I am not very funny at 7am

I am currently at my favorite place in the whole wide world. This week will entail sleeping, reading, walking outside and laying on a towel to read and sleep some more, and eating. And playing with a really freaking cute baby. Who likes me. I'm hoping that all the cute baby time will make Victor crazy and say "baby, let's go make our own!"

But, I married a man, not a hormonal woman.

So that probably won't happen.

We're here with my parents, my brother and his girlfriend, the people who would be my godparents if I had any, their son, his wife, and their 364 day old baby. My blogging will probably be limited but I will try my best to entertain you with stories of my insane family and the orange tan, pink blush, peroxide blond, permed hair types we're sure to encounter.

And, a reference to a dead German composer in the women's bathroom at a barbecue joint we hit on the way here. I have a picture.

Have a good week, y'all.

Klassy with a K

Getting drunk from gin and tropical punch Crystal Light that you drink out of a wine glass.

It's Not Over til the Red Lady Sings

...But sing she did. To the tune of spending an hour of Saturday night on the bathroom floor doubled over in pain and sweating through my clothes. The only thing worse than a Big Fat Negative is when it is accompanied by crippling cramps and, er, potty issues.

I'm feeling pretty sad these days. I made the mistake of getting my hopes up thanks to a nice non-implantation dip in my temps eight days after I ovulated. The other thing is that we're not sure if any "trying" will occur next month. A BFP this time around would have been unintentional (ya know what I mean?) (I mean, the goalie was there, but maybe missed a few pucks), but although Victor agreed that he would have been delighted if it had occurred, he doesn't feel quite secure enough about his job situation to INTENTIONALLY try.

I cannot wrap my head around it, as hard as I'm trying.

Blogger Woes and Hallucinations

What is wrong with Blogger? It decided to take away all my line and paragraph breaks, not only in new posts but in my old posts too! Now I have to enter the line break symbol twice every time I want a space instead of just pressing enter.

And we know I can't live without line breaks.

It's really not too bad I guess, but I need to go back to my old posts to fix them now. ANNOYING.

In other news, do y'all know if hallucinations are an early pregnancy symptom? See, I peed on a stick today (actually, in a cup in which I dipped a stick) and I could have sworn I saw a line when I held it up to the light, tilted it just right, and squinted.

Victor says he didn't see anything, but he's a pessimist so I am trying to ignore him.

We're on 12dpo folks. The most convincing thing to me is that normally by this time I feel incredibly grumpy but today I'm pretty happy and extremely punchy. No cramps, no sore boobies, nothing. So yeah, my phantom symptom is the lack of symptoms.

Someone Likes Me!

Aw, yay! Buckin nominated me for the Sisterhood Award. I'm not exactly sure of the meaning, but here are the provisions:

1) Put the logo on your blog or post.
2) Nominate at least 5 blogs with great attitude and/or gratitude. Be sure to link to your nominees in your post.
3) Let your nominees know they have received the award by leaving them a comment on their blog.
4) Be sure to link this post to the person who nominated you for the award.

Okay y'all, here are some blogs that have said "great attitude" along with great writing:
Maybe if You Just Relax
Here We Go Again
Being Brazen
Misadventures of a Newlywed
When Hello Means Goodbye

Thanks Buckin!

A Perfect Post

A blogger I recently I started following just posted this meme. Since I have nothing overly creative to say today, I thought I'd give it a whirl.

The perfect outfit: A sundress, J-Crew flip flops, and pearls. Classy and comfortable.

The perfect meal: Shrimp and grits, collard greens, fried okra, and corn bread.

The perfect hangover cure: Gatorade. The first time I had a real hangover in college I drank about a gallon. It actually belonged to my roommate but I hid the empty container replaced it.

The perfect facial feature: I notice people's eyelashes. True story: my friend introduced me to some guy in college she had decided was the best looking boy she'd ever seen. When she asked me what I thought I said "his eyelashes are so long!" Muscles wha?

The perfect drink: Gin sour. It's the non-girly girly drink. Sweet, yet sophisticated.

The perfect song: "I Wanna Dance with Somebody" by Whitney Houston. Really, I love it. It's the perfect song for dancing or for singing like a diva. Or both.

The perfect sign of affection: Meeting me in the hall when I come home to tell me you are cooking dinner as you hand me a glass of wine.

The perfect afternoon: A nap on the couch with the windows open on a nice day.

The perfect vacation: Sunset Beach, NC. I've been pretty much every year since I was 10. There is nothing to do except lounge, read, and walk. I think vacations should be relaxing.

