot how much I love Rory and Lorelai Gilmore. Also – Melissa McCarthy is in it, in case you’ve forgotten. I’ve recently watched her on Ellen and Identity Thief, and discovered just how awesome she really is. I’ve decided to finish reading the 50 Shades trilogy. I made it halfway through book two and got incredibly, six-month-long sidetracked. I got a new phone with a frontward facing camera, so brace yourself for a million selfies. I bought plane tickets to visit my sweet fam in April. This will be my final coast-to-coast trip for the rest of my life, I hope. Oh yeah, and I bought a flag to accompany the empty flag pole bracket that’s been on the front of our house since we moved in. A Maine flag. Represent.

I haven't showered yet BUT this is a no-judgement zone... right?

PS - The "What's Up, Buttercup?" title came from one of my absolute favoritest TV shows of all time, The Big Bang Theory. Here's the video. I could've used "What's the Gist, Physicist?" but I didn't because I don't know any physicists. Just buttercups.

Hangover Memories

At this time last year, this Super Bowl Sunday when my dear Patriots were actually standing a chance, I was dying. I was so sick that I was pretty sure I was just dying. The night before had been my birthday – take a guess what age. I thought I’d known hangover in the past, that slightly gross feeling in the pit of your stomach, the nauseated feeling at every nasty smell, the pounding headache. No. I was wrong. On this Sunday last year, I think I was hit by a bus in my sleep, and nobody ever filled me in on the events.

At midnight:02, the night/morning I turned 21, I was at a Cumberland Farms buying Smirnoff and Captain Morgan’s. I drank until 5AM, watched all the Paranormal Activities… and don’t remember them being that scary (it must have been the alcohol – I still, to this day, will never watch those again). I slept for about 2 hours, went to lunch, already didn’t feel great, and then the night began. My 21^st birthday started (again) at a charity event where I inhaled some free wine, red and white alike, even though I hate wine. I practically had to plug my nose to get it down, but it was alcohol, and it was free, and I was legal. So whatever. I partied with my mom all night, which would sound lame to most people… unless you know my mom. I also partied with my in-laws. Just me, my mom, my MIL and my FIL. Seriously. And I loved every second of it. Started with wine, moved to tequila, and rum shots, and vodka, and ended on tequila. So… yeah. I feel like this story tells itself.

Reminiscing on the day I was hit by a bus (metaphorically, of course, unless you believe that I may have actually been hit by a bus – because I’m sticking to that story). I laid in bed from 7:30 til 4:00 in the afternoon, just praying I could finally vomit my brains out and feel a little better (sorry for that image). I talked to my mister for a while, though, so that was nice. He was at boot camp, so my long day of dying in bed also consisted of me wanting to cry for my husband – kind of like a baby. It was Super Bowl day, so at 4:00, I dragged my dying self out of bed, drove to my mom’s in my pajamas, watched the Patriots (lose – my heart still breaks a little bit every day), probably cried my way home, and went back to sleep. Today should be a little better – I hope. Today I plan to eat my body weight in calories, maybe more if I’m lucky, and finish all the alcohol in my fridge, because I’m sick of staring at vodka bottles with less than a tablespoon of liquid left in them.

But I can’t help but to think of what the last year has done for me. It’s crazy, really. I never wrote a “2012 Recap” like I wanted to, but I’ve been slacking, what can I say? So 2012 in a nutshell: boot camp, turning 21, moving, road trip with my mom (Niagara Falls, St. Louis Arch, Kansas City Bombing Memorial, Sedona AZ, Grand Canyon, Vegas), California, new home, two new cats, 4 round trip flights from CA-ME, my degree, fireworks over the Bay Bridge and a scary San Fran night (see previous blog post). And a bunch more things, obviously. But that’s what comes to mind.

So what can 2013 to bring to possibly top that? I mean, I have some ideas, so we’ll see... :) But to begin the list, tomorrow I turn 22. For the first time in my life, I’m not super excited about a birthday. Damn you growing up. After 21, I feel like there’s not much to look forward to except adult stuff. Like lowered car insurance at 25. But guess what? I’m pumped about that. PUMPED.

*Disclaimer: I do not drink that much. Ever, really. But it was my 21^st birthday, so cut me some slack. And today – even though “finishing all that alcohol in my fridge” is the ultimate alcoholic statement, I probably won’t even be buzzed… which might be a problem if the 49ers lose, because I’ll be coming home with a very upset mister.*

*Disclaimer #2: I’m going to stop drinking after today. Seriously. For a while anyway. Another alcoholic statement if I’ve ever heard one, but the difference is, I’m serious.*

We spent a solid 30 minutes in this bathroom taking pictures, as a result of the free wine...

