No, I'm not referring to Lady Gaga's strange term of endearment for her fans, which is a new level of weird for pop culture. I'm talking about the little guy down the hall who's currently napping with his behind up in the air.
Before Sam was born, people gave us sweet onesies that said "I love Mommy" and "Baby Boys are the Best" and other such nice things. But, in the midst of that sentimentality, there was also the baby t-shirt with the dinosaur on the front and the words "Mommy's Little Monster." Something about that phrase offended my motherly sensibilities. I even took some of those "monster" outfits back, because my new baby wasn't going to be a "little monster" and his poop was going to smell like baby powder and fresh flowers. Right?
I have since woken up from that dream and been ushered into the world of stinky diapers. Sam now wears his dinosaur t-shirt, proudly proclaiming that he is, indeed, a little monster.
Matt usually goes to get Sam every morning and brings him to me around 7:30am. Usually this routine includes my opening my eyes to find Sam's four-toothed grin an inch and a half from my face. It's a sweet moment. And then, Sam gets a fistful of my hair and pulls my face toward his open mouth so that he can bite the heck out of my cheekbone. It's funny. But, it hurts.
This morning I realized that Sam has started to do a baby version of a growl and at the same time, he crawls around looking for something to sink his teeth into. The computer cord, the chair leg, my collar bone. Nothing is safe from those four, razor-sharp teeth.
I'm constantly amazed by the strength of this little guy. Every time I pull him close for a "hug", I end up half-laughing, half-crying as I struggle to extricate my hair from his little cheerio-scented fingers. And then he does his baby growl, with a toothy, drooling grin, and moves in for the bite. Pretty soon I'm going to be covered in mini-toothmarks that might be hard to explain at parties.
And yet, this little monster stage is pretty incredible. Matt and I laugh all the time at the antics of this 18 pound boy wonder. In the middle of stressful budget conversations and occasional tiffs, we find ourselves thankfully distracted by Sam stretching both arms straight up in the air and letting out a loud "yawp." It's hilarious. I promise. If you were here, you'd think so, too.
I can't get enough of this little guy. And I can't imagine my life without him. I'm happy to have my own personal Little Monster who hides cheerios in his diaper and has seriously awesome bed hair.
It's enough to make me want a second one. I think.
Friday, October 8, 2010
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
Home is Where the Crown-Molding Is
I lived in two different dorms in college and then in a lake house for a semester and for that last semester and a half I lived in a restored old house across the street from school. I had approximately 7.5 roommates during that four years and a summer term.
After college I moved to Nashville where I lived in a house with a family for a year, in West Meade with two girls and two cats, a condo on West End Avenue for a summer, a dollhouse with a friend in Green Hills for a little less than a year and then finally in a house not far from that last house with two other friends and no cats. The last room I lived in had red curtains for doors.
Then there was my fabulous, obsessively neat 70 year old studio apartment in Knoxville's Sequoyah Hills. This ranks up there as probably my favorite abode over the past 14 years. Possibly because I was the only occupant and could order things according to my OCD tendencies. I could also watch endless Felicity and Gilmore Girl marathons with no one to judge me. I lived there for a little over two years and I still miss it.
In 2007 I got engaged and got married that fall. We moved into a two bedroom up the street from my beloved studio. It was like the studio only bigger. Plus: Hardwood floors, big windows, high ceilings. Minus: No central heating or air, no washer or dryer, no dishwasher, occasional camel crickets (my personal nemesis). It was a lovely place for the year that we lived there. I've driven by it since then and tried to pretend that I could waltz in the front door and everything would be the same as it was 3 years ago. But, the current tenant has posted a concrete head sculpture on the front porch and that's effectively ruined my daydream.
For 9 months we lived in Clemson. That wasn't my best year so I won't say much about that. I will say that the duplex we lived in was tainted by the morning sickness I endured soon after we discovered Sam was joining our family.
And then there was Knoxville again. We moved into my in-laws' upstairs, which had been an apartment at one time. I have to say, I really loved living in that upstairs and was able to create a sweet little nursery for Sam who was born while we lived there. I have great memories of that year living with my husband's parents. I also unexpectedly miss the 58 inch television with its one million channels. I didn't think I would, but I do.
