the traditional three year gift isn't diamonds, but i'm not about to complain about my new necklace

When it was time for me to enter the real world and get up and go to work each day, one of my least favorite parts was scraping the ice off of my car windows every morning in the winter.

When Matt and I got married and moved to a condo, I mentioned to Matt, several months into winter, that the sun must be stronger at our new place because I hadn't had to scrape ice off my windows at all that winter.

And that's when he said, "That's because I've been scraping them every morning."

Well, wow.  He did that lousy chore for me, every single morning, and NEVER ONCE mentioned it to me for thanks or credit.

Yesterday we celebrated our third wedding anniversary and I am here to report that since March 8, 2014 I have never once scraped ice off my car windows.

For that reason, and a million more, he's a keeper.

   Also, we spent the evening at the police station.  That's a story for another day!

the tale of the cracked drip pan

When we were cooking breakfast on Saturday, the fridge made a strange noise.  It kind of clanked for a minute and then we heard the sound of streaming water.

Matt and I dealt with it in our typical fashions: I turned up the music because I employ the same "if you can't hear the weird noise it's not happening" strategy in my car and it works just fine.  Meanwhile Matt pulled the fridge away from the wall to check for leaks and then got out the owner's manual.

After a few minutes we chalked it up to a fluke and went on with our lives.  Later that afternoon I ran to the grocery store and called Matt to ask what kind of fruit cups he wanted, and he said "peaches in sugar-free strawberry gel, but I gotta go, the fridge is leaking a lot."

It took me a minute to process the leaking fridge because I was trying to wrap my mind around his request of peaches in sugar-free strawberry gel.  But things really sunk in when I got home and saw a vast array of tools on the kitchen floor, a pool of water, and no Matt.

I figured he'd gone to the hardware store because desperate times call for a trip to Lowe's, and judging by the fact that the hunting knife he uses to clean pheasants was lying on the floor beside the oven, it seemed to be a desperate time.

He got home a few minutes later with a fix for the problem, which was a cracked drip pan.  I half-halfheartedly offered assistance, and when he didn't jump right on my offer I did what any wise wife would do and got the heck out of dodge.

I decided to go to the library and then for a walk around the grounds of a local cathedral and some old estates because one of us should be able to relax on a Saturday afternoon.

It was a nice day and I spent the time imagining that the rich people who lived in those mansions probably never had to worry about a cracked drip pan or be humbled by the amount of dust that gathers behind the fridge that you don't think about until you have to move it.

When I got home from my walk, the fridge was fixed and the kitchen was back in order.

So I guess our own little castle isn't so bad after all.

if you need me, i'll probably be sleeping

Since my Valentine’s Day flowers are still alive, it’s not too late to write about it, right?

When I got home from work on Monday, Valentine’s Day Eve, there was a vase on our front step with the most beautiful flowers and a sweet note from Matt.  He is a keeper.

 Matt is on a healthy eating kick and requested that I refrain from getting him candy for Valentine’s Day because that could throw a major wrench into his progress.

So I went the healthy route and made this.

 

Move over, Martha Stewart.

(I also got him a gift card to Cabela’s so don’t feel too sorry for him.  But he really does love oranges.  By my calculations we’ve eaten 11 pounds of oranges in the last three weeks.)

The real gift last week though was our new mattress. 

Several months ago Matt started saying that his back and shoulders were bothering him every morning.  I blamed it on the weather, the work bag he carries, too much work around the house, basically anything other than the 6 year old, bottom of the line, IKEA mattress we were sleeping on.

All the while, I kept quiet about my own back and shoulder pain because do you know how expensive new mattresses are?

Finally, my back pain overtook my thrifty tendencies and I came clean about how my back and shoulders hurt every single day and maybe we really do need a new mattress.

We did a little research online and asked around, and everyone we knew told us to get a Sleep Number bed, so we headed to the store on Saturday to test things out.  The salesman, Aron with one R, had us lay down on a mattress.  He said he would adjust it, and to tell him to stop when we felt most comfortable.

I could have laid there forever.

Of course the tester mattress is the fanciest and most expensive mattress money can buy, so after we got our ideal sleep numbers we walked ALL the way to the other end of the store where the mattresses in the price range of the budget minded shopper were located.   

It was like test driving a Mercedes and buying a Kia.

We made our purchase and were told to expect it via UPS in 5-7 days.  When we got the tracking number, Matt was like a kid tracking Santa’s sleigh on Christmas Eve.  He could not wait to get it.  It was in our town on Wednesday, but the UPS website indicated it was still at the distribution center and not out for delivery.  So, Matt went to the UPS distribution center on Wednesday night AND MET THE MATTRESS.