The perfect invention: Victor and I are going to make our millions by inventing it. Get this ladies: HEATED high heels. For those cold nights when closed-toed shoes just won't do.

The perfect type of wedding: The kind where even the old people are dancing.

The perfect album: ABBA Gold.

The perfect accent: A Southern drawl, y'all. Like mine.

The perfect date: Hiking. I'm not normally an outdoorsy kind of girl but while hiking you can talk or not, maintain eye contact or not, and be wooed by nature.

The perfect weather: 76 degrees, sunny, and a light breeze.

The perfect party: I like smaller parties with a group of friends so that everyone can talk together.

The perfect sport: Basketball. Of the Tar Heels variety.

The perfect thing to say: "I love you for/because..." Specific examples are better than general statements.

The perfect day of the week: Sunday. I suspect once I have little people running around my house that I have to dress I'll change my mind, but for now it's perfect. Leisurely morning coffee, church, an afternoon nap, and quality time with Victor in the evening.

I tag everyone. Let me know if you do it and I'll come share the blog love.

Generations

This picture made me cry on Saturday:
It's of my Dad's mom, Alice Mae (little girl on the left) and her siblings. Alice died when my Dad was about 10 years old. She had rheumatic fever as a child and it left her with a heart defect. She died in her sleep and the morning my Grandpa discovered her he still got his three sons dressed and sent them to school.

I only learned these things several months ago.

See, we never talk about Alice. My Grandpa remarried when my Dad was still a kid. I'm not sure if we don't talk about Alice because it upsets my Grandma or because it's too painful. But recently, I've started really wanting to know.

In this picture of Alice I see my nose. And I want to know, what else did she give me?

I can see other parts of myself in other family members. My cautiousness from my mom's mom, my curiosity and love of reading from my mom, my rational thinking and quick temper from my dad.

What did Alice give me? Maybe my overdeveloped sense of justice? Or my laugh? Or my ghetto booty?

And even beyond what I got from my family, what I hope to become. My parents' forgiveness, my Granddaddy's hospitality and congeniality, my Granny's generosity, and my Grandpa's quiet kindness inspire me to become a better person. What would Alice have shown me?

I want to know. I want to know what kind of antics she pulled as a child. I want to know how she fell in love with my Grandpa and what it was like to have three sons in a cold, small North Dakota town. I want to know if her death was a surprise or expected. I want to know how my Grandpa managed to take care of his sons while mourning his wife. I want to know how my dad felt about his stepmother from the beginning and how they became a family.

It's my story too. And I want to know.

Fire Drill

You know how they say that even after years of being together you are still learning about the person you marry? It's so true, and it often happens at unexpected moments.

Like last night.

At 2am the fire alarm in our building started buzzing. Both of us jumped out of bed and started throwing on clothes and shoes. My raincoat was on a chair so I put it on and picked up my keys and purse. I had a brief "is there anything valuable I want to grab?" moment, but quickly gave up and started out the door. Apparently Victor had the same kind of thoughts, but he did get some things on his way that I only noticed when we were heading down the stairs. This was an opportunity for me to learn what was truly important to my husband.

And I did. Maybe.

He got coats.

About 4-6 of them. In addition to the one he was wearing.

Granted, it is a little bit chilly for May these days, but when it comes down to being cold for a while versus being REALLY HOT in a burning building, I'd pick the cold. I'm not exactly sure what he was thinking as he raided the coat closet. Perhaps he was thinking of other residents who might have forgotten to bring out their coats? Maybe he thought he could use them to put on some flames to slow the spread of the fire?

I have no idea.

What I do know is that my husband picked a pile of coats over our wedding pictures, jewelry he had given me, and the cat.

I'll just keep loving him more every day.

(Note: the alarm was false. It stopped buzzing before we even got outside).

And They Call them Southern Gentlemen

I'm back! My reunion was great fun and I was able to see classmates I hadn't talked to for ten years. Legal stalking, a.k.a. Facebook, has allowed me to have some general idea of what everyone has been doing, but it's no substitute for real conversations and hugs.

All of the reunion classes (those ending in '4' and '9') were invited to an opening cocktail party at our school on Friday night. It was pretty crowded so getting around the room involved lots of maneuvering between old people. I guess I bumped into an older alum's husband (totally not the fault of the three glasses of wine I'd had) and he stopped Victor and said:

"Tell your wife not to bump into me and get me excited".

Excuse me?

Victor just laughed off the comment but I wish he had suggested the man tell me himself.