Big Changes! The Beginning...

One month ago, today, I gathered up what little courage I had and walked into the little crossfit gym down the street from my house. I had been pinteresting, googling, and instagramming all the ladies of crossfit; ogling shamelessly. ‘Mirin. I wondered what it took for these incredible women with rock hard bodies to get to where they were on their journeys (I am OBSESSED with Christmas Abbott, Lauren Fisher, and Julie Foucher. Amazing women!).

I lifted all throughout high school. I did a workout very similar to that of a typical day in crossfit, thanks to our knowledgeable teachers/coaches- Mr. Schavetello and Mr. Motz. Working under them, I managed to lose a lot of weight that had previously left me super self conscious (although I wouldn’t be able to tell till I got pregnant later and saw old photos of myself, crazy how the mind plays tricks on you). I gained a basic understanding of what it took to be strong, but never got to where I wanted to be. Mostly because I was lazy and didn't want to fully exert myself. I also still ate garbage. A LOT of garbage.

Fast forward to after my second kid and I was lazy, complacent, and- most depressingly- weak. Unbearably weak. I worked out for a few months, consistently. Two hours a night. Every night. Again, there were results, but I didn’t acknowledge them as “being enough”. We moved to Texas, where I had no friends and no motivation. I was depressed and alone for the majority of the time. I used baking and eating as a coping mechanism, as I had for years. I thought my husband was a dick whenever he would bring up my weight, which only pushed me further down the rabbit hole. I know, it’s funny how easy it was for me to rationalize his concern as “being a dick”. If only I hadn’t been so sensitive and actually listened! I could be so much further along with my progress by now.

Here’s the issue with me: I made excuses. Why? Because making excuses was easier than actually getting off my lazy butt and putting forth the effort to better myself. It was easier to binge eat and watch Netflix for countless hours than to get out and actually TRY. I could make excuses all day -I was depressed, I was alone, it was too hard, I didn’t think we could afford it, I would work out when we move again and have a better, more set routine, I can’t because I have no one to watch the boys, I can’t put them in daycare because I don’t trust anyone -I could go on and on.

Suddenly we had moved. Even more suddenly, my oldest was in PreK and I had decided to socialize my youngest by putting him in my good friend’s in-home daycare on base. We had paid off a couple of student loans for my husband when we were in Texas, so we could now afford more. Literally every single excuse was gone. My husband deployed a short while ago- two months now, actually- so I decided now or never. It started out with researching boxes in town, checking prices, figuring out times, looking up reviews, creeping on instagrams, and suddenly I found myself balking again. I was making more excuses. So I did what I hadn’t wanted to do. I wasn't telling my husband I was joining a box because “I wanted to surprise him”, in other words, I wanted an out just in case I decided to quit. Instead, I made myself tell him one afternoon. He was thrilled. He was actually supportive (yet another reason I hadn’t wanted to mention it, I was scared he would say “you can’t do that” like the few people I had mentioned it to). He would ask every day, “Did you check it out yet?”, nope, didn’t have time, maybe tomorrow? It went on like that until he finally got mad and said he didn’t think I was going to follow through. That pushed me into sending an email to the owner of the box down the street saying “SEE YOU MONDAY, BRO” (clearly, that’s paraphrased).

Monday morning, I was a nervous wreck. My stomach was turning. I got up early because I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t eat any breakfast- BIG MISTAKE- and I was sweating bullets. I got the boys ready, dropped off my youngest, then went to drop off my oldest, and finally pulled into the little parking lot of the box that overlooked the busy road through town.

I gave myself a pep talk, not unlike the kind when I have already put on the wax strip for my eyebrows and have zero desire to rip that bad boy off. The first step was to open the door. Check. Shut the door. Good, keep going. I got to the door and saw a puppy. That was it. This was my place. I opened the door and exchanged a mildly awkward greeting with the owner and everyone there. As far as first days and workouts go, that was by far my worst. The other three members were quiet and had a stoic look about them. I was immediately intimidated. Nerves, and lack of breakfast, got to me not even 20 minutes into the freaking warm-up. I got lightheaded and nauseous and had to run to the bathroom. Utterly embarrassed, I finished the workout pretty defeated. The owner looked skeptical as we finished up, with everyone else chatting while I stood there awkwardly. I’m pretty sure he wasn’t expecting me to come back, but when he asked if I thought I might be interested I said “ Absolutely. I’ve never worked out that hard by myself, and I need to get my ass kicked so...here’s my card.” He looked completely shocked, haha.

Each time I go, I feel a little more confident and a little less intimidated. The people are so nice (who knew anyone was grumpy at 9 in the morning?!) despite the slightly terrifying first day. In the short amount of time I have been at this box, I have found that everything I have read about the strong sense of community is absolutely legit. Everyone is there with the same goal- to get better than they were the day before. There is no competeing against the person next to you, only with your previous bests. I can’t begin to describe how much I enjoy getting to be miserable with these people, three days a week. I’m beyond excited to grow in this community and see where it takes me; hopefully to personal bests I never could have dreamed of. I’m slowly but surely learning the lingo and feeling a million times better after each workout. I love the soreness because I earned it! I’m probably going to become one of those people who preach crossfit to everyone, and for good reason. It’s absolutely incredible for the body AND the mind.

Ok, then. I’ll step off my little soapbox, I just had to write about this super positive experience I’ve had so far in this one short month. If you’re one of those people who has been on the fence about it- GO. JOIN. NOW. It’s the best thing you could do for yourself. I promise.