Going, going... gone.

Rosy cheeks should give it away. But look at that cheezin' smile. Every single picture...

Is this real life?

Growing up with a mom who doubles as a nurse, I went to the doctor’s office maybe… 4 times. And the first time I went to the Emergency Room was when I was 19, and it’s because I drove myself there. So when my mom tells me I should go to the doctor, I get my butt to the doctor.

I couldn’t even explain to you if I tried – but military insurance is very confusing. First thing this morning, I had to drive up to the grocery store to make a million phone calls (because I get absolutely no reception at my house – like, negative bars, seriously). I couldn’t get into my doctor for three weeks (what kind of crazy is that?) so I received an authorization to go to urgent care (not of my choice, but of Tricare’s choice… hello red flag).

I’ve never been to an urgent care because I don’t even think they exist in the little tiny state I grew up in. So I finally get to the sketchy-looking office, fill out 74 pages of paperwork (almost literally), and sit. And wait. And wait. And probably catch the flu from all the hacking, sneezing, nasty-breathing people in the waiting room with me. An hour goes by and my phone is dying, which makes me have a slight panic attack (I’m addicted to technology… don’t judge me). Almost another hour goes by and they call my name. As I stand up, a man walks through the door with a handful of bloody tissues, and they rush him in ahead of me, instructing me to take a seat (yep, again). Yeah, because a finger almost sliced off is as important as my sore throat. Deep sigh, followed by coughing.

I finally get called again, this time without any bloody interruptions (hahaha, I crack myself up). The sweet lady calls me to the scale and kindly says, “Would you like to step on?” Is this real life? Is she serious? Would I like to weigh myself? Hi, I’m a female, nice to meet you. I look at her and uncomfortably laugh. “Should I take my boots off?” She smiles and tells me to do whatever I want. I want to take my boots off, and my pants, and my jacket, and my socks, and my shirt, and ten pounds, whatever else is about to accompany me to the scale. But I slide my boots off and stare down the face of the devil. The lady tells me that she’ll set my purse on the floor for me. You know what… I wasn’t feeling terrible enough about this entire situation, so yes, I’d love to stick my new/pricey Coach purse on this germ-infested floor. As if she reads my mind, she says, “This purse is too pretty to be on the floor. I’ll hold it.” Thank you, sweet angel… the highlight of my day.

I get into a small waiting room where she takes my BP, heart rate, temperature, and whatever else doctors do. I had a small fever, which secretly made me happy, because up until this point, I thought I might have been exaggerating/imagining my sickness. She informs me that the doctor will be in shortly, and leaves. I sit. And wait. And wait. And crinkle the annoying paper on the table. And crinkle some more. And I feel like the paper is crinkling with every breath I take. And the crinkling is giving me a migraine. I relocate to the chair designated for the doctor, I learn later, where I sit. And wait. And wait. And then I notice a colony of ants on the sink. How unsanitary, right? I follow their trail and see they are coming from a crack in the cheesy linoleum flooring. Yep, that’s just what I want to see in a medical office. Ants. Lovely.

I wait for another 40 minutes. I lay my head against the wall, remembering that I slept for about 2 hours last night in between my coughing fits and reruns of Roseanne. Then I sit up straight and have a weird fear that ants crawled in my hair. I start to get antsy (pun intended… I’m so lame) and get sidetracked with a disgusting box of BIOHAZARD needles. Gross. I hate the doctor’s office, in case you missed that memo. I start to get nosey and open cabinets underneath the sink. Begin déjà vu. I am such my mother’s child. I remember being younger and sitting in the doctor’s office (you know, those 4 times) and my mom would be poking around the drawers. I’d freak out like we were going to get arrested. And here I am doing it myself.

The doctor finally comes in and again, “Is this real life?” The doctor is a middle-aged Asian man, with long curly black and grey hair. He’s wearing a purple shirt with horizontal stripes and a blue tie with vertical stripes. That should say enough. He’s also wearing high-water pants (expecting a flood?) that are black… with dark blue socks… vomit. I hate that, in case you’ve never met me.

But I don’t judge people based on their terrible ability to match stripes with stripes, so myself and my open mind smile – and then, as life would have it, I have a hard time understanding him, which sucks for me because I feel like I’m missing something important. He tells me about how he’s feeling sick himself, living off cough drops and fighting the dry cough. Yay – that makes me feel better. Before I finish telling him my symptoms, he tells me it’s Bronchitis with a hint of asthma... whatever that means.

