The Man is at the game edition

Did I ever mention the results of the Weblog Awards? It was a strong third place finish for Chatting at the Sky. Thank you all for voting. Receiving 2,891 votes is no small feat. And even though I lost by a good six thousand votes, I am happy with a bronze medal finish. Would be even happier if I actually got a bronze medal. But whatever.

Speaking of Lost, it comes back this week, Wednesday on ABC. It is going to be a premiere event, so you won't want to miss it. I love it when they add event to the ends of things to make them more important.

I went shopping with June today. She has a wedding to attend next month in cold, icy, shaped like a mitten Michigan. And North Carolina June has nothing to wear to a fancy, freezing, Michigan wedding. So we shopped and we searched and she sparkled. But no luck. At least not in the dress department. I consider myself extremely lucky to have spent some time with June, though. She is full of wild hilarity, that one. She once asked Does this dress make me look dead? It did not.

So even though we didn't find a dress, we were able to enjoy a fantastic lunch together. Well, I enjoyed a fantastic lunch and June stirred her soup a few times because the woman has no appetite, as her migraine medicine has changed her taste buds so that soft drinks are paint thinner and food is uninteresting. At least she doesn't have migraines.

Speaking of migraines, I hope this post hasn't given you one. I know it isn't the usual type of post, but The Man is at the Tarheels game so I have no one to talk with. Aren't you lucky?

new look, old fears

I'm standing at the edge of change here on this Monday morning. And I don't want to jump.

It has been in the works for a while now, these changes. The first was hurried along a few months ago when a new reader commented, asking if I was a scrapper (scrapbooker? scrapbook doer?) too. As you know, I am not. But from the looks of my blog layout, you would think otherwise.

Which is why change is coming. I'm not sure exactly when, as the Weblog Awards have interrupted my anticipated flow of the first change coming to be. (I think voting continues through today.) But don't be alarmed if one day you click to chat at the sky and discover a change. The sky will not have fallen, but the clouds may have cleared a bit. In other words, I'm gettin' a new layout, y'all. Stay tuned.

The second change is a bit more fuzzy. I am beginning to accept the fact that I am a writer. There is nothing more terrifying to discover, it turns out. Except maybe if I woke up with no teeth. That would be more terrifying. Still, I am stuck in a staring match with myself and my future. I'm winning. Fear is the perfect excuse not to act because, you know, I'm afraid.

And so I wait. Not the God kind of waiting where you don't want to wait but you know it is what's best for you and then you end up glad for the interim. Because even though I know the next step, I am instead sitting in the dark corner of comfortable, biting my nails, stuck between ignoring it and embracing it.

I know that is possible to jump in and be free. But I'm not quite there yet. So I wait for a grown up to tell me what to do. For a boss or a teacher or a parent to come, take me by the hand and give me instruction. But I also wait for the truth to feel true and for the fear to subside. I am beginning to think neither one is going to happen.

I suppose I'm just going to have to trust. I knew it would come to this.

confessions

Thanks to my twin skin and permanent muffin top, I have finally perfected the fine art of tucking my tummy into my jeans before I sit down. (If you don't know what I'm talking about, don't ask questions. Bow your head. Thank the Lord. Say Amen. Don't look back.)
This is me today, in jeans. Nearly falling off the child-sized chair I'm standing on because I don't own a full length mirror. That is my shirtless son playing with the Polly pocket car that I just fished out of the toilet. Wonder how it got there? Anyway, I love these jeans because they are so comfortable. Wanna know why?
Because they are made for pregnant women. No, this is not my fun way of telling the world that I am pregnant. It is my fun way of telling the world that I'm a dork who is tired of fighting with jeans. I just want to be able to sit down without tucking. So today, I can. Hallelujah.

dear pumpkin spice latte,

When I saw the girl writing your name on the chalkboard at the Target Starbucks, my heart began to dance and sing. I knew it wouldn't be long. As much as I tried to wait until the temperature dropped to at least below 80 degrees, I cannot wait any longer.

Hello, my love. Hello my cinnamon friend, my autumn companion, my cup of frothy October. Your presence is a promise of fall, your steam whispers sweaters, football and bonfires. You are 16 ounces of liquid pie. And even though you are small, you bring so much joy and happiness to all who meet you.

I am sorry I tried to replace you with the International Delight impostor. True, he is more financially savvy than you. And he is willing to live in the midst of harsh conditions on the door of my fridge: the constant opening and closing; the blinking lights; the leftovers inches away. Although he is always available to me, standing tall between the ketchup and the Italian dressing...he is not you.