You've Got a Friend in Me

Y’all, it’s that time. I knew this day was coming when I met him but, you know, denial is a hell of a thing. I don’t know that there is really anything that can truly prepare you for a first deployment as a spouse. So far, I’ve tried pretending it wasn’t just around the corner and it’s worked perfectly until now. Now I lie awake at night just touching him while trying to memorize how he feels and smells. I’m having nightmares- some relevant, some not- and waking up in a cold sweat, gasping for breath.  

However, one thing that HAS helped me, personally, is the wonderful network I’ve surrounded myself with in a mostly online community of fellow spouses. Instagram (stifle those laughs now) has kept me in touch with a solid group of ladies who keep my expectations on a realistic level but also keep the hope in my heart. They’ve always understood where I am in my life because they are there, have been there before, or will be there very shortly.  These are the people I’ll turn to when I know I can’t ask my mom or dad to understand because they’ve never been in my situation, or my husband’s.

I’ve become incredibly close to one woman in particular who has been my rock since we began “following” each other over 3 years ago.

 It’s always weird to know someone before you’ve ever met them, but technology can be an amazing and wonderful thing! I met her in person for the first time a little over a year ago when we first moved here to North Carolina and she quickly became my person. We have since laughed and cried together over so many things. We’ve watched each other’s kids grow up. We’ve listened to the other gripe and moan about our relationships and family and cleaning. We congratulated each other when we both became homeowners. I cried like a hardcore mom when I witnessed her walk across the stage and accept her degree (I still have the itinerary). I was there for her the best I could be when her husband deployed the first time and now that he’s just recently deployed again, with my husband to go shortly, we can support each other. She’s been a voice of reason when I feel irrational and she helps calm me down when my anxiety gets the best of me. She’s certainly not afraid to tell me to “reel it in”. We've called each other for our birthdays two years in a row to sing obnoxiously. She’s my motivator and I love her so, so dearly. 

To any spouses out there who have a difficult time making friends with other spouses, I highly suggest networking through the online community. You don’t have the responsibilities of meet-ups and play dates and coffees, you just add, like, and occasionally chitchat. This is how I’ve made a close and personal lifelong friend and have gotten to know many, many more that I’m sure I’ll meet some day.

Now then, I’m off to soak up the rest of the time I have with my husband and then I’ll start cranking out a ton of DIY projects I’ll be undertaking due to boredom!  

Just to list a couple:

*Building and upholstering a tufted headboard for the guest room.

*Upholstering the box spring for the guest room.

*Both the first and second thing, only for two new twin beds for the boys' room.

*Putting a pallet wall up in the boys’ room.

So stay tuned...

Still A Better Love Story Than Twilight.

Being one of the younger gals in my ever-growing group of lady friends to be married with children, I feel this is a great place to tell the better part of my “How We Met and Fell Madly in Love” story. Needless to say I’d like to use this post, the whole thing, to talk about my marriage. I had just broken free of the longest (9 months), easily worst, relationship in my freshly turned 19 years and started working rather recently at the local Buffalo Wild Wings. Yes, I can hear all of you sigh that exasperated sigh only a veteran restaurant employee can sigh when learning of a romance that bloomed in the workplace. Complete with the groaning and eye rolling, I got it. But that was not my first workplace rodeo, ladies and gentlemen. I was not naive to the ways of the Kitchen Men.

It was early December. It was one of those cold, sunny Indiana winter days where you could wear appropriate length shorts and get away with it until the early evening when the sun went down. I walked through the back entrance for employees with my friend Aimee, when I heard it. The voice of the man I would very shortly call Work Dibs on. It wasn’t until I was passing the food window that I saw him. Blonde. Eyes whose color rivaled the waves in Hawaii. Ripped to Mars and back. Like, I’m not even exaggerating in the least; I nearly stuck him in the large sink and started washing aprons on his abs. Oh, and his voice. Did I mention yet that he hails from the deepest of back woods in Alabama? He had left to go to college there in Indiana, so he didn’t have a harsh twang anymore, rather a gentle, insanely adorable drawl. I don’t know that my words will do it justice, but I’ll certainly try. To make the most cliché comparison of anything southern it was like the deepest, darkest honey. To top it off, he has a quick wit. There is nothing more attractive than a smart southern man.  He was like most kitchen guys, flirting relentlessly with the servers and hostesses. But, obviously, I had called Dibs so they were limited in their responses. Well, except Meredith. I can’t use a single expletive adjective about that girl while remaining a lady, so I won’t even give her more than this sentence. (Hint: “Oh my gosh, I totally didn’t mean to grab your man junk, I was reaching for the door handle!” On a swinging door? Alex, what is FALSE? ) Moving on…

I suppose you could say we dabbled. Then dated. I learned that he was a popular, super smart, stud of an athlete who could not only pitch a no-hitter but he was also an avid outdoorsman. He was independent from a very early age. He loves to reminisce so, fortunately for me, I found out a significant amount about him in the few short months we dated before our *HOLY SH* SURPRISE moment.

I would be a liar if I said I wasn’t totally shocked and terrified when I discovered I was pregnant with Ayden. Scary stuff, pregnancy. I’m also not afraid to admit I was so incredibly immature then. The amazing thing about children is that whether you’re ready for them or not, they *usually* mature you about 5 years the second they come out.  I was proposed to soon after, in THE most unceremonious of ways. I can laugh about it now, but let me tell you that any engagement story that involves leaving your pregnant, nearly blind girlfriend wandering around, calling you and textually harassing you, designating you a “douchebag” is not one that will be joyously recalled. Keep this in mind, mothers of young lads. Raise them to know that this is not, in fact, the most acceptable way to propose. Nothing less than a heartfelt, intimate, possibly videoed and later montaged proposal will suffice. Although, to give credit where much credit is due, it might not be the definition of “romantic” but he asked me. He asked ME. I was a fiancé. I was going to get married! No feeling rivals that of a newly engaged young lady. Not one.