That brings us to now. We moved to Chattanooga roughly 3 days ago and some dear friends are letting us live in their downstairs apartment until we find our own place. To sum up: two bedrooms, one bath and a view that no camera could ever do justice.
But, I have to admit something. I'm tired of moving. I'm over packing up boxes, storing things in storage, starting over in new houses with different ovens that bake at differing temperatures. I want to move somewhere and throw out all the boxes because we don't plan on using them for a long, long time. Maybe even have a box burning in the back yard.
In a word, I want STABILITY. And I don't care who knows it.
I drove around today after Bible study exploring the area where we're living for the moment, visiting the local Starbucks and marveling at the beautiful houses and breathtaking views along the way. And in the midst of all that, I couldn't help but wonder when Matt and Sam and I would have our own home. Not a big fancy house, but a real home where we could create traditions and memories. I realize that I could possibly be idealizing (or maybe even idolizing) the concept of home. In my mind there's this perfect place full of natural light and the smell of gingerbread where I can set our hundreds of books on bookshelves, bake mounds of cookies in my kitchen, have pizza and movie night with Matt (and Sam, once his bedtime gets moved up past 8), invite friends over for dinner and conversation and game night, and the list goes on of all the things I dream of doing in this place called Home.
I'm wondering how much of this desire for a home is about being female and wanting security and a place to settle and nest and nurture children. Do men dream about home the way women do? I kind of doubt it. I think Matt dreams more about Red Zone and camping trips and Papa Murphy's pizza. (If you're reading this, Sweetie, I know there's more to you than that).
The other thing I'm wondering about is the reality of a home requiring a down payment and a mortgage and homeowner's insurance and maintenance. All those things don't figure in to my daydreams very well. I hope that in my desire for a home I'm not simply imagining the current cultural trappings of the American dreamhouse, a la granite countertops, stainless steel appliances and hardwood floors. Obviously, I appreciate all those things, but I'm trying really hard not to believe that the having or the lack of having those things can keep me from creating a home wherever it is we end up living.
How do I keep myself from confusing crown molding and double bathroom sinks and walk in closets with the makings of a real Home? I keep getting lost in the details of wanting a perfect space but I also feel conviction knowing that I don't NEED all those things to have a happy home.
Sigh.
Another sigh.
In the meantime, I'm scouring Craigslist for affordable rentals and hoping to find something that doesn't require bars on the windows or double deadbolts.
After college I moved to Nashville where I lived in a house with a family for a year, in West Meade with two girls and two cats, a condo on West End Avenue for a summer, a dollhouse with a friend in Green Hills for a little less than a year and then finally in a house not far from that last house with two other friends and no cats. The last room I lived in had red curtains for doors.
Then there was my fabulous, obsessively neat 70 year old studio apartment in Knoxville's Sequoyah Hills. This ranks up there as probably my favorite abode over the past 14 years. Possibly because I was the only occupant and could order things according to my OCD tendencies. I could also watch endless Felicity and Gilmore Girl marathons with no one to judge me. I lived there for a little over two years and I still miss it.
In 2007 I got engaged and got married that fall. We moved into a two bedroom up the street from my beloved studio. It was like the studio only bigger. Plus: Hardwood floors, big windows, high ceilings. Minus: No central heating or air, no washer or dryer, no dishwasher, occasional camel crickets (my personal nemesis). It was a lovely place for the year that we lived there. I've driven by it since then and tried to pretend that I could waltz in the front door and everything would be the same as it was 3 years ago. But, the current tenant has posted a concrete head sculpture on the front porch and that's effectively ruined my daydream.
For 9 months we lived in Clemson. That wasn't my best year so I won't say much about that. I will say that the duplex we lived in was tainted by the morning sickness I endured soon after we discovered Sam was joining our family.
And then there was Knoxville again. We moved into my in-laws' upstairs, which had been an apartment at one time. I have to say, I really loved living in that upstairs and was able to create a sweet little nursery for Sam who was born while we lived there. I have great memories of that year living with my husband's parents. I also unexpectedly miss the 58 inch television with its one million channels. I didn't think I would, but I do.
That brings us to now. We moved to Chattanooga roughly 3 days ago and some dear friends are letting us live in their downstairs apartment until we find our own place. To sum up: two bedrooms, one bath and a view that no camera could ever do justice.
