Love to Love You, IKEA

My husband is not the ultimate romantic.

Sure, he's a sweetheart. But wine and roses is not his normal M.O.

He prefers to show his affection by providing for me, listening to me, and investing in our life and future family together.

But he also belches and farts and insists on playing video games at some of the most inappropriate of times.

He loves me, but he's a man - a condition, it seems, that's incurable.

Which is why I was shocked when he surprised me a few days before our anniversary weekend with a romantic getaway.

We headed to Charlotte, N.C., where my husband had arranged for a romantic hotel room, a nice dinner, and movie tickets.

It was incredibly lovely.

But that wasn't the entire reason we went out of town - three hours away from home, at that - for just one night of romance together.

We actually went to Charlotte because it's the closest city to us that has this:
Oh, my husband. He's the only man that understands that the way to my heart is through cheap home decor and furnishings.

Now that's what I call romantic.

***

Thanks, baby, for a great weekend!

Happy Monday, everyone!

And You Thought I Was Interesting

I have to admit, I'm not a big fan of the weekend wrap-up.

For that matter, I'm not entirely sure I love the vacation recap, either.

The issue, for me at least, is that those posts tend to read like my fifth-grade journal, before I learned the art of story-telling:

"On Saturday morning, I played doll-house with Cristina. It was fun. Then we had lunch. This is what we ate: tuna fish, carrot sticks, and ranch dressing."

Riveting it is not. Apparently, I'm not too good at re-counting a string of events in an interesting manner.

But, still, I've been gone for a week from here, visiting with a best friend and taking a much-needed break. And, therefore, I feel like I owe you some explanation of what exactly I've been up to for the past seven days.

After all, there's a certain poetic justice in realizing that "blogging" is in fact one of the most interesting things I do.

And the rest? Well, see for yourself....

***

Last week, I...

*Avoided grocery shopping for so long that I was forced to spend a small fortune at three different stores on Sunday for fear that my husband would take to holding a street sign on the corner reading, "Will Give You My Half-Crazed Wife for Food."

*Realized my husband doesn't enjoy things that are "pumpkin" flavored or at all based on the beloved fall squash. Worried how my marriage would survive a lifetime after this surprising discovery.

*Bought several new books, all of which each left me feeling woefully unprepared for the next stage of my life.

*Gave Marvin the Dog an actual rubber chicken, which we proceeded to tear into smithereens in less than two hours, leaving only a headless, chicken-torso carcass in my living room for three days and counting.

*Re-watched the entire Season 1 of Mad Men with my visiting college roommate because - dear heavens, will you believe it? - she'd never watched my favorite television series before.

*Managed to call my mother at least four times, asking about relatively obscure - and I thought life-threatening - physical symptoms I was sure meant death at some point. Turns out, instead, I'm totally healthy.

*Saved $30 dollars at the health-food store with coupons and discounts and did a heel-click as I exited the building out of glee. Then tripped.

*Actually wore sweaters for three days in a row. Along with three pairs of ill-fitting pants that, up until last week, fit perfectly fine. Realized this doesn't exactly portray a good, fashion-forward outlook for winter.

*Watched a friend's baby all day Saturday, without the baby crying even a little bit. I'm either one heck of a caretaker, or I've discovered the world's best-behaved infant.

*Did not do any of the seven loads of laundry crowding my guest room.

*Sat outside on the phone chatting with two fellow bloggers on Wednesday and got about 63 ant bites all up and down my legs and on my butt, even though I was wearing pants. I've inappropriately itching for days.

*Ran out of toilet paper. Went to Target to buy some. Bought other things but forgot the TP. All three times.

*Re-negotiated my work schedule, allowing for more rest and less wasted time for me, with no money loss, plus I made my boss happy. And, no, pigs did not fly. Though I checked when I left the building. Just in case.

*Heard my husband talk about a co-worker who was getting a divorce because her husband cheated on her with his half-sister. Gagged every time he told the story. All six times.

*Felt constantly like I was coming down with something.

*Found a breakfast place in this town - finally! - that is as amazing as the diners in our previous city.

*Bought new workout socks after realizing that I only own two pairs, neither of which have actual matching socks in them.

*Found out some very exciting news, screamed, then proceeded to almost pass out from the shock of it all. My husband still hasn't stopped making fun of me.

*Fielded five phone calls from my parents, who were attempting to make my hubs' famous calzones for guests. The recipe and our detailed instructions didn't work out. Who knew my husband's cooking skills were so impressive?

*Showed my college roomie around Charleston and realized that I don't get out in this city enough.

*Hosted another Navy wive's craft party. And didn't even have a craft of my own to work on.

*Cried and cried and cried over college football. Wished I was the kind of girl who didn't actually care about her alma mater's SEC performance. Refused to believe the last three weeks have actually happened.

***

I'm sure your life is irrevocably changed now, isn't it? Knowing what I've been doing with all my precious time away.

Well, the good news is, I'm back. And tomorrow - now that we finally have food in the fridge and toilet paper in the bathroom - I shall return and do the most interesting thing about me: Blog.

I've missed you all so very much, and I'm trying hard to play catch-up. Thanks for your patience this past week (and throughout this post!) It's good to be back!

Happy Monday, everyone!

The Perfect Reason

Moving to South Carolina brought a lot of changes our way.

And one of our favorites is the fact that so many of our friends and family have made the trip here over the last couple months to visit us.

As they say, if you move to it, they will come.

And, thank the Lord, they came.