We put it together when he got home and at this point I was thinking perhaps we’d been the victim of a very expensive scam. 

After the air pump was on for a bit, it started to look more like something I’d want to sleep on.  I said to Matt, “You know, this is really just like a glorified air mattress.”

No kidding,

Anyway, I've been sleeping like a baby since we got the mattress, and I only have one negative thing to say about it.  It makes it even harder to get out of bed in the morning.

The 5am Miracle book I talked about a few weeks ago is definitely not going to happen.

i'm going back to school. kind of.

My car, affectionately known as Old Blue, is a 2009 Ford Focus.  There are many words one could use to describe my car, and quiet is not one of them.  When I turn the car on, accelerate, or drive up the slightest incline, Old Blue sounds more like a motorcycle than a than a small sedan.  And driving up a hill sounds like a helicopter is taking off.

I usually deal with this by simply turning the volume up on the radio.

On Friday night, Matt and I were going to my cousin's birthday party.  We knew parking would be tight, so we opted to take the Focus instead of Matt's F-150.  He drove, and I prepared him for the noise he would hear.

And then Old Blue was as quiet as a church mouse.

So I said "Okay, you're really going to hear the noises when you go up the hill past that light."

Silence.

"Just you wait until you have to merge onto the turnpike."

Silence.

Old Blue made a fool out of me.  Naturally, Matt credited the smooth and silent ride to his self-proclaimed stellar driving skills.

The next day we heard about an app that scores your driving abilities, and because we love a little competition, we both downloaded it.  The app scores you on five areas: braking, acceleration, cornering, speeding, and phone distraction.  

Matt came home on Monday night proud as a peacock because his score was a 100.  Mine was a respectable 94.  Keep in mind that Matt drives two total miles per day on quiet suburban streets to the train station.  I drive a minimum of thirty miles on the highway at rush hour.

The app tells you where you went wrong, and my infractions were for harsh cornering and speeding.  After I admitted my vehicular shortfalls, I tried to justify it by saying "Well, everyone speeds on that road."

I drive a lot for work, so I've accumulated a few hundred miles since Monday.  I'm proud to say my score has increased to an almost perfect 98.8.

As I was checking my score this morning, I get a text from Matt that said "Oh yea, police school is official."

Several weeks ago, our local police department advertised for the spring session of their Citizen's Police Academy.  Matt's dream job is to be a police officer, and I love men in uniform, so obviously we applied.

And then we joked about what would happen if one of us got accepted and the other didn't.  Neither of us have criminal records and we are upstanding citizens, but we thought it would be funny. 

After I saw Matt's text I immediately checked my email so I could read my acceptance letter.

And there was nothing.  

Newsflash.  It was not actually that funny.

And for a brief moment, I thought, "Officer Gillespie can see the app.  He knows I speed occasionally and maneuver harshly around corners."

Matt double checked his email and it turns out the officer simply spelled my name wrong.

I can't blame him, because I did the same thing.

So, we will be reporting for police school on March 1st.  My goal is to have a driving score of 100 by then.  

Hopefully I'm not pulled over for speeding in the meantime.

we need a peephole. and a no soliciting sign.

Well, here I am with a thrilling report on the winter weather in southeastern Pennsylvania.  We haven't had much snow or bitter cold, but what we have had is a ton of rain and gray skies for weeks on end.

The past few days have been especially rainy, and I'm currently looking out at a pool of standing water in our backyard thanks to poor drainage.  It's not quite as bad (yet) as the Presidents' Day Flood of 2016, which necessitated a call to the police department.

Anyway, a few weeks ago it poured all weekend.  When there was finally a break in the deluge, Matt went out to the chicken coop in the back of our yard because it appeared from the kitchen window there might have been a slight flood.

While he was out back, the doorbell rang.  I answered because I thought it might be a neighbor in need of storm-related help.  Because don't your neighbors walk to your house and ring your doorbell during a rainstorm?

Mine never have, but there's a first time for everything.

It turns out that it was not a neighbor, but a Verizon sales rep who wanted to inform me that Verizon lines were recently installed in our neighborhood and would I like to sign up for Fios?  The conversation felt like a full circle moment, because last year when Verizon started their installation process, I called the police department because of a suspicious low-hanging wire.

