A sign of spring

A little more than a week ago, there was snow on the ground. We bundled K up in her red peacoat, sweater and monkey cap and plopped in her a chair in the middle of the powder-covered backyard for a photo opportunity.

Nine days later, the temperature is nearing 70, it's sunny and beautiful. And I CAN'T wait for spring. For me spring is something special this year. Last year at this time I was huge and uncomfortable in my third trimester. I was anxious to meet our daughter. I was miserable with backaches and the lack of appetite and lack of ability to breathe.

This year, I have a soon-to-be toddler who is a laughing, smiling baby girl who is experiencing the world for the first time.

Spring is new this year, and I'm so excited for her to relish in everything it has to offer for the first time: Namely the weather.

So, this afternoon, Mr. Goatee and I sat on our back deck in the first itme in probably a year and a half and ate lunch. We pulled out K's highchair so she could take part in our little picnic-at-home.

Our little impromptu outdoor lunch inspired me. I hadn't touched the backyard since before I got pregnant, but it was about time something was done. There were two seasons worth of dead leaves and I wasn't even sure if we had grass anymore.

But I want K to have a backyard to play in this summer, once she starts walking. I want to be able to put out a baby pool and have her play in it. As I sat having lunch today, I imagined a Little Tikes playset with a little slide out in the yard.

So I spent four hours raking and cleaning out the flower beds while K took a nap and then played with Daddy. I can already tell that my back is going to pay for it tomorrow. But I'm so excited about making some progress on our yard, and really can't wait for spring to really hit.

First comes love, then comes marriage..

It's been almost four years since I posted last. Four years. Wow.

It is interesting to me to read all my previous posts and chuckle about how I thought I was so grown up and independent. How I thought I was an adult (I was, but I was not yet finished growing up. I guess you never really are.) That phase of my life was such a tulmultuous one - my last year in grad school, my first year in my first real job, my first time being out and "on my own". And then I met Mr. Goatee - now my husband, my partner, the father of my child. Only I never knew it at the time. Funny how God works in miraculous ways.

Yep, that's right folks, the idealist dreamer is now a parent. Funny how life changes.

I know people will tell you that being a parent is the best thing that could ever happen to them in life. It is. But it's also the hardest, and the best thing I've ever done.

It's amazing to watch how this little baby that I gave birth to is flowering into her own person, even at only nine months old. She looks a lot like me as baby. She has my (natural) dark hair, the shape of my face and the shape of her eyes. But she has her daddy's mouth and dimpled chin, and his fingers and toes.

Little Miss K is like me in other ways, though. Ways I didn't expect. She is the most independent child I have ever known. I didn't think that babies could act that way so early. But she wants to do everything on her own and apparently was born with hardcore determination. Nothing - and I mean nothing - is going to get in her way if there is something she wants. Haha. I guess she is my child after all.

I am going to make another attempt to keep up this blog. Not for everyone else out there in this blog-o-sphere universe but for myself. I feel like I have evolved so much in the last four years. And yet looking back over my previous posts, I've missed an opportunity to document that for my own behalf.

My life has changed. I'm a different person. Again.

So here is to the future. It won't be perfect. Things won't always be great. But I will live it the best way I can.

I'll give the quick rundown over the last four years, only this time in pictures.

First, came love: (2005:)

Then marriage (2006):

Then came a baby in the baby.. you know the rest of the rhyme. (2008):

(2009):

It's been five months

Ok, so it's been five months since I've posted anything on this blog. Let's just say I've been a little busy. I got engaged (to mr. goatee). We bought a house. I went to Norway for five weeks. And he moved us into our new house while I was gone. Not to mention that planning a wedding. As I sat on the back porch of our new house tonight with some old friends and a few new, we reminised over everything that has happened during the past year. A year ago I was so unsure of where i was or where I was headed and now it all seems so clear. I was so hesitant about committing myself to a relationship with Mr. Goatee and now I am committing the rest of my life to him. It's a blessing and I am excited about it. He makes me happy like no other person I've ever been with. But, there are times ... very rare times... when I wonder if things will every be the same as during my single life. I guess it's normal to feel that way when your wedding is only 4 months away. But "the pilot".. my ex... called me yesterday. Even though I missed his call and only received a message on my voicemail, my heart still jumped. Not tha tI'm in love with him because I'm not. It's just... that feeling.. a glimmer of excitement that I used to feel for him. True, things could have worked out differently. I had heard he still had feelings. But things didn't work out that way and I can just about guarantee that I would not be as happy if they did. It just makes me wonder. I love my life and where it is leading. Just how can I stop my heart from jumping when the ex calls? Will I call him back? I'm still undecided. I want to keep in contact with him but at the same time I feel like it would be easier if I just make one, final break from the pilot.. the one who inadvertantly convinced me to end it with Mr. Six years.. the one who, because I met him, eventually led me to my relationship with my fiancee. But then again, it's kind of nice to feel that jump when I get a message from out of the blue.

the FEMA trailer train

I was walking from the apartment complex gym Monday morning when something caught my eye.. at the far end of the complex, toward the railroad tracks... there was a long train of white identical camper type trailers, all headed to the west.