I love you, Pumpkin Spice Latte. I am so glad you are back.
Emily

in which i waste time and think i'm funny

Most of you know about my sister, The Nester.
But you've never heard about my twin, Lilly Mae.

We're the best of friends. Ever since we were little, we have loved singing together. She sings soprano and I'm an alto. For the most part, our lives are in sync just like our signing voices.

Still, sometimes we fight. She's been jealous lately that big sister Nester has been spending time with me.

But we always work it out.

It is good for us to remember how great it is to have a twin.
One day maybe I'll introduce you to our other sister. Her name is Trinity.

She doesn't get out much.

click to enlarge

This is how I prove to the world that I actually am a member of my own family, as I am always behind the camera and never in front of it. Behold, the self-portrait. See me?

sam, this one's for you

I know we are all special. I know there can never be another you. But I gotta tell you, if there could be another you, I am totally the girl to figure out who it is. Of the many disorders I have revealed in this space of mine, I'm not sure I've shared with you my obsession with discovering your look-a-like.

I met Ellen Page at the conference last weekend. You know, from Juno?

No, of course not really. But I did meet Sam from The Listeners Post. She is Ellen Page's twin in real life I think. Hil. Arious. She looked really familiar so we played the name game until we figured out the loose connection we have. (She went to college sort of in my town. Sort of.) Then later I realized it was probably the whole you-look-just-like-Ellen-Page thing that caused me to think I knew her.

Sam is so much fun and I was disappointed that I didn't get a photo of her at SheSpeaks. Actually, I'm kind of lying. I did get a photo of her.
I call this one Stalker With A Great Zoom Lens. I'm definitely climbing up the bff ladder in her book for posting this, I'm sure.

Sam is another one of the surprise gifts I received this weekend. She kept us laughing at the conference which is always a plus for me. More than that, she allowed herself to be moved by God's hand and she didn't let fear keep her from being vulnerable at His feet. I like that.

Let's hear it for Sam! And is there anyone else out there who never sees a unique face because everyone you meet looks like someone you already know?

can I have your attention please

Emily has been abducted by Monster Mommy. I repeat: Monster Mommy is on the loose.

She is not playing with her children, not unpacking her messy house, smelling like a hairy factory worker and being generally mean to any person under three feet tall. She cannot be bothered with things like tying shoes or showing compassion. If anyone wants to ride their bike or have a popsicle, it is just too bad. There will be no fun allowed. She is too busy being a monster.

Pray for her swift and safe return.

It's not looking good.

In which I prove I have an addictive personality

Every now and then, my sister asks if we watch Deadliest Catch. If you've never seen it, it's a show that comes on the Discovery Channel about crab fishing. Every time she asks, I say no. But what I'm really saying is: No, we don't watch a show about fishing. An hour long show about fishing. An hour long show about cold, wet men who fish for crab from the deck of a cold, wet boat.

And I stood by that response. Until Big David won American Idol and Jim didn't propose to Pam and I found myself show-less. So one night last week, we watched Deadliest Catch. And now we can't stop. In fact, we spend nearly every commercial break discussing why:

• It comes on every night, multiple times.
• It has suspenseful music in the background that makes crabbing seem exciting and important.
• We have all these cool new words and phrases to use like "picket hook" and "captain's string" and "the crew is back at the rail".
• The bad words are bleeped out. Some sentences are just one long bleep.
• Sometimes really dangerous things happen like someone gets hit in the head by a picket hook or the crane leaks hydraulic fluid all over the deck. Not to mention the hurricane force winds and the blinding rain...but that's like, sissy stuff for these guys.
  

This show has all the makings of a good story: competition, the thrill of victory, the agony of defeat. It is fascinating to watch the way the captains handle failure and success. I keep telling myself I'll stop watching as soon as we see them catch a full pot. And then we did. And we found ourselves wanting to see it again. It more than justifies the high cost of crab legs.

We also got into this:
the man: I bet people are smarter now that we have tv.
me: What do you mean?
the man: Because how would we ever know about stuff like this otherwise?
me: Yeah. How would we ever know? We are like, so smart.

And then we remembered about books. All the books. All the books that aren't being read by us because we can learn it from the Discovery Channel.