We canceled our Comcast cable last year, and haven't really missed it, but we'd seen  few commercials for Verizon Fios and casually talked about trying it.  I told the sales rep that I wanted to talk to my husband before I signed up for anything.  He asked if he was home, and I said yes, but that he was very busy out in the backyard.

The man stood there, in the driving rain, and looked at me like I was crazy.  I was almost positive he was thinking, "Wow, that's a lame and truly unbelievable response."

So, because I'm an over-explainer and was feeling judged by his suspicious look, I said, "He really is out in the backyard.  He's back there because we have chickens.  And he had to check on the coop in all this rain and wind.  And anyway we don't even have cable right now so we aren't in a rush to sign up."

He cautiously stepped away.

I should have told him I had to get back to my butter churning.

Fast forward to yesterday, another day of downpours.  After work, Matt got dressed in his waterproof full body camo hunting gear and went out back to "check on the yard."  

And as soon as he walked outside, the doorbell rang.

I answered it because AGAIN, what if it was a neighbor experiencing storm-related distress, but this time it was two salesmen from, ironically, a solar panel company.  They told me I looked young to be the homeowner and I was so flattered that I listened to the first few minutes of their spiel about a federal mandate and no cost to the homeowner and blah blah blah, and then they started asking the hard hitting questions.

Questions like do we receive our bills electronically or on paper, and how many kilowatt hours of power do we use monthly?

Well, I haven't the foggiest.

I told them Matt pays the bill and would know all of our stats, and they asked if he had a moment to talk.  I said he was busy in the backyard but I'd pass along their information.  And then again, because I over-explain and who hangs out in the backyard in the rain, I said, "I know it's really rainy out, but he's outside because we have chickens and a poor drainage, so he's checking on things."

One of the guys asked if he could look in the yard to see if he could see him, and I told him to be my guest.  He peeked around the side of the house and then said, "Are you sure he's back there? I don't see anyone!"

Well, sir, what I didn't mention was that he is dressed completely in camouflage.

Which I guess is working.

Then the guys thought I was really nuts and lying about my husband being in the backyard during a rainstorm, so I told them I'd look for him.  I ran to the dining room so I could simultaneously look out the kitchen window while keeping an eye on the front door and making sure the men didn't come inside and make a break for my jewelry box in a tricky heist.

But I peeked out that window to see if I could see Matt, and there he was, in the pouring rain, in all his camouflaged glory, HOLDING A SHOVEL AND DIGGING A GIANT HOLE NEXT TO OUR SHED.

I couldn't tell the salesmen that I found him digging a hole, because I thought they might end up calling the police on us.

So I just told them we wouldn't be making a decision on solar panels today, also, IT HAS RAINED FOR A THOUSAND DAYS SO I'M NOT QUITE READY TO RELY SOLELY ON THE SUNSHINE TO POWER MY LIFE.

When Matt came inside I filled him in on the solar panel visitors and questioned why in the world he was digging a hole?  He said water was starting to collect under his shed so he constructed a makeshift trench.

Of course.

All I have to say is the next time it rains, I am not answering the door. 

Unless it's someone selling backyard drainage systems.

it's like forrest gump, but with butter. butter cookies.butter cake. buttered noodles.

I'm currently sitting here eating my breakfast - a cup of coffee and an English muffin with homemade honey cinnamon butter.  And it occurred to me that I never wrote about how it's possible for me to enjoy homemade butter whenever I please.

Did anyone else's husband think, when Christmas shopping this year, "I know what my wife would love for Christmas...a butter churner."  

No?

Just mine?

Matt officially went a little out of the box with his Christmas gifts this year, and got me (among other gifts I truly loved) a butter churner.

Forget Laura Darling.  Just call me Laura Ingalls.

You might be thinking "Wow, Laura, I don't picture you as the butter churning type of girl" and I can assure you I was thinking the same thing on Christmas morning.

I went grocery shopping a few days later, and Matt asked me to pick up two pints of heavy whipping cream so we/he could get started on our butter production.  I wheeled my cart to the dairy department and right past the case of pre-made, pre-packaged butter, and selected two pints of heavy whipping cream so that I could go home and make the very butter I just walked by.

If you're questioning my sanity, you're not alone.

When I got home, I put the cream in the fridge and we read the directions.  Step number one was to let the cream come to room temperature for two hours.

So, naturally, we grabbed the cream from the fridge, dumped it in the jar, and started churning.

And churning.

And churning.

This is my butter churning "smile."

They weren't kidding about that room temperature thing.