He assigns me a cocktail of prescriptions and inhalers, and in comes a medical assistant who looks younger than me. However, he’s wearing matching scrubs (no crazy array of stripes) so I feel more comfortable with him. I do a weird lung capacity test, and I fail miserably. Breathing at a lung capacity 29% lower than I should be, sick and all, he tells me that if I can’t pass, I’ll have to do a breathing treatment that’ll take another 45 minutes. After three hours of this ant-infested office, I’m ready to go. I give one more big breath, see a few stars, and hit 82%. I passed, and in result, came very close to passing out.

I’m finally on my way, and the rest of my afternoon is a strange whirlwind of “Is this real life?” type events. My phone dies exactly as my cousin is telling me the most important part of our conversation and then my prescriptions are nowhere to be seen at the pharmacy. My life. So now I’m home and watching Parenthood… absolutely the highlight of this off day. I just had a small cough attack where I was pretty sure my life was over. The inhalers didn’t do a thing… maybe I’m doing it wrong. 

Ants. On the sink. You know, where people wash their hands.

Friends with Friends

Last night I had a dream that I was the 7^th friend in Friends – my absolute favorite television show of all time, in case you’ve never met me. I was pregnant in the dream, which was weird and scary and confusing, and Phoebe just kept telling me how painful childbirth was, because “trust her, she’s had 3 babies.” We were sitting on the couch in the Central Perk coffeehouse drinking coffee, which is weird because I hate coffee and I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to avoid coffee when you’re pregnant (I’m not really pregnant – it was just a dream – in case I need to clarify). And Joey kept saying “How you doin’?” and Chandler kept making cute eyes at me and Ross was talking about dinosaur things, and guess what? Dinosaur things are as boring in a dream as they make it look on TV. And it must have been Christmas because I woke up with “Noel” stuck in my head. I hate that song.

I have no idea where that dream came from. I haven’t even watched an excessive amount of Friends in, like, days. I really am obsessed with that show. I am in the process of owning all 10 seasons – one by one, I buy them on eBay as I finish re-watching them. I’m a freak. I also watch 2 hours of random re-runs every day on TBS from 1:00 – 3:00 pm. Pitiful, I know.

I’m guessing the dream came from an overload combination of Robitussin and Mucinex and Nyquil and multivitamins and cough drops and orange juice and Gatorade, because that’s been my life for the past 3 days. I’m surprisingly getting worse every day, so that sucks. 50% of the day, I sound like a man with a deep voice, and the other 50% of the day, I have no voice at all. I bet the mister appreciates that – the no voice, not the man voice.

All joking aside, he has been a wonderful mister. When I’m sick, I’m the world’s biggest baby, and I deserve the #1 COMPLAINER ribbon. He stayed home with me all weekend, cuddled up in pajamas, cooked dinner, watched my girly movies, listened to my terrible predictions during the Golden Globes (by the way, how about Jodi Foster?) and listened to me (try to) scream at the TV during the Patriots game. He’s a keeper. (I’m predicting 49ers v. Patriots on February 3^rd, with a big fat Patriots win, of course. It’ll be interesting because the mister is just about as die-hard 49ers as I am Patriots).

So my life has been being sicky and having weird Friends dreams and starting school this morning (sad face) and taking medicine and watching so much football and laughing at Amy Poehler and Tina Fey rock it on the Golden Globes (two of my four girl crushes – the other two are Katy Perry and Jennifer Aniston).

A few laughs to get you through the afternoon. You are so welcome.

Little Fish in a Big Sea

In case you read my farewell to 2012, let me update you on what ACTUALLY happened, because, you know, fireworks over the Golden Gate Bridge just sounded too good to be true, right?

It was actually fireworks over the Bay Bridge.

But settle your jealous bones. When you are as sheltered as myself and my mister, you tend to feel slightly out of place with 200,000 San Franciscans (is that what you call them?) on your heels. So here’s the story of how our night went down.

A very kind shuttle driver informed us that we were absolutely nuts if we thought driving into San Fran on New Year’s Eve was even close to a good idea, so he taught us about the BART, the Bay Area something something… the subway/train/whatever. So we did that, and that was an adventure in itself. It should be easy enough for two adults, you know, to figure out how to get 10 miles from our hotel to the city. So we finally get on the BART, 45 minutes later than we had planned, because everyone else in San Fran had the same idea. It wasn’t too difficult, except for the fact that we didn’t know what stop was which, and for about 35 minutes we assumed that we were going to end up in downtown Oakland after dark… NO thank you. I hate the Raiders, so I just assume that I’d hate Oakland an equal amount.

