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?

Not Today, Satan...

  I had to reward myself with not one, but two bouquets of flowers yesterday as well Krispy Kreme doughnuts today. Y'all, this week has just not been my week. I've been getting the run around from the DMV (collective gasp, I know) and have been jumping through hoops to trying to get our truck registered in Florida ("Um, you live in North Carolina", I know...). I finally talked the sheriff department into sending a deputy out to verify our VIN and mailed off the very last piece of paper required to register our vehicle for the next two years. This was where the doughnuts came into play. I earned, nay, deserved them. Plus, the boys love doughnuts. I would bore you with all of the details, but let's be honest here. You don't care about them and I don't care to recall them. So, instead ladies and gentlemen, I will recall yesterday. More specifically, our trip to Chik-Fil-A.
First, let me do a little bit of parent shaming to the parents who let total strangers sit and watch their spawn of satan children while they do literally anything but pay any attention whatsoever to said children. SHAME ON YOU. STOP THAT. Does that mean hover constantly and be 10 feet up your child's butt for the entire 18+ years they live under your reign? No. It simply means how about you pay attention to your child and I'll pay attention to mine. It also means if you refuse to pay attention to your child and he starts bullying mine, I'm going Mama Bear on his ass. I can handle rough housing, I cannot handle violence. Alrighty then, let's carry on.
As is the case with any intelligent parent I made my children eat before playing in the play area. There is science behind this. You see, a child who is full will not run as fast or act as crazy as a child with an empty, or even half full, stomach. I don't have an exact scientific breakdown, but everyone knows this to be true. Go google it or something. I was not fortunate enough to be blessed with equally intelligent company yesterday. Now, I may joke often, calling my boys heathens and savages, but there were some children yesterday who truly embodied the meaning of the word savage.
As my 2 and 3 year old were running about with the 15 other kids, minimum, in the play area I would play on my phone while listening for my kids' VERY noticeable piercing shrieks, should any innocent playing go awry.
Instead of shrieking, I looked up at the perfect time to see a girl of at least 4 pulling, hard, on Ayden's sweatshirt hood while he struggled toward me, gasping. Um, NO. So I calmy asked her to stop, 3 times. After she finally let go, Ayden turned around and managed a "Sorry" to the girl.  (Poor kid, that's not how it works! Haha...)This happened once more, by a different kid. Aside from my own children, I saw many being pushed, slapped, toys taken away, faces shoved into that little see-through tire in the cow car- you know the one- but, if there's no blood or broken bones, I stick to the "not my kid, not my business" rule that has served me well for the last almost 4 years of being a parent.
Beau did scrambled down from the back of the play area whimpering a few times, but I don't pay much attention to his crying unless it's severe since, honestly, Beau is a wuss not capable of tolerating as much rough housing as Ayden. After being the only parent to watch any of these many children for over an hour, I decided I had had enough. It was time to go, but not before a bestowing a parting gift to the many lovely parents chatting away, completely freaking oblivious to their magical little children. As I hurriedly put the boys boots and coats on, I was about to walk out the door when I swiftly turned and yelled "HEY, WHO WANTS SOME ICE CREAM?!? *hurry up, boys. Hurry, hurry, hurry, hurry*." We made it out of that stampede only slightly better than Simba made it out of his. If you are sitting here, reading this, thinking to yourself "what a douchebag!", I'll own it. I don't care in the slightest.. Life Lesson: don't leave strangers to watch your innocent young masses. My kids>your kids.
Now, I have a lovely new issue of Southern Living to lust over, so go and enjoy the beginning to your weekend!

A Perfectly Ordinary Introduction

 Hello, dear reader. While having previously failed an attempt, albeit a half-assed one, at blogging, I do believe now is the perfect time to begin anew. My life is about to take off at a dauntingly chaotic pace in a direction I've seen coming for far too long and I think I'd like an audience to share in this journey. Going it alone is going to be hard, so give me a little company! If you're asking yourself why, my husband is a pilot in the United States Marine Corps and will soon be off on his very first deployment. He has been in training for half a decade. No, no. You read that right. Excessive, you say? Oh no. He will be piloting an MV-22, more widely known as an Osprey. Typically, one would insert a link here to direct you to more in-depth information about the fascinating Osprey, but so much of my life revolves around this thing that I don't think I have enough room for it in my blogosphere, as well. No, this little box filled with words on your screen will be mine, and only mine. My sanctuary.

Maybe now is a great time to tell just a little about myself, so I seem relatable. My name is Brianna. I was born and raised in the golden flatlands known as Central Indiana. ( Any fellow Hoosiers* reading, just go ahead and follow now. Go on, don't worry. I'll wait. ) I grew up with a passion for reading- possibly because my grandpa owned a bookstore and my stepfather and brother both work at a printing factory-, animals, friends, and the oxford comma. I married my wonderful husband, then 24, at the tender age of 19. I'm sure I'll tell our story someday soon, but today is not that day. Today, I give you the most basic of basics. We have two children, Ayden and Beau. 15 months apart. Yes, we are insane. Clearly.
We reside in the lovely state of North Carolina now, where we are new homeowners and, therefore, avid DIYers. I love to cook, hate to clean, and thoroughly enjoy entertaining people in our home. I am about to start school locally and will hopefully work towards earning a B.A. in Communications while being a full time SAHM**.

I am 5'5", ever changing hair color, blue eyes, and a mouth quick to get myself into trouble. I do, in fact, have style, I simply choose not to utilize it until circumstances are dire. I hope to get back into lifting, as I lifted all throughout high school and a good portion of our time in Florida and found it extremely relaxing (HA) and therapeutic (seriously).
I have flaws, just like you, and occasionally make grammatical errors. Bear with me and don't immediately crucify me.
I'm terribly sorry to keep this so short today, but my wifely duties call. That pork won't cook
itself.

Defining some terms:
*Hoosier- a fellow Indiana native, who knows everything possible about corn and beans, will never separate cold and warm weather clothing merely because the season "changed" and knows how to have a good country time even if they live in a densely populated city.
**SAHM- acronym for stay-at-home-mom. I'm kind of salty when it comes to InstaLingo and will most likely use it on a day to day basis while writing. Brush up, my lovelies.


While I'm mentioning Insta, hop on over to the Instaverse and add me-
@mrs_mccarley