But, I have to admit something. I'm tired of moving. I'm over packing up boxes, storing things in storage, starting over in new houses with different ovens that bake at differing temperatures. I want to move somewhere and throw out all the boxes because we don't plan on using them for a long, long time. Maybe even have a box burning in the back yard.
In a word, I want STABILITY. And I don't care who knows it.
I drove around today after Bible study exploring the area where we're living for the moment, visiting the local Starbucks and marveling at the beautiful houses and breathtaking views along the way. And in the midst of all that, I couldn't help but wonder when Matt and Sam and I would have our own home. Not a big fancy house, but a real home where we could create traditions and memories. I realize that I could possibly be idealizing (or maybe even idolizing) the concept of home. In my mind there's this perfect place full of natural light and the smell of gingerbread where I can set our hundreds of books on bookshelves, bake mounds of cookies in my kitchen, have pizza and movie night with Matt (and Sam, once his bedtime gets moved up past 8), invite friends over for dinner and conversation and game night, and the list goes on of all the things I dream of doing in this place called Home.
I'm wondering how much of this desire for a home is about being female and wanting security and a place to settle and nest and nurture children. Do men dream about home the way women do? I kind of doubt it. I think Matt dreams more about Red Zone and camping trips and Papa Murphy's pizza. (If you're reading this, Sweetie, I know there's more to you than that).
The other thing I'm wondering about is the reality of a home requiring a down payment and a mortgage and homeowner's insurance and maintenance. All those things don't figure in to my daydreams very well. I hope that in my desire for a home I'm not simply imagining the current cultural trappings of the American dreamhouse, a la granite countertops, stainless steel appliances and hardwood floors. Obviously, I appreciate all those things, but I'm trying really hard not to believe that the having or the lack of having those things can keep me from creating a home wherever it is we end up living.
How do I keep myself from confusing crown molding and double bathroom sinks and walk in closets with the makings of a real Home? I keep getting lost in the details of wanting a perfect space but I also feel conviction knowing that I don't NEED all those things to have a happy home.
Sigh.
Another sigh.
In the meantime, I'm scouring Craigslist for affordable rentals and hoping to find something that doesn't require bars on the windows or double deadbolts.
Friday, September 24, 2010
The Bitter and the Sweet
It's a bit surreal to be typing this, but we are officially moving. To Chattanooga. Next Week.
Matt came home early today after resigning from his job and suddenly, everything is moving very, very fast. I'm packing up Sam's room and looking at our things and wondering which we should put into storage for now and which should come with us. For someone with borderline clinical OCD (this hasn't been officially confirmed by anyone with credentials), the prospect of moving is taking my breath away a little bit.
And yet, it's exciting. The thought of a new life in a new city, just me and Matt and the babe, is rather exhilarating. I'm wondering who our friends will be and what parks we'll frequent and where I'll do our grocery shopping. I'm already mentally decorating a house/apartment/condo that hasn't materialized just yet. And best of all, we get to start this new life in The Fall. Moving our stuff in 65 degree weather while leaves fall on our heads. Perfect.
Matt starts his new job This Monday, which is making our heads spin a little. I'll be staying this week to pack up our things and take care of some of the details of closing up shop here. And that's where the bitter part of the "bittersweet" nature of this transition comes in. Saying goodbye. I don't really want to. I already feel somewhat heavy with the thought of leaving dear friends and places that I've loved being. I'm pouting over The French Market being 2 hours away already. Is it wrong to be emotional about crepes? I'm not sure. I kind of want to stop in and say goodbye to those crepe-makers who've made it worth getting out of bed early on a Saturday morning. Ok, so I won't actually shed any tears over a restaurant, but I might over the lovely downtown here in Knoxville that Matt and I have wandered through on quite a few date nights.
As I'm typing this, I'm volunteering at our church that we have loved so much. Redeemer has been such a significant part of our life here in Knoxville and we are going to sorely miss it along with the dear friends and pastors who have enriched our lives in the relatively short time we've been here. I miss it already and we still have nursery duty this Sunday.
Oddly enough, I will miss living with my inlaws more than I would have expected and I'm guessing they'll miss us quite a bit as well. Who would have guessed last summer when we moved in that over a year later I would a. still be living with my inlaws and b. be sad to move out. They've been so incredible during this weird transition time in our little family's life and having them around to help with Sam has been huge. I wish we could buy them something big to show our thanks, like a hot tub with all the bells and whistles. But, I think we'll have to settle for a gift card to Home Depot.