Finally, and I do mean finally, we had ourselves a stick of butter.

It was so good that we made the honey cinnamon variety a few days later, and the process went a lot faster since we actually followed the directions this time.

When I was at the farm show last week, I saw a large crowd gathered, ooh-ing and aah-ing about something inside a glass case.  As I got closer and squeezed my way to the front of the crowd, I saw what was drawing their attention.

This giant sculpture made completely out of butter.

Matt better get churning.

i guess i should go back inside my glass house and stop throwing stones

About 12 hours after we returned from our honeymoon, Matt ran to the grocery store to get a few things we needed.  And when he returned with this haul, I discovered something that I didn't know about him.

 He was running an underground food pantry.

Just kidding.  I learned that Matt's philosophy as it relates to items at the grocery store is "if you like it, buy a bunch of it."  

Matt's not like this in any other area, so I've always wondered why he buys in bulk at the food store.  

I think I got my answer on Friday night.

We went to the Phillies game Friday evening and we met Matt's dad at the ballpark.  Matt and I had taken the train into the city but Matt's dad had driven in from his office, so he was going to drive us home.  As we walked to his car he said, "Oh, don't let me forget, I have some stuff for you guys in the trunk."

Do you know what was in his trunk?

Eight liters of olive oil and 96 cans of tomatoes.

Evidently Matt comes from a long line of men who cannot resist a ShopRite can can sale.

Tonight I decided to clean out my purse since it felt like it weighed about ten pounds.  And as I was cleaning it, I realized that I may have a problem with multiples myself.

If I'm ever in a situation where I need three packs of gum, two pairs of sunglasses, four pens, seven lip glosses, five bracelets (silver AND gold), a pair of earrings, three hair clips of assorted sizes, two bottles of hand lotion, and three protein packed snacks, I will be prepared. 

at least i know pat sajak's name

Yesterday morning I had a meeting at Panera and I ordered an iced coffee.  I haven't been drinking coffee recently and the reason is twofold.

First, thanks to Dunkin' Donuts' irresistible summer promotion, every single morning from April 20th through June 20th I treated myself to a large iced coffee with a double shot of caramel, cream, and sugar.  I thought it might be a good idea to take a little break from beginning my day with a giant cup of sugar.

Second, I had a bottle of Chips Ahoy flavored creamer in the fridge that I planned to reserve for weekends only.  I decided Sunday morning that I'd love nothing more than a nice hot mug of coffee and I pulled the creamer out of the fridge only to discover there was about a tablespoon left.

Evidently someone had been drinking the creamer and also drizzling it on the occasional bowl of ice cream.

I won't name names, but there's only two people who live here and it was not me.

So, I got a big cup of iced coffee yesterday and I don't know if it was the fact that I hadn't had coffee in a few weeks, or that Panera includes some sort of illegal substance in their beverages, but by the time I arrived at the office at 1:30, I was KEYED UP.

I share an office with one of the attorneys I work with because my life is very glamorous.

Speaking of glamorous offices, Matt's company moved to a new office downtown and this is his view.

 His company occupies ten stories in the building and on the first level they have their VERY OWN BISTRO.

Do you know what's on the first floor of my building?

The coroner.

Anyway, by about 3:30 my energy and I had shredded seven boxes of paper, jammed the copy machine, sent about forty six emails, re-recorded my voicemail greeting, and checked the mailbox four times.

I also responded to my emails out loud by talking to my computer, which is fine when I work from home but I guess it wasn't pleasant for my office mate because when we were packing up our laptops I said to him, "I just wish that for one day, ONE DAY, I could say what I really think."

And he said, "Let me know what day that is, I might want to take off."

I thought I'd calmed down by last evening, but when we were making dinner I heard Matt say something about Alex and the last names of the feuding families in Romeo and Juliet and I said, "ALEX?  WHAT DOES ALEX HAVE TO DO WITH ROMEO AND JULIET?  WHAT WAS ROMEO'S LAST NAME ANYWAY?  I CAN'T REMEMBER.  AND WHY ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT ALEX AND WHAT DOES SHE HAVE TO DO WITH SHAKESPEARE?" 

Because I thought he was talking about my brother's wife, Alex.

And then I saw Jeopardy was on TV.

And I proceeded to laugh because the host's name isn't Alex it's ALEC.

Matt and I like to have World News Tonight on while we get dinner ready, partly because we like to be caught up on all current events and partly because Matt loves to call David Muir "David MEEEE-UIR."

