Evolving Kitty Antics

First of all, I should update you that my TV fasting really did work. I watched only two hours of television in nine days, a record of which I am quite proud. And then a weekend rolled around, and I finally caved and cleared out my DVR. The proper balance seems to be avoiding it at all costs during the week, and then enjoying being a glutton all weekend.

But what I really want to share is a new development in Ziggy's demented personality. Every morning around 5:30, Ziggy comes into the bedroom, jumps up onto the bed, climbs over me and onto the side table, and starts chewing on the lampshade. And it drives me absolutely bonkers. The first few times he did it, I jumped up and chased him out of the room yelling and waving my arms like a maniac. But it seems as though it's all a ploy for attention, since the more peaceful tactic of scootching over to create a warm spot for him to be my little spoon seems to work. At least temporarily. As soon as I fall back asleep, and therefore stop petting him, he resumes eating the lampshade. Lately we've been repeating this cycle about three times before I finally jump up and chase him out of the room yelling and waving my arms like a maniac.

When he was a kitten, his nightly routine was to attack my face promptly at 11 pm. So I guess we're making progress?

Yes, you should be embarrassed,
you little nocturnal attention whore.

Tuning Out (Temporarily)

A while ago I wrote about not having much time to sit around and pine for my geo-bachelor husband. Well, apparently I have a lot of time to sit around and stare zombie eyed at the television, because I've been doing a whole lot of that lately. It all started so innocently. I would turn the TV on just for background noise so the house wasn't so quiet and empty feeling. But the problem with that was I ended up listening to the background noise, and getting sucked into watching Kardashian marathons and Teen Mom finale specials. Then I was using it as an avoidance tactic instead of doing work for my painfully boring research class. And then it was just because I was in a bit of a shlump, and half the time I wasn't even watching a show because nothing even slightly good was on; I just flipped mindlessly through the commercials instead of trying to do something more interesting.

With deadlines looming, and my spirit slipping into self loathing after realizing that I was watching the same reruns more than once in the same day, I decided it was time for a detox. I was shooting for 24 hours sans TV, but it turns out that I really do have a lot of other things I can and should be doing. Things like finishing a paper and doing laundry and cooking dinner and taking my dog for a walk and finishing a beautiful, heart-wrenching novel. (No, I wasn't playing favorites. The other pup was at the park with his bff, a certain spunky black lab). And, I'm very much enjoying the silence. The weather is cool and the crickets are chirping and my windows are open to the breeze, and it's peaceful. That is, until the neighbors decide to have another raucous party. It's been 46 hours so far since my last reality TV fix, and considering my plans for the rest of the weekend, I think I might actually make it much longer.

Me vs. The Lawn Equipment

While I was out running the other day, I saw one of my young, female neighbors calmly and efficiently trimming the grass around her flower beds using my most feared yard tool: the Weed Wacker. She made it look so easy that I vowed this would be the weekend I would finally try to conquer the rest of the mysterious manly stuff in the shed that I've been avoiding.

I think I missed something...

So this morning I got up, opened the shed, put on my gloves, and got to work. I tried to ease into it, first mowing the grass with my nice, silent, non-gas-spewing manual mower. Today, it was okay that it didn't even pretend to cut the thicker weeds; the dreaded Wacker was following close behind to tame those reluctant tufts into submission. After going over the whole backyard a few times, I could no longer avoid it.  I got the Wacker off its hook, attached the extension cord, and pressed the button. And I was.....moderately successful. The edges along the walkway are clearly delineated if a little wonky, and I only wacked a few bare patches into the lawn. However, while the weeds along the edge of the path were severed, they were still stubbornly clinging to the center of the path.

After somewhat clearing the path, I turned to the weeds at perimeter of the house, and that's when things really went downhill. They should change the sticker saying, "no bumping required" to "no bumping into the side of the house recommended." Anyone know how to fix that little green thingy?

On the bright side, it does still wack things--just in a much smaller circumference.

Once I was sufficiently dejected by the Wacker, I turned to the Blower. This is much more my style. I might get some dirt on my face, but I won't chop off any toes, and there are less moving parts for me to break. It's also lighter and easier to carry around. Unfortunately, I am only as good with the Blower as I am with an iron, which is to say...not good. For every area I smooth out, I create more wrinkles in other areas that were just fine and dandy prior to my intrusion.

I tested my aptitude with this equipment from the shielded safety of my backyard prior to going out front, because I knew I was going to make an ass out of myself and wanted to limit the number of spectators as much as possible. But even with the practice, I did get quite a few strange looks once I finally tackled the front yard. It probably had something to do with the medieval torture device I was jumping up and down on. I speak of course of the Aerator. Our front yard is so dry and grassless and compacted that instead of rolling it to and fro like a normal person, I had to take a more series-of-swift-punctures approach. 

But having a raggedy yard will just make our house spookier for Halloween, right? And that'll be here before you know it, so it's probably a good thing that I start getting ready now...

Oh and did I mention that while all these festivities were happening, one of our dogs, Ollie, licked up some ant killer? Don't worry, I called the poison control number and he'll be fine. Turns out it's mostly ground up corn, and the pesticide is much more harmful to a microscopic ant than it is to an 80 pound dog. So today, it's actually a good thing that he's a bit of a fat-ass!

I think we all better stay inside for a while. 

Nom Nom Nom

With The Hubs gone, there have certainly been days when all I can rustle up for dinner is a fun-sized bag of barbecue potato chips and a box of lean cuisine eggrolls. Or an entire sleeve of Saltine crackers and a bowl of raw veggies with ranch dip. C'est la vie. But ironically, I've actually been cooking a lot more now that he's gone than I did when he was still here...probably because I don't have him to cook for me! I am also the Queen of Leftovers lately, which is kind of necessary since most recipes make enough food for at least four, and I am only one. If I didn't get inventive, I'd be throwing out a whole heap of food. For example, I made a big brisket roast with carrots, and then repurposed it as both enchilada filling and a breakfast hash (see below).

A while ago, I posted about a commitment to start planning meals and following recipes instead of throwing things together willy nilly, and I am happy to report that I have actually followed through. The potato, carrot, and leek soup was from a vegetarian cookbook, and the tuna steak with lemon and herbs was from a vintage New York Times cookbook that my wonderful mother-in-law got for me. The roasted beet and goat cheese salad recipe I got from the Epicurious app I have on my phone (one of my go-to resources). The dressing is so yummy and so easy -- just some extra virgin olive oil, balsamic vinegar, and frozen orange juice concentrate. Tangy and delish!