After we finally get off, stupid iPhone Mapquest takes us around the block twice, only to end up at the BART station again.  Thanks MQ, you suck. It’s dark and chilly and the roads are crowded and two miles later, we find the Ferry Building, which sits just off to the left of the Bay Bridge. A pretty view – but I insist to the mister that I read online, PIER 41 is the place to hear the music that is synced to the fireworks, so we walk. And we walk. And we walk some more. A nice man on a bicycle taxi of some sort tells us that Pier 41 is “only about a mile” from our current location, and even though we’d already walked about 3 (in Ugg boots, by the way), we continue. And it gets chillier. And I have to pee (what the hell is new, right friends?) and there are a million people (maybe a thousand, whatever) surrounding me. We see a cute place to maybe stop and get drinks, but continue on to “make sure we get a good view.”

So we walk and walk and walk, like I mentioned, and our feet hurt, and we FINALLY end up at 41, and there are only about ten people there. Well that’s confusing, since this is the prime location to see the fireworks according to the ‘net. So we sit, and we start to freeze from that oh-so-fresh ocean breeze at 10:45pm, and I start to Google, and my cheeks blush, and I’m afraid to tell my husband that I have just diagnosed myself with dyslexia – Pier 41 and Pier 14 are two totally different locations, it turns out. And in the moment I realized I miscalculated by about 1.5 miles, all I want to do is be in my bed, or the hotel bed, or really anywhere but Pier 41. So we walk again. And it starts to feel much more “city-ish” as a ridiculous amount of police and fire and ambulance lights go flying by us, down the middle of two lanes and almost running over a handful of drunken pedestrians. And as we get closer, I get a little more scared. That “cute little place to get a drink” I mentioned earlier is now surrounded with CAUTION tape and those hundred police/fire/ambulance lights we just passed. Policemen are screaming at people and I suddenly feel like San Francisco is not so great after all.

We hurry down the road and finally end up at Pier 9, standing on the sidewalk freezing our booties off as we wait for the stupid fireworks to start. We’re both grumpy and tired and frozen solid and there are too many people, and oh yeah – we are SO not city people. But I do have to say, this was our first New Year’s Eve together, and the fireworks start, and I got my midnight kiss, and we had a pretty great view – fireworks right over the BAY Bridge (not the GG Bridge like I insisted in my ADIOS 2012 post… I suck).

And we walk back another 2 miles to the BART station down dark allies and past drunken chicks hanging out of car windows, screaming a random assortment of New Year’s cheers. And I’m pretty sure I saw some hookers, so that was new.

And we end up back at our hotel two hours past midnight, and we are thankful that we didn’t fall asleep on the BART, because that was a very realistic possibility.

And the next morning, I see on the news that a man was shot at the Pier 23 restaurant (that “cute little place to get drinks” we almost went to and later saw all the emergency crews at) and they couldn’t find the gunman in the mass amount of people on the Embarcadero (you know, exactly where we were chillin’ all night)…

Hi I’m Kaila and I hate the city.

 Our view from the sidewalk.

This was us in our warm, comfy, safe hotel room - if we had only known what we were getting ourselves into...

Adios 2012

Officially halfway through the longest flight of my life – somewhere between Boston and San Fran, my mind is thinking three things. One – I can’t believe 2012 is just about over. Thinking about where we were a year ago today blows my mind. I was at my grandmother’s house with my cousins, completely heartbroken that my dear sweet mister had just left for boot camp. I wasn’t adjusting well to being by myself. The second thing I’m thinking is what in the world 2013 will bring. This year, I moved across the country, thousands of miles from everyone and everything I’ve ever known. The mister and I moved into a new house, and shortly made it a home, although I will always consider the good ol’ 207 our “home.” And the third thing I’m thinking – I’m freaking tired. I can’t wait to get back to our hotel and sleep, and sleep, and sleep some more. Being on vacation is exhausting.

This will be the first New Year’s Eve we’ve ever actually spent together, and what better way to spend it than… fireworks? Sure, sounds fun. How about fireworks over the Golden Gate Bridge? What, like that’s a big deal or something? Hahaha, sorry, just rubbing it in. Although I hate being in California, and so far away from everyone I love, without my mister and his amazingly smart little self, I would never get this opportunity. Who else gets to say they have watched fireworks at the stroke of midnight under the Golden Gate Bridge with the love of their life? Counting my blessings today, for sure.

Yesterday, I had to say goodbye to my family (including my mom, which was the hardest part, by the way). I’ve now “said goodbye” 4 times this year. I’ve also traveled East Coast to West, West Coast to East, 5 times since New Year’s Eve last year. I am so lucky, I know. Saying goodbye to my family really sucks, and there isn’t any way to sugar coat that. It just sucks. I always end up crying, and tearing up hours later thinking about it, but that’s life. Being an adult is no fun most of the time, but the few times it is fun include – right now. Living in California (although I hate California), driving up the Pacific Coast Highway 1 (to our house), watching fireworks in San Fran at midnight on New Year’s Eve (almost as good as being in Times Square for the ball drop – another life goal of mine), and taking a five hour nap in a comfy hotel bed (that’s what I’m hoping for, at least).