And are still coming.

Because this week, one of my college roommates is in town, visiting on her fall break from law school.

And me? I am jumping up and down with glee.

She and I haven't had leisure time together since, well, college.

It's been too long; it feels like forever, in fact.

So, it's the perfect reason for me to take a break around here.

I have to admit, I've been feeling burnt out lately. Uninspired, if you will. I've been fighting it - the blogging blues, that is - but honestly, I'm a bit tired of the war. I've been more disconnected than I like to be, and I've been a fair bit too sensitive as of late to even talk about it.

So, needless to say, I need a mini-break.

It's just a week, I promise. Next Monday, I'll be back in blogging shape in no time.

But this week, I'll be laying low and spending time with one of my kindred spirits - it's just the remedy for my mood gone sour.

Thanks for your patience during this interlude, my friends. And thank you, Krystle, for giving me the perfect reason to take it.

***

See you next Monday! Happy Columbus Day, everyone!

A Forgotten Vacation

I have this entire week off from work.

It's odd, really. In fact, amidst the craziness of the last two weeks, I forgot about the whole thing.

My husband was given leave awhile back, so I took time off, as well, more than a month ago.

Then, we suffered a death in the family, and my best friend and college roommate Blair came to visit.

Therefore, the hubs wasn't granted his time off anymore, and we couldn't afford to road-trip and visit his family this week - our original intention.

In essence, because my husband had to take emergency leave, so we could attend his grandmother's funeral, his vacation no longer existed.

But mine did.

Or, rather, mine does. It's going on right now, in fact.

Oops.

I've got a wide-open week ahead of me, and I totally forgot about it.

I have intentions to rest for the next couple of days. I got a sunburn at the beach with Blair on Saturday, and I'm finally feeling the effects of a rather sleepless seven days. I spent yesterday evening with the chills and an intense headache - just enough proof to convince me that some late mornings and long naps are in order.

I'd also like to clean my house and catch up with all of you. I'm scared to admit I haven't read a blog in over a week.

But, after all that is said and done, I'm going to need some entertainment. Fun, cheap, alone-time entertainment.

I've considered throwing a pot-luck lunch for some fellow Navy wives. I've debated finally, finally finishing my wedding scrapbook, since, you know, we've been married almost two years. And I've pondered locking myself in our office and reading my entire stack of books without pause.

But that's where my motivation ends.

So, tell me, what should I do with this semi-unexpected, stay-at-home vacation? How would you all entertain yourself if given a surprise week off?

I'm looking for some serious inspiration here. And, perhaps, a good shove in the right direction.

Also, anyone who would like to yell forcefully at me to "Finish that scrapbook, for the love of Pete, Brittany!" will be very much appreciated.

What can I say? I work better under pressure.

Happy Monday, everyone!

***

Thank heavens! I'm finally back to regular blogging around these parts! I've missed the old blog and you all terribly!

Be back tomorrow with something else inane and silly to discuss!

The Old College Try

The longest separation in the history of all college friendships is about to come to an end.

My "bestie," Blair, the woman who shared a college townhouse with me for three-plus years, has arrived in Charleston, S.C., and she is ready for some good old Southern, military-base-style fun!

I haven't seen her since Christmas. We have been apart for eight whole months.

Do you know what that's like for girls who used to coordinate showering so as to minimize the time we'd be apart?

Heck, there were times that we college roomies stripped down, climbed in the shower, and hollered out the door "All clear! Come on in!" so the other two girls could bust into the bathroom and clamber up onto sinks and down on tile floors, chatting away with our showering co-ed, barely missing a beat.

I guess you could say we were big fans of each other. And pretty much all the time.

We grocery shopped together; we ate together; we studied together; we exercised together; we traveled together.

Once, one early January morning on our way to class, we even applied hot wash clothes to our frozen car windows together.

Which, as you can imagine, didn't work out so well.

But that just let us drive down the road with our heads out our driver's side windows together, caravaning away with even more ice on our windshield then we'd had before, plus matching sets of frozen cheeks and eyelids.

That's what happens to us Florida girls. We don't know how handle below-freezing temperatures.

And we don't know how to exist without each other.

Too bad I married a military man. And my "bestie" Blair up and moved to New York City for graduate school, where she met a nice man and got a nice job as an elementary teacher.

Darn her.

And don't even get me started on our other college roomie, who decided she'd move to Missouri, and then Arizona, to pursue a law degree.

The nerve.

We've come a long way from the days of dancing around our dorm room in pajamas to "Don't Stop Believin'."

Which is why, this week, I'm busting out the University of Florida sweatshirts, blaring some Journey, and brewing my strongest coffee.

Because Blair is here, and we are about to live it up in a big way.

And by "live it up," I totally mean make daily trips to Target, lounge on the beach, eat copious amounts of sushi, and go to the movies.

To each his own.

But for us, these days, that's pretty wild.

And pretty darn fun, too.

So, in order to maximize my time with my roomie, I'm taking a bit of a blogging break. I'll be gone for the rest of the week. But I'll be back bright and early Monday, sad Blair has left but with plenty of stories to tell, hopefully none of which involve frozen windshields and risky driving behavior.

But I'm not making any promises.

And, if you need us before then, check the bathroom.

I'll be in the shower. She'll be sitting in the sink.

Just like the good old days.

***

P.S. Thanks to last week and the family funeral, I'm woefully behind on reading blogs. I promise, though, I have not forgotten you all, and I'm sorry if I've been absent in your comments. I'll play catch-up this weekend. I pinky-swear. Thanks for your patience!