Let's be honest. I would never pick up a book about crab fishing. I didn't think I'd ever watch a show about it either. But now I find myself with Deadliest Catch on my dvr and Bon Jovi's "Wanted Dead or Alive" stuck in my head. That's the very appropriate theme song. From the show about crabs that I can't stop watching.

introducing Little Debbie

Let me be clear: I am no dessert snob. I have friends who are dessert snobs and the idea of eating chocolate that comes in cellophane is nothing short of an oxymoron. When it comes to sweets, I'm pretty impartial. Not to say that I always like the sweets I eat...just that almost anything will do when the craving hits.

Enter Little Debbie.

Our relationship goes way back to high school when my girlfriends and I would go to the beach first week. You know, the first week of summer. Does everyone call this first week?

These girlfriends and I called ourselves HCAEB (pronounced ha-KAY-ub), which was BEACH spelled backwards. The oh-so-cool thing was that it was also our initials: Heather, Catherine, Alica, Emily, Brandy. Why we didn't just call ourselves "beach" I'll never know. Granted, beach is kind of lame. But compared to what we settled on, well...I guess that's just 9th grade.

We would go grocery shopping right when we got there (or maybe right before we left home?) which was a good thing because if not, we would have had to go the whole week without cool ranch doritos, cherry coke and several boxes of Little Debbie Swiss Cake Rolls. I don't know which one of us started the Swiss Cake Roll obsession, but start it did. Since then I have ventured out into the other things Little Debbie had to offer: the fancy cakes, the zebra cakes, the fudge round.
This was the snack of choice I wrote about yesterday. Several of you commented that you didn't know what a fudge round is. Does this look familiar? Do you not know about Little Debbie? Is she not a nationwide friend? Maybe you've heard of the fudge round's mom, the oatmeal cream pie?

Anyone up for a snack cake?

a little more crazy

I bought fudge rounds today. I haven't bought fudge rounds since 1992.

I needed them, though, because the chocolate cake my mom left here from my dad's birthday is gone. Took care of that entirely by myself. She only brought half the cake. But still. And yes, I am looking forward to the mint chocolate chip ice cream tonight.

I don't know what's up with my sweet tooth. I've got a mouth full of sweet teeth.

I think its the house. I haven't named her yet. Well, not gonna lie, I kind of have. But I'm waiting a while before I start really calling her that just to be sure it fits. Kind of like how you don't wanna tell the fam the name of your baby before it's born because what if you change your mind and they've already ordered the monogram.
I've learned a lot about her over the past 3 weeks, though. I think she was a little reluctant about us coming in and changing things all up. She's pretty traditional...not crazy about change. Speaking of change, I took this photo last week. Then the Nester came and borrowed things from this room to nest up the rest of the rooms, leaving this room looking rather bare. Lots of rooms in this house. I wasn't sure if I would like that at first, as "the open floor plan" is kind of the thing these days.I've been enjoying it so far. There are lots of places to be. And I'm all about being. It also leaves a lot more places for toys to be. As you can clearly see, here on our table right off the kitchen.

Which brings me back to the fudge rounds.
Look at her. She's totally mocking me. It's all her fault. All this thinking and nesting and hammering and cleaning. I'm lucky my sweet teeth are my biggest problem. That and the whole house name commitment thing.

I will let you know when I've settled on one...in plenty of time for you to order that monogram.

brought to you by the letter B

We spent some good time outside today. This little one insists on wearing dresses. No matter the occasion. When she gets on her bike, she likes for it to flow behind her like this.

Then, while unpacking the playroom, the girls found these. Of mine. From...a long time ago.
Look! It's Derek from Barbie and the Rockers. Not to be confused with Derek Shepard from Grey's Anatomy. Although they do bear a striking resemblance to one another. Notice the way Derek looks at Bee. He's always had a thing for her. And they were born with a mike in their hands.

For what it's worth, I just realized I have officially passed the age of my Barbies.

Enough about that. On to more house news. I'm finally beginning to think about that fireplace wall again. Remember the before?
I asked you for help with this room and you sure did deliver. We had painted the walls and the mantle, as well as the doors to the built-ins. Many of you recommended we remove the doors and so today, that is what I've worked on.
It's harder than you might think, as those little screws are all painted over. But here you can see one side with, the other without. I put a little horse on the shelf just to try her out. I think I like them door-less.

In keeping with our theme, I have to mention that my dad helped my man assemble the girls' bunk beds this afternoon. I don't have a good photo of the beds, so here's one of my dad.
He likes to make strange faces when he knows the camera is pointed his way.