After David Meeeeeuir was over tonight, I heard, "...and now, here is the host of Jeopardy, Alex Trebek."

Alex.

With an X.

I glanced at Matt but didn't say anything in case he hadn't heard, but he smiled with satisfaction and said, "You know, I was pretty sure last night that it was Alex, not Alec.  But I didn't think it was a good night to debate it."

He was right about both things.

Tomorrow, I'll be drinking herbal tea.

all's well that ends well

I planned to write a post last night, but after dinner I got wound up in an organizational frenzy.  Things went downhill when I reached the linen closet and discovered a sample of Aveeno Positively Radiant Daily Moisturizer.  Even though I have used Clinique Dramatically Different Moisturizing Gel on my face every single morning and night for twelve years, I foolishly decided to switch things up and take the free sample for a test drive.

I washed and moisturized my face immediately because how is a girl supposed to go one more second knowing she's not as positively radiant as she could be?

Seconds later, my eyes and face were burning with the heat of a thousand suns and no matter what I tried, the pain would not subside.  I took out my contacts and washed my face repeatedly with the gentlest cleanser I could find and even switched out my washcloth and towel.  Nothing worked.

I finally ventured out to the living room with my eyes open a teeny tiny bit to tell Matt his optically compromised wife was going to bed, and this was on the TV.

AND THEN I FAINTED.

Just kidding.

Fear not, Matt's not toying with the idea of entering the dental field.  He had an appointment for a dental implant scheduled for this morning and wanted to prepare himself for what was to come.

I am a girl who once fainted at the dentist office after getting a cavity filled.

And the morning after I got my wisdom teeth removed, I went into the bathroom to rinse with salt water and when I saw my very swollen cheeks in the mirror, I hit the floor.

So, since I don't do well with gruesome dental details, I got in bed.  Matt came in when the implant video was over and when he asked if I needed anything, I requested that he hold the small fan I keep on my nightstand up to my eyes because that was the only way I could feel some relief.

Luckily I woke up today and my eyeballs had cooled way down to normal temperature.  But Aveeno Positively Radiant Daily Moisturizer is forever dead to me.

Matt and I both had the day off today, and he was hurting big time after his dental implant appointment.  He was describing the intensity of the pain to me and I stopped just short of saying "BUCK UP COWBOY, I HAD A BAD EXPERIENCE WITH A POSITIVELY RADIANT MOISTURIZER LAST NIGHT, SO I KNOW PAIN," because something tells me having a giant piece of metal screwed into your jawbone is probably a little bit more painful and also, not done purely in the name of vanity.

So I made sure he had a steady supply of ice packs and jello and that he took his medicine and then I made a trip to Sonic to get him a milkshake because HE HELD A FAN UP TO MY EYES last night as I fell asleep and I thought that was a debt I should attempt to repay.

I'm happy to report that I just so happened to have an eye doctor appointment scheduled for this morning and everything checked out in tip top shape.

But it's safe to say I won't be betraying my beloved Clinique anytime soon.

Or organizing the linen closet.

at least we had donuts

As a follow up to my last post, I will share that I went back to the mall this weekend and bought a few more things for my work wardrobe, including a black skirt.

Actually, two black skirts.

Okay, actually three black skirts.

Apparently I'm trying to create some sort of uniform for myself.

This morning I put on the fanciest of the skirts because I had a new employee starting and I wanted to look like a boss.

Usually I get flowers for new employee's desks, but since this particular employee was a man and I wasn't sure how he'd feel about a vase of daisies, I decided to pick up some donuts instead.

I stopped by Dunkin' Donuts and was about ten minutes into my commute when I glanced down and saw a gigantic rip right in the front of my new skirt.  And then I sat at a red light and contemplated whether or not I could keep a file folder strategically positioned over my right thigh all day without looking like a nut.  In the end I decided that I couldn't, so I went home to change into a pair of pants.  And I considered grabbing an extra outfit to just keep in my trunk in case I ever need spare clothes in the future.

My pants and I made it to the office in record time.  I had to set up the new employee's user account and he needed to add numbers to the end.  He said, "I'll just use my birthday.  July eighth, nineteen NINETY TWO.

Someone born in 1992 is old enough to be a grown up and have a real job.

And I was born in 1988 and am considering keeping a spare outfit in my trunk.

Age is just a number.

Speaking of jobs, Matt works for a huge law firm and his boss told him that he'd have to go to University of Pennsylvania's law school a few days this week to answer any questions new law students might have about technology.  Matt anticipated the question pool to be pretty shallow and was geared up for a week on easy street.  He even considered bringing a few issues of American Hunter in case he had some down time.