Happy Wednesday, everyone!

You Know You Have Good Friends When...

...They brave seven hours in the car with three little boys under the age of 4 just to spend the week with you, emerging with smiles on their faces.

Sherri, the fearless driver!

Melissa, impressively wrangling two babies in a somewhat suspect McDonald's bathroom in Georgia

...They allow you to hog their babies as if they are your own, just so you can get your much-needed Baby Fix.

Foot-holding is all the rage in, well, somewhere.

Melts your heart, doesn't it? Look at Ethan's face!Baby Samuel's first time meeting Uncle Patrick

...They let your dog tag along as if he is one of the kids, riding in the requisite Mom Van and chomping at Cheerios and puzzle pieces alike, whether or not they are clasped between precious babies' hands.

Ethan is Marvin the Dog's favorite. Wonder why?Marvin the Horse?My dog thinks he belongs anywhere the people go. I swear, he hopped in there all on his own.Marvin the Foot Stool?Marvin, about to tackle Ethan in a "friendly" game of touch football.

...They humor your husband's need to teach little boy's what it really means to be a "man."

Over-use of the remote and afternoon napping. Life is so hard.Football with Uncle P

Elijah has serious skills

...They let you hold the sleeping baby while they chase after the more lively toddlers and young ones.

Melissa and Baby Samuel at Chick-Fil-ASamuel and I at the water park, on the only day of the week where it rained constantly. Figures.

...They enjoy teaching their kids about water just as much as you do.

Samuel slept through his first swim lesson with Aunt Brittany.Ethan, soaked at the Splash Pad

....They let you dress up their kids as sailors.

Whoa there, sailor!

...They give you a reason to go see movies and local attractions that seem silly without kids on board.

Heck yes, we went to see Toy Story 3!Melissa and her oldest Elijah outside the South Carolina AquariumEthan playing in the aquarium. With fish, of course. It's an aquarium, people!Elijah at the local playground

...They let you put their kids in kitchen sinks. For any (silly) reason that crosses your mind.

I may or may not have fed Ethan a plate of brown rice in the kitchen sink while I kept cooking nearby. Allegedly.Samuel, just chillin' with a nice, cold apple juice in his sink-like hot tub

...They don't freak out when you appear to dunk their 4 year old's head underwater in a fish tank full of sting rays, even though they may look as if they want to.

Yes, that's me precariously holding Elijah over the touch tank. His mother is the one with the worried expression.

...They give you another reason to make cake balls.

Melissa has more info on this on her blog at The Missionary Mama.

...They love being mommies to your "nephews."

Melissa and her baby Ethan. I love this picture.

...They understand why you scream "THIS IS EXACTLY WHY I ONLY WANT TO HAVE LITTLE GIRLS!" in the presence of their precious little boys.

When Ethan went for the snake, I may or may not have run the other way squealing. Allegedly.

...They let you walk their baby while also walking your (constipated) dog.

This is pretty much the face I made when, moments later, a neighbor's dog broke lose and made a beeline straight for Marvin, Baby Samuel, me, and a fresh new bag of dog poop I'd just scooped. Not that I'm one to over-react or anything.

...and they do this all, because you all agree that, in life...

Melissa gave me this mug a long time ago. And I still have it and treasure it. I didn't even know she'd snapped a picture of the old favorite until I reviewed the week's photos yesterday.
***

I am so blessed to have such wonderful friends - Sherri and Melissa - who literally left their warm beds and husbands in Florida before 4 a.m. last Monday, just to drive up to South Carolina and spend six whole days with the hubs and I. They brought their sweet boys - Elijah, Ethan, and Samuel - with them. I've missed my little "nephews," and I'm so glad I got to spend so much time this past week with them.
We had such a wonderful time exploring parts of this new city of mine and taking the boys swimming, adventuring, and, on one brave Friday afternoon, outlet shopping.

It was all I could do not to cry when they left. These girls have been my best friends since we were little kids, and every time we're all together again, I just feel so happy, like all is right in my world.

Like all the puzzle pieces of my heart are locked into place.
Thanks, girls, for coming all this way to hang out with me! And thank you for sharing all your beautiful pictures with me!

And, now, for all the rest of you, who need another Baby Fix, just like me...
You're welcome.

Happy Wednesday everyone!

***

Workout Wednesday will return next week, so feel free to send any health and fitness questions my way anytime at britr@ufl.edu.

But, if you need a fitness fix before then, make sure to head on over to my other blog and check out four fitness-related posts that each give you a chance to win a $100 gift card.

Uniforms, Photo-Bombs, and The Bird

My entire family managed to survive a weekend in Annapolis, Maryland, celebrating my little brother's graduation from the United States Naval Academy.

My baby brother, Brad; my mom; the graduate, Brett; me, and my dad

I say 'survived' because it's no small feat navigating this lively clan around and making sure they follow the required military protocol.

Case in point:
Yep, that's my littlest brother, Brad - the Air Force Academy cadet.

Snoozing.

In the middle of the Navy's graduation ceremony.

Because, apparently, you can dress him up, but you can't take him out.

Not that sleeping through particularly reverent moments was Brad's only offense of the day.

He - in fact - is the sole instigator in a lot of our family's shenanigans. The following shot, in fact, was his idea:
Oh yes, that's me. With my brothers. Practicing our "photo-bombing" faces, a phrase coined by Brad for when he attempts to "jazz up" family portraits.