So although I already miss you all in Maine – mommy, sister #2, and 3, littlest sister, my nana, my new baby cousin and the rest of my fam, my second family, my best friend, and you know… whoever else I missed, it won’t be long ‘til we’re in our next stage of this growing up thing. I’m just praying the next stage happens on the East Coast (if I say that enough, I feel like the universe will just give it to me… do things like that happen?... East Coast East Coast East Coast East Coast…).

Happy New Year’s to you all. I could be all responsible and such, and say “Don’t drink and drive, be safe, don’t alcohol-poison yourself, don’t get date-rape drugged” or anything of the sort, but instead I’ll just say, see ya next year ;)

PS – We made it to the hotel. We are taking the BART into town tonight… hoping we don’t miss our exit or we’ll end up in Oakland after dark. How scary would that be? Then again, it’d make for a great blog… you know, if I made it out alive. I am in my pajamas, not napping (sad face) because I’m waiting for $25 worth of Domino’s pizza (happy/fat girl face). I’ll let you know how it all turns out.

PS #2 – My New Year’s Resolution is to keep up with my blog more than I have been lately. And also to lose weight. I think that’s everyone’s NYR at some point (or every year, if you’re me).

PS #3 – I'm glad the world didn't end this year. I don't know where that random thought came from. Don't mind me... I'm a little overtired...

I sincerely SUCK at taking pictures of fireworks, so I'll just leave you with this and promise you that I'll never capture something so awesome on camera.

Mourning on the Inside

I feel as if I should address the heartbreaking events of poor Newtown, CT on Friday. Except… I have nothing to say. No words in the entire English language, or any language, can make sense of what happened, can make excuses for the events that unfolded, and can make a grieving family forgive and forget. There’s nothing.

Mourning on the inside – that’s what I’m doing. I cannot even fathom. But “BREAKING NEWS” updates every five minutes, about his mother and his outfit of choice and the heroes and the interviews – that’s not doing it for me. All that does is bring more attention, more crushing reminder, that this is the world we live in. I’m proud of the incredible amount of support people are already providing – and knowing that there are so many great people left in the world – but I’m still crushed, afraid, frightened for everyone – that there are other people who are not that great. I just can’t think about it anymore.

Late Friday night, I watched the Dateline update where they were interviewing children, whose voices were so shaky that you could barely understand their words. I changed it to a stupid Howie Mandell game show within ten minutes, because I’d rather drown out the sounds of people being greedy on national television than be sucked into the craziness of real life. It’s sad, and I felt guilty for changing the channel, but I just couldn’t do it.

I skyped with my four year old sister a few times this past week. And when I see the innocent faces, the ages, the victims, all through the media – she’s all I can think of. She’s so innocent and sweet and has so much more life to live. As did they. And it breaks my heart, because when I hear “20 children,” I see her face. And I just can’t imagine.

I did steal this from Google Images. Please don't prosecute me.

Happy Birthday to You

Today is a special day. Today is the anniversary of the first date I ever went on with my mister… a triple date to a ghetto bowling alley with some great friends where I already knew I was in love. When they dropped us girls off, it was snowing for the first time that year – something so romantic about the first snow of the season. A kiss I’ll never forget marked the day I knew I’d met my soul mate.

That was a huge tangent for the fact that TODAY is the birthday of one of my favorite people in the entire world. And her name is mom.

At my wedding, I did a speech about how my mom was my “superwoman,” and there has never been a truer statement. She is the bomb. Do people still say that? Anyway, I think this is the first year I’ve been away from my mom on a birthday (well, except for a few years back when I was out bowling with the mister on our first date – see above – but I bet she forgives me for that one). I wish I could be home to buy her a nice strong drink or two (or three, or four) and dance our butts off, because I know that’s what we’d be doing.

Lately, being in California has been a little more soul-crushing than normal. A phone call from my princess of a 4 year-old sister begging me to come see her broke my heart a few days ago, and I’ve since been missing my family more than normal. I’m already counting down the days until I get to squeeze all of their cute little faces.

But enough about me. On a serious note, my mom is the best. A few days ago, we Skyped at 1am (my time… so 4am East Coast time in case you suck at math). We may or may not have been under the influence of a few alcoholic beverages and also eating a ton of pizza… like mother, like daughter. I'm pretty sure we "cheers"ed each other with pizza slices. I couldn’t stop looking at myself on the camera, so she got a close up of my eyeball a few times. And all she could say to her friend was, “Look how cute she is!”