They were going to New Orleans and the Mississippi Gulf Coast... FEMA trailers going to victims from Hurricane Katrina.

It was very surreal, to see one white, one-windowed trailer after another glide passed the apartment complex where I live. Because the track is built up higher than where I was standing, the trailers were almost parallel with my third floor apartment. Quite a juxtaposition.

While I haven't necessarily enjoyed living in an apartment complex instead of a house for the past three months, seeing hundreds of those tiny trailers glide past made me realize how lucky I am. It could be worse, God was reminding me. Be thankful for what you have.

And I'm sure that, even though the little white trailers all look the same- like a little white, squarish marshmellows- the evacuees too are probably thankful for what they have. I'm sure some of them, like me, realize that even though life isn't always what you expect, it could always be worse, and that you should be thankful for what you've got.

A place to call home

I know, I know. I haven't updated in forever. Things have been busy, or at least when interesting things have happened lately in my life, I just haven't been in the mood to write about them! Or write about anything, really, which isn't so good for a journalist. Call it a post-christmas slump that I'm just now coming out of. Things are getting better at work, although I think my hair is falling out.

It's stress.

Last weekend Mr. Goatee's parents came to town, and it just happened to be the same weekend my mom was also coming to visit. Neither of which had come to town since we had moved in together. So our parents were meeting each other, and, to add on more stress, we were all going house hunting. Mr. Goatee and I had found the cutest little fixer-upper house in a great historic district, but after looking at it, Mr. Goatee's parents vetoed the decision. (They were initially looking at the house as an investment opportunity). After having a discussion about how they were "not fixer-upper kind of people" and I, having a dad who is a contractor and only fixes up houses..... we decided that Mr. Goatee and I are probably better getting the mortgage ourselves.

The same day as the first house was vetoed, my mom suggested that we go look at another little cute house down the street from the first - one that just went on the market last week. Mr. Goatee didn't want to go, but once we looked at it, we knew that there was something about that house we liked... everything.

Unlike the first house, there is very little that we would want to change. It's completely renovated but at the same time, still a 56 year old house, which I like! Plus, there are always little things we can do to it.. like painting the door red. So this week has brought more stress. Tuesday Mr. Goatee and I went and got pre-approved for a mortgage, on Wednesday we went and looked at the house again, and made an offer.

Mr. Goatee was ok at first, but got really nervous. I guess I try just not to think about how much money it is and just think about the possibilities of what we can do with the place. And within an hour of our offer, we got a counteroffer from the sellers, for not much more than what we had offered and it included the appliances! But Mr. Goatee didn't want to move too quickly...

And so more stress came yesterday. I don't know if it was just the fact that I only slept for two hours on wednesday night (could'nt go to sleep because I couldnt' stop thinking about that house!) or the fact that I was a nervous wreck. I felt like banging my head on my desk or curling up in a little ball. I wanted to make a counteroffer asap, and Mr. Goatee wanted to wait. I wanted to make him happy, but at the same time I struggled to overcome my obsessive-compulsive personality and my idealistic dreams. It was one of the hardest afternoons I've had at work yet, because I got almost nothing done. It was so hard to concentrate.

And then, a counteroffer was made last night. And today, we got an answer: Yes. It's not quite the two-story white saltbox style house with a white picket fence that I always imagined in my dreams, but it's a classic american-style, shingle-sided grey house with black shutters and a little porch.... and a little window flower box next to the front door.

I can imagine coming home to this house everyday... I can imagine walking Lilly around the neighborhood and having cookouts on the back porch during the summertime, of having dinner parties in the dining room and possibly even having a nursery in one of the bedrooms... far, far, far away from now. But it's a start.

It's a start, for Mr. Goatee and me, and I'm so excited about it!

obessive compulsive or just an idealist dreamer?

Let me first say that I am not an obsessive compulsive person. I'm a type B personality. I'd rather go with the flow of things that get all hyped up about stuff. I'm late everywhere go... not that that is a good thing but I always have been. I'm not not an uptight person. But I tend to live in the future, or in the clouds, as my parents always say. My entire life I have drempt of what my wedding would be like or what kind of house I'd live in, what kind of man I'd marry.