Lastly, I will miss all the marvelous friends that have been in our life this past year. I won't even try to list them because I'd leave someone out and also because you probably don't want to read a list of people that you don't know. It would be a little like a blog version of the biblical Book of Numbers. Specifically, though, I have to mention Molly and Leigh Ann, my dear neighbors on our lovely little street, who I've spent the most time with during this season of Sam. We've walked and talked and had playdates and shared baby info and braved consignments and been witness to the first year of each of our children's lives. I am seriously sad to leave these two fellow mamas and their adorable little mini people.
Ok, now I'm getting sad. I must remind myself that Chattanooga and Knoxville are not far from each other and that I could be up here in time for a crepe on any given Saturday morning. Whew. That thought made me feel better.
Knoxville, you are a better city than I gave you credit for 6 years ago and I'm proud to have called myself a Knoxvillian for a little while.
Chattanooga, here we come.
Matt came home early today after resigning from his job and suddenly, everything is moving very, very fast. I'm packing up Sam's room and looking at our things and wondering which we should put into storage for now and which should come with us. For someone with borderline clinical OCD (this hasn't been officially confirmed by anyone with credentials), the prospect of moving is taking my breath away a little bit.
And yet, it's exciting. The thought of a new life in a new city, just me and Matt and the babe, is rather exhilarating. I'm wondering who our friends will be and what parks we'll frequent and where I'll do our grocery shopping. I'm already mentally decorating a house/apartment/condo that hasn't materialized just yet. And best of all, we get to start this new life in The Fall. Moving our stuff in 65 degree weather while leaves fall on our heads. Perfect.
Matt starts his new job This Monday, which is making our heads spin a little. I'll be staying this week to pack up our things and take care of some of the details of closing up shop here. And that's where the bitter part of the "bittersweet" nature of this transition comes in. Saying goodbye. I don't really want to. I already feel somewhat heavy with the thought of leaving dear friends and places that I've loved being. I'm pouting over The French Market being 2 hours away already. Is it wrong to be emotional about crepes? I'm not sure. I kind of want to stop in and say goodbye to those crepe-makers who've made it worth getting out of bed early on a Saturday morning. Ok, so I won't actually shed any tears over a restaurant, but I might over the lovely downtown here in Knoxville that Matt and I have wandered through on quite a few date nights.
As I'm typing this, I'm volunteering at our church that we have loved so much. Redeemer has been such a significant part of our life here in Knoxville and we are going to sorely miss it along with the dear friends and pastors who have enriched our lives in the relatively short time we've been here. I miss it already and we still have nursery duty this Sunday.
Oddly enough, I will miss living with my inlaws more than I would have expected and I'm guessing they'll miss us quite a bit as well. Who would have guessed last summer when we moved in that over a year later I would a. still be living with my inlaws and b. be sad to move out. They've been so incredible during this weird transition time in our little family's life and having them around to help with Sam has been huge. I wish we could buy them something big to show our thanks, like a hot tub with all the bells and whistles. But, I think we'll have to settle for a gift card to Home Depot.
Lastly, I will miss all the marvelous friends that have been in our life this past year. I won't even try to list them because I'd leave someone out and also because you probably don't want to read a list of people that you don't know. It would be a little like a blog version of the biblical Book of Numbers. Specifically, though, I have to mention Molly and Leigh Ann, my dear neighbors on our lovely little street, who I've spent the most time with during this season of Sam. We've walked and talked and had playdates and shared baby info and braved consignments and been witness to the first year of each of our children's lives. I am seriously sad to leave these two fellow mamas and their adorable little mini people.
Ok, now I'm getting sad. I must remind myself that Chattanooga and Knoxville are not far from each other and that I could be up here in time for a crepe on any given Saturday morning. Whew. That thought made me feel better.
Knoxville, you are a better city than I gave you credit for 6 years ago and I'm proud to have called myself a Knoxvillian for a little while.
Chattanooga, here we come.