Earlier this week, she found out that she got a dream job, and I am just too excited for her. There is no one more deserving. She is the hardest working person I have ever met (and the best nurse, for sure). She’s not afraid to whip you into shape, and I’m so thankful I had that growing up. When I went through some rough years in high school, where the people I thought I loved most were bailing on me left and right, my mom was there. I was a complete b@#$% to her and she loved me anyway. That’s rough, because sometimes people are b@#$%!s to me and I hate them for it. She’s been through hell and back in her life, and she still rocks it every single day. That’s impressive… when I stub my toe, I’m pissed for a week.

So happy birthday to the most kick-ass woman I’ve ever met – my superwoman. What are you, like 29 today?

PS – She also makes some awesome kids. Just sayin’…

This is my 21st birthday... she's so damn cool.

Just some more partying and dancing... kinda what we do best.

The birthday card I sent her... so much better than something cheesy and lovey-dovey, don't you agree? :)

A Quick Turkey Day Update

Things I am thankful for:

The usual – my mister. My mom. My whole family, actually. My friends – all 5 of them, or something sad like that. My pretty awesome life.

The unusual – my comfy yoga pants and fuzzy Christmas sock combination. My new found ability to make gingerbread cookies (even though it looks like the icing monster threw up all over them). Not having to cook dinner tonight. Buffalo Wild Wings for dinner tonight. The fact that I don’t have to cook turkey tomorrow. The fact that I get to eat turkey tomorrow. A long weekend with my mister. Seeing my cousin this weekend. My kitties. Having no school work due this week. The fact that my diet is OVER today. The fact that I lost 7.8 pounds and 5 inches in 30 days. The fact that I don’t have to calorie-count anymore (what a pain in the…). The fact that we leave for Maine in a month from tomorrow! Knowing that all my closest family is together for the holiday (except me – sad face). Having California friends to spend Thanksgiving with. Having a roof over my head. Having food, including cookies and chocolate cream pie, in my fridge. The fact that listening to Christmas music will be socially acceptable once turkey day is over.

…and so on.

P.S. It’s pitiful that half of what I’m thankful for revolves around food. I promise I'm not that shallow.

The first day after a 30 day diet? You betcha.

The Post Office Extravaganza

You’ll probably laugh at this, but let me tell you, I cried. I literally cried.

My Tuesday started out pretty solid – a sunny day and a 2 mile walk, then planning Thanksgiving dinner with a few friends. Later in the afternoon, I had a bunch of errands to run (which really only included going to the post office and then the craft store to spend too much money on crafts I really can’t handle). I headed out, and “Wow it’s a little chilly. I should have grabbed my jacket.” (Foreshadowing?)

I went to the post office in the town north of me, not in my town, because I was going to the craft store on the way home. I’m always a little afraid to go to this post office because a few months ago, someone got shot in the parking lot right across the street. Ghetto. So I go to the post office, and I have to send out two big packages. Of course I can’t balance my purse, my phone, my keys, my wallet, and the two packages, so I wrap my wallet handle around my wrist and head inside. After a ten minute wait, I pay and head to the car. Before I get outside, I reach for my keys. I always (ALWAYS) hang my keys from my right belt loop when I don’t have my purse. No keys. You know that instant feeling where something’s wrong?  Yeah, me too.

I (practically) run to the car and there are my keys. And my phone. And my purse. Sitting on the front seat. !@#$%^&* (That’s me saving your virgin little ears from the all the curse words that came out of my sailor’s mouth). So a slight panic sets in, but I remember, “I have roadside assistance!” Except… the phone number, and my account number, and my PHONE, are all in the car. No worries – there’s a payphone, and I do have my wallet. Except no change. Not even a damn quarter.

So as my eyes start welling up with tears (I’m a big baby), I start panicking. What the hell am I going to do? I go inside and it takes everything in my power to hold back my tears as I ask the post office lady to use the phone. She hands me her own cell phone, and it’s one of those old-school flip phones. I almost can’t remember how to use one. I call the mister. Seven times. No answer. I finally leave him a message and I’m half crying, half sniffling on my voicemail. I walk outside like a lost puppy, and in my most uncomfortable shoes and no jacket, I walk. I ended up walking to Goodwill… don’t ask why. I ask to use their phone, and FINALLY, my mister answers his cell phone. 