We wed in the Smokey Mountains in a beautiful little white chapel with only our closest friends and some family there. If you haven’t seen Gatlinburg in November, stop reading this and GO. No! I’m kidding, finish reading and then go. Truly, it’s gorgeous. Our chapel was nestled just atop a middle mountain peak and we had a simply breathtaking view. I can recall walking down the aisle wearing my silk, fire engine red peep toe pumps, praying desperately “Please, Lord, for the love of all things great and right and good in this world, do not let me fall.”. I managed to make it to the altar soundly; splendidly even, tripped only once up a single stair- totally hidden by my dress, WIN- and then had my father and stepfather simultaneously give me away. I looked to my almost-husband for a bit of reassurance and there he was, terrified and waiting. I don’t exactly remember saying the vows but I do remember whispering “sausage, sausages, sausage!” at my soon-to-be life partner to rustle up a laugh. It worked because, obviously, I’m the comedienne of that man’s dreams *neck breakingly vicious hair flip*.

Without getting too in depth in the whole military aspect of it all just yet, (I'm selfish, let me have a few posts all about me...) we have been married 5 years as of 9 months from now, moved 5 times, had 2 children in 3 years, and I can’t imagine spending my days waiting for anyone else to walk through the door. I could say the typical “it’s been a rollercoaster”, “we’ve had our ups and downs but we were meant for each other” and “we have our moments but we love each other and we’re gonna make it!” but I would rather gag on a rusty spoon than spew that overused garbage, even once. So, I will say this. It has been hard. REALLY hard, but so immensely satisfying. We continue to love and argue with and support each other and raise our heathen precious boys to the very best of our abilities. Every day is unique in its challenges. Every sun rise holds the promise of extremely long work days, hyper children, and motherly/wifely/ soon to be scholarly duties to be completed. I love it. I’m so glad I have it.  I hope you have it someday, too, if you don’t already. Nothing is as rewarding to one’s soul as having your own family. That doesn’t have to include children, even. Just being able to delight in sharing your entire being with someone who returns the favor. It’s pretty awesome.

 

Annie Sloan Chalk Paint- Kitchen Cabinets:Part I

Quick note: Part II here!

I finally got around to starting our biggest kitchen update to date! While my husband was off doing some training, I made the ultimate decision to paint The Monsters. I have done extensive googling and pinteresting research and discovered that I do not, in fact, have legit wood cabinets- BUMMER-, but some weird laminated, pressboard that is the stuff of nightmares. The previous owners have done a real number on them. There are so many dings and scratches and even little chunks of cabinet missing that they constantly look like they're covered in some beige splatter which drives me, and any OCD guests...Brittney, crazy.

I finally settled on using Annie Sloan Chalk Paint in Pure White because I've coveted Miss Mustard Seed's kitchen for far too long. The crisp, clean look of white cabinets soothes my soul. The boxwood wreath was my sole motive for going out to purchase my own boxwood shrub a few days ago. That countertop?! I die. Dream kitchen, for sure. So this is the first step towards my own take on the white kitchen.

Now, I had read that ASCP was known best for being used without needing sanding or primer, making it the obvious choice. ASCP is sold pretty exclusively, so if you're looking to buy some, check here to find which retailers, or Stockists, are near you. I had to drive an hour away to get my hands on the stuff. I purchased 2 quarts of Pure White, one tub of Clear Soft Wax and one small sized brush and paid $145.30 total. Quite the chunk of change for 4 items! (Sorry I didn't take the time to clean my brush. You can actually clean them out using water because the paint is water based -hallelujah- but I have been keeping mine in a ziplock baggie when I don't feel like taking the time to rinse and dry.)

I quickly found that my cabinets were not the type of cabinets that didn't require sanding. Being laminated and all kind of completely ruined that, so I took some 150 grit sandpaper and lightly sanded every bit of surface. Tedious, but not difficult.

(QUICK EDIT: Don't bother sanding, I'll explain why in the updated Part II )

As well as dreaming of a white kitchen, I've also been drooling over the "accent" cabinet doors with glass inserts. I've decided I'm doing this to 2 of ours; the one that holds every last cheap glass and sippy cup we own and the one where we keep our tiny collection of matching dinnerware and stemware. One day, hopefully in the not-too-terribly-distant future, I'll have a large collection of glasses and dinnerware that match and are show worthy. Until then, y'all can look at the sippy cups and protein shakers and like it.

Here are the doors, and the cutting tool I used over on the foam in picture 1, during and after the panel removal process:

Please forgive the terrible quality. I've lost my camera and only have my phone, so bear with me...

I ripped out the remaining bits of particle board with pliers and found I have a perfect little lip I can use to lay the glass on. I just need to get a small-scale cutting tool to cut the back lip off, if that makes any sense. I'm going to use  caulk and the type of hardware used to keep mirrors on the wall in bathrooms to secure the glass.
Another phone picture to give y'all a visual:

Here are some "Before" pictures of our kitchen:



And the most recent progress picture:

**QUICK DISCLAIMER**

I am not affiliated in any way whatsoever with the ASCP brand so this quick little review is brought to you only by the humble, novice, opinion of a housewife and mostly inexperienced painter.

