Secrets

"Secrets, secrets are no fun. Secrets, secrets hurt someone."

Well, not ALL secrets are bad in my opinion. I'm sure some people don't need to know that I can quote the entire Star Wars trilogy verbatim or that I own a pink makeup case [it was free and it does the job -- don't judge]. However, after several meaningful conversations with friends and family, I realized that I have been giving off wrong impressions unintentionally. Some of my opinions have been misleading and I want to take a moment to clarify. I cherish integrity and to me, integrity is being true to one's self regardless of environment or circumstances. So here's the truth.

1. I want to be a mom. This is probably the scariest fact I have to admit. For years I have stood on my soapbox proclaiming how I don't ever want kids. I was so sincere that I convinced my friends, coworkers, and my family of such. I'm not a "natural born mother" as I like to call them; I don't enjoy baby-sitting and could never hack it as a nanny. Up until just a few weeks ago I believed the lie that I couldn't be a good mom simply because I'm not "momish." But the truth is, I can't picture not having children. I want the connection, the bond, the love, the laughs, the tears, the struggles, the fights. Am I ready yet? No. But that doesn't mean I can't or won't be a great mom someday. It's so refreshing to finally come to terms with this.
2. I love being a housewife. My feminist friends are probably going to burn me at the stake for this, but I love taking care of my husband. Sure he leaves his gear all over the living room on a daily basis and eats more food than what is considered safe, but I have loved every single minute with the Man. He has been working so hard to achieve his dream and I feel as though the best way to support him right now is to take care of the home. At the end of the day, after he's been beat up and worn down, I don't want him to worry about what to make for dinner or if his uniform is ironed. I love him desperately. End of story.
3. I'm a huge scaredy-cat. Probably due to my strong personality and remnant feminism, at times I have given off a "tough-girl" image: I can handle anything. Not only am I afraid of stupid things like spiders, clowns, the dark, and Steve Buscemi, but I'm afraid of much bigger issues like relationships, failure, success, loneliness, faith, etc. If this move has taught me anything (other than Chick-Fil-A is a gift from God), I'm much less independent and confident than I think I am. I hate being lonely and am afraid that I won't meet others' expectations. Fear can be debilitating, but I'm trying not to let it dictate my decisions anymore.

I know that a blog seems like a silly place for a catharsis, but if I'm going to be real, I have to start somewhere. There are many more "secrets" to be told, but it's getting late and the Man is snoring so loudly I can't hear myself think. Until next time...

Land of the Perpetual Turn Signal

When we first moved down here I thought Kentuckiana drivers were kind and considerate, letting others merge and whatnot. Upon further review, my opinions are beginning to wane a bit. Why you ask?

• The vast majority drive 5 miles under the speed limit. Where I'm from, it's standard to drive at least 5-10 miles per hour over the speed limit. And that's just on back roads. Interstates are fair game. My speeding ticket is pending, I'm sure.
• When I venture out of the house odds are I will encounter at least one car with the perpetual turn signal. He or she will drive for miles with the turn signal blinking and no intention of changing lanes.
• Very few people turn right on red. Unless there is a sign clearly stating, "No Turn on Red," go for it. C'mon now, we're in Kentuckiana -- it's not like there are a million cars around. Just do it.
• Drivers actually slow down and stop at a yellow light. Who does this?
• Many times Kentuckiana drivers will stop way ahead of the white line, thus missing the sensor for the traffic light. The Man and I almost had brain aneurysms when we missed three cycles of a traffic light due to the Lexus stopped short in front of us. Seriously?
• Symmetrical white lines painted on the ground in parking lots indicate designated parking areas. Folks around here see these merely as guidelines. Double-parking abounds.
• The left lane is no longer the fast lane. I'm still in mourning.
• Before moving here, the only time I came to a full and complete stop at a stop sign was during my driving test. (Check my driving record -- the ticket for rolling through a stop sign proves it.)
• Left turn lane + green light - traffic = GO!