And then he walked into the meeting on Monday and one of the firm's top partners said, "Now everyone, make sure to utilize your trial master, Matt."

MATT THE TRIAL MASTER.

It turns out his boss didn't give him the full story, and he was assigned to be working at the firm's trial academy for incoming associates from around the nation.  The first day's mock trial had quite an impact on him and he's now contemplating law school.

He also sent me this text on his way home.

He held true to his promise because when he got home tonight he had a bag with half a dozen donuts in hand.

It was good to start the evening on a high note because after dinner we had to complete my open enrollment insurance information.

Insurance is not my wheelhouse.  For example, when I got my first real job I brought the insurance information home for my dad to look at and said, "I didn't look at it too closely but they have a cafeteria plan! Can you believe it?"  Because I thought a cafeteria plan meant lunch every day.  And that I'd hit the jackpot.

And then my dad broke the news that this is the real world and a cafeteria plan is a type of health insurance plan.  MAJOR BUMMER.

The insurance torch has now been passed to Matt.  I think in our marriage vows we should have said, "I promise to love you in good times and in open enrollment."

In the last few months I had a full eye exam and ordered six months worth of contact lenses.  When I made the appointments Matt asked if I used my vision insurance and I said no, because I didn't get vision insurance last year.

We logged into my benefits accounts tonight and Matt said "Let's check exactly what insurance you had last year so we can compare."

Guess who got vision insurance last year.

Whoops.

HAVE A DONUT MATT, AND REMEMBER HOW HAPPY YOU WERE TWO MINUTES AGO.

Luckily I still have my current insurance through the end of the month, so guess who will be getting a brand new pair of glasses next week?

I'm hoping that my vision will be better than ever.  Maybe it will so clear that I will notice a rip in my skirt before I leave the house.

it was everything i imagined a vacation day would be

Well, today may be Tuesday but it feels like Monday to me.  

I took the day off yesterday because it was May 18th.  A day of utmost significance.  A day that has been marked on our calendar for weeks now. 

It was the release of the new Cheez-It 'Extra Toasty' flavor.

And you better believe I was at the food store at 10:00 am to stock up.  

Now that I write that sentence, it’s sinking in that I made a special trip to the grocery store on my day off just to buy a new snack cracker.  I’m not sure if that’s a high or a low.

A few months ago, as I was drifting off to sleep, I heard Matt say, “OH SHOOT.  I CAN’T BELIEVE I FORGOT TO DO THAT.”

In case the forgotten task was turning off the oven or renewing the car insurance or something along those lines, I asked in my sleepy state, “Forgot to do what?”

“To write to the Cheez-It manufacturer.  I want to suggest that they put more slightly burned crackers in the boxes because those are my absolute favorite.”

So basically, we have literally lost sleep over the rarity of toasty Cheez-Its.

But evidently the request went from Matt’s lips to the CEO of Kellogg’s ears because we now have two boxes of extra toasty Cheez-Its in our cabinet.  I told myself that we could eat one box this week and save the second for our trip to the beach this weekend, but there is a better chance of me understanding calculus than there is of that second box of Cheez-Its making it to Saturday.

As for the rest of my day off, I woke up at 6:30 because I didn’t want to waste a second of it.  I sat on the balcony and drank my coffee, got all ready for the day, made a phone call to the mortgage man, listened to two podcasts, read six chapters in a new Jodi Picoult book, cleaned the bathroom, ate a tuna sandwich, watered the plants, vacuumed, organized the clothes in my closet by color and category, went to the food store, Sam’s Club, and the post office.

And after all that I looked at the clock to figure out how to spend the last precious moments of my day off and it turns out that it was only 11:37.  

So I decided to go home and grab my camera and a water bottle and take a nice long walk in the woods.  I came upon a horse farm on my walk and wished I’d picked up some carrots while I was at the store for Cheez-Its.

I didn’t listen to music because I was all by myself and I’ve watched enough crime shows to know that I’d want to be able to hear if someone was sneaking up on me so I could make a speedy getaway.  

Without my headphones, my mind wandered and I thought about how when I was little I read a book about a girl who found a tiny abandoned cottage in the woods and she lived there and made an adorable home for herself and even swept the floor with evergreen branches and cut the grass around the cottage with scissors, which sounds quaint in theory but in reality, not so much.  