It's an art, he says.
One he's got down pat, apparently, uniform and all.

Just goes to show you that you can never trust the baby of the family. They're always the wild ones.

Still, from the baby to the oldest - yours truly - my family does try to honor tradition. With a genealogy rich in military service, our boys don uniforms, serve, and celebrate those who led the way for our country, like my grandfather, a West Point graduate himself and career Army man who served our country for many years.

Brad, my grandfather, Brett, and my cousin Bryan, a captain in the U.S. Army

For instance, my brother Brett, the Naval Academy graduate, had my grandfather place his officer shoulder boards on right after he graduated, signifying that he was no longer a student of the U.S. Naval Academy, but a full-serviced officer.
This brought on such a barrage of tears - from my tough old grandpa included - that my dad finished up and put on Brett's other shoulder board.
Proud moments, I tell you. Proud moments.

Then, in yet another homage to tradition, Brad, who will only be an Air Force officer when he graduates from the Air Force Academy in three years, had the chance to salute his big brother, who now outranks him, and win a silver dollar from him - a long-standing Naval Academy tradition.

Kevin, Brett's best friend and fellow Navy graduate; Brad, and Brett

It was another touching moment, where we all cried. My brothers held the salute a little too long, just so Big Sister here could get the perfect shot of brother saluting brother.

There wasn't a photo bomb in sight.

Until you take a closer look at my mother.

Who, apparently, is inadvertently flipping me the bird.

Talk about a photo-bomb. Even Brad's aren't that bad.

Shame on you, Mom. And in front of servicemen, no less.

***

I hope you all had a wonderful Memorial Day weekend, remembering those who have fallen in such brave service to our country. I am proud of the soldiers, sailors, and airmen in my family, and I am grateful for others I haven't met in person but who have blessed us with their service.

I am so glad I had a wonderful weekend honoring all our men and women in the military with my family. And I am so proud of my little brother, Brett. He exemplifies honor, service, and patriotism, while also being just an all-around good guy.

Still, my Memorial Day celebration didn't just end with my family.

I got to meet up with a few other special people, too.

Because while in Maryland, I got a pretty big surprise visit from some women some of you all may know and love just like I do.

Wanna know who?

Well come back tomorrow, and I'll fess up!

Until then, Happy Tuesday everyone!

***

P.S. My mother would like to clarify that she does not ever make that kind of inappropriate hand gesture, and only accidentally did so in the above photo because she was holding too many things and about to cry. Which, in her defense, she did a lot of that weekend. And about two seconds after I took that picture, she did stop accidentally flipping me The Bird and instead broke into a barrage of tears. She's a sap, but not a class-less one known for making unladylike hand gestures. Please don't think poorly of her, or she might disown me.

Another Sailor

Apparently, I'm destined to spend most of my time around men in uniform.

Because my husband is not the only sailor in my life.

My brother, as of this weekend, is also an officer in the U.S. Navy.

He's graduating from the United States Naval Academy tomorrow, and I will be there.

Or, more accurately, I'm already there.

God willing.

Because I flew out last night to Maryland with my grandfather - a career Army man, who while retired for quite a while, still infuses his life with military precision and spirit.

Which means I'm now in the process of meeting up with my other brother - who is in the Air Force - my parents, my mom's best friend, and my cousin, who also happens to be in the military - an Army Ranger, to be exact.

That's a lot of men in uniform - buzz cuts and salutes and all.

But, the important thing is, uniforms or no, we're all there to celebrate my little brother's accomplishment.

And even though I'm two weeks away from moving, and the craziness has finally taken over - I'm living among boxes, people! - I took off for Maryland last night.

Because this is important!

And, also, I like to keep traditions alive.

Anyone remember last year? When we moved into our current home, threw a bridal shower for our friends, and then took off on a red-eye to Arkansas all in the same three days?

Apparently, I like to add extra trips into weeks already jam-packed with big life changes.

Also, I may be a little bit crazy.

But that's beside the point!

Because my brother is graduating from the Academy. He is coming out an officer and a leader of our country. And that should be honored. That is important to me.

So, of course, I'm going.

He should be celebrated.

Plus, I'm not one to pass up a chance to sleep in a hotel.

And get away from all these darn boxes.

***

Be back next week, everyone! Hope you all have a wonderful Memorial Day weekend!

And Then I Saw Him: Part 2

I hate to disappoint you all.

But the rest of my weekend with my husband was probably only exciting to me.

It was basically three days of me being shellacked to his leg.

I wasn't letting go of that man if it killed me.

I'd have followed him into a little boy's room if he'd let me.

Basically, we just lazed about and held hands and walked around town and hugged and ate out and kissed and shopped and cuddled and toured the historic district and, well, you get the picture...

We were together, which is all we wanted.

But as far as the rest of the world is concerned, when it comes down to it, we're not terribly exciting people.

After all, we spent all of Friday driving around and finding all my favorite places: Sam's Club, the craft store, Old Navy, and - my home away from home - Target.

Trust me, when I saw the big red bull's eye on the horizon, I screamed with joy.

And sheer relief that I wouldn't have to live in a town so forsaken that it didn't have a Target.

"You didn't act that excited even when you saw me," my husband said, rolling his eyes.

"That's because Target hasn't lost more than 80 pounds and still looks the same as she always has," I replied.

Then I kissed him.

Because I love him, and I was with him in my favorite place in the whole wide world: The Target parking lot.