Thursday, September 23, 2010
Things of Note or Not
It's been a while. A baby with a stuffy nose and no interest in napping keeps me from writing at my leisure these days. But, for the moment, there seems to be a bit of quiet AND the bathroom has just been cleaned, so it appears that I might have a small space of time here to actually document our life a little.
The last few weeks have included some things. Things of note and things that might not really deserve being blogged about. And yet, I might blog about them anyway. Because I can.
First things first. I thought I'd share a few things I'm a little obsessed with lately.
Movie: The Switch - unexpectedly amazing. Even Matt liked this one. He may have even cried at the end. Or not.
Music: Mumford & Sons - an impulse buy at Target ($9.99) that has turned into a favorite. High fives to random British bands with odd names.
Book: The Help - a lovely story about the Deep South and three women that you wish were your friends by the end of the book.
Second things second. There have been a few Sam milestones that haven't been noted in cyberspace as of yet.
Crawling - a work in progress, but Sam started to crawl this last week to much applause. He seems to be trying to walk at the same time, which isn't working out so well, but to be honest, it's entertaining.
Teeth - or as we like to call them around here, "toofies." I have no explanation for why we do this. So far, there's one on top and two on the bottom. And he likes to rub them together for a seriously cute crooked smile. It's almost too much.
Real Food - Sam had roast beef, mac and cheese and green beans the other night. Turns out he's a carnivore. I also think he may have a hollow leg. He puts away food like a linebacker and he's only 233 lbs away from a linebacker's starting weight.
Third things third. So, I'm hesitant to write this, but it's looking like we may be moving. You may be responding right now with a "What!?!" Sadly, Nashville is not where we're headed. But, despite no Nashville, this move is a good thing. And yet, I'm starting to be sad about it. And anxious. And maybe even stressed. But, it's a good thing. I keep reminding myself of this. An article I read yesterday explained to me that firstborns tend to resist change. So, here I am, being a firstborn and resisting change. In other news, firstborns also apparently make an average of $100k a year. I didn't know that.
Fourth things fourth. Fall is here. But, not really. It's September 23 and 91 degrees. I'm beginning to be afraid that Al Gore is right. I also feel like this could potentially be a good children's book...
Premise of my children's book: Someone is stealing Fall. They must be found and punished.
Meanwhile, I'm bravely wearing my cardigans and trying to pretend that the leaves on the ground aren't just victims of dry weather, but are in fact "falling" leaves.
And that's the update. Hopefully next time I post, I'll have more details about the move and fingers crossed the temperature outside will be less than 80 degrees.
The last few weeks have included some things. Things of note and things that might not really deserve being blogged about. And yet, I might blog about them anyway. Because I can.
First things first. I thought I'd share a few things I'm a little obsessed with lately.
Movie: The Switch - unexpectedly amazing. Even Matt liked this one. He may have even cried at the end. Or not.
Music: Mumford & Sons - an impulse buy at Target ($9.99) that has turned into a favorite. High fives to random British bands with odd names.
Book: The Help - a lovely story about the Deep South and three women that you wish were your friends by the end of the book.
Second things second. There have been a few Sam milestones that haven't been noted in cyberspace as of yet.
Crawling - a work in progress, but Sam started to crawl this last week to much applause. He seems to be trying to walk at the same time, which isn't working out so well, but to be honest, it's entertaining.
Teeth - or as we like to call them around here, "toofies." I have no explanation for why we do this. So far, there's one on top and two on the bottom. And he likes to rub them together for a seriously cute crooked smile. It's almost too much.
Real Food - Sam had roast beef, mac and cheese and green beans the other night. Turns out he's a carnivore. I also think he may have a hollow leg. He puts away food like a linebacker and he's only 233 lbs away from a linebacker's starting weight.
Third things third. So, I'm hesitant to write this, but it's looking like we may be moving. You may be responding right now with a "What!?!" Sadly, Nashville is not where we're headed. But, despite no Nashville, this move is a good thing. And yet, I'm starting to be sad about it. And anxious. And maybe even stressed. But, it's a good thing. I keep reminding myself of this. An article I read yesterday explained to me that firstborns tend to resist change. So, here I am, being a firstborn and resisting change. In other news, firstborns also apparently make an average of $100k a year. I didn't know that.
Fourth things fourth. Fall is here. But, not really. It's September 23 and 91 degrees. I'm beginning to be afraid that Al Gore is right. I also feel like this could potentially be a good children's book...