The paint itself goes on wonderfully smooth. I needed 2 coats to fully cover all areas, and rarely I would use a third to cover a few missed spots. After drying- which is super quick, I might add- you can use the Annie Sloan brand wax brush to brush in the wax or use a very clean rag to buff it in then wipe it off. I chose the rag mostly to eliminate the hassle of switching from brush to rag. It leaves a nice finish that has been easy to wipe clean. 

Now that I'm about to go attempt to make some more progress, so I will hopefully have another  update for you soon now! Here is Part II! 



May the Bridges You Burn Light the Way

Something I have always struggled with is forgiveness. I was raised in church (stay with me, here. This isn’t a shove-religion-down-your-throat post…) from birth till deciding to take an extended (recently ended) hiatus from the multitudes of saints, sinners, and constant reminders that seem to remind me I don't belong.  I have listened to innumerable lectures sermons taught by equally as many men standing on stage.  I have read endless motivational posters and quotes urging one to forgive and forget. Still, I couldn’t ever fully wrap my head, or heart, around forgiving those who have wronged you or the ones you love.

I could never say I’ve led a hard life, by any means.  However, I HAVE been through much inconvenience. Heartbreak. Trouble.  I’ve been stabbed in the back and it’s not a feeling I would ever intentionally choose to endure again but the world is full of selfish people so we have no choice but to trust those who could potentially hurt us. Maybe that was why it was so difficult for me to grasp the concept of forgiving someone; you trust someone with a small piece of yourself and they reject it in one way or another. Not an easy thing to get over.

I wish I could pinpoint exactly what it was that smacked me in the face one afternoon but, sadly, I can’t. I just know that a certain understanding sort of culminated that I can’t be a whole person while festering over something someone did years ago. This was fairly strange for me, personally, because I come from a line of grudge-carriers. It’s insane how long my family can hold out on you, should you offend them in ANY form or fashion. Most of the individuals in my family are unapologetically passive-aggressive, so you're almost always left guessing what you did to earn that backhanded comment, but they'll most likely deny that. I had to grow out of the mindset that tip-toeing around an offensive subject was the way to end it. Leaving home, getting married, and having kids are all things that put you directly in the line of fire for literally everyone else's opinions and, more often than not, those can be utterly brutal. I wouldn't be able to mentally handle my day-to-day goings on had I not thickened my skin. More importantly, I would have a miserable life if I couldn't let go of the things said and done.Now that I’ve agitated whatever kin may have read that, let’s continue…

Forgiveness, for me, hasn’t been a one-and-done deal for me. In the super short amount of time I’ve been working at it, it’s been a daily act of understanding, accepting, and letting go. That is HARD and I haven’t really had something truly awful happen to me to warrant a life-long resentment. Not yet, anyway. I have, however, been a victim of unjust accusations that were pretty significant. Generally, instead of choosing the passive-aggressive route, I opt for full on, awkward confrontation. Should the situation not be resolved complete with adequate apologies and all, I simply drop the person from my life. Cut all strings. Burn the bridge. It’s easier than you would think. The only problem with that is the complete lack of closure to the situation. That can eat you alive from the inside out. It can genuinely make you a hateful person. That SUCKS. I would know, because I would occasionally find myself randomly thinking hateful thoughts and I disliked being that person even if I didn’t realize it at the time.

I recently reached out to someone who had hurt not only me but my entire little family so profoundly that we didn’t talk to or acknowledge this person for 3 years. They were immediate family. Like I said, easier than you think. *Kanye shrug*. After 3 years, the hatred intense dislike was basically routine. It’s habit. Easy; natural even.  However, forgiving this person has opened the door to being able to move on with my life. I didn’t realize how much their actions and words had affected me until I let them all go. It’s an incredible feeling. 

The hardest part in ALL of this being able to discern the difference of when you can forgive someone and maintain that relationship and when you have to forgive by letting them go. I, personally, have what some would call an unrealistic faith in humanity despite being proven wrong countless times. I was taught that everyone deserves a second chance. The benefit of the doubt. Give someone a legitimate chance to redeem themselves and you’d be surprised to find that some will actually rise to the occasion. Not everyone, obviously, but why not at least give them the chance to either seal their own coffin or step out of the hole they've dug for themselves? More importantly, you have to realize when the offender is doing more harm sticking around than benefiting you as a growing individual.  

Realize when to let a hurtful, hateful person go. Acknowledge when it's time to cut the strings. Understand that letting them go will let you go further in your life because you don’t have the weight of their so-called friendship. Know that there are times when the bridges you burn light the way. 

Taking Happiness

After being distracted by the goings on in my life a small, slightly extended, break from this blogging business, I’m trying to get back to it. If any of you know me personally, you already know I have ADD tendencies. I can go from talking about Frankie Valli to films about Middle Earth in about 3.7 seconds, hinting on every relatable point in between to get me there. I’m also all over the map with blog topics; I usually find at least one good topic a day but fail to write it down or find another article or blog that perfectly mirrors my exact thoughts. Basically, this is me making excuses for why I haven’t written anything in a significant amount of time. Now then, something that has been weighing on my mind tremendously, as of late, is happiness; more specifically being happy with ones’ self.

I've been riding the struggle bus that is body image issues all throughout my life, I’ve fought hard through self doubt to become the outspoken person I am ,and I feel like it’s finally time to claim happiness. Something I’m super guilty of is relying on others for my joy. As I’m sure most of you know that can make for a bad time.