I lucked out, BIG TIME, because it just happened to be the day he was out of work way early (which never happens). He assures me that he will come rescue me soon. Thank god for the fact that I have friends, even if it’s just two, in California. They finally showed up, without a spare key, because of course, we aren’t smart enough to have a spare key. Spare keys are for losers. Thankfully, again, the mister has a phone with the internet. And thankfully again (I was just full of thanks), our insurance company rocks. They tracked my location and sent a guy. It took the guy almost an hour, of course, so the mister and I hung out in the post office parking lot (how creepy are we). Once the tow guy finally showed up, it takes all of one minute to open the door. The worst, and yet, the best.

Okay, I realize now when I put it into words – it doesn’t seem nearly as traumatic. But all I could think was, “What if the mister hadn’t answered his phone? What in the world would I have done? I could have been kidnapped. Or shot. Or I could have frozen to death.” I’m lucky I even remembered his cell phone number. The only other person I could think to call was my mom (3,500 miles away on the East Coast) and cry to her. I’m secretly a big fat baby at heart.

And also, I didn’t get to go to the craft store. So that sucked.

I do feel like I complain a lot. But that's what blogs are for, right?

Rice Cakes at the BK Lounge

Wondering where I’ve been for the last two weeks? No worries, I’ll fill ya in.

Since my last post (I think I was making shadow puppets?), I’ve been super busy. I’m actually not sure what I’ve been doing, but I feel like I’ve been super busy. Midterms and dieting and (trying to) exercise more and cooking and buying cats and following the election and visiting with family. A few Mondays ago, my cousin drove three hours (one way) to visit with me for about 24 hours. We ended up exploring a richy-rich town south of me and found a beautiful beach overlooking the greens of Pebble Beach golf course. A ton of surfers in the water, cousin says, “I want to see a shark attack.” And… I kid you not, within ten seconds, I see a circle of fins within a hundred from the surfers. “NO @#!$%^& WAY!”… Good thing there were no children around. I have the worst potty mouth ever. Relax, all. I didn’t witness a bloody surfer massacre. They were dolphins, and I am still way too excited about seeing said dolphins. I think I bring it up in conversation once a day.

I also got a kitten. Again. You may be asking yourself, “Didn’t she just get a kitten a few months ago?” The answer is yes. I am becoming a crazy cat lady. Around Halloween, the SPCA was having an “Happy Meow-loween” event and cats/kittens were on sale. I love sales, and cats/kittens, and the adorableness of the word “Meow-loween.” Anyway, my new kitten’s name is finally decided, and it’s Toby (Tobes for an annoying but cute nickname). My other cat is Fiona (Feeny for short). Feeny & Tobes are finally starting to accept each other. I wouldn’t go as far as “love” each other… but they’re becoming accepting of the fact that they’re roommates. Following all this blah blah blah will be an amazing video about a crazy cat lady. My best friend sent me this via FB about two weeks ago, and I almost died of laughter. I know that’s what people always say, but I’m not kidding. I almost died. Okay, I didn’t almost die. I almost peed though. I almost peed right in my pants.

Also, as I’m sure you all know from annoying commercials and lawn signs and crude FB posts, the election was this week. I won’t discuss politics. JK… I’ll say a few things. This week, specifically on Tuesday night, I was damn proud to be an American. And a Mainer (always a Mainer at heart, even if I live in California. Don’t ask questions). I was a strong Obama supporter because I love my body and I respect women and their rights, and it was evident to me that some people thought differently. And on another note, my home state voted yes on 1 – which was the topic of gay marriage. I can’t imagine NOT being allowed to marry my mister. Although he is of the opposite sex , IF he were a woman… I would probably love him the same. Probably.

And on another note, I’ve been on this “diet” of sorts for the past three weeks. Someone told me that I needed to get the “diet” idea out of my head and just learn that it’s a way of life, but I don’t really know how to explain that to people when I explain why I can’t eat a hundred pounds of stuff-crust Pizza Hut pizza like I’m dying for. So the diet/lifestyle/whatever you want to call it is a shake meal replacement program (called Visalus, in case you were wondering), and it really is great. It takes a TON of self-control for me to behave (food-wise), but my mister is super-supportive, so I’ve been doing alright. Last night at Burger King… I even ate a rice cake while my sister ate BK dinner. And on to my next point…

My youngest sister, a junior in high school, is currently in California visiting two different colleges with a group of people from her school/church. They flew into LAX, which is about 6 hours south of me, but then drove up to San Jose, which is an hour north of me. What are the chances? I drove up there yesterday afternoon to grab her and drive her all the way back to Monterey to show her my house, my mall, my Coldstone and my pizza place, my ocean, and my sea lions. We spent two hours in Monterey before we had to drive back. 302 miles of driving… lucky I drive a 4 cylinder. When we got back to San Jose, she needed dinner, so we headed to the BK lounge. And what are the chances… I’m sitting and eating my stupid dry rice cake and she comes over to me… and says, “Chicken sandwiches are buy one, get one free today!” and hands me a damn sandwich. And boy was she persistent on forcing me to eat it. And guess what? I DIDN’T! (Well, I had a nibble). But overall, I DIDN’T EAT THE SANDWICH. And that’s a big deal to me. #selfcontrolforthewin #yesijusthashtaggedinmyblog #donthateme

And speaking of annoying hash tags, I am newly addicted to Instagram. So stalk me please. @kbmasters24

Rice cake at the BK. No joke.