I also thought about how I wouldn’t mind living in a hidden woodsy cottage now and then, specifically when it is between 65 and 72 degrees, with no precipitation and minimal winds.  However, I have to be careful not to share that with Matt because he would have us packed up and moved out and living underneath an oak tree before you can say “Where do I plug in my straightener?”

And just as I was imagining purple wildflowers lining the path to this imaginary cottage, I saw a large brown creature move out of the corner of my eye.  I stopped, and spotted something walking slowly behind the trees.

And the first thought that entered my mind was, “Oh my gosh.  One of those horses has escaped from the pasture.  I’m going to have to CATCH A HORSE.”

It was as if forty minutes in the woods turned me into some sort of rustic superhero who can catch runaway farm animals with her bare hands.

And then the horse walked into a clearing.  And the horse was a deer.  

Which I should have expected because there are approximately seventy trillion deer in those woods.

After my walk it was still only about 2:30, so I decided to drive around some neighborhoods and look for homes for sale because Matt and I are beginning the process of Buying A House.  And after my day yesterday I think it's best that we move into a civilized neighborhood.

With no wild animals.

And easy access to a grocery store.

we also found a deer skeleton, but there are no pictures of that

Matt and I went geocaching for the first time on Saturday, and we found one!

Well, we didn't actually set out with the intention of finding a geocache.  It was more of a happy accident.  As we were walking along the trail Matt pointed at something off in the brush and said, "Hey what do you think that is?" and I said, "Looks to me like a piece of PVC pipe someone just littered" as I marched onward because I was ALL BUSINESS about our walk.

But Matt hiked in to investigate further and it turns out that it was a geocache with a notebook and pen and some little trinkets inside.  We walked for two more hours, and while we didn't find any other geocaches, we did find some beautiful scenery!

north, south, east, and west, spin the wheel and hope for the best

Last night Matt and I each made a bowl of chocolate peanut butter ice cream and settled in for an episode of Brain Games.

I believe the words you're looking for are WILD AND CRAZY.

The episode theme was "Battle of the Sexes," and obviously I knew the ladies had this one in the bag but I humored Matt and agreed to play along with the scenarios.

First topic up was spacial reasoning.

Welp, Laura Darling, OUT.

The scenario was, "Which set of directions makes more sense to you? Drive north on main street for two miles.  Head west on Pine Street, and then drive southeast on Maple Street.  You will reach your destination in two thirds of a mile."  

OR "Drive out of the parking lot and turn left.  At the grocery store, make a right.  Stay on that road for three stoplights, and then make a right at the bank.  Your destination will be on the left, just past the pizza place."

NOW YOU'RE SPEAKING MY LANGUAGE.

Spatial reasoning has never been my wheelhouse.  However, I believe I come by it honestly because when my mom is using a map, she turns it so it's in the direction that she's going.  And a few years ago my family was driving down to visit my aunt in Virginia, and my Mommom mentioned that whenever she's driving downhill, she feels like she's going south, and when she is driving uphill she feels like she is going north.

And I knew what she meant because I automatically assume that whatever direction I am driving is is north.  South is behind me, east is to my right, and west to my left.

In fact, as I was writing this post in my head while driving, I came to an intersection with this sign.

And to me, that just does not make sense.  If I am turning left, I am turning west.

I scheduled a meeting with coworkers this week and I sent an email out with directions to the office and the most convenient parking garage.  People were driving in from all over, but in my mind I assumed that they were all coming via the exact route I take.  And so I said, "When you're on 69th Street, turn left onto Chestnut Street (just past the Foot Locker) and the parking lot will be on the left."

And a (male) coworker emailed me back and said, "Assuming we're driving which direction on 69th Street?"

I DON'T KNOW.  THAT'S WHY THERE'S GOOGLE MAPS.

AND COMPASSES.

My sub par spatial reasoning skillz do not stop with driving.  When I was in college, I had a terrible ear infection and called home for medical advice and a healthy dose of sympathy.  I talked to my mom, and I presumed that she was in the living room.  When she asked me which ear hurt, I said, "Well, I guess it depends which couch you're sitting on."

Yes, because that would make a difference.

So all that to say Matt won spatial reasoning.

The second section was all about following directions and Matt and I are both Big Time Rule Followers.  If there is a rule, we follow it.  But I edged him out in the scenarios, so the game was tied up.

The third and final section was about memory.  I hate to brag but I am a memory WHIZ.  I remember everything, so it came as no surprise that I won each and every memory quiz and then gloated about how girls are the best and my fantastic memory put me over the edge.