Premise of my children's book: Someone is stealing Fall. They must be found and punished.
Meanwhile, I'm bravely wearing my cardigans and trying to pretend that the leaves on the ground aren't just victims of dry weather, but are in fact "falling" leaves.
And that's the update. Hopefully next time I post, I'll have more details about the move and fingers crossed the temperature outside will be less than 80 degrees.
Thursday, September 9, 2010
For the Love of Pumpkin Bread
So, I think I've mentioned that I love fall a few times here, but there's something I forgot to include in my list of things I love about this season. And that is, (imaginary drumroll, please) the glorious pumpkin. Every fall, I can't wait to figure out the loads of ways I can fit pumpkin into my life. I know I've already shared my affection for pumpkin spice lattes, but the world of pumpkin includes so much more than a mere latte. For starters, there's pumpkin pie, pumpkin muffins, pumpkin pancakes, pumpkin cookies (with chocolate chips, obviously), and then there's my favorite pumpkin-laden food, The Pumpkin Bread.
In honor of my love of pumpkin and my love of people who read this blog, I'd like to share the recipe I'm currently using (thank you, Allrecipes.com) with you and highly encourage you to make this as soon as you are physically able. Once you make it (if you start now, you'll be eating it an hour from this moment), you should probably slip into your favorite wool cardigan, turn the air-conditioning way down (so that it feels like fall inside, obviously), warm your hands around a mug of tea and then take a big, bite of warm, aromatic, delectable pumpkin bread. And then you should call me and we'll talk about how much we love fall.
Ok, now that you know what the next couple hours of your life include, here's the recipe for pumpkin nirvana, I mean, bread...
Ingredients:
* 1 cup butter or margarine, softened
* 3 cups sugar
* 3 eggs
* 3 cups all-purpose flour
* 1 tablespoon baking powder
* 1 1/2 teaspoons baking soda
* 1 1/2 teaspoons ground cinnamon
* 1 1/2 teaspoons ground cloves
* 1 1/2 teaspoons ground nutmeg
* 1 (16 ounce) can solid pack pumpkin
Directions:
1. In a mixing bowl, cream butter and sugar. Add eggs; mix well. Combine dry ingredients; stir into creamed mixture just until moistened. Stir in pumpkin. Pour into two greased 9-in. x 5-in. x 3-in. loaf pans. Bake at 350 degrees F for 1 hour or until bread tests done.
You can thank me later.
In honor of my love of pumpkin and my love of people who read this blog, I'd like to share the recipe I'm currently using (thank you, Allrecipes.com) with you and highly encourage you to make this as soon as you are physically able. Once you make it (if you start now, you'll be eating it an hour from this moment), you should probably slip into your favorite wool cardigan, turn the air-conditioning way down (so that it feels like fall inside, obviously), warm your hands around a mug of tea and then take a big, bite of warm, aromatic, delectable pumpkin bread. And then you should call me and we'll talk about how much we love fall.
Ok, now that you know what the next couple hours of your life include, here's the recipe for pumpkin nirvana, I mean, bread...
Ingredients:
* 1 cup butter or margarine, softened
* 3 cups sugar
* 3 eggs
* 3 cups all-purpose flour
* 1 tablespoon baking powder
* 1 1/2 teaspoons baking soda
* 1 1/2 teaspoons ground cinnamon
* 1 1/2 teaspoons ground cloves
* 1 1/2 teaspoons ground nutmeg
* 1 (16 ounce) can solid pack pumpkin
Directions:
1. In a mixing bowl, cream butter and sugar. Add eggs; mix well. Combine dry ingredients; stir into creamed mixture just until moistened. Stir in pumpkin. Pour into two greased 9-in. x 5-in. x 3-in. loaf pans. Bake at 350 degrees F for 1 hour or until bread tests done.
You can thank me later.
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
Late Night Auto Insurance
Last Night:
1:15am
The scene: Sam wakes up crying in the nursery down the hall.
1:16am
The scene: Sam's parents wake up to the sound of Sam yelling.
Dara Lynn: Matt, can you go check on Sam?
Matt: (slightly slurred) Yeah. (pause) Who's he with?