Feeny being lazy and Tobes photo-bombing.

My sis! <3

This is the link to the cat video. Please watch it. It'll change your life.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mTTwcCVajAc&feature=youtu.be

Slackin'

Dear world,

I'm super-slacking on my blog lately. I'd love to say that my life's been super crazy busy and I've had no blog time. However, that may not be true...

This is a short blog entry about what I promise to do sometime in the next few weeks. I promise to write a blog about my new kitty friend and include a hilarious video that my best friend sent me. I'm slowly turning into a crazy cat lady.

I will also write a blog, someday, about my upcoming (like, tomorrow) visit with sister numero two. She's traveling all the way from Maine to California to visit a few colleges, and ends up an hour north of me. YAY for sister time.

So for now, that's all I got. My battery is dying and this is a race against the clock to even post this. Wish me luck. Also, I can't stand the internet for one more minute. Too many people reminding me to vote, and bitching about the election. I think I'll just go shopping instead. Don't worry, I voted three weeks ago. Not so slacker-ish, after all.

Peace, friends. 

Yep, I just said that.

HAH - a little election humor for your Tuesday afternoon.

Weird and Crazy and Crazy and Weird

I don’t understand why I have any friends. Or why people talk to me. Because I’m so weird. So so so weird. And within the last 24 hours, I’ve thought “Wow, I’m so weird,” or “Wow, I’m going crazy” way too many times.

Last night, the mister and I were so incredibly tired, and as we collapsed into bed, something about the position of the lamp and the big empty canvas of a wall motivated us to play shadow puppets. Like children. I love him because we are both absolutely little tiny children at heart. We did this for way too long. There’s a video attached of him being… some animal. He also did a bunny, which turned into a “ghetto bunny.” Please don’t ask. That was the art of his brain, not mine. He then proceeded to sing a line from “In the Ghetto” by the king of Rock n’ Roll himself, good ol’ Elvis Presley. See – the mister is just as weird as I am. Thank the lord. And the only shadow puppet I could do was a dinosaur-ish animal that just wanted to eat all of the mister’s animals. So so so weird. Also, I couldn’t stop looking at how huge my legs/feet looked in the shadow on the wall. “Look at those puppies – they’re like a size 13.”

Moving on to why I’m going crazy. There has been an alarm of some sort – probably a smoke detector – going off in a vacant house across the street for three days now. THREE DAYS. Like, 72 hours of “beep beep beep.” I can only hear it when the windows are opened, or when I’m outside, or when it’s permanently implanted into my brain all day every day. True story. Last night trying to fall asleep, I could hear it. Over and over. And then I fell asleep and had two very crazy dreams: one that my high school reunion was on a cruise ship that was floating through shark-infested waters and I was the only one freaked out about going swimming, and the other that my sister had to be rushed to the emergency room because the glass on the stove top shattered while she was making macaroni and cheese, and pieces were lodged into her chest. That’s screwed up, I know. I told you, I’m going crazy. She was in good spirits and surprisingly in very little pain, in case you were wondering. And this was all just a crazy dream my tiny little pea-sized brain created, in case you’re late to the party.

Then I thought I just had a rough night, and that I would be less crazy in the morning. FALSE. I was headed to the bank, and a car pulled up next to me. A sweet old lady smiled at me and her ugly-but-cute little dog was hanging out the window. I’m pretty sure it was smiling at me too. The dog and the old woman looked very strangely alike, but that might’ve just been my crazy brain. The first thing I thought to myself was, “Awe, I’m making friends. At a stoplight. Because stuff like that happens.” FALSE. As soon as that damn light turned green, the lady cut me off like we were rounding the 3^rd left turn. I was waiting for her to flip me the bird… it was THAT weird of a situation.

So in the meantime, I’m just over here being weird and going crazy and loving my equally weird and crazy mister. That’s all for now.

This is a picture of the "Notes" app on my phone. This is how I brainstorm for my blog. Weird and crazy... I wasn't kidding.

This is the mister's "hermit crab" - he's so talented.

Yeah... this happened.