Here's someone else who enjoys reacting to my camera as well as opening every single box in the playroom and trying on every piece of dress up clothing that comes out of them.
Buzzzzzz.

this is me, letting it be

So after reading your comments on my last post (which I loved, by the way), I've decided that blogging is definitely kind of weird. Pink Dreaming, you said it so perfectly when you commented about chatting with your blogger friend and how you simply knew more about her than she knew about you. I love that you slapped her on the knee and laughed like you were old buddies. But isn't that why blogging is so cool, too? Still, when you have a blog and someone reads it and then you meet them for the first time, its like they have an unfair advantage. The social scale is kind of off balance.

But you know what else I've decided? I think I'm gonna just go with it. So this is me, embracing the weirdness.
Actually, this is Andy Warhol me. Andy Warhol me with my U-Haul box. Because we're moving in 2 days. And I have nothing better to do than to take pictures of me and my big self.

prepare for the question mark

You know how when you were a kid and you said your own name 100 times in a row out loud and it started to sound really weird? And you wondered how in the world anyone could name their child that weird sounding name? But then you waited a few minutes and then said it out loud again it sounded normal?

That's kind of where I am with this blog.

I am honestly kind of weirded out that I have one. I've met several people lately with about 3 degrees of separation between us and they have said they read my blog (hi 3 degree away people!) which is great. And no big deal to me if you lurk. That's part of having a space on the internet as far as I'm concerned.

But it's kind of weird, isn't it? Right? I'm all Hi. I'm Emily. What's your name? And they're all Hi! I'm so-and-so and I really like your new house and the color in your kids room and my fingers are double-jointed too. And it's kind of fun. Until I realize Wow. I have nothing new to say to this person because they already know EVERYTHING ABOUT ME.

Okay. Maybe not everything. But you know what I mean? Is this weird? Or have I just said my name too many times in a row and I need to give it a bit and it will seem normal again? Does anyone else think this way? Am I asking the wrong audience?

six more things

This entire blog is riddled with unimportant things about myself. I just wanted to get that out there. For some reason Heather from Mindless Junque, Tracey from Make Room For..., and Melissa from Higher Call have all decided they haven't heard enough unimportant things about me. So they have tagged me. And the fact that they all did so within the past 24 hours has caused me to believe I really need to do this.

I know I have been tagged before. I apologize if you have tagged me and I didn't play. It's just I felt as though I have revealed oh-so-many unimportant things already: my dis-like of spoons, my murderer escape plan, the naming of my house, the fact that I time myself in the grocery store, my strong aversion to many words that begin with the letter P...I'm a freak. It is a well-documented fact.

But there is more. So here I go.

1. My fingers are kind of double jointed. When I was younger and my friends were less polite and grown up, they would sometimes ask what was wrong with my thumb. And I have more than once been known to pretend my fingers were legs and my finger tips, feet. I can do a mean moon-walk. When I am bored, you know.2. I was a cheerleader in high school. I was the one they threw in the air to do basket tosses. I don't think they even call them that anymore. But it was so fun. And I always felt lucky that I got to be the one to fly.

3. I know The Wizard of Oz by heart. Partially because I have seen it so many times and partially because I have the script. In the form of a colorful, hardback book. That I found at a used bookstore. For $15. I know that might sound like a lot to you. But for me, it was a good day. A very good day.

4. I love maps. Sometimes I google map my house just to see where it is in relation to familiar places. It is important for me to have a sense of where I am, physically. I also love the weather channel for the same reason. While visiting NYC a few years ago, I sat on the bed in our hotel room and studied the map of Manhattan for...a while. And it was bliss.

5. I count on my fingers. In all situations. Every time.

6. I love minor league baseball games. When I was in middle school, we moved from our hometown in Indiana to the Quad Cities in Iowa. They had a minor league team at the time: the Quad City Angels. The field was beautiful, right on the Mississippi River. My dad and I would go and sit up high in the stands. Sometimes we'd get a program. Or popcorn. But mainly, we'd just sit. And listen to the baseball sounds. And I loved it.

So there you have it. Six more things. Tag, you're it.

i have just...

The Office spoiler alert...read at your own risk.