I've been meaning to post about my culinary adventures while I was in New Orleans for the American Library Association Conference. I mean, it was fun to learn about library stuff and all, but it was sorta all about the food. My roommates and I had the goal of "eating our way through New Orleans" and I think we put a decent dent in it. If I can ever find the camera that has all those pictures on it, I will be sure to let you in on my best finds from The Big Easy. Two words: Shrimp Creole.

During our honeymoon trip to Saint Martin, my main focus was on eating as much delicious French food as I could....it seems as though the older I get, the more my life revolves around food. Cooking and eating has replaced partying and at least some of my wild adventures. It's a good thing I run marathons, or else I might be a little rolly polly.

Happy eating,
Sarah

p.s. When in doubt, put an egg on it.

A Self Righteous, Passive Aggressive Moment

The next time my neighbors decide to throw a loud, obnoxious party until 3 a.m., I just might have to wake up at 6 a.m. the next day to do some yard work. In particular, I might have to mow the non-existent grass and blow around all of those leaves that are in my side yard. You know, the side yard right outside my bedroom window where all their drunk friends were parked, and thus where their drunk friends kept slamming their car doors all night. Apparently, a prerequisite for attending an obnoxious party is the ability to enter and exit things emphatically. I might also have to scream expletives while I'm doing said yard work, but that shouldn't bother them because it seems to simply be the way in which they communicate with one another.

Seriously though, I live in a really nice, family friendly neighborhood. If they want to throw down like that, they should have chosen to live on campus in the Greek Village. I realize I'm sounding like an old fuddy duddy, but people's complete obliviousness (or plain lack of regard) for how their actions might effect other people gets under my skin and drives me crazy. We've had parties here until the wee hours of the morning...but we keep the noise inside the house, not outside right next to where our neighbors are trying to sleep. Even in my college heydays I tried to keep the volume down whenever I had parties. Be young and fiesty, do whatever you want. But don't force the whole rest of the neighborhood to listen to your idiocy. It's just rude.

Sink or Swim

I am now officially a geo-bachelorette. We knew this day was coming, but despite all of our best intentions to "prepare" ourselves we didn't really succeed at that. I was taking an intense summer class, spending all my nights and weekends doing schoolwork. The Hubs was packing up his stuff and hanging out with all of his SC friends for a last hoorah. And then, suddenly, he was gone. The days had been so full of stuff to do that the reality of living apart for nine months didn't finally sink in until his Uhaul was pulling out of the driveway.

For the first week, I couldn't sleep. I would lay in bed until 3, 4, 5 in the morning until finally lulled into an infomercial induced coma. It wasn't because I was worried about him; I knew he was safe and settling in. It was just different. There was something missing. It's a good thing he still has a lot of clothes and other things here, because it allows me the illusion that he is just gone for a short trip, whenever I need to fool myself. If his half of the closet was completely empty, I have a feeling I would be much more of a basket case. Even more of a basket case than using his bath towel that he left hanging on the hook instead of putting in the laundry hamper, just because it's his. (Don't judge me.)

Fortunately, I have slowly been forced back into a regular schedule by the demands of work and my final semester of grad school. And it's quickly become apparent that staying busy is going to be my primary coping mechanism for this separation. Between taking a research class, working three jobs, playing on a kickball team, training for a marathon, and doing all the house and pet stuff on my own, I don't have all that much time to sit around and pine for him.

Speaking of house and pet stuff, I am pretty proud of myself for not letting things immediately turn to rubble. I've been keeping up with the always-necessary vacuuming, dusting, mopping, etc. I have not allowed dishes to accumulate in the sink, despite having a broken dishwasher for a while. I've shuttled the dogs back and forth from the vet's office (although I do have to stagger the visits because I can't wrangle them both at once--especially since one becomes panicky and irate whenever coerced into the exam room). I've done yard work--and not just mowing! I actually trimmed all of our overgrown trees and shrubbery! (There is an inappropriate alternate meaning there as well, but I will gracefully leave it unsaid.) I also took a solo road trip with both dogs, which, believe me, requires acrobatic-like skills during potty stops.

However, I am still afraid of the weed-wacker and the power washer. And I have not yet had sufficient initiative to drag the mower onto the other side of the house. And I borrowed The Hubs' friend to come install the new dishwasher instead of figuring it out myself. And now the vacuum cleaner is broken, with pet hair swiftly accumulating as I figure out what the heck to do with it.

There was no gradually acclimating to this scenario. We just had to jump in--I like to imagine cannonball style, with a dramatic splash--into the deep end. And while I'm not sprinting through the waters, neither am I clinging desperately to a raft. I'm figuring things out the best I can, moment to moment.

I'm doggie paddling.

Ollie has not yet embraced the "sink or swim" mentality. He's a clinger.

The Order In Which I Neglect Things:

1. Blogging (sorry folks)
2. Anything and everything that could be considered a "domestic art"
3. Exercise
4. Sleep
5. Personal hygiene
6. Sanity

Only seven more days until the end of the summer semester.

Whatever Gets Me Through The Day

I read an article in Shape magazine a while ago, talking about how different people motivate themselves to push through hard workouts by using different tactics. Some meditate, some try to distract themselves, and others respond better to Zena Warrior Princess-esque battle cries.

As I've begun training for my next marathon (and particularly now that I am not yet back in shape and even my short runs are a struggle) I've been thinking about all the little mental games I play with myself just to make it through my workouts. I have quite a few up my sweat-wicking Under Armor sleeve, so I thought I'd share them with all the other reluctant runners out there, as well as anyone else who often finds themselves in...unpleasant situations.

First there is mentally declaring war on whatever poor soul happens to be using a machine nearby. I believe this is pretty common, but I am the champ! It doesn't matter if it's the peppy sorority girl on the elliptical, the 500-pound guy walking two miles an hour, the track-star-looking guy with legs longer than my whole body, or a sweet little old lady. It. Is. On. And I will not stop my machine before they do. This usually gets me past the first 20-30 minutes, since that's about when most normal people stop and move on to greener pastures. Oh, but not me.

Once I've exhausted my supply of unsuspecting opponents, but it's still early enough in my run that I have a little pep in my step, that's when I start performing "Shoop" by Salt-N-Pepa. Not outwardly of course; my legs are a little busy. But in my head, I am starring as both Salt AND Pepa in a kick ass music video a la the Fly Girls from In Living Color. Added bonus: I will be prepared with an awesome routine if The Hubs ever gets me drunk enough to do karaoke.