Then, in new heights of excitement, we ate dinner at Carraba's and went to bed before midnight.

The next day, we toured the historic part of the city, where I fell head over heels in love with everything my eyes could see. Stores and markets and restaurants and landmarks and boats and docks and piers and dear heavens, my Southern blood is pumping just thinking about it.

The hubs and I picked out about 63 restaurants we wanted to try out and selected several tours we planned to take family and friends on when they came to visit.

The hubs explained a bunch of nautical terms to me, which I pretended to understand, and then I forced him into a candy shop where they made their own taffy. I explained the terminology associated with pralines and coconut and chocolate-covered strawberries, and once again, we were both speaking the same language.

There was more shopping and eating and beach-combing later that day. We got lost about 17 different times, although, in my defense, this time it wasn't all my fault.

My sailor boy was supposed to be guiding me with his new cell phone's map gadget, which apparently meant saying things like, "Oh, wait, um, you should have turned left about two blocks ago."

It was the few times that weekend I looked at my husband without a smile on my face.

Well, that and the time when we went in to see the base housing director.

We had been told that flirtation would get you everywhere with these women in the housing office, and this girl wanted a tour of every model I could possibly see.

So, I gave my husband a good old pep-talk, something along the lines of, "Now you get in there and bat those eyelashes and smile and compliment the heck out of her figure because Momma wants a brand new house!"

My husband, however, maintained his decorum and respect. He was nothing if not upstanding and reverent. Not an eyelash was batted. He didn't even try to subtly flex his biceps.

And all Momma got was three printed-out floor plans of the possible housing models we could be assigned come June.

Not that that stopped me from drawing out my newly decorated dream home in spades once we got back to the hotel room. I'd gone so far as to draw in my plum-colored guest bathroom shower curtain when my husband told me to shut up and put the schematics away.

Sunday was more morose.

I contemplated exactly how I could call the school and tell them, "Remember when I said I'd finish out the school year before moving? Yeah, well, I changed my mind. I'm not coming back. You're going to need a permanent sub for the next five weeks. Tell the kids I love them!"

I also wondered how I could fake an injury that would require me to be hospitalized immediately and would keep me in South Carolina with my hubby for at least another week.

I even debated simply staging a sit-in, of sorts. Or, as I was calling it, a Cling-On.

I planned on grabbing my husband around the waist firmly and not letting go until everyone agreed it would be better for my mental stability to just let me stay there already and move into our house early.

But apparently, my mental stability wasn't all that important to anyone else but me.

And somehow or other, I found myself having to say good-bye to my husband.

I cried; I may have even screamed. I acted like a petulant child.

And then I left.

Six hours later, I was still weeping as I pulled into my driveway.

Even the schematics for our possible new homes couldn't cheer me up.

The next five weeks couldn't pass fast enough.

I knew then that I'd always have this slightly sick feeling in my stomach; this aching in my heart that let me know a key part was missing.

Later that night, on the phone, as I sat at my computer desk all alone, I broke into hysterical sobs when the hubs called me to say goodnight.

I hated, in that moment, everything about what I was going through.

It stood in stark contrast to the weekend I'd just had.

So full of love, so full of laughter, so full of moments of rolling over in bed in the middle of the night to find my husband finally laying there.

I wanted that back.

Thirty-eight more days left to go...

***

For those of you that missed it, here's Part 1.

And thank you all for your support throughout all of this. You really have carried me through the hardest bumps in this road.

And as for the rest of you, have a wonderful Wednesday! Workout Wednesdays will return next week, but I'll be back tomorrow with some more normal ramblings!

On the Road to See My Sailor

I've showered.

I've shaved.

I've plucked.

I've plumped.

I've tussled.

I've tanned.

I've powdered.

I've painted.

I'm ready.

We're in the 24-hour zone, my friends.

I'm about to be re-united with my husband.

Granted, we're unsure if I'll even get to see him tonight. But at the very latest, I'll be wrapping my arms around him tomorrow morning and not letting go until Sunday night.

Eeeekk!

I packed about 18 outfits for The Big Meet-Up and baked several loaves of my special pound cake, just in case I fall flat on my frumpy face. I figure I'll shove a piece of his favorite dessert in his mouth and then run and change if I realize all too late that I should have went with jeans instead of a sundress.

Oh, I'm just kidding! (Kind of.)

Anyways, as you read this, I'm en-route to South Carolina, or, God-willing, already there.

I don't really have plans to be Brittany Blogger this weekend at all. I adore you all, but I'm so beside myself to be with my husband that I imagine he'll take up all my attention. (Sorry!)

So, I hope to see you all back here on Monday!

Until then, have a wonderful weekend!

Now excuse me...Because I'm off to see my sailor!

***

P.S. There is a slight chance I may pop back around the blog world tonight if the hubs and I kept apart until tomorrow morning. (I'm going to need something to keep my mind off the fact that he'll literally be only five minutes down the road from me, and you ladies are the perfect distraction.)

Short-timer's disease

I think I'm infected.

I'm lethargic; I'm uninterested; I'm uninspired.

I - gasp! - don't even want to blog.

I actually cried leaving my former hometown on Saturday night. I haven't done that in almost eight years. After all, I don't even like my hometown.

This is all very unlike me.

My mother called it short-timer's disease, when I had to tear myself away from her on Saturday to head back to where I now live.

I guess I just don't want to face what life will look like for me for the next nine weeks.