Looking to anyone else to make you happy will set you up for failure. You have certain expectations, certain goals that need to be reached in order to make you the right amount of happy for YOU. The problem that lies in looking to others for that is that *SURPRISE!* no one can read your mind. No one but you knows what can and will make you complete from one second to the next, and expecting them to be able to do so- even with the most intense, honest, and constant communication- is futile.

I’ve only recently decided to be a more positive, happier person. I know you’re thinking that that sentence is ridiculous; you can just decide to be a happy person? What about your circumstances? What about all the heartbreaking, completely terrible things that happened, or are currently happening to you right this moment? Those things affect you. Those things are real. Here’s what I have found; they affect you as much as you let them. Say someone you know and love dearly has been diagnosed with cancer. You can choose to sit and be bitter and let the anger fester or you can rejoice in the time you have with them and enjoy every single moment. They aren’t guaranteed a tomorrow. Do you want their possible last memories of you to be of you stewing in a corner over how unfair life is or would you rather them see you as grateful for the time you have with them? (*Disclaimer- I have had multiple family members who have been diagnosed with different types of cancer,  one family member who has died as a result, and several In-Laws who are either currently fighting cancer or are high risk and have to monitor their health on a regular basis. )

The same goes for marriages. If you invest all of your expectations of a marriage working and thriving based on how happy your significant other can make you they will fall short, at one point or another. Do they make you happy? I’m sure they do, otherwise you wouldn’t have married them. Why marry someone who makes you miserable, constantly, amiright? Seriously, though, I’ve done this myself for far too long. I pushed expectations of love and joy and a happily ever after onto my husband for the last 5 years and have come up a few times empty handed. Does that mean he doesn’t love me? Absolutely not. Does this mean we need to start discussing the “D” word? Start arranging holidays with the kids and who gets them for this birthday and who takes them on what vacation? No way.

I had a revelation this weekend that seemed so incredibly, stupidly simple I literally facepalmed. I have to be happy with myself before I can be truly happy with others. It’s that simple. I've heard this a few times, but never really took it to heart.

I haven’t lost all the weight I packed on during two back to back pregnancies, so I, like every other woman in the entire world ever, looked to my husband to make me feel better about myself. Here’s the thing, why would someone who loves you tell you that you are ADEQUATE now when you were once wonderful? Would that not do more damage to your self esteem? Hint: it did mine. That aside, my husband is a brutally honest person who doesn’t blow smoke up my butt. I’m sure that this comes partly from being a no-nonsense Marine who is clear and concise with each and every person about what he expects and wants. Before I go putting him on a pedestal, (let me laugh it out a bit before continuing this sentence) know that he has faults. He falls short, on occasion. He has a tendency to blame. But he is also honest, and I know he is entirely correct on the fact that I have some work to do. Let me ask you something- when you go look in a mirror, what are some of the things you say about yourself? Do you need to lose that extra weight? Do you see a round face and a double wide backside? Now, imagine that someone you love told you the same things you think about yourself. You would be upset, right? Typically, the people you love and respect won’t tell you things like that because they don’t want to hurt your feelings. Let me be clear in that I want NONE of you to leave this page thinking to yourself that your significant others can or should stop loving you or being affectionate or caring simply because you put on some lb’s. This is not what I’m getting at. What I’m getting at is that, personally, I am unhappy being unfit and that translates into many things I do and say. Regardless of whether I say it or not, people can tell. Therefore, I am going to change things that I am doing to become a happier person, inside and out.

This still goes far beyond the physical aspect. I know that my attitude is lazy now, as well. I have become complacent in the many facets of my life. I don’t pride myself on it. Remember above, how I had to make excuses as to why I hadn’t been blogging? Yep. Case in point.

I have also noticed I tend to be negative about a lot of things. I want so badly to see the good, the silver lining, in any situation or individual. I’m not saying I should be unrealistic and naïve about things, I just need to stop being so DOWN on people and experiences and just everything in general. This has led me to be, more often than not, an unhappy person. You can’t find the negative in life and be a delightful person to be around.  It just doesn’t work that way. Don’t get me wrong, I’m totally not a Grinch. I just have some work to do.  A friend suggested yoga, to help meditate on myself and find the positive light in those around me but I truly am not a flexible person so that might be out of the question for now. Good suggestion, though, for those who can handle it. I DO, however, intend to get back to the gym grind. I am going to get back in shape and to set realistic goals for MYSELF. When I am happy with how I look, with what I have accomplished, what I have done, I can stop keeping company with people I’m looking for acceptance from and just be present in the moment with them and be glad. I will stop putting the weight of my happiness on the shoulders of others and take responsibility for picking up that load and carrying it myself. When you can make yourself happy, you can be utterly independent. Being independent, to me, means you have others in your life because you simply WANT them there and they benefit who you already are as a person. They cannot detract from your happiness because they can’t take away what they haven’t given. 

One thing I have already decided is that this will not be a pursuit of happiness. This is the taking of happiness. I will storm the castle, throw happiness onto my horse and White Knight her off  beyond the setting sun. I'm taking it for myself, today. Okay. “Vague Life Lessons with Brianna” is over for the day.  I have to go water our lawn on this gorgeous day, so everyone go forth and be excellent to each other.