When I'm dripping sweat and my energy starts to drain, I imagine Jillian Michaels screaming in my face. KEEP GOING! KEEP GOING! DON'T YOU DARE SLOW DOWN! I DON'T CARE IF YOU VOMIT ALL OVER YOURSELF, YOU WILL FINISH THIS WORKOUT! RAWWRRRR!!!

Well, Jillian is a very busy gal. She can't stick around all day. So when I'm out from under her watchful eyes, I start bargaining with myself. I'll make deals like, "I'm going to slow down for two minutes, and then bump it back up again." Or, "I am not going to look at the treadmill screen again until I count to 100." Or, "I am going to keep this incline until that guy outside walks to his car, gets in it, and drives away." You get the idea.

But when my body really starts to panic, and I start questioning whether I can make it even a tenth of a mile further let alone three miles, this is the mantra I always come back to: "Of course I can." It's this simple little reality check that snaps me out of questioning myself and looking for excuses to give up. And it works, because it's true. Because I've done it before, and I'll do it again. Because my mind can show my body who's boss. Because whether I finish by sprinting, walking, or dragging myself by my fingernails, I will finish. Of course I can.

Here I am with my pops after the Marine Corps Marathon.
I'm currently training for this same race--only this time The Hubs is doing it too!

The Storm Before The Calm

Getting ready to go on vacation is always a little crazy. There's trying to make up extra hours at work, doing laundry, packing, paying bills, figuring out petsitting arrangements, and generally doling out all the information anyone might need to take care of things in your absence. For us, it also usually includes a deep cleaning of the entire house, since The Hubs is singly focused on the joys of returning home to fur-free floors and fresh sheets. I have to admit, it is pretty nice. There was so much running around this time, however, that all we could manage was to mow the grass, do the dishes, and clean out the litter box. Our friend is staying at our house while we're gone to watch Ziggy and Tweeder, and he'll have his dog with him too, so I suppose the floors wouldn't be fur free when we got home, even if we had done the usual swabbing of the decks.

On Thursday, we drove the eight hours up to my parents house to drop off our other dog Ollie. Friday was filled with running errands and my sister's surprise 30th birthday party, and this morning we woke up bright and early and are currently sitting in Dulles airport waiting for our flight to beautiful St. Martin. Well, we're flying to St. Maarten, but then staying on the French side, St. Martin.

That's right. After seven months of marriage, we're finally going on our honeymoon! So all of the crazy preparations were totally worth it, because my reward is to spend a whole week alone with my honey, right here:

(photo from villavillas.com)

Cheers,
Sarah

Before My Husband Leaves

In just two short months my husband will move to another state, becoming what the military calls a "geographic bachelor." He will essentially relocate the contents of his man room to a small apartment eight hours away. He'll be at school--not deployed--so I don't have to worry about him being in danger unless you count the occasional paper cut. We'll see each other most weekends, and we're already used to spending a lot of time apart, so I'm also not worried about losing touch or the spark of our honeymoon phase. If anything, more time apart will probably extend our honeymoon phase for an extra year. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, yes? But what I'm really a bit nervous about...what I really want to know is...who is going to open the honey jar?

I admit I've grown soft in my marriage, coming to depend on The Hubs to pick up the slack for all of the million tiny things I forget, am incapable of, or simple don't feel like dealing with. Things like fixing the cars, killing roaches, carrying our beer pong team to victory (because I'm definitely no help there), providing enough body heat for both of us during the winter months, and of course anything involving math. Visitors to my house will hear many requests for "man hands" to open condiments, lift things that are heavy, and reach things that are high. He plants the grass and mows the lawn, or at least is there to troubleshoot when my infrequent attempts at lawn mowing go awry. ("So, your hippie-dippie non-motorized push mower won't roll forward? It might have something to do with that big stick caught in the blades.") Don't think that it's a one-way street with The Hubs doing all the work; I'm pretty sure I'm the only one who has ever cleaned our toilets. But the point is, I rely on him an awful lot.

My standard reply, when man hands opens something on the first try after I've shredded my palms trying to do it, is "thanks," followed by "well, I loosened it up for you." It seems as though no matter how hard I try, it always takes one last touch from my big, strong hubby's hands to make everything turn out right. And I like that. It seems to be an apt metaphor for marriage. But the other day, when I wanted some honey for my tea and the lid just wouldn't budge, I passed it off to The Hubs. And instead of opening it with a mere flick of his wrist, he handed it back to me and told me to give it one last shot. And you know what? I got it. So I guess that's an apt metaphor for a military marriage. We will always rely on each other, and he'll be there when he can. But sometimes he'll have to pass everything back to me and I'll just have to make it work without him.

I don't know if he handed the jar back to me because he was sick of dealing with my feeble requests for help, because he just wanted to give me a confidence boost, or because he is slowly trying to prepare me to deal with life in his absence. But it seems to me that there are two ways of preparing for a separation, whether a deployment or a geo-bachelor TDY (temporary duty assignment). You can try to wean yourself off your spouse, taking on their jobs around the house and trying to figure everything out for yourself before asking them to step in. Or, you can sit back and let them help you out as much as possible now, because you'll be taking care of everything by yourself soon enough. If I'm feeling particularly lazy, I'm inclined towards the latter, i.e. "I'll be the only one cleaning the kitty litter box for nine whole months, so you should do it now even though you did it last time." But I guess a part of me does feel like it's time to slowly take on more and more responsibilities, testing out my self-sufficiency while I still have him here as my safety net.

What do you think is better: pulling away before he's actually gone, or keeping everything the same until the last possible moment?

Sarah

Que Sera, Sarah

It's no coincidence that my name fits in so nicely with this well-known phrase sung by the glorious Doris Day. It happens to be my personal motto. Que sera, sera. Whatever will be, will be. Or as I like to say, "toast is toast." It's a relaxed but confident, optimistic yet objective, tolerant and open-to-possibilities mindset that I tend towards. This is not to say that I don't make plans, have goals, try my best to reach them, or occasionally get stressed out. I just don't feel the need to know all the answers or hold grudges, and I generally feel like everything will eventually shake out the way it's supposed to. Not everyone can understand or agree with such a laissez faire attitude, but it works for me--in my approach to friendships and day-to-day problems, to religion and my relationship with God, and even when someone cuts me off on the highway. My family likes to tell this story about how, as a child, if someone made me angry I would booby trap my room out of spite so they couldn't come in. I'm all for funny and embarrassing stories from youth, but every time this one is told it really bothers me because the point of telling it is to demonstrate that I hang on to ill feelings with vindictiveness, and this is so contrary to who I actually am.