I have two jobs I'm leaving, where the most challenging tasks are already accomplished. I have a house that is not even my own, where I no longer see the point of cleaning or decorating - because most of my "home" is already packed. I have a husband who is far away, so I can't find a reason to cook or put on make-up - because it's not like he'll eat it, see it or enjoy it, anyways.

For all intents and purposes, I'm alone. Floating along until mid-June when I can move to South Carolina and live with my husband again and hopefully get on with my life. But for now, I'm just sitting in some proverbial rocking chair, moving back and forth and going nowhere.

I'm rather frustrated.

And I can't do anything about it.

I'm the classic problem-solver whose problems have no solutions.

I feel like I'm a married woman reigned in by her inability to tackle any crisis she's facing.

I can't make a home. Yet.

I can't start a new job. Yet.

I can't be a wife again. Yet.

I can't even have a baby - the one thing I want more than anything. Yet.

It makes me pretty miserable, and I'm not entirely sure what do about it.

Yet.

After all, June and my big move is the first step - the impetus - in solving all my little problems, all my little wants. Anything I do up until then will only be a temporary Band-Aid, a temporary soother, for my gaping, selfish wounds.

They won't even form a scab until I get away from the stagnancy that is my current state.

I can't shop, or eat, or read, or exercise, or blog, or pray away how I feel any longer.

It's hard to even be social with others; after all, everyone else I know can look at the next step in their jobs, in their homes, in their marriages, and in their families as a step in the right direction, while I just feel like my license to live life to the fullest has been revoked.

All my steps just help me mark another day off the calendar. One less day until real life can begin again. One less day until I can feel like I'm working toward something better again.

One less day.

No matter what I do during those 24-hour periods, it all just becomes one less day I have to wait until June.

Like clockwork, that's the truth I have to hold on to. That's the prayer I pray every morning

Dear Lord, please let this day pass faster than the last. Please let the day when I get to live with my husband again come quicker.

Because even a bad day is a day checked off the calendar.

So while I monitor the months, while I wait through the good days and bad, I simmer in melancholy, unsure of what to do. Incapable of doing anything other than being a watch-pot.

It makes me sad.

And I don't like to be sad.

But I want my husband back; I want the life I planned and worked hard for back; I want me back.

And I still have 60 days before I'll get it.

That number's so big, it almost scares me. I afraid I'm moving backward. I'm afraid the time and the wait will kill what little spirit I'm holding onto, the last vestiges of hope that I'm clinging to, the only small voice inside my heart still telling me, "It's only two months, and then this wait will all be over."

Truth is, I can't hear the voice all the time anymore; I can't make it through a day without crying; I can't stop scowling while I count the un-ticked days left on the calendar.

And I'm afraid of feeling like this for what feels like forever.

I'm afraid of feeling like this for another 60 days.

Nothing in my life never prepared me for short-timer's disease. And now I'm just afraid there's no real cure.

***

I know, I know. I take a week off and then I come back with something like this. Talk about glum. I'm sorry. I just decided to opt for honesty today. I'm not doing so well with the separation between me and my husband as of late, and frankly, it's hard to put that on hold all the time while I continue to live life as usual.

I'm praying for June 12 to come fast. I want to feel normal again.

Be back tomorrow with something that's hopefully a little bit more upbeat.

I'm sorry. A thousand times, I'm sorry.

I know.

I know I said I'd blog while I was on my Spring Break.

But I've been a wee bit busy spending time with this wee one:My new nephew Samuel!

Kissing him. Hugging him. And doing baby aerobics, of course.

Warning: I have the most annoying baby voice ever. This is probably why they only let me teach high school kids.

I'm sorry! And I promise, I haven't forgotten you all.

But let's face it: He's just so darn cute, who wouldn't want to spend every waking minute with him.

My little nephew is only a week old, and he's already charmed the pants off me, my friends. So I'm soaking up every minute I can before I have to return to my normal, baby-free life.

I'll be back Monday, and I promise to return to my regularly scheduled blogging then, as well.

Have a wonderful rest of your week!

And now, back to the baby-cuddling...

I'm back from vacation, and all I got was this lousy, dead tree

I'm sitting next to a dying Christmas tree.

Seriously, the sad thing is so drooped over that it's shedding needles, candy canes, and sap with wanton abandon all over the carpet.

I'd bet good money the thing finally decided to go ahead and croak around Dec. 27 - day 4 of our extended, 11-day Christmas vacation.

This was probably after it realized that its part-time lovers - the hubs and I - weren't going to be watering the poor pine any time soon.

I'm pretty sure it didn't even live to see the dawning of the new year.

But then again, back at my parents' house, I barely did, either. The hubs and I had to fight to remain upright and awake until 1 a.m. on New Year's Eve. Just like the world, we really felt the weight of all 2009 had to offer, and it culminated in our near exhaustion at approximately 5 p.m. on Dec.31.

I figure, if you've seen one ball drop, you've seen them all, right?

Anyways, I feel like the hubs and I - who just returned home yesterday - need to put our poor, dead Christmas tree to rest, as well as pack up all the decorations strewn about the house, place away the overwhelming abundance of gifts we received, and do some much-needed laundry and grocery shopping.

And all before Tuesday roles around, when the children I so tenderly try to educate are due to come rolling back through the doors of school, ready to show off their new techno-gadgets and groan when I remind them that we have another whole semester's worth of education up ahead of us.