Dara Lynn: (quickly recognizing this is somehow related to Matt's job in insurance) He's with State Farm.
Matt: (skeptical) How do you know that?
Dara Lynn: (trying not to shake the bed from laughing) Because he told me.
Matt: (pause) No, he didn't. Wait, are you talking about Sam or the other guy?
Dara Lynn: Other guy? (laughing now and shaking the bed)
Matt: (getting up and stumbling towards the door.) Hmph.
I had no idea that an additional benefit to marriage would be the unexpected entertainment of sleep-talking. A few weeks ago we had a very similar conversation about insurance that included Matt turning to me at 3am and very seriously asking if I was looking for liability or full-coverage. It doesn't get much better than late-night pillow talk about auto insurance.
We've also had a couple of sleep-talking instances that were less entertaining, however. One actually wasn't a conversation, but included Matt acting out a dream he was having that involved his slapping an imaginary horsefly on my forehead. I woke up with fireworks behind my eyes and Matt's palm flat against my face. I yelled loudly. The explanation? He was dream-canoeing and had seen a big horsefly and literally told himself (in his dream, mind you) to hit it as hard as he could. And so he did. On my face. At 2am. It was funny later.
There was also the night when Matt turned over and put his arm around me and said "So, where are you from?" in his most charming voice. I rolled over and said "What?" in my less charming voice. Then he woke up a bit and said that he'd been dreaming he was at a wedding and found himself hanging out with a bridesmaid that he knew wasn't me (much to his surprise, obviously). So, he tried to play it cool and pretend like he knew what was going on, while fishing for information about who the heck she was. I was less amused by this dream. I wanted to punch that imaginary bridesmaid in the face. Or maybe slap an imaginary horsefly on her forehead.
I'm eagerly awaiting the next round of sleep-talking entertainment. I have a sneaking suspicion it may involve homeowners insurance, or maybe even renters. I'm just hoping no more horseflies or hussy bridesmaids. I'll keep you posted.
1:15am
The scene: Sam wakes up crying in the nursery down the hall.
1:16am
The scene: Sam's parents wake up to the sound of Sam yelling.
Dara Lynn: Matt, can you go check on Sam?
Matt: (slightly slurred) Yeah. (pause) Who's he with?
Dara Lynn: (quickly recognizing this is somehow related to Matt's job in insurance) He's with State Farm.
Matt: (skeptical) How do you know that?
Dara Lynn: (trying not to shake the bed from laughing) Because he told me.
Matt: (pause) No, he didn't. Wait, are you talking about Sam or the other guy?
Dara Lynn: Other guy? (laughing now and shaking the bed)
Matt: (getting up and stumbling towards the door.) Hmph.
I had no idea that an additional benefit to marriage would be the unexpected entertainment of sleep-talking. A few weeks ago we had a very similar conversation about insurance that included Matt turning to me at 3am and very seriously asking if I was looking for liability or full-coverage. It doesn't get much better than late-night pillow talk about auto insurance.
We've also had a couple of sleep-talking instances that were less entertaining, however. One actually wasn't a conversation, but included Matt acting out a dream he was having that involved his slapping an imaginary horsefly on my forehead. I woke up with fireworks behind my eyes and Matt's palm flat against my face. I yelled loudly. The explanation? He was dream-canoeing and had seen a big horsefly and literally told himself (in his dream, mind you) to hit it as hard as he could. And so he did. On my face. At 2am. It was funny later.
There was also the night when Matt turned over and put his arm around me and said "So, where are you from?" in his most charming voice. I rolled over and said "What?" in my less charming voice. Then he woke up a bit and said that he'd been dreaming he was at a wedding and found himself hanging out with a bridesmaid that he knew wasn't me (much to his surprise, obviously). So, he tried to play it cool and pretend like he knew what was going on, while fishing for information about who the heck she was. I was less amused by this dream. I wanted to punch that imaginary bridesmaid in the face. Or maybe slap an imaginary horsefly on her forehead.
I'm eagerly awaiting the next round of sleep-talking entertainment. I have a sneaking suspicion it may involve homeowners insurance, or maybe even renters. I'm just hoping no more horseflies or hussy bridesmaids. I'll keep you posted.