I've been thinking a lot about this lately, becoming reflective and self-assessing as my birthday came and went. And I can honestly say, with no egotism, that I really like who I am. When I think about how I treat people, how I treat myself, and how I spend my time, I realize that I am the person who I want to be. This was kind of a surprising realization, since that was definitely not always the case. I know that I needed to spend many years floundering and making mistakes in order to get here, and I know that I'm not done evolving. But for now, it's nice to have wonderful friends and family, a fabulous husband, adorable and goofy pets to pour love into, good health, and to know that I've finally found what I really want to do career wise. As I roll into my 27th year on this planet, I am filled an attitude of gratitude, and a sense of infinite possibilities.

Cheers,

Sarah

Miles to Go Before I Sleep

Monday afternoon, I sent off my last assignment of the semester (woot!) and hit the open road with one of my furry children. 450 miles, one outrageous gas tank fill up at a kooky country store, one human/canine potty stop, and about eight hours later, I arrived at my parent's house in Virginia. This semester has been so jam packed that I hadn't seen my family since Christmas, which is just way too long. The next morning, I went with my mom to her bowling league, out to lunch, ran some errands (and did some shopping for honeymoon clothes, in case The Hubs is wondering what that big charge was), and decided to drive back down south another 175 miles to my little sister's house. She had a baby this past October and I sorely needed to catch up on all the growth and development I've missed over the last five months.

After lots of baby snuggling, picture taking, the first margarita of the Cinco de Mayo festivities, and an...interesting night sleeping in a recliner, my mom and I headed the 175 miles back north (after adding quite a few extra miles searching for an IHOP; I was on a pancake mission). After a glorious nap to undo some of the restless recliner hours, we went to see my other nephews' chorus and strings concert. Afterwards, we went out to dinner and I thoroughly enjoyed margarita number two. Who cares if I'm not Mexican? I'm on vacation! And, dammit, I'm celebrating Cinco de Mayo all week. Ole'!

I got to sleep in this morning, and am going to see my two best friends tonight to catch up over some beers and live music (and margarita #3, if I have anything to say about it). Tomorrow is my nephew's baseball game, and hopefully spending some time with another great friend. Then Sunday is Mother's Day and a family barbecue, and Monday Ollie and I make our way 450 miles back to South Carolina, thus ending my whirlwind tour. Whew!

But right now it's time to add a couple more miles to my trip, by foot. My troublesome infected poison ivy is finally healed to the point that I can wear running shoes, and I need some way to justify my margarita habit :)

Cheers,
Sarah

Time To Get Some Shape-Ups...

...is what a snotty undergrad said to me yesterday as I walked past her and her boyfriend on campus. I was turning in a final paper and returning some library books before hitting the gym, so I was wearing my workout clothes. As I passed them I smiled and nodded hello, as I do to everyone. Instead of smiling back, she looked right at me and made a snide comment. Apparently, she was unimpressed with how my legs looked in my running shorts.

Her comment was particularly timely since this weekend I saw myself in a bathing suit for the first time in a very long time, and thus I am keenly aware of my lack of muscle tone. But even though I know that I'm a bit jiggly these days, give me a break! I was headed to the gym! All I can say is that being hateful will hold her back a lot more than it will effect me. I can trim down and buff up with some simple exercise, but overcoming a bad personality is a lot more difficult. I am seriously mourning the decline of manners and civility in our society.

But, despite her rudeness, I really am curious about those toning sneakers and wouldn't mind wearing them around campus since I usually end up walking a lot. I like some of the styles that look more like regular sneakers rather than the Shape-Ups. Has anyone tried the New Balance or Reebok versions?

And speaking of bathing suits, The Hubs and I finally booked our honeymoon! This summer we are headed to the French side of St. Martin for a glorious week of sun and relaxation. The kicker? We're staying at a very nice, very nude beach. A "clothing optional paradise!" ha ha. I seriously doubt that I will be flashing the full monty, but perhaps I'll go topless. It would be so European of me :)  Although, exposing my tender bits that have never seen the light of day might be a bit painful. I'll have to take SPF 100,000,000 and wear it like body paint.

Have you ever been to a nude beach before? If so, did you "participate"??

Pet Therapy

No, I'm not talking about sending our animals to a pet psychiatrist in order to figure out their frustrations and anxieties...although I am possibly a big enough wackadoo to try something like that. I do love me some Dog Whisperer! What I'm talking about is taking advantage of the dopey cuddliness of animals in a purely selfish way.

This week has been incredibly busy, as every end-of-the-semester is. But in addition to all the final projects and presentations and work and volunteering, I am itching like crazy from head to toe. Spring allergies are making the inside of my skull prickly. I got stung by a wasp, so my thigh is swollen and red and rashy. My left foot has fallen victim to a ridonculous poison ivy reaction, and of course the bubbliest itchiest spot is exactly where any shoe or sandal will rub. (I would post pictures but I don't want to ruin your evening.) Halfway through running errands today, my car decided not to start. After switching cars with The Hubs, I needed to get gas. So I tried going to the hornets nest that is the PX gas station on a Friday afternoon, circled a few times, got honked at, gave up, and paid an absurd price per gallon just for the luxury of using a slightly less aggressive filling station. When the lady at Hobby Lobby was rude to me, I wanted to scream, "JUST SHOW ME WHERE THE DAMN BEESWAX IS! DON'T YOU KNOW THAT I'M ITCHY?!?!"

But then I got home, and all of our pets rushed to greet me with purrs and wagging tails. I scooped up the kitty, sat down, started scratching the dogs behind their ears, and within 30 seconds all was right with the world.

The Benadryl is calling me, but I'll leave you with some gratuitous pet photos just in case you're also having one of those days. Maybe their magic will work even virtually.

Sarah

Following Directions

Well, I did it. Yesterday, I actually cooked dinner from a recipe, although I did add a little somethin'-somethin' extra to make it my own (and to make it a "real dinner" by The Hubs' standards). I try to eat healthy but haven't been doing very well lately, so for my foray into recipedom I went for a vegetarian cookbook. I chose a Greek bean one-pot dish which was very delish on its own, but for some people it doesn't count as a real meal unless it includes meat, so I threw some fish in the pot during the last 15 minutes.