I will return to my regularly scheduled blogging tomorrow, where I'll let you all in on another deep passion of my mine: New Year's resolutions. I've also got fun stories and pictures to share from our vacation - plus my first blogger meet-up - as well as plenty of pent-up ramblings I couldn't let out last week, thanks to my parents' irritable Internet connection.

So here's to 2010! I hope we all have a bang-up, blessed year!

Now somebody hand me the vacuum. Some pine needles and I have a date with destiny.

***

Happy Monday!

I should have planned this better

I really hate to be caught unawares.

So relinquishing control to another capable soul isn't really my thing.

But sometimes, yes sometimes, there isn't really an option.

Somebody else has to do my job while I go off and take care of something else important. That's just life.

Case in point: Last year, I left town for almost two weeks to get married. I had a substitute teacher with my classes at school; I had substitute trainers with my classes and clients at the gym, and I even had substitute mothers for my dog.

I left detailed instructions to all manner of the substitutes. And when I say detailed, I basically wrote an entire manual about how I wanted each class taught, client trained, and dog walked. (Girl Who Has Trouble Letting Go is my superhero persona, people.)

But even with my oh-so detailed substitute plans, where I painstakingly wrote out the dos and don'ts of caring and helping (and reigning in the evil) of every child in my classroom; even with my planned out training schedules and "suggestions" for exercises for each client; something went amiss.

To be exact, one of the trainers forgot my Saturday morning client, leaving her all alone to teach herself interval training for an hour and half.

Oh, and I there was one more thing.

One of my classes at the school made a substitute cry so badly that she left them alone in the room, where they found my sub plans - on which I had considerately listed by cell phone number - and they proceeded to call me ON MY HONEYMOON. But it was totally OK because I'd already gotten six phone calls ON MY HONEYMOON from the principal who couldn't find something that it was his job to take care of, but he'd rather I take care of it for him, so he wanted me to come back RIGHT NOW and deal with HIS mess. Pretty please?

Wait. I almost forgot: The entire school network also crashed, losing the yearbook my students and I had put together. (Which did, in fact, elicit yet another phone call from our tech specialist while I was ON MY HONEYMOON, letting me know that whoops! He'd forgotten to back everything up, and he was pretty sure we'd never see the fall portion of the yearbook again.)

When I finally returned, my desk was piled high with so many pieces of homework and requests and agendas and pieces of randomness that it took me a week to wade through it all.

So, this girl, yeah this girl, with all the control issues? She was pretty much scarred for life.

And therefore, you can imagine the immense trepidation and mass planning I've been doing for the past week.

You see, my friends Autumn and Adam are getting married.

Both Patrick and I are in the wedding; we're also hosting a party for the bride tomorrow night, while picking up people from the airport and putting them up for the festivities. There are also tables to be set up, flowers to be arranged, and gift bags to assemble. And we've got more than five parties/events we are to attend as part of the wedding party this week alone.

So, as much as it kills me, I had to call in the substitutes.

For the gym, for the school, for everywhere.

Yesterday was my last day at work for a week.

Which means I scrupulously laid everything out for my substitutes in the afternoon, detailing what to do, for every child, for the next week. I also sent my substitute trainers one more reminder, telling them where to be, at what time, with what clients. And in addition, I left see-you-next-week messages with every boss and administrative assistant I know and work with, in hopes that no one would be surprised by my absence and try calling me as I'm half-way down the aisle on Sunday.

After all that was taken care of, everything seemed to be ready to go. At 8 p.m., I was driving home, ready to sit down with the hubs and map out the rest of our crazy, wedding-filled week.

I was feeling fine. I was feeling pretty good, in fact. (OK, I was feeling pretty queasy, but for me, that comes with the territory when relinquishing control.)

Then it hit me.

I'd forgotten something. Something really important. Something I'd had on my to-do list for months. Something I'd just never gotten around to.

The blog.

I didn't find anyone to run my blog.

I have no guest posters. I have no pre-scheduled posts. I have no allotted blogging times penciled into my schedule for the next week.

What kind of control freak am I?

One who's going to have a barren blog for a week, that's who.

I didn't want to send out a plea for guest bloggers in the 11th hour - "Hey, it's Brittany. Can you write a guest post for me in oh, say, the next 30 minutes? Thanks!" - so I'm just going to have to live with it.

Or, rather, you all are.

And for that, I apologize. I really should have planned this better. (I also should have written FIND GUEST BLOGGERS much bigger on my to-do list, but that's neither here nor there now.)

So, I'll be back in a week. Next Tuesday, to be precise.

I'll try to keep up with my Google Reader, but all bets are off when it comes to weddings, so I don't want to swear to it.

And I promise, next time I walk away for a week, I'll make sure to fill this space with witty, interesting posts from witty, interesting women.

I'll plan better next time.

But until then, thank you for your patience with my barren blog. I will miss you all.

Now, I must go.

The principal is calling me. Apparently, he needs something.

And I'm not even joking.

***

Happy Tuesday! And have a wonderful week everyone! I can't wait to return and catch up with you all next Tuesday! Ta-ta for now!

Down in the Arkansas...

The hubs and I spent six glorious days in Northwest Arkansas, where he's originally from and where most of his family still resides.

As is the norm when traveling to a part of the country that is two hours away from any big-enough-to-receive-flights-from-Florida airport, we learned several valuable lessons right off the bat:

1. Don't wear gladiator sandals to the airport if you plan on getting on the plane on time. Seriously, Lady Who Not Only Wore Gladiator Sandals On Our Flight Into Dallas But Also Wore Gladiator Sandals That Had About 87 Straps That Laced Up to Your Kneecaps, if you are reading this, no one in Tampa International Airport security appreciated you painstakingly taking those puppies off and putting them back on. Which is exactly why we were all shooting you, "Have you lost your mind looks?" Oh, that and the culotte you were wearing.