 

"It is not easy to find happiness in ourselves, and it is not possible to find it elsewhere"

- Agnes Repplier

Love Notes

I know I said that this blog was my “sanctuary” from The Job That Shall Not Be Named the grand ol’ USMC, but hey- I’m married to a Marine and he’s fathered all of my children so it was bound to come up eventually. Today is one of those days.

Being married going on 5 years this year, I have to confess that I have been incredibly blessed in that my husband hasn’t deployed yet. I know, groan and grumble about how “lucky” we are, but before you start that little unnecessary competition in your head, let me just stop you right there. We’re all in this together. We all will eventually go through the same things and we need to support one another (I’ll be posting about this EXACT issue that I’m very passionate about eventually, so BRACE YOURSLEVES fellow S/O’s. That rant and rave is long overdue). That being said, he was in flight school for 4 solid years. In the time we have been together, he averages about 2 weeks of vacation per year that is typically all taken in one big chunk for Christmas vacation, sparing a day or two for Thanksgiving. This is a huge leap from the 60 days vacation per year promised. I am used to this schedule by now but I have to admit I dream of days when he’ll have freshly retired and we can sit on a porch swing, sipping our coffee, waiting to hear from the boys at their successful, seven figure salary jobs but that will never happen. My old man will work himself to death; a rightfully admirable, but somewhat annoying, trait he earned from his late granddaddy, Bud.

In addition to being a Marine, he is also a pilot (as I briefly mentioned in the introduction) of the MV-22 aka Osprey. Flight school is no joke, ladies and gentlemen. I’ve seen this dude lose so much sleep over tests where he had one incorrect answer or days when he justly questioned an instructor who was in the wrong only to be chewed out and have said instructor lower his marks on the graded flight. This ain’t your average rodeo and he managed to pass with flying colors – what I did there, do you see it?-. He is currently beginning his strenuous deployment training, something we obviously haven't yet endured. I don’t know if this is simply a military thing, or if it varies by individual, but he’s been itching to get out and fly with the big boys in the heat of combat. I mean, I’ve just recently watched ‘American Sniper’ so obviously I’m internally FREAKING OUT. The great thing about having a husband so intensely devoted to doing things the right way  the first time is knowing that usually when he DID have issues in flight school it was usually because he questioned rules and regulations that were either outdated or just 100% incorrect. He’s been the reason for a few NATOPs changes, no big deal (could I humblebrag anymore? Absolutely, yes. Just wait).

While I’m SO proud of my husband, I get a little aggravated with him from time to time. This adult man, an individual whose job fully relies on communication with the ground and every single person around him is like a freaking chamber of secrets (what up, fellow fangirls) when it comes to communicating with his beloved wife. This was an issue we struggled with for a while, because if there is anything I- lover of words and definitions and what have you- hate, it’s a one letter, super short textual response or 27 second phone call.  So after enduring almost 5 years of this, 5 YEARS Y’ALL, I finally figured out a way to get a just little more.

I used to be big on writing disgustingly sappy, motivational love notes on the daily back when we were a baby couple. I would leave them everywhere. I’d hide them in his lunch box, in his flight bag, his truck, his coat pockets, EVERYWHERE. I love making him feel loved. Eventually, I spent less time writing him these notes and more time doing other things. I think that was due mostly in part because he never made a mention on his feelings about them or wrote back, so I figured they went unappreciated. *Kanye shrug*.  In the last year, I set a goal to start leaving love notes again, because it was something I had genuinely enjoyed; showing someone how much you care in a very nearly creepy way. Ha. But to be serious for a brief moment, who doesn’t want a quick confirmation of their spouse’s love before they leave for the day? Um, the Grinch.

When we moved here to NC, I started leaving pages pretty regularly. I know his routines like the back of my hand. He’s very much a creature of habit. He loves stability. The first thing he does when he goes downstairs is make a beeline to our Keurig to get one of his 2 varieties of coffee. Since this is a morning step that is NEVER skipped, I know this is the best place to leave scribbles on one of the 73 million small legal pads I bought from Sam’s club in bulk. Lately, I’ve been trying to leave at least one compliment about him as a person in between the declarations of my undying love. If you start your day out confidently, it can make a positive impact on your outlook for the entire day. This, in turn, can impact the day of everyone around you. At least this is my personal belief; DISCLAIMER: I am not a doctor or psychologist. Between you and me (and all of my husband’s coworkers/colleagues), he has been described as “abrasive”, “a real dick” and an “ a**hole”  on numerous occasions. If something I write to him in the morning can potentially alleviate a little stress causing this abrasiveness, then *go me*.

It was more or less immediately after beginning to leave the notes again that I actually started receiving letters in response! This was huge for me. He’s not typically a sentimental guy, he’s not terribly romantic, and his aforementioned communications skills were, again…practically nonexistent. This brought about a change in our marriage. A small change, but a change nonetheless. This is a man whose love language is acts of service; he sees an act such as cleaning a messy kitchen, paying a bill, or cooking him dinner as an expression of love. I am a physical touch type of gal, myself. I believe we have found a great middle ground with our words. While I am not exactly OCD when it comes to cleaning my home and he isn’t really the “Let’s-go-make-sweet,-sweet-love-then-cuddle-viciously” type. We are both working on that for each other. Regardless of what our love languages or personality types are I appreciate and utterly adore that he takes the time to reciprocate. It has become my favorite part of the morning to walk downstairs, giddy with anticipation, to see what lovely parting sentiment I was left with. I strongly encourage you to try this with you current S/O or future S/O.

Do you and your partner have a disgustingly cute way to show your love to one another? Tell us, tell us!