• eaten my weight in rocky road ice cream and oreos.
• teared up when Kevin got The Office parking spaces back.
• second (and third, and fourth) guessed my tile choice for our bathroom.
• clapped and pointed at the tv screen when Jim pulled out a ring.
• wondered if we have food for the girls school lunch tomorrow.
• realized I still haven't had a shower today.
• packed my entire living room in my head.
• spoiled Debbie's enjoyment of her TiVoed Office by not having a spoiler alert earlier.
• called myself an idiot.
  

a house by any other name...

Dear Sophie Marie,

I know that people may think I'm crazy for giving you a name, but I don't care. You deserve one. Especially after this past week. You have shined. You have smiled. You have welcomed strangers warmly and whispered sweet nothings to them as they walked your halls. As potential buyers imagined you as their own, you held your head high and promised them home.

And it has been worth it, for in a mere 6 days you have managed to do what other houses have only dreamed of: you convinced someone else to fall in love with you and to sign a contract stating their intentions with you.

I know today is a tough day, as you are being picked, prodded, analyzed and pushed to your limits by that house inspector. He wants to see what you've got, girl. Show him! You can do it, I know you can.

Thank you for all your hard work. Thank you for the home you have so graciously been for our family. I hope you can forgive us for leaving you, but our relationship seems to have run its course.

You've done good, girl. You've done real good.

Your loving owner,
Emily

tinted walls, tinted faces

I am loving all the help I'm getting on the paint for the new fireplace mantle wall. Keep those ideas coming. I will definitely post a photo when I decide what I'm gonna do with it. In the meantime, check this out. Warning: my sister + me = 2 idiots with nicely tanned faces.

help wanted

You're going to regret you ever asked me to write about my new house. I've been making decisions left and right. It's enough to make a girl a bit dizzy. Thankful for sure...for the opportunity to pick stuff out that I like. But being so close to it all, it's becoming harder for me to see the forest for the trees (or the paint for the wall, I should say).

Here's where I need your help. As you know, this is where we started in this paneled room.
Then, we painted the paneling Tobacco Road on 3 walls...but on the fireplace wall, we painted the whole thing a few shades lighter, Believable Buff. It seemed like it would help it to look like a wall of fireplace, instead of cutting it in 1/2 with Tobacco Road on top.

Turns out that Buff wasn't so Believable after all. I thought it looked like those shelves needed their teeth brushed. The Nester said it looked like a powdered face with no lipstick on. We had to do something.
So we painted just the mantle and the wooden bookshelves white, same as the trim. It still ain't right people. Or is it? It isn't...right? I just can't tell anymore. This photo was taken without a flash so it's kind of hard to see the true color. The two walls on the sides are still Tobacco Road and the wall above the FP as well as the brick is still (un)Believable Buff. But I just don't know.

Should the brick be white, too? Should the shelves and mantle be Buff and the brick be white only? Should we paint the wall above the mantle Tobacco like the rest of the room? Should I light a match and burn the whole thing down?

I know in light of starving kids in Africa and Hurricane Katrina victims and that homeless man on the corner that always looks me in the eye when I pull up at the stop light, this stuff is so trivial. I know that. Still...I have to decide on something and quick. I may not take any of your suggestions (well, except you Nester. You're opinion is always gonna be a bit weighted), but I still want them. So....what do you think?

my crazy, mixed up (Hilton) head

We made it home from Hilton Head...my mother-in-law, sister-in-law and my kids. It was girls only this week. Well, except for the baby, but he doesn't really count as a guy yet. Besides, he still has that pink paci and he spent more than a few hours in a princess pull up. To sum up the week, we pretty much ate too much chocolate, watched lots of chick flicks and bought way too many shoes. It was perfect.

Here is one last thought I wanted to share with you from the island.
Attention men and women of the world with hairstyles...come here and they will give you Harbour Town. For your hairstyle. Ain't that nice of them? I think it ought to be Hairstyles for Your Hilton Head.

Anyway, so we're home. Except it feels a bit less like home than it did when we left because there is a For Sale sign in the yard now. I felt kind of guilty when I saw it. I know. I'm a freak. It's just that I love this house. And she's kind of become like, the 6th member of our family. And we have fancied, polished and dressed her all up just to show her off and sell her to the highest bidder. And soon, we're going to leave her and I don't know if the next people will love her as much as we have. And that makes me sad. And now you see how deep my issues really go.

We had lots of showings while we were out of town. And I can tell people have touched my stuff. And it smells different. But it's still clean, which is a perk. We are getting more excited about our new house...our 45 year old new house.

I think I'm ready to talk about it. Stay tuned.