I'll have to follow directions more often, because The Hubs polished off the other three portions and that's a good review if ever I've had one. Although, if the goal is for us to eat healthily, I'm not sure encouraging him to eat triple portions is the way to go.

On another high note, I found a great way to re-use all the name tag stickers we have in our junk drawer for some reason:

The Return of Hot Tub Sarah

A while ago, when my friendship with Keekes was still just a spring bud peeking out of the awakening earth (ok, enough of that), I found out that her husband had taken to calling me "Hot Tub Sarah," since there are always a lot of Sarah's around, and we just happen to have a hot tub at our house. I actually like it. I think it's kind of catchy.

Unfortunately, we never really use our hot tub. We never really even go around to the side of the house where it sits, cold and silent, yearning to give warmth and comfort to some grateful companions (seriously, what is my deal today). That is, until last night.

After working for five hours, and then working on a school assignment for another eight hours straight as soon as I got home, I was in desperate need of something. Something to calm my frazzled brain and make me less of a bear to be around. And then I remembered: Hot Tub!

It was lovely. It was lulling. It was everything I hoped it would be. With my glass of wine and box of wheat thins, I slowly returned from a crazed grad student to a normal human being. With so much left to do before the end of the semester, I have a lot more hot tubbing in my future.

Cheers,

Sarah

This never would have happened if I was still 10 years old.

I injured myself. Like, really injured myself. Playing kickball. And it's not like I did it during an epic showdown of stealing home and sliding into the catcher. It was the first play of the game. I was in right field. When the player "at bat" kicked the ball, I started to run forward to cover the throw to first base. And on my very first step, it felt like both quads had been ripped off the bone. When I was a kid, I did not have to slowly warm up and stretch for an hour before engaging in any physical activity. I just went out and started playing. When did my muscles begin to petrify, making my legs into useless, inflexible stumps?

As I've gotten older, I've noticed that there are a lot of walls I'm hitting. One day, all of a sudden, I woke up and my face was too busted looking to go out of the house without makeup. One day, out of blue, I went from being able to pull productive all-nighters to becoming completely incompetent after 11 o'clock. And now this!

If I was still ten years old, I would be fluid and carefree. I would be able to roll out of bed, climb on my bike, ride down a hill, smash into a tree, get right back up and do it again. I would not have bags under my eyes, or need to medicate and pack myself in ice after a simple game of kickball.

But I also would not have boobs, or be able to drink alcohol. So I've got that going for me.

Cheers,
Sarah

Hot Diggity Chow Chow!

copyright:
Carolina Sauce Co.

I have a new favorite Southern find--hot chow chow! No, it's not a dog suffering through a South Carolina summer. And it's not an Asian drag queen at the gay cabaret club that I'm still meaning to go to one of these days. Chow chow is a heavenly concoction of cabbage, peppers, onions, vinegar, and spices--basically a relish except no pickles. Many of the recipes I've found incorporate green tomatoes as well, but those were left out of the jar I stumbled upon at the roadside farmer's market. It's tangy and delish, and the perfect condiment for pretty much anything. How did I go through my whole life--and more than a year of living in the South--without knowing about this?!? Well, now I'm certainly making up for lost time.

Here's one that sounds very similar to the kind I have. And the makers even donate part of their proceeds from every jar to another fun new discovery of mine: Operation Sauce Drop. They send tasty sauces -- and chow chow -- to servicemen and women overseas. Awesome!

Have you moved to a new place and fallen in love with one of their regional treats?

Kitchen Mishmash

I love cookbooks. I mean, I really love all books. But I find well-designed, well-photographed, easy-to-follow cookbooks totally irresistible. And that's why I have a large collection of them currently overflowing the cabinet space above our microwave. But do I actually use them? Not really.

There's more where this came from.

That I finally realize this is not going to make me stop buying lovely cookbooks. It's just a fresh observation and I'm wondering if anyone else has a similar passionate/passive relationship to theirs. Every now and then I will pull them all out, read through them, and dog-ear the pages of the really yummy looking recipes I'd like to try. But unless I'm having a dinner party (which unfortunately is not very often) those dog-eared pages will remain stuffed together in the cabinet, unused. My daily dinner routine is to thaw some kind of meat, and then...do something with it. And try to make it somewhat healthy and include several food groups. I pull things out of the fridge and pantry and then just kind of throw stuff together. Sometimes the results are a tolerable "meh" or a dubious "hmmmmm." But others, like tonight, are actually quite tasty. I like exercising my creativity and resourcefulness--I can throw together a mean Leftover Surprise! But surely my culinary skills would improve if I actually followed directions?

I seem to come up with more goals for self-improvement every day, but perhaps I'll add yet another one to the list: make at least one meal from an actual recipe per week. I'm sure The Hubs will be glad :)

Bon Appétit,

Sarah

p.s. Here is the kitchen mishmash we had tonight: Greek-Inspired Tilapia. It certainly sounds fancy-pants, doesn't it? I covered the fish filets with some olive oil, lemon juice, red onion and green olives (both finely diced). Salt and pepper, of course. Oh, and I also drizzled on some of the chili-pepper oil we make and always have on hand. Then I baked them in a 350 degree oven for 15 minutes (the last minute under the broiler to make sure the top looked nice and golden). Meanwhile, I made a potato hash on the stovetop: potatoes diced like home fries and sauteed with onion and garlic, and then cut-up asparagus tossed in during the last 5 minutes or so. Not bad for something conjured up out of thin air, if I do say so myself.

p.p.s. I do always use recipes when I'm baking. Because I am just not that good, and the margin of error is too high. But I don't bake very often (see above remark about trying to eat healthy).

Before & After

Posting some photos of a few rectified Loose Ends in an attempt to keep myself motivated:

Half torn off sticker on cabinet for two months...
gone in two minutes with a little Goo Gone and a paper towel.

I have been meaning to paint and put knobs on this once-ugly 70s side table for about five years.
The cute knobs are from World Market -- one of my very favorite stores!

The mountain of boxes was from wedding gifts, which started rolling in around
September 2010. We put the blow-up mattress out there in November 2010
when we had family in town for our wedding. Then the sun room became a full-blown
toss-it-in-there-close-the-door-and-forget-about-it room, until I finally cleared it out last month.
And it took all of ten minutes to load up all the boxes and take them to the recycle bin down the street. 