Notably, there was no section on humility.

And then, because today is Thrifty Thursday, Matt decided to set up automatic payments for my student loan.  I prefer to go to the student loan website and pay my loan manually each month, because then I know it was done, and done correctly.  I don't trust automatic payments for the same reason I don't trust the check deposit app on my phone, and still prefer to take my checks to the bank and hand them to the teller like it's 2003.

Anyway, it turns out you get a discount for automatic payments so I agreed that we should give it a go because somebody's gotta put the thrifty in Thrifty Thursday.  And when I got out of the shower this morning I had a text from Matt that said, "What's your six digit pin for your student loan?"

"I don't use a pin," I said, "I just log in with my username and password."

"You should have an account pin too though.  It's six digits.  You probably picked it when you filled out your FAFSA form."

As a lady I hate to give away my age, but let's just say that FAFSA form was filled out NINE YEARS AGO.

MEMORY, DON'T FAIL ME NOW.

It failed me.  I had no idea what my pin was so I had to call and reset it.

Pride comes before the fall.

I'm holding out hope that maybe someone will ask me for directions this week, and I will have the opportunity to redeem myself.

i feel like i'm being watched

There are days when I have no idea what to write about.

And then there are days when inspiration literally lands on my doorstep.

Let me provide some background.

Matt is an Amazon fanatic.  Over the past year, I cannot even count the number of Amazon boxes that have been delivered to our house, and they've been filled with everything from khaki pants to Planter's Peanuts to water filters to engine gaskets to a case of organic white chocolate bars, even though we don't really eat organic white chocolate bars.

I was working from home one day a few weeks ago when I heard a knock on the door, and I opened it to find a delivery man holding an ENORMOUS Amazon box.  It was addressed to Matt, but I texted him to ask if he'd mind if I opened it, because is there anything better than opening a package?  I think not.  However, in the event that Matt had ordered a present for me, I didn't want to ruin his surprise.

It was not a present for me, so major bummer there.

But Matt told me to knock myself out and go ahead and open it, and when I opened the box that giant, plastic, freaky looking hawk was staring out at me.

And I almost had a heart attack.

WHERE'S A CASE OF ORGANIC WHITE CHOCOLATE BARS WHEN YOU NEED ONE?

The woman in the apartment below us has a lot of bird feeders on her balcony, which means that the birds sit on our balcony railing, and leave behind...well...what it is that birds leave behind.

It's not pleasant.

And they're not dainty, pretty, little birds.  They're enormous, gross pigeons that Matt calls rats with wings.

So this giant plastic bird creature was Matt's first move in a strategy to keep the pigeon-rats off of our balcony.  When he got home from work that night I told him very dramatically that, "THIS THING HAS TO GO OUTSIDE IMMEDIATELY.  IT CANNOT LIVE IN OUR APARTMENT.  IT DOES NOT MATCH THE DECOR AT ALL AND IT FREAKS ME OUT.  THOSE EYES FOLLOW ME."

Matt said he'd get a few bungee cords to fasten it to the railing and get it outside right away.  But not before he played a trick on me because the next morning I stumbled into the bathroom and flipped the light switch and this is what I saw.

I almost had a heart attack.

Mr. Hawk was in his new home on our balcony railing by that evening.

Except, instead of deterring the pigeons, he attracted them.  Like they were all old buddies.  Sitting on the railing.  Chatting about the snow and their wives and the stock market.

Needless to say, this camaraderie drove Matt crazy.  Now that the weather is (very, very, VERY slowly) warming up and we plan to spend lots of time on the balcony, Matt decided that today would be the day he'd throw down the decoy gauntlet.  While I washed the dishes, he went out on the balcony to fix things once and for all.  And he came back inside a few minutes later and triumphantly proclaimed, "He's like a real bird now! I rigged it so it looks like he's flying.  No pigeons will be coming to this balcony!"

"Woohoo!" I said, "that's awesome,"  and I continued on with the dishes. 

And then I finished the dishes and walked out of the kitchen and saw this.

AND I ALMOST HAD A HEART ATTACK.

That was not the solution that I expected.  And then Matt then taped tin foil all around the railing to deter the pigeons even more and I CANNOT EVEN TALK ABOUT THAT.

I had grand plans for the balcony this summer.  Some colorful Adirondack chairs and plenty of flowers and a nice citronella candle and maybe even some wind chimes.

And now I'll be working around our freaky hanging hawk and tin foil railing.

But at least there won't be any pigeons.

And that is, literally, a silver lining.