We're on the verge of a major life moment. Like, a big ADULT thing. After working for the past five years on updating our home, we've sold it. Well, so long as everyone signs the paperwork this coming Friday. Being me, until I have ink on the paper and money in the bank, it's not really sold.
The BIG part of this is we've bought a house. And it's an adult house. Really, it has a garage. And an attic. For some reason, although I've owned 3 houses in my adult life, this feels really grown-up. I guess because we're buying it together and it's going to be a non-fixer-upper. Well, okay, it is a fixer-upper, but that will be done when we move in. We think. We hope. Yeah, okay, we'll see.
Better Half and I promised each other when we finally sold this house, we'd have our next one be move-in ready. No more Saturday morning trips to buy paint or other home improvement crap. No more sacrificing saved-up money for un-fun things like bath remodeling. No more child-stained furniture with sprouts of stuffing springing from the cushions. It would be all adulty...not in a XXX way, but a place we'd invite other adults over for football games and just hanging out.
Now that the process is in motion, I realize it is my duty to keep that promise. But, that promise takes one HUGE thing: Money. One would think I would enjoy this. What I've learned in the past few days is this: Spending ginormous amounts of moolah makes my stomach ache and my head spin. It makes my mouth dry. I hesitate and second-guess my decisions. I can't commit to anything. I'm amazed I could tell another human being I would be with him for the rest of my life when I can't make a decision on a stupid fabric. Granted I have done that with two different human beings, but I meant it the second time.
I've decided I would totally suck at being rich. Not that I'm not willing to experience that, mind you. It's just hard throwing down the money and knowing a year from now my appliances won't be cutting-edge. Cause, really, I have no idea what true European convection cooking is because I do well to master toast. I picked all gray fabric for the couch because patterns are too much commitment. My lesson? I've learned that it's truly a case of the grass being greener on the other side.
July 9, 2011
July 5, 2011
Only Because She Said I Would...
If you see my mother, don't tell her I wrote this. She said I would, but I was hoping to surprise her and keep this one on the low.
My mother and I are not super huggy-feely types, but we are pretty much reflections of each other. It's sometimes one of those situations where we're too much alike so we disagree on things, but ultimately I'd say she's my best friend. She doesn't listen to a damn word I say, but that's probably how she's felt about me a time or two.
For the past year or so, I've been trying to eliminate things from my diet that may or may not be what's ailing me. Cutting out gluten has worked wonders for me. I'm not as zealous as I should be, but I'm doing pretty good. I told my mother this last fall as we tend to have the same health issues, but she poo-poo'ed my glorification of all things gluten-free. Fast forward to this past Sunday.
As we were sitting in church, my mother and I noticed our church was now offering gluten-free wafers for communion. We pointed and smiled at the awesomeness of our thoughtful and cutting-edge pastor. Then mother wrote me a note (we write a lot of notes in church...shhhh) that she wasn't eating flour of any kind. I wrote that she could have rice and corn flour, to which she responded absolutely not! No flour of any kind. She'd made up her mind! I was proud of her because I knew this was a monumental challenge for her. As a family rich with diabetes (and not cause we're all fat; we just got lucky), I know how difficult it is to end the passionate love affair I had with all things bread.
After church, the parents and I went to grab a bite to eat. The manager of this particular restaurant makes about 50 homemade biscuits each Sunday for her staff. My parents know this particular secret after she offered them some of the extras. You should know my parents eat there at least every other day, so it's not strange. Mother fell in love with them. In her words, "They are to die for!!" Now, one would think she would moan about not being able to have any more of these because she, by GOD, isn't eating any flour. Even communion wafers. But, no.
As the server asked if we wanted anything else, she looked at me, then quickly turned her head and said, "Are there any biscuits left?" Yep, she did. And yes there were. Matter of fact, there were two. Notice I said "were." Because my mother proceeded to eat one and then take one HOME! Really? You pass up communion, but you're gonna eat a 4,000 calorie biscuit made of FLOUR?! Because we're not eating flour, dammit. At this point, my not-so-public self took over and I began laughing....large guffaws...then...a very, very loud....SNORT! Yep, I snorted so loud that every table in our section looked at me. Then a server from another section came by and said, "Wow! I can never do that! How cute!" Um, no, not really.
The reason this was snort-worthy was because I get it. I know what it's like to swear up and down I'm going to not eat sugar or I'm going to start flossing my teeth every day. I've made those promises. What's hard is keeping them. I feel better after eating healthy and blah, blah, blah, but the euphoric sense I feel after a MochaNut Frappe ain't too damn bad either. (Have you had one? OMG! Mocha & Coconut & Whipped Cream!!!!) My mother is the same way, and, unfortunately, we are enablers for each other. Starbucks? Sure! McDonalds Frappe? Why not! We are certainly two peas in a pod...a sugary, flour-laden pod....with whipped cream.
My mother and I are not super huggy-feely types, but we are pretty much reflections of each other. It's sometimes one of those situations where we're too much alike so we disagree on things, but ultimately I'd say she's my best friend. She doesn't listen to a damn word I say, but that's probably how she's felt about me a time or two.
For the past year or so, I've been trying to eliminate things from my diet that may or may not be what's ailing me. Cutting out gluten has worked wonders for me. I'm not as zealous as I should be, but I'm doing pretty good. I told my mother this last fall as we tend to have the same health issues, but she poo-poo'ed my glorification of all things gluten-free. Fast forward to this past Sunday.
As we were sitting in church, my mother and I noticed our church was now offering gluten-free wafers for communion. We pointed and smiled at the awesomeness of our thoughtful and cutting-edge pastor. Then mother wrote me a note (we write a lot of notes in church...shhhh) that she wasn't eating flour of any kind. I wrote that she could have rice and corn flour, to which she responded absolutely not! No flour of any kind. She'd made up her mind! I was proud of her because I knew this was a monumental challenge for her. As a family rich with diabetes (and not cause we're all fat; we just got lucky), I know how difficult it is to end the passionate love affair I had with all things bread.
After church, the parents and I went to grab a bite to eat. The manager of this particular restaurant makes about 50 homemade biscuits each Sunday for her staff. My parents know this particular secret after she offered them some of the extras. You should know my parents eat there at least every other day, so it's not strange. Mother fell in love with them. In her words, "They are to die for!!" Now, one would think she would moan about not being able to have any more of these because she, by GOD, isn't eating any flour. Even communion wafers. But, no.
As the server asked if we wanted anything else, she looked at me, then quickly turned her head and said, "Are there any biscuits left?" Yep, she did. And yes there were. Matter of fact, there were two. Notice I said "were." Because my mother proceeded to eat one and then take one HOME! Really? You pass up communion, but you're gonna eat a 4,000 calorie biscuit made of FLOUR?! Because we're not eating flour, dammit. At this point, my not-so-public self took over and I began laughing....large guffaws...then...a very, very loud....SNORT! Yep, I snorted so loud that every table in our section looked at me. Then a server from another section came by and said, "Wow! I can never do that! How cute!" Um, no, not really.
The reason this was snort-worthy was because I get it. I know what it's like to swear up and down I'm going to not eat sugar or I'm going to start flossing my teeth every day. I've made those promises. What's hard is keeping them. I feel better after eating healthy and blah, blah, blah, but the euphoric sense I feel after a MochaNut Frappe ain't too damn bad either. (Have you had one? OMG! Mocha & Coconut & Whipped Cream!!!!) My mother is the same way, and, unfortunately, we are enablers for each other. Starbucks? Sure! McDonalds Frappe? Why not! We are certainly two peas in a pod...a sugary, flour-laden pod....with whipped cream.
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