It's really amazing--and ridiculous--how long I've put off some of these projects, when most of them take only a couple minutes to finish. Next up: finish my taxes (more on this later) and organize my office, which is unfortunately not a simple a two-minute job!

My Boney Butt, And Other Things

March is my roll-over Loose Ends Month since--as is typical of my behavior and the primary reason I needed a Loose Ends Month in the first place--I procrastinated until the end of last month to start conquering all of my tasks. But, I'm still on a roll and have been quite productive lately. There are a few things I still haven't addressed (our taxes being the most pressing) but this month I have: gotten my hair cut, made doctor appointments, took the safety warning stickers off the bathroom cabinet, finished my DIY project, cleaned out the sun room, threw out some leftovers that had been lurking in the back of the refrigerator for months, rearranged and cleaned up the guest room, mowed the lawn, and got my bike tuned up (one of my Groupons!). And that is where my boney butt comes in.

It's been about two years since I last rode my bike, and the day I picked it up from Cycle Center was a lovely, sunny 75 degrees so I couldn't wait to take it out for a spin. I only rode for a few miles, but oh man! My butt bones are still sore almost a week later. Granted, I'm not in "bicycling condition," but can one's tush ever really become conditioned to balancing on that little wedge? I mean you don't get, like, calluses down there, do you? Please oh please say no.

(not my photo)

With campus so close to our house, and the weather so nice this time of year, I'd like to start riding more often. But since I have no rear padding of my own, I will probably have to invest in a gelly seat cushion, or a pair of those ridiculous puffy bottom pants. Or both. This flat-bottomed girl needs so much extra padding that the "junk in my trunk" may start to resemble an episode of Hoarders.

Bottom line (get it...bottom line) I can't go through the rest of the summer with sore pudendal nerves. But I'm not quite ready to sacrifice the amount of dignity necessary to actually put on a pair of these pants. I'll let you know how it turns out.

Happy riding,

Sarah

Time Out

Well by now you should all realize that I'm quite the "joiner." Whether it's a fun get-together with friends, a volunteer opportunity, something extra at work, special school events and lectures, etc., I will almost always say "yes!" The upside to this is that I meet a lot of great people, have a lot of fun, learn a lot of new things, and gain some great experience. The downside is that there are only so many hours in a day, and when you say "yes" to everything you can easily end up having something planned for every waking moment. I have not yet learned the art of steadily balancing when to join in and when to politely decline, because it all sounds so interesting and I really would like to do everything. I enjoy having a busy schedule, but sometimes I just have to give myself a Time Out.

This week is Spring Break and, like always, there are so many wonderful opportunities that my "week off" was swiftly becoming even busier than a normal week. It all started last Friday, when I had a morning meeting with my mentor, followed by a Relay For Life team meeting, running errands, and then meeting a friend for dinner and the ballet. Saturday and Sunday were spent running more errands, working on school assignments, getting a haircut, going to a dinner party, and driving to Charleston and back for the Army Wives premier party. Monday I left bright and early for a two-day trip to rural Hampton County with Cocky's Reading Express. We did eight literacy events in those two days, meeting thousands of young students and their parents, waking up super early and driving back and forth all over the state. All of these things were awesome and exhausting in a wonderfully fulfilling way.

Once I got back from the CRE trip Tuesday night, I made a valiant effort to continue being productive, even rearranging and cleaning our guest room as soon as I got home. Then I sat down in front of the computer to check my email, and when I saw the hundreds of new messages needing responses, I hit my limit. My brain had finally crossed over from energizing stimulation to plain old overstimulation, and I just could not make myself sort through everything. It was Time Out time. Wednesday I got up as usual, fed the animals...and then did absolutely nothing for many, many hours. I sat on the couch, watched TV, read magazines, snuggled with my pets, and did not change out of my pajamas until four o'clock in the afternoon. It was delicious.

But then I got dressed, and played with the dogs, and cleaned up the yard, and exercised for an hour and a half, and went back to checking things off my revolving to-do list. Kids never appreciate Time Outs, but as an adult, I have come to realize that the ability to give self Time Outs is an art and a virtue. And a sanity saver. Thanks to my day of unapologetic slothfulness, I am now ready to tackle the rest of the week, which will consist of a lot of school work, and dealing with many more Loose Ends.

Do you give yourself Time Outs? Or have you actually figured out how to have a balanced life so you don't need them? What are some of the best ways you've found to "re-charge" if you can take a whole day, half day, an hour, or only 15 minutes? I'm always up for trying something new! ;)

The Social Coupon Debate

Due to my new "get 'er done" attitude regarding Loose Ends Month, and taking stock of my to-do list, I've realized that a lot of my loose ends involve scheduling things I purchased from Groupon and Living Social.

I must admit that I'm slightly obsessed with these social coupon sites, and that I've acquired quite a few of them. But The Hubs is somewhat unenthused. He views these like any other coupon, luring me to buy things I don't need and wouldn't otherwise spend money on. And he's partly right. But to me, these deals offer life experiences, not things. Yes, I probably wouldn't get around to doing half of these things--at least not now--if I didn't get a message in my inbox telling me that I can try 15 karate classes for only $20, for example. (Pretty sweet, huh?)

So far these are the things I get to enjoy, thanks to social coupons:

• A Painting Class -- while drinking wine :)
• House Cleaning -- not an experience in itself, but this certainly frees me up to experience something else while they're busy cleaning my house!
• Laser Hair Removal -- the gift that keeps on giving
• A Massage -- always a good time
• A Bicycle Tune Up -- so I can hit the trails again
• Boxing Lessons -- watch out, world!
• Tickets to A Midsummer Night's Dream -- what's better than supporting the arts with a little cultural stimulation?

Many scientific studies have shown that spending money on experiences makes people a lot more happy than spending money on material things. And while I can't speak for everyone, this is absolutely true for me. Sure, I like new clothes and jewelry. And I buy decorative things for the house, and probably too many books (although one could argue that books actually fall into the experiential category). But if you really want to make me happy, just take me to try something new. The Hubs is a very generous person, with material gifts and increasingly more and more experiential gifts as he continues to figure out what makes me tick. For example, for Valentines Day, he got us a trip to a whitewater rafting and rock climbing place in Charlotte. Now that's what I'm talking about!

So, I'll add another mantra to go along with Just Say Yes: Don't buy new things. Try new things.