2. Not everyone you meet in an airport is famous. OK, so I've flown before, but this time, something rang a little weird with me. I swear up, down and around that I kept spotting B-and C-list sitcom actors in the various airports we frequented as we worked our way from Florida to Arkansas. And because I was low on sleep, I stared at them, baldly and unabashedly, questioning their identities. I don't know why. The people I "thought" I was seeing weren't famous enough for me to even know their names, if they were indeed the people I thought they were, but I kept staring. Until the hubs threatened to give me a sedative and then plugged my gaping mouth up with a Subway sandwich.

3. Leaving your husband alone while he's fetching the rental car and they offer him a free upgrade is a bad idea. I literally went to the bathroom for two minutes, and I walked out to find my husband hopping into an over-sized, bright shiny red, extended-cab, totally tricked-out, brand-new Ford 150 truck. I'm more smart car than big truck, and with good reason. I could barely hoist myself into the thing it was so huge. And shiny. Did I mention it caught the sun, ALL the sun, in the greater Oklahoma-Arkansas-Missouri area? People were staring, although who can blame them. The truck looked like the World's Largest Red Hot, and we looked like ridiculous, fancy-pants rednecks. OK, my husband, who grinned ear-to-ear our entire drive in the car, did. I looked like I victim of a kidnapping, between my oversized sunglasses and maxi dress and the fact that I kept ducking and covering, for fear someone would spot me in this thing.
__
Eventually, though, our very own glowing Red Hot took us to Arkansas. We found Patrick's family's house looking the same as ever, except for one little difference.

You couldn't see the wood floor through the toys.

Why?

The family has a new addition:

Meet Isaac, the second baby to join the family.

And with him came all of his stuff. As happens with children, our Arkansas vacations were changed forever.

Gone were the days of late-night bands and sleeping in.

This vacation had been baby-proofed. We arose early, ate on schedule, and talked incessantly of poop, mucus, breast-feeding, labor and delivery, co-sleeping, baby swings, and diapers.

We were all found uttering phrases orchestrated to help the 2.5 year old in the family, Zack, adjust to his new cousin (which, by the way, he insisted was his new brother. This got confusing for the non-family members who came to see us, but we persevered.)

Some of the phrases Zack took kindly to (and repeated so often - to anyone that came in the house - that my mother-in-law suggested we embroider them on throw pillows) were:

"We don't eat poop. That's nasty."

And...

"We don't lick babies on the head in this family."

I'll leave you to imagine how these phrases arose.

Our vacation was so baby-centric, in fact, that we literally didn't get one group photo of the grown ups. The only adults that appeared in our vacation photos were purely coincidental. If they happened to he holding a baby, they were the lucky ones, because their left shoulder, right boob, or chin may have made another timeless family memento.

Exhibit A: The only photo of me taken the entire trip.

That's Isaac and me napping at a nearby water park in Alma, Ark., which, we were told by the archaic looking water tower (not pictured) in our midst, is the Spinach Capital of the World. (Apparently, though, this is highly under debate, an Alma native told us, as no one is sure the city still actually produces much spinach. However, they do still boast a life-sized statue of Popeye in their town square.)

Now, thanks to my uncontrollable sarcasm, you probably think we were disappointed in our kid-friendly vacation.

Hardly.

We loved it. We're all kid people. In fact, we were all itching to be with the kids. I literally fist-pumped the air when I was left alone in the house and heard Isaac crying from his crib, because I knew I'd get some quality baby time when I rescued him from his nap because there was no one there to fight me for it.

We also did take a lot of photos, but mostly of the two boys. And seeing as a great many were taken in swimsuits at Alma's water park, and by my husband, The King of the Unflattering Camera Angle, it was probably a good thing.

Take a look at "Zack-y," as he likes to call himself:

Kids got good hair, huh?

He immensely enjoyed the kiddie pool, but to be honest, so did we, as is evidenced by the grin on his dad's face, too.



I realize, thanks to the "we don't eat poop" mantra I've already told you about, I probably need to preface the following photos with the fact that what is on his face is the remnants of an ice cream sandwich, not poop.



And, because I'm a good aunt, and I don't play favorites, let me introduce you to the Many Faces of Isaac:

Thoughtful Isaac

Perturbed Isaac (Also known as I May Be Pooping Isaac)
Happy Isaac
Flirtatious Isaac
Hungry Isaac
Shy Isaac
Praying (For Food) Isaac
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We really had a wonderful time. When the babies slept, we all talked and looked at old photos. We even made a few pitchers of mojitos. The girls had a few shopping trips, and the boys even caught a "man movie." Patrick and I even snuck in one evening with our good college friends who we never see enough of. I hated leaving them after one evening. But it was still very nice to relax and be with family and friends who feel like family.

The kids? They were an extra bonus. As my mom says, holding a baby is best the therapy around.

Although, therapy or no, I may need some after this past week. I have baby fever to the Nth degree. On the flights home, I kept telling Patrick I already missed holding them, smelling them, cuddling them, telling them that "Yes, Zack. I poop, too. Everyone poops here."

My mother-in-law's wood floors don't stand a chance.

Happy Tuesday everyone!