Jessica

Today is Jessica Day. Mostly because she is just so cute.

Jessica was born fast; my water broke at noon, just as the nurse was coming in to check on me. So she went out to get the resident (my dr. was at another hospital doing a C-section), and while they were busy prepping the room, I said, "The baby is crowning!" So they hurried back to me and caught her at 12:09. When my doctor showed up--about half an hour later--he looked at me, looked at the room and said, "Boy! You sure made a mess!"

Jessica is a sweetie; she's always been a happy girl and all the kids like to play with her.

Today Jessica had her pre-school Halloween party. She dressed up as a witch--not a scary, Wizard-of-Oz witch, but more like an elegant Snow-white witch. I painted her nails blue and put make-up on her, and suddenly Bruce and I could see what she's going to look like as a teenager--she'll be a heartbreaker. Here's the conversation of the morning, between the three of us:

Bruce (to me): "I can see now what she'll look like when she's fifteen. She's gonna be gorgeous!"

He sees her grinning in the rearview mirror, and says to her: "Jessica, all the boys are going to fall in love with you."

Jessica beams.

Bruce and I laugh over this. Then Bruce says," They will all think you are a princess!" (more sunshine from the back of the van). "What will you do then?" he asks.

Jessica contemplates this for a moment and then says, "I will tell them I am a witch."

She may not really be a witch, but Bruce may have created a monster. After the preschool party Jessica informed us that "all of the boys loved me."

What kind of a sick world do we live in, where a woman feels like she can't just go out in her own backyard and scream her head off?

It Stung Me!

I have a new bee in my bonnet that keeps buzzing around and around. I want to redecorate my living room! Well, I've wanted to do that for a long time—almost since we moved in. But now I really want to redecorate it. First I want to attack the fireplace. Yes, I do mean attack; with a sledgehammer.

Before we bought our house the entire thing was PINK: pink carpet throughout, Pepto-Bismol pink walls in one bedroom, pink roses on the wallpaper in the master bedroom, mauve countertops. Ugh! A product of the 80's, decorated by a lover-of-pink. Our fireplace is made of faux stone, in reddish-brown to pinky colors, and I just don't really like it. I guess I don't entirely hate it, but I don't care for it. So I want to pound out the stone and redo the fireplace in tile. I looked at it pretty closely a few days ago, and I really think it would come out fairly easily—provided I can muster up the brute strength it will require. It would take 35 square feet of tile to refinish it, so I think it could be a less-than-$100 project.

Jessica, as Vanna, showing off my tile selection. I'd use a darkish-brown grout.

Here are my swell fireplace drawings that I spent hours and hours on (mostly because I just kept measuring wrong—also I am apparently incapable of making parallel diagonal lines). The shaded tiles are 4-inches square, in an accent color (the ones I like are kind of bronzey). Which tile layout do you like best . . .

. . . the diagonal layout (above), or the straight layout (below)?

The diagonal layout would require more cutting of tiles, and would take a few more tiles than the straight layout. But that's not a terribly big deal. I think. (No, I'm not painting the walls in a white and blue plaid pattern.)

I also really want to paint. Our walls were done in cheap, ugly white paint just before we moved into the house in April 2000. A lot of it has chipped and peeled, and what's still physically intact is just plain dirty. [Hmmm. I'm afraid I am making my house sound incredibly unattractive. At least, for the most part, it isn't pink any more.]

Well, anyway, I want to paint most of the walls in a creamy-tannish color (the actual color I chose is called "Almond Oil"), leaving the doors and casings white. Then I want to do the wall behind the fireplace in a deep color. I had a hard time choosing a good color because that particular wall continues into the kitchen, which is open to the livingroom. And while the living room has sage-colored carpet, the kitchen counters, you remember, are mauve. But I finally did find a color that matches both rooms nicely; kind of a brick-red (actually a lot like the current fireplace color).

If it's possible to do nicely, I'd like to repaint the iron railing that's between the kitchen and livingroom and follows down the stairs. Right now the railings are painted with cheap, white, peeling paint; I'd like them to be matte black. And if it could be done well, I'd like to put a wood cap on the tops of the rails too.

And then, if money were no object I would also replace the sage carpet for wood or laminate flooring. That would be nice! And I would replace the mauve countertops with something much more neutral. Maybe re-do the kitchen cabinets while I'm at it. And put tile on the kitchen floor. And buy a new couch. And hey! New chairs for the kitchen, too!

But for now I'm just dreaming of doing the fireplace and the painting. Who knows? Maybe in a couple of weeks . . .

Weighing

I am in one of those funks where I'm just not sure if I really want to lose weight.