The other night, Mr. Goatee said something about me being obsessed with how my life, how primarily those details... are going to play out. He said that I need to accept that life isn't going to be perfect, that my dream wedding isn't going to happen exactly how I want it (especially with my mom paying for practically nada). I guess it's true.. I know that every little detail that I have played over and over in my head isn't going to happen the way I hope it will. Heck, my whole life is proof of that. But I don't know how I'm going to handle it when the time comes and I won't be able to dream about those things because I'll have already lived them.

Which comes down to my questioning over whether I'm obsessive compulsive about my future. I was at a bridal fair on Sunday with my friend Sarah, who is getting married in August. Besides the constant questioning "are you the bride?" by vendors (which, what do you say to that? Um, well, no, not really. I live with the man I want to marry and I know it's going to happen, it's in the books, we've got the caterer, but no. I'm not the bride...) I felt a little uncomfortable. Was I uncomfortable that I was in an antebellum crammed full of brides and mother of brides who were fervently snatching up samples of wedding cake and business cards? Or maybe it was that I felt that I didn't have any right to be there... despite the fact that I've been a bridesmaid 6 times and many of my friends have been married for years, I still feel like I'm too young or immature to actually get married. It's like I've dreamed about it so long it should still be off in the distance, something that is unobtainable, something I can always have to dream about. What will I dream of once that is over? I'm not just the idealist dreamer, I'm the impossible one.

Which leads me to the "dream house".. much like how I used to draw miniature brides and bridesmaids dresses on the back of the offering envelope at church as a child, I also used to draw houseplans of my "dream house" during high school classes when I got bored. And, now that a wedding is somewhat in sight, so is my house. Ok, so I know that my two-story white saltbox style home identical to the one in "Father of the Bride" is highly unobtainable right now.

But this weekend Mr. Goatee and I went house shopping. His parents have offered to help us buy a home. A real house. No more nomadic moving from apartment to rental houses. A place of our own. Although I'd love to go back to my cherished historic district downtown, Mr. Goatee is more of a "new house" kind of guy while I'm definitely an "antiques" kind of girl. I want sidewalks and houses that are pre-cold war. I hate cookie cutter housing that predominates the urban sprawl. So we decided to look and try to compromise. The first house we saw was nice, especially for the price, but it desperately needed some work and the neighborhood was on the side of decrepid. The second house, which we looked at this morning, was love at first site. It's not perfect, but I could imagine our things.. us.. filling up this house. I could imagine all the little things I would do to it to improve it, to put my mark on it. It's much more expensive than what we should probably buy, but it's oh so perfect and I know we wouldn't have problems with the resale. I can just imagine a little white picket fence...

And so, now, we wait for word from his parents. We've told them about it, sent pictures, and now I just have to wait and pretend that I'm not aching to sign a contract. I need not be obsessive about this. But I guess when it comes this stage in my life, my dreams are partially becoming reality, and I think it's ok if I'm a little obsessed with that.

stilettos to couch potatos

When is it that you morph from being someone who dresses up and goes out every night with your friends to a homebody who sits on the couch every night, with your socked feet on the coffee table, watching sex and the city reruns you've already seen?

I was asking myself this question last night as I was sitting on the couch with my socked feet up on the coffee table, simultaneously flipping through Martha Stewart Magazine, talking online and watching tv. And I started to feel restless. The cold weather made me think of what I was doing during the winter last year.. about pulling on one of my cashmere sweaters, putting on my pointy-toed stilettos and chandelier earrings and would head out to Innisfree or Catch or Wilhagens. I didn't have a boyfriend, but for the first time in my life, at this time last year, I was dating around. Or at least "talking"... To three different guys. Things were fresh and new and exciting with my job, my house and life in general.

And, so I wondered what had happened to transform myself from stillettos to socks. Had I lost something or gotten so comfortable in my relationship status that I had lost my love of dressing up and going out for drinks? No. I couldn't have.

Truth is, while my life was exciting and new at this time last year, it was horribly unsteady and I was unsure of everything. I was dating three guys, none of which I knew would last until the spring. Now, well, it's amazing how things can change in 12 months. I'm sure of my path in life and happy. But I do miss the stilettos and grasshopper martinis..

So, after spending a Thursday evening vegging out on the couch, with Mr. Goatee playing games on the computer, we decided to go out. I put on my black cashmere sweater, my tweed stilettos, and him his button up shirt. We headed to Wilhagens, played a couple games of darts, had a few beers and a few glasses of wine, and then went home at midnight. Ok, so I wasn't closing down the place or doing the old bar crawl. But as I laid in bed, slowly drifting to sleep with my slight (oh-so-familiar) buzz, my feet warmed by Mr. Goatee's, I thought to myself: I haven't lost a thing.