Where do you stand in the social coupon debate? Are they worth it, or a waste? If you're into them, what are some of the cool things you've gotten to do because of their deals?

Unraveled No More?

(not my photo)

I am a procrastinator. There, I've said it. And because of this character trait, I tend to accumulate a variety of loose ends until my life looks like a metaphorical fringed poncho...all encompassing, and seriously un-cute.

Thus, I have dubbed this Loose Ends Month! and I am swiftly tying off as many of those little frayed edges as possible. It's amazing how satisfying it is to check off even the smallest "to do" from my list. So far I've taken Ollie to the vet, returned days later to drop off his stool sample (lovely, I know), returned a stack of library books and paid my late fees, sent out a lot of emails and made some phone calls I've been meaning to, washed all our cloth grocery bags, mailed a sweater back to a friend, sent off our last two wedding gift thank you cards, scheduled a BYOB painting class, re-filled the sugar canister, cleaned out the inside of my car, procured my new married-name social security card and drivers license, and took care of a LOT of name-change hullabaloo with bank accounts, credit cards, car insurance, etc.

I still need to take a huge load of boxes to the recycling center, make doctor, dentist, and haircut appointments, finish a DIY project, get my bike tuned up, take a stack of clothes to get tailored and/or dry-cleaned, figure out our taxes, make some more phone calls to catch up with friends, sand down the door of our china cabinet so it opens and closes easier, and finally remove the stickers that came on our bathroom cabinet and have stayed there long after putting it together. Seeing as I have only two more days left in the month (darn you, February, for being condensed!) I will probably have some leftover fringe.

And because I seem to accumulate new loose ends as fast as I can tie off the old ones, I figure every month for the rest of my life will be Loose Ends Month. But whose isn't? As long as I'm steadily snipping away at everything, I feel a little less frazzled and a little more pulled together.

What are some of the random to-do's that you've been avoiding? You know, all those little (or big) things you walk past and notice twelve times a day without actually addressing. Please let me know that I'm not the only one!  :)

Cheers,
Sarah

Mommy's Little (okay, big) Fluffernutter

Snuggle time!

According to our veterinarian, my sweet Ollie boy needs to shed about ten pounds. I guess it's time to get off the couch and get moving! I took him for a nice long walk the other day, in order to jumpstart his new healthy lifestyle. Unfortunately, he had a limp for the next two days.

He's just not the youngest pup in the pound anymore :(

What we need is a little low-impact strength training. Downward dog, anyone?

What The Movie 'Outbreak' Has To Do With My Marriage

Evolutionary-wise, and on a purely chemical level, people have always sought out mates with very different immune systems than their own. The perceived benefit is that their offspring will take the good stuff from each parents' immune system, giving them wider coverage against the gamut of diseases, thus making them healthier and more likely to survive and continue reproducing. If that is the case, I've won the genetic jackpot. The Hubs could swim through a lake of parasite-contaminated water, get bit by a rabid raccoon, and then spend a fortnight sleeping outside in the cold, totally unprotected from the elements. And he wouldn't even sneeze. Me, however, he has affectionately dubbed his "little ebola monkey," because if there is a crazy sickness to be caught, I will surely catch it.

I try to live as healthfully as possible. I take my vitamins, I watch what I eat, I exercise (though not as much as I should). And I'm not allergic to any foods or medicines. I just seem to be allergic to everything in the natural environment: dust, dirt, pollen, pet hair, grass, the sun...yes, even the sun. I now get a bumpy itchy rash when I'm in the sun too long. As a result, I develop frequent sinus infections along with whatever cold or flu happens to be going around.

Having three pets--along with all the dust, dirt, pollen, and hair they come with--is not particularly helpful for my immune system. Our air filter probably clogged with gunk the first day we installed it. Keeping the house clean is a constant battle. And when school and work and life in general gets too busy, it becomes harder and harder to keep ahead of the dust and dirt.

And that's when our house starts attacking me.

And that's when my allergies go haywire and I get sick.

And that's when The Hubs stays home and spends 5 hours vacuuming and mopping and scrubbing and dusting and tidying to get the house as clean as possible so I can breathe a little easier. He even makes me dinner, and then tea, and then turns on the heated blanket so I can snuggle up and go to bed early.

I didn't just win the genetic jackpot with that one--I won every jackpot there is.

Suspicious Activity

It looks like someone tried to steal my base pass off my windshield. Anyone ever had this problem? It's really creepy to think about someone trying to sneak onto base illicitly...good thing they're not easy to peel off!

Just Say Yes

Recently I've been seeing a lot of articles and discussion board posts about how to find friends and get connected when you move around often. While there are many military-related mixers and social groups and networking opportunities for us milspouses, the best advice I have comes from my friend Keekes who is not a military spouse at all. She is, however, a former full-blown Manhattan-ite now thriving in South Carolina (she's even taken to saying "y'all"), so clearly she knows what she's talking about when it comes to making friends in a new town and feeling at home. Her advice is this:

Say yes. To Everything.

If you follow this dogma, you will most likely find yourself in some very odd situations, eating some very odd food, and talking to some very odd people. Hey, at least you will end up with some great stories. And at some points along the way, you will undoubtedly find the gold nuggets of awesomeness that will be likely become very central to your life. I tried to adopt this attitude before I even met Keekes, but as someone who has always been shy and somewhat of a homebody, who has had the same friends for twenty years, and felt extremely awkward in networking situations, I usually retreated back into my hole.

When I first moved to South Carolina, I applied to grad school and was working part time from home, not meeting anyone or doing much of anything besides sitting at home waiting for The Hubs to come home from work. Then I took the first couple of steps of making meetings with the head of my graduate program and my advisor. And they were so nice and helpful! And I reached out to the only other person I knew in South Carolina, whom I had actually known since kindergarten but hadn't spoken to in years. Very out of character for me, but another success! We had a great time and through her connections I met just about all of the other friends that I now have down here, including Keekes. But Keekes was the one who reaffirmed the Say Yes path to enlightenment, and lit a fire under my bum to make more of an effort and take more joy out of life.

In this spirit I've found myself cleaning up the debri in a stranger's yard, waking up at the crack of dawn to go on group runs, calling up a girl that I had never met before to have lunch and hang out, going to a new church by myself, helping out with the children's programming at that church, reading books and acting out stories to large groups of kids alongside a big mascot, being an extra on Army Wives, going to a Martina McBride concert at the spur of the moment, pitching in to help with a student organization, and--the ultimate test--attending a mentor match night that was basically speed dating, only instead of potential dinner dates I networked with about twenty successful alumni. A couple years ago, I would never have imagined that I would go to something like that (actually I never would have imagined that I would be here at all), but it was fantastic and I totally rocked it!