I usually look at myself in the mirror and really don't think I look bad. I don't look like a giant medicine ball (or anything close to it). I look around at other people—yes, I am one of those horrible women who compares herself to everyone else (but at least I don't compare other people with me)—anyway, I look at other women that I think are attractive and I can see that my figure is pretty much the same as theirs. I am far from looking like a fashion-model, but who isn't? I am healthy. So what's the big deal?

Then, other times, I look in the mirror and see a tummy that's fuller than I like, fistfuls of stuff hanging onto my hips and thighs and I think, "Yech!" (This is usually when I'm about to get into the shower, or I'm in my pantyhose.)

But most of the time I keep my clothes on, and I think I'm not really so bad. The only other person who ever sees me without my clothes thinks I'm pretty fabulous—which kind of makes me question his judgment, sometimes.

Still, the number on the scale nags at me. I want to feel wonderful no matter what that number says, but I just don't know.

So, what do I really want? Can you answer that?

Date of the Century: Bruce's Story

Bruce had posted his story as a comment, but I thought it should go right here where everyone would be sure to see it. I did ask him to add a little more detail than he put in the original comment—I hope he doesn't embarrass anyone! ;-)

I planned this for YEARS! I spent a lot, but IT WAS WORTH IT. That summer I realized that I only had 2 terms of school, and then I was DONE! I loved Loralee, and appreciated her support and sacrifice for me to go to school—so I took some student loan money and started setting up The Dream Date.

I had so much fun arranging all this. It took four weeks to set it up. One day, I took Loralee on a "cheap date" to try on prom rental dresses. It was more fun than I predicted to see my pretty gal in lots of different gowns! When I found out how little it cost to buy last year's fashions, I bought her favorite—in green—when I went back to get fitted for my tux. Each store was run by women, and they would all say "awww!" when I explained what I was doing. I wanted to build up suspense for Loralee, so I wanted her to have lots of places to go and nice things to do. I rented a tux and got her dress (Awww!), I arranged the facial, manicure, hair (Awww!) evening caterers (Awww!), and lunch (Awww!). As I began to see the scope of this whole thing, I realized I should have pictures of this big event! But I didn't want to take them myself (I wanted to be in the pics, too!) so I arranged for a professional photographer. She's a nice lady with classic southern accent and manners:
"Is this a big formal dance?"
"No, ma'am."
"Is it her birthday?"
"Not until April."
"Well it must be y'all's wedding anniversary!"
"That's in March."
"Well now then, what's the big occasion? it's not Valentine's in August!"
"No, Ma'am. I just want to show her I love her."
"Awww! This is so sweet! You need to have a talk with my husband."

I never expected the reactions from all the ladies at all the stores I went to. But by the time of the big day, as I made final arrangements—just minutes ahead of Loralee!—I was predicting every word of conversation when I paid the girls at Castner-Knott's (Awww!). I didn't know I could have such a profound emotional effect on so many females I didn't even know—all the compliments, dreamy-eyed smiles, and heavy sighs—I could get used to that. Meanwhile...

I wanted everything to go right—I had built a very complicated day, with notes in the right places, flowers, all the shops expecting Loralee at the right times—I was nervous! I finished early, and had an hour or two before Loralee would be at Simply Southern. It was too early to check in to our room, so I went back to my now-empty home and paced the floor, wondering if everything was going according to plan for Loralee. I was too nervous to eat. Finally, after ages of reviewing every detail over and over, I figured I could go to the Bed and Breakfast. I set things up as fast as I could, and it seems like there were a few things I hadn't considered until I started laying it out in our suite. Then the doorbell rang—Loralee!!! But it's not ready yet! I felt so intense—or tense—I had wanted everything to build up to the moment when I would have her with me in our room, alone. I waited in the bedroom of the suite, and I heard Georgia walk Loralee down the hall to the main door of the suite. I slipped out the back door, into the hallway, as Loralee came around. Okay, she will see the flower, read the note, change clothes, and then...! I was so nervous I was nearly shaking. I couldn't stand it. She knocked on the door, I went back into the bedroom, and she looked stunning. And hot. And I couldn't talk. Or anything else. All I could do was take off her blindfold and, well, she did kiss me. A lot. So I didn't have to talk much. But the photographers were coming soon, so we had to get her into her dress and out to meet them.

It was awesome to finally be with Loralee.

It was a wonderful twenty-four hours. I am married to the most beautiful, loyal, smart, sexy, bright-eyed babe of all time! I'll do this for you again, Girlfriend—except, this time, maybe I'll drive for you—or hire a limo to drive for us! Then I could hold your, um, hand—while we drive. ;) Waddya say—will you go with me, Loralee?