Doing It Ourselves

Alright y’all. I feel off the wagon for a couple of days, babysitting and hosting a get together in our house. I’m going to rant on my beautiful, fixer-upper of an abode today. She’s got spunk, she’s got character, but most importantly she’s got a TON of potential. When I first saw the pictures of this short sale house while living in Texas, I knew it would be “The One”. Long story super short, it ALMOST DIDN’T HAPPEN. But happen it did. Thankful I am.

Okay, let me try and remember my long, long, looooooong list of the many things utterly wrong with this house. Brace yourself. Grab lunch or something, this is a lengthy one.  I’ll try to dig up some old pictures later to give you a visual of the complete massacre of a house we were about to walk into, sight unseen (in person, anyway. But do you ever really trust internet pictures? Consensus says 97% of you who most likely have dated online just said NO). Side note: this house is MY baby. I have put all the work into painting anything in the house, currently. The yard is more my husband's project, but I'm slowly taking that over too.

Let me start with this golden nugget of wisdom; when you make EVERY wall and accent wall, it is no longer an accent wall. You are just an indecisive bag of douche who looks like an eccentric, colorblind poster child for ADHD. Our bottom floor had 7 colors alone and the second floor had 6. I mean, there was a wall in the kitchen that was painted entirely black- no, it wasn’t chalkboard paint-, including the light switches and switch plates. Why? WHY? Were they summoning demons from the 7^th level of Hell (to be their interior designers and landscapers)? 

Before-

During-

 

After 4 coats of primer-

The rest of the kitchen/living room, save for one dark grey wall where the TV is now located, was – I kid you not- a poop green. That is the only adequate description. It wasn’t a hunter green, this was the kind of green you dread finding in a diaper. And it was the most widely used color, like they were so proud that they made THIS choice.

Some before's of the gag-worthy green-

After's with the BM Revere Pewter over the original green-



I cannot even begin to explain how drastically the color update changed literally everything. It completely transformed the space as well as made the entire downstairs less depressing.

The kitchen is a somewhat open plan with a breakfast bar and tons of cabinet space. The cabinets are still in serious need of a good burning painting but that can wait for a bit. The “wood”, we’ll call it, has a ton of nicks and dents that mostly just make it look insanely dirty. Take care of your cabinets!  The countertop also has chunks missing and the underlying plywood is visible in certain spots if you happen to take a close look. Everything is builder grade and has suffered greatly at the careless hands of the previous owners (rumored by our neighbors to be a couple, their 5 children, and no less than 4 dogs…WHOA). The living room has only a minor area on the laminate wood flooring that needs repaired, but it happens to be right near where we are looking to build an electric fireplace and surround so we’ll wait on any repairs. The sliding door to the backyard has some funky between-the-glass mildew going on so we have been talking some solutions; the best of which is hiring contractors to remove it and install a nice set of French doors to help with energy efficiency as well as maximize the security, since sliding glass doors are the easiest to break into. I can’t say I’d be sad to see the chunk of wood used as a failsafe lock go into our fire pit.

The entryway and front hall were a cream/beige color. Very blah; a first in this house!

The formal dining room wasn’t terribly offensive. A retina-burning teal, complete with hand stenciled dandelions blowing across one corner, when paired with the beautiful picture frame wainscoting, made you question every life choice these people had ever made but you know, not terribly offensive. To put your mind at ease now, it was the first project tackled. I’ll divulge the details in a bit, but I just knew you couldn’t even right now. It’s ok. This is becoming a beautiful room already. Trust.

Before-

That teal/blue right next to that hideous green was something I wish I had never seen.

During-

 



Update: she's slowly coming along in her change from teenage dining room into a blossoming, tasteful young dining room. Would you agree?

Everyone, meet Needy.
 

Downstairs bathroom was a glossy, super light grey with cheap, marbled, light and dark brown tiles. Again, with the questioning of the life choices and what have you.
 

The stairwell needs some loving since this is where the carpet begins. It boasts a high ceiling, so I’m going to have to hire someone to paint about 5 walls. The wood handrails are terribly outdated, even for being built in 2010. The carpet…ugh. Did I mention they had at least 4 dogs? Here’s the best description I can muster: when we first stepped foot in this house it smelled like a local pound. The stench of dog urine was so overwhelming I nearly gagged on it. What’s worse is that it was emanating from a single room upstairs with the word “Princess” stenciled in blush pink across the door. What kind of princess sleeps in a pee-soaked bedroom? More importantly, what kind of parents would make their child sleep in a room like that? How could any human be breathe through all that ammonia? Okay, I’m getting sidetracked. The Princess room has two colors of light purple on the walls and a massive walk in closet, complete with wall scribbles and stickers galore. Typical. After a weekly carpet cleaning and routine Pet Fresh carpet powder vacuum sessions, the odor is finally subsiding (only took 7 months, y’all). This room became the play room. Second largest room in the house meant best chance for mostly contained messes. Obviously. We have been toying with the idea of putting a sofa sleeper in here to accommodate more guests.

The boys’ room had no ceiling fan, which my wonderful husband later installed himself, and a forgettable green color with another, equally forgettable color boldly striped around the perimeter of the room. A medium sized closet with no lighting, but ample room to store all the boys' clothes plus some toys.

The guest bedroom doubles as the office, with the bottom floor’s light and dark shades of grey on two walls each. I call this room my perch, since I can literally be THE biggest creep ever and survey all the goings on of our road, undetected. The guest bathroom doubles as the boys’ bathroom, so I need to get creative with the narrow, limited space it’s got going on in there. Shelves will be my best friend.