Tonight I'm supposed to hang out with a group of girls from school who I don't know at all. We're going to see The Vagina Monologues and then out for drinks. And why not? It will probably be odd, but probably also fun and you never know what kind of a role these girls might end up playing in my life. I have more plans on the horizon to do more volunteering, with Relay For Life, with various literacy outreach projects, and participating in the Patchwork Storytelling Festival. I've even considered going to the library at Fort Jackson to participate in their Victory Crafters group. They knit blankets for soldiers, and I don't even know how to knit. But why not? Every time I say yes I meet new people and add another enriching experience to my life. So I will reiterate the key to making yourself at home no matter where you are or how many people you know. Let's all say it together now:

Say Yes To Everything!

Thanks, Keekes. You are a true gold nugget of awesomeness in my life, and the originator of many random and wonderful experiences. Feel free to comment and share with the readers some of the crazy things you've gotten yourself into by living the Say Yes life. Here's a smattering of mine:

Brain Delay

This morning I woke up, washed my face, brushed my teeth, combed my hair, did my makeup, dressed for work, let the dogs in and out, made breakfast, packed my lunch, poured my coffee, walked out of the house, locked the door, got into the car and then finally realized that--hey wait a minute, I can't see anything! Why? Because I never put my glasses on. And then suddenly all the stumbling around and dropping things and tripping over hazy inanimate objects (or possibly animate...how would I know?) finally made sense. It was a good thing I needed to sit with the defroster running for a while this morning, otherwise I could have killed someone just trying to pull out of the driveway.

I guess it's like when you have the same commute every day until habit finally takes over and you can make it home while only paying attention with half a brain cell. Scary, but it happens. But when it does happens, I am usually at least wearing my corrective eyewear.

'Doh!
Sarah

p.s. Don't ask how my hair and makeup looked.

Smells Like Grandma

The Hubs and I found an awesome antique mall here in Columbia. We got a personal tour and a great deal on a mid-century modern china cabinet (among a lot of other things we just couldn't resist) thanks to lovely Reading Rooster herself. Once we got home I spent hours organizing and loading everything into the cabinet, and am extremely happy with the results. We planned on painting it, but the odd yellow-brown color doesn't even look as offensive now thanks to the new rug I found that ties everything together.

There's just one problem.

When you open the doors of our lovely cabinet, you are assulted by a heady aroma that brings to mind moth balls and White Diamonds perfume. And I've got sinus issues, so you know it's gotta be bad for people with normal sniffers. Anyone know how to get "old people" smell out of wood furniture, so my dining room no longer smells like date night at an assisted living facility?

I'll be (un)patiently awaiting all of your suggestions. But in the meantime...who wants a shot of Geritol?

Cheers,
Sarah

Crazy Cat Lady

I used to think that in order to qualify as a true Crazy Cat Lady one needed to own lots and lots of cats. But recently I realized that it's all about attitude, and a surrendering of oneself to what the cats have known all along--they are here to be worshipped, and do as they please. I always considered myself more of a dog person, and for a few days after we got our cat I just wasn't sure if I could actually love him as much as our two dogs. Then I found myself wearing him as a neck warmer while reading in bed, and letting him cuddle up on my lap while I'm on the toilet.

Time to get down, Ziggy. Mommy has to wipe.

Sure he drives me bat shit crazy sometimes, when he hauls all of my used tissues out of the trash can and sprinkles them throughout the house, and when he jumps up on the sink and rubs up against the toothbrushes (shudder), and especially when he gets the crazy eyes and engages in a full-scale attack on my head. But I always, always, go back for more. So I've concluded that if you own a cat at all, you are automatically a Crazy Cat Lady. It's inevitable.

Meow,
Sarah

Don't Fear the Anchovy

Do you ever notice how picky eaters always think that they really aren't all that picky, but that the pickier they are, the more they protest being labeled as a picky eater? Yeah, The Hubs is one of those. My life would be a lot easier if he didn't mind eating whatever kooky thing I come up with. Kooky as in spinach, or mushrooms, or sour cream, or (gasp!) any kind of syrup other than Mrs. Butterworths. He eats pizza sauce and marinara sauce and ketchup and salsa and chili containing cans and cans of stewed and diced tomatoes, but still he insists that he does not like tomatoes. But I guess that's what marriage is all about, right? Compromises and accommodations of your loved one's quirks. Or as I prefer...stealth-like strategery!

Little does he know (until he actually reads this), that tonight The Hubs ate a big plate full of fresh homemade pasta with an olive oil, garlic, and anchovy sauce. And he loved it! (But he, of course, HATES anchovies). Insert evil laughter here.

So of course it's a mental block, rather than an actual tastebud issue. Even so, am I doomed to a life of hiding ingredients in the back of the cupboard until he's not looking?

Very sneakily yours,
Sarah

Shit Happens...Literally.

I love my pets. One might say that I'm actually mildly obsessed with them. I even had this lovely portrait of them commissioned for The Hubs this Christmas:

Yes, we are "those people."

I've become accustomed to the constant battle against the tracked-in mud, the tornado of fur, the kitty litter that always seems to get everywhere despite the special paw-wiping pad we bought, the toxic dog farts, the early weekend wake-up calls, the wallet-busting vet bills, and the need to trim dingleberries off doggie "private areas." The intense love that I have for our animals more than makes up for all of these annoyances.

But today, my friends...today I hit rock bottom. Please brace yourself for what is about to follow.

I just had a tug-of-war battle over a huge. frozen. turd. I don't know why dogs insist on eating poo, when I can assure you that ours are more than well fed. After this revolting activity, in which my grocery-bag-covered hand rescued only half of the turd in question (blecch), I sucked it up and set off to perform my least favorite pet-related chore: yard duty. (Or should that be "doody?") Still in my work clothes, heels sinking into the rain-soggy ground, I navigated our mine field and ended up with two full grocery bags of poo. And now it's time to clean out the litter box. I can't even imagine how much excrement our household will be producing once we have kids and there are diapers involved.

Crap.

I'm Official!

I am now an official milblogger. Check out my profile and find a lot of other great military blogs by clicking on the milblogging.com button on the left sidebar. Woot!