Archive for November, 2007

Published by PaintingChef on 29 Nov 2007

Sometimes it just… works out.

I’ve helped you all I can. From here on out you are own your own for the holiday shopping. If you can’t give someone a Mangroomer or a Fart Cookbook then I think it’s time to ask yourself… “Is this really someone I want to give a gift to?”

So with that thought in mind we shall move on to a little navel-gazing and more talk of moving and changing jobs and basically uprooting this lovely little life Patrick and I have spent 6 years so carefully building. Because what I’m really trying to do is trick myself into thinking that I’m completely prepared for the Artists Guild event taking place tomorrow when in reality I’m kind of wondering if I have time to buy frames for the pieces I’m showing and if I even have tablecloths…

One of the smartest things that Patrick and I ever did was almost entirely by accident but also so that he could support me in the manner to which a spoiled daddy’s girl had become accustomed. Patrick and I moved to Augusta as soon as we got married. Five hours away from both sides of our families. Our very… “involved” and “helpful” and “interested” families. (Feel free to read those terms as though they were good things. Because that’s how I meant them… really… sure… ).

But by doing this we kind of made a little bubble for ourselves. We learned how to be a team and lean on each other instead of running back “home” when we encountered the slightest bit of adversity.

(we interrupt this programming so that I may excuse myself and chase down a cat who just felt the need to knock an entire box of paper clips into the printer. kittens are FUN!)

Fast forward to July of 2006 when, during a family trip to Chicago, my dad lets my sister and I, along with our husbands, know that he is beginning to consider retirement and would really like to turn his business over to a family member if there was someone interested in such a thing.

Timing can be a funny thing. Patrick had recently become disillusioned with “Big Giant Corporation” which wasn’t helped at all by the ripple of words like “downsizing” and “outsourcing” that had begun to work their way across the company. So after talking it over and drinking heavily on the topic we decided we were in.

And things kind of… rested for awhile. Until this fall. When they were suddenly in full steam ahead.

But in the back of my mind I was always somewhat unsure and apprehensive about the loss of our bubble; afraid to leave this little life that was all ours. Until I started to really see the look on Patrick’s face when he would get home from work, the sag of his shoulders and the weariness in his eyes. The frustration in his voice when he talked about policies and bureaucracies and not knowing how he could ever turn this career into something he loved. And suddenly we were looking for a house.

As things started to progress with planning our move the pieces just kept falling into place. We found the perfect house. Affording the perfect house wasn’t going to be a struggle. Did I mention the pool? But the final hurdle was going to be selling our home in Augusta. Because as our realtor kept telling us “nothing is selling” and “it’s the wrong time of year” but then, while we were waiting for her to call us back so we could actually get the damn house on the market… we sold it!

The doubt in my mind has been erased over the past few weeks as we get more and more excited about moving. I know there will be struggles, boundaries to be set, in-laws to tangle with, new jobs to learn and pasts to face. But as the pieces for this move fall in line with ease it just reaffirms in my mind that this step we are taking is the right one for us and for our future. And I get more and more excited every single day.

Published by PaintingChef on 25 Nov 2007

And you said I never did anything for you…

As I am currently trapped somewhere under this lovely mess…

I’m going to keep plugging away at the “Declutter of 2007” and instead leave you with a few ideas for some lovely Christmas presents. Because I’m all about helping you out with a little holiday shopping. But I swear this isn’t a theme developing. I’m just lazy and trying to get my damn house on the market.

The perfect gift for the book lover on your holiday gift list. You’re welcome.

(By the way… those are real… I swear. Click them.)

Published by PaintingChef on 19 Nov 2007

Probably not someone you’ll meet on Craigslist.

Really, Bed Bath & Beyond, really? I mean… I assure you, I’m all about the hairless back man and I’ve told Patrick in no uncertain terms what measures I will take should the hair cross over the great divide that is the shoulder. I’ve told him about the Epilady I have gathering dust under the sink in my bathroom at my parents’ house.

But the Mangroomer? Do we REALLY want to encourage these boys to shave their own backs, sight unseen? Are we prepared for the potential carnage? Shouldn’t they have maybe a grooming buddy? Nobody has to know… I’ll happily pretend you were born with such a smooth and hairless back as long as you promise to at least use a spotter of some kind. But take it from the ladies… sight unseen shaving is NOT a good plan. Have you ever looked at the backs of our knees and thighs in the summer?

Published by PaintingChef on 15 Nov 2007

Sweet nothings with a residential twist.

Dear Technology,

I love you so very much. Without you it would be damn near impossible to accomplish what has happened in my life over the past 24 hours. Patrick is in Connecticut. I am in Georgia. My realtor is in Tennessee along with the newest love of my life; a darling brick house by the lake with a big front porch, plenty of crown molding and hardwood floors and a bathtub John Candy would have called roomy. (Dare I even mention the POOL!?!?) And you, my dear technology? By buzzing around all in the air and such, you have made us able to deal with paperwork and signatures and discussions that will enable my shoes to call this place home. So let’s make out. Just please don’t get ink on my white shirt. I’ve managed to make it all the way to 4:00 in the afternoon without spilling anything on my boobs. This is kind of unprecedented.

Love and kisses,

Published by PaintingChef on 13 Nov 2007

Realizing that I might, one day, be okay.

For more years than I care to think of, there has been something… just a little out of whack with how I felt every day and it affected every part of my life. How I looked, felt, acted, slept, you name it something was “off” and nobody could tell me what it was.

Not for lack of trying though. I’ve been to every specialist around and each one would initially be very interested but eventually my phone calls would go unreturned because since they couldn’t figure me out they would assume that I wasn’t being honest with them or I was maybe not bothering to mention that I adhere strictly to the Sumo Wrestler diet which I supplement with a pound of pot and a few gallons of whiskey weekly. While laying in bed in my pajamas all day. Watching Springer. In the dark.

Until now. I am feeling so much more encouraged because I have finally sat down with someone who could tell me what was wrong with me within the first 10 minutes of talking to me. Something that nobody else has even mentioned. And I want to cry, I’m so relieved. It’s like the heavens have opened up and angels are singing and maybe even considering showering me with all the money I’ve spent on things not covered by our insurance.

My body doesn’t produce progesterone. At. All. Apparently this affects everything from mood swings to chin hair to insomnia to infertility. And to finally hear a doctor actually say to me “You are one of the strongest people I’ve ever met because people with the levels of hormone deficiencies you’ve probably had for years shouldn’t even be able to summon up the strength to get out of bed and make it through the day. You and your body are both fighters and we are going to fix this” made me break down into tears that I had longed ceased to realize I was even holding in. I can finally be hopeful again, I can imagine a life where I don’t collapse from exhaustion at the end of a day spent at a job with little to no stress. I can entertain the notion of waking up in the morning when the alarm goes off and not feeling like I’ve just run 10 miles. These are things that I haven’t even fathomed over the past 5 years but had just conditioned myself to push through and ignore.

I’m going to feel normal. I don’t even know what that means but I feel as though I should celebrate. For some reason chocolate cake seems inappropriate…

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