Part of me feels guilty when my road rage surfaces, considering everyone is still so nice. And it's ironic that my blood pressure increases when surrounded by slower, less offensive drivers. Just goes to show I'm still a Chicago driver at heart.

Accomplished

Ok, so I still don't have a job. I don't really know any of my neighbors, other than what I hear through the walls. I haven't made any significant friends outside of those preexisting from college. I haven't enrolled in graduate school. I am not pregnant nor do I intend to become pregnant in the foreseeable future.

HOWEVER:

This loaf of bread proves that I am, indeed, accomplished. In my 26 years I have done a lot of things, but never baked a loaf of homemade bread. I always admired those who had baked bread from scratch, primarily my mom. She could (and still can) bake like nobody's business. It's her therapy, as she puts it. But for some reason, the idea of trying to emulate Wonderbread intimidated me.

Until today.

I sucked up my fear of the unknown, drove to three different grocery stores in search of active dry yeast, and did it. And I did it right. Like, kneading the dough for 10 minutes straight (props to you, mom -- it's tiring!), letting it rise for an hour, punching it down, waiting again, and then finally baking it to a perfect, crusty, golden-brown goodness. I'll tell you what, I'm sure my neighbors didn't mind the paper thin walls this afternoon.

It didn't take long for the Man to discover my accomplishment and subsequently:

My accomplishment is more than halfway gone, but that's ok. I was positively giddy as I took it out of the oven and I'm the sure the Man thought I'd lost my marbles. (Actually, he stood there smiling as I gloated over my creation for a good 10 minutes.) I made a loaf of homemade bread! *sigh* Man, I feel good.

So I guess this is what my life has reduced to: blogging about a loaf of bread. There are way more exiting things going on in our lives, like our new rug and wall sconces, but I don't want to brag about our lifestyle. Although, my mom did just recently visit and it was probably the BEST time I have ever had with her. Yes, we ate our way across Louisville but more importantly my soul was refreshed. It was exactly what my heart and soul needed.

Homemade bread and my mom. What a great combo.

Because III Isn't Enough...

The Man: "Oh by the way, I need to start wearing white mock turtlenecks under my uniform, so can we buy some of those?"
Me: "Ok. Do they need to be anything specific? Like Under Armour or something?"
The Man: "No, just white. But Under Armour would be nice. I sweat so much with my vest on, I need something to absorb it. Under Armour helps whisk it away."
Me: "I think you mean wick."
The Man: "No, I meant whisk. Like, to take away."
Me: "Whisk means to be swept off your feet, like Prince Charming whisked her away to a far away land."
The Man: "My sweat will be whisked away and swept off my armpits."
Me: "Seriously. It's a wicking fabric. Not a whisking fabric."
The Man [gets a dictionary]: "Whisk: to move nimbly and quickly."
Me: "Whatever. It's wick."
The Man: "A wick is what's in a candle."
Me: "It's a wicking fabric! I'm going to look it up."
The Man: "Fine. But my sweat will move nimbly and quickly."

The Man [in bed {gaseous expulsion}]: "You're welcome."
Me: "For what? Your fart?"
The Man: "I turned away so that I wouldn't fart on you."
Me: "You're so kind."
The Man: "That's why I said, 'You're welcome.'"

The Man: "If I were to put you in full guard and wrap up your arms, do you think you could escape?"
Me: "I don't know."
The Man: "Let's try it." [throws me on the ground, puts me in full guard, and wraps up my arms] Ok can you get out?"
Me: "Not really. And I can't breathe."
The Man: "You're not supposed to be able to."
Me: "This is not fun."
The Man: "Defensive tactics aren't always fun."
Me: "This wasn't my choice!"
The Man: "You gotta fight back."
Me: "Can we eat dinner instead?"
The Man: "Once you try to get out."
Me: "Seriously, can't breathe."
The Man: "I'll loosen up a bit."
Me: "Must we grapple every night? Why can't we just sit down and have a nice dinner?"
The Man: "We will. Just defend my rear naked choke first..."

Throw in some ho ho's and a few episodes of Dexter, and you've got Tuesday night.