 

 

And the master bedroom/bath combo? The first thing I ever saw when I walked in was sex swing hook, hanging from the ceiling. Undeniably, 100% positive that this is what this thing was used for. The ceiling has a lovely recess in the middle, one set of double windows, and the master bath needs some TLC. The shower is small with a micro-wall dividing the shower and bath tub. The bathroom is secluded with its own door. This is a wonderful thing for my husband and I, who prefer to keep a little mystery in our marriage. Potty time is alone time. This is a reverent act, in our house, and one not to be shared with spouses, cats, and children alike. When you do it, you do it alone. Amen.

 Now, the updates we’ve I’ve made thus far are opting for a much lighter color on the first floor- I went with Benjamin Moore's Revere Pewter because you just can’t beat a greige, honey.  I nearly swore off accent walls after being traumatized with the initial walkthrough of the house, but slowly came around. I ended up with a deep, navy blue- Benjamin Moore's Old Navy. I should be painting our dark grey wall in the living room this color very soon. (While the husband's away, the lady will play work her freaking butt off.) This is the same color I have recently painted our tiny half bath downstairs, which might need some lighter colors to brighten it up since it has absolutely zero natural light.

 

Since I’m on a huge coral kick lately, I tested a few shades in the laundry room and ended up choosing- surprise!-Benjamin Moore's Coral Reef . Beautiful and light, just a subtle orange tint away from pink.
Another update: I painted the laundry room the day before my beautiful new hard-earned washer and dryer was installed so feast your eyes...

Before-

After-



Navy blue, coral, and greige go together rather perfectly, if you’re wondering. Also, the whole house does have a nice crown molding along the floor in every room, but none on top aside from the formal dining room. Right now, I’m getting motivated to finishing the painting and then zeroing in on the kitchen updates. I want to paint the cabinets white, update the countertop to a super light butcher block countertop and put in this gorgeous, single basin, granite composite sink I’ve had my heart set on when I saw it at Lowes. I’m considering a white marble herringbone backsplash as well, to bring a little more light to the room. I hope to keep you up to date on the progress as we make it!

 

 

 

I Want My Kids to Lose.

I’ve been thinking a lot about the boys’ futures. Because I’m a mother. Between chores, while I cook, when I watch certain shows and pray, sweet baby Jesus, do NOT let my boys turn out like THAT… It's overwhelming at times. You look at all the faces on the news and thing "That could be one of mine some day...".

This is a topic that constantly goes through my head because it’s so very important to me that my children can become self-relying young adults who will turn into independent individuals. Mostly because mama wants her own office and craft rooms, but also maybe just a little bit because I love my children and want nothing more than to see them succeed and be happy with their lives. Before you go telling me I'm some kind of mama bird Nazi, waiting to seize any opportunity to essentially push my young 'uns from the nest, just hear me out.

I don't want to raise my boys to think they're always winners. I refuse to go along with the popular idea that there are no losing teams; that everyone is a winner because "if you play, you win". I want my children to recognize failure and to strive for more than mediocrity. I don't want them to be rewarded for giving anything less than their most, hardest, or best. I want them to come home crying after they lose by one run in the last inning or fumble the football on the winning play. I want them to know and really understand failure so that they can rise above it. I can't stand how society teaches our children that everyone wins now. I feel like that produces serious superiority complexes and feelings of entitlement where there absolutely should not be. Does that give those who are too meek or those lacking the self confidence a needed boost? Sure. But is there sincerely no other way to go about raising ones confidence without blowing it up?

The undeniable truth about trophies is that they're no longer special, or hold any real significance, when every team or person gets one.  That quite literally negates the entire definition of a trophy, which is defined as " a cup or other decorative object awarded as a prize for victory or success". There is such a thing as a personal best, a personal victory, but if you're going to be honest with yourself, that's just the first step on a slippery slope. I personally believe that it just kills the motivation to be a better player, a better teammate, hell- a better person. It tells the kids that DO work harder than the rest that they get no recognition for the time they've put their blood, sweat, and tears into. They are seen as equally valuable as those who put forth minimal effort, and I can't get behind that. If I have to be the parent who has to step up at the little league awards banquet and say "No, my son didn't earn this" I totally will. I want to be hard on my kids. Failure is inevitable; it very much exists in the real world, in little league, in literally anything. If we teach our children that everyone is a winner, we only set them up for failure. Will tender feelings be stepped on? Absolutely. But I don't see this as a bad thing, I see it as a way to separate those who truly want to earn a reward for their dedication from those who merely want a trophy to show off years down the road, still living with their parents. "Well at least I've got trophies. I've done something with my life...". (Have you? Have you, really, though?) 

I love and respect my boys, and that's why I'm going to raise them this way.  If A&B want trophies, they better run fast, throw long, and hit hard. Period. If you don't agree, sorry- not sorry. This isn’t tough love, this is me wholly loving my boys and wanting the best for them. You should want to send children out into the real world with real knowledge of how it works, not shelter them so much that going to college/going out on their own is essentially a culture shock. Okay, my rant session has concluded. 

Now that I have certainly offended some individuals, let's ease the butthurt here. If you want to leave a nasty/super awesome comment, go ahead and turn that comment into a donation here and do something amazing for someone who needs it.

Actually, even if you decide not to donate, I am still interested what are your opinions on how you handle winning vs. losing? How will you raise, or how have you already raised, your littles in regards to this subject? Are you a nurture or a nature type of parent?