Thursday, September 2, 2010
I Heart Fall
FALL. This is my favorite word right now. It magically conjures up images in my mind of pumpkin patches, cornmazes, hayrides, cardigan-wearing, apple orchards, leaves falling, long shadows in the afternoon, chilly evenings, woodsmoke, football games, hot chocolate, and the list could go on and on and on. I have a serious love affair with fall every year.
But, I've wondered why I feel this strongly about a season and there are a few reasons, I think, for why I can wax poetic over these all-too-short three months of the year. The first is that I'm from Georgia, not too far from HOT-lanta actually, and for as long as I can remember, once August rolled around every year, I was ready to make the move to Canada for some relief from the sweltering Georgia heat. I'd cut out magazine photos of autumnal things (leaves, pumpkins, people wearing sweaters) and tuck it in the corner of the picture frame above my desk, just to remind me that one day, in the not too distant future, the temperature really would dip below 90 degrees and I might have a good hair day again.
But, there's another reason for my adoration of all things autumnal. Beyond just the obvious relief from oppressive, Deep South temperatures, there is something intensely nostalgic about fall, something that hangs about the idea of it and makes me feel like journaling at Starbucks, writing letters to old friends and reading favorite books again. (It also makes me want to go to Dollywood, but that's for another time, another blog post.) I can't quite put my finger on this wistful feeling, I just know that fall brings this curious longing for something I can't name.
Thank goodness for C.S. Lewis who put some of this into words, especially in his Weight of Glory, but also in some of his other writings. In Pilgrim's Regress, he talks about "that unnameable something, desire for which pierces us like a rapier at the smell of a bonfire, the sound of wild ducks flying overhead, the title of The Well at the World's End, the opening lines of "Kubla Khan," the morning cobwebs in late summer, or the noise of falling waves."
Lewis called this desire sehnsucht, "a German noun translated as 'longing', 'yearning' and 'craving', or in a wider sense a type of 'intensely missing'." I love this word for some reason, even though there's something distinctly melancholy about it.
Despite my best efforts, I can't help but wish away the long, hot summers every year. I wait by the air conditioning vent during those blistering months, knowing that on the other side of August (or sometimes September), along with cooling temperatures, there will also be the old rememberings in this new fall in the midst of hayrides and the smell of woodsmoke and the worn sweater I'll pull down from the closet.
This year my favorite season includes sweet Sam and I can't wait to take him to the mountains and jump in piles of leaves and feed him pumpkin pie (pureed, of course). As my friend Lex would say, "shared joy is double joy," and I'm guessing this fall will be the most joy-full yet.
Pumpkin Spice Lattes, here I come.
But, I've wondered why I feel this strongly about a season and there are a few reasons, I think, for why I can wax poetic over these all-too-short three months of the year. The first is that I'm from Georgia, not too far from HOT-lanta actually, and for as long as I can remember, once August rolled around every year, I was ready to make the move to Canada for some relief from the sweltering Georgia heat. I'd cut out magazine photos of autumnal things (leaves, pumpkins, people wearing sweaters) and tuck it in the corner of the picture frame above my desk, just to remind me that one day, in the not too distant future, the temperature really would dip below 90 degrees and I might have a good hair day again.
But, there's another reason for my adoration of all things autumnal. Beyond just the obvious relief from oppressive, Deep South temperatures, there is something intensely nostalgic about fall, something that hangs about the idea of it and makes me feel like journaling at Starbucks, writing letters to old friends and reading favorite books again. (It also makes me want to go to Dollywood, but that's for another time, another blog post.) I can't quite put my finger on this wistful feeling, I just know that fall brings this curious longing for something I can't name.
Thank goodness for C.S. Lewis who put some of this into words, especially in his Weight of Glory, but also in some of his other writings. In Pilgrim's Regress, he talks about "that unnameable something, desire for which pierces us like a rapier at the smell of a bonfire, the sound of wild ducks flying overhead, the title of The Well at the World's End, the opening lines of "Kubla Khan," the morning cobwebs in late summer, or the noise of falling waves."
Lewis called this desire sehnsucht, "a German noun translated as 'longing', 'yearning' and 'craving', or in a wider sense a type of 'intensely missing'." I love this word for some reason, even though there's something distinctly melancholy about it.
Despite my best efforts, I can't help but wish away the long, hot summers every year. I wait by the air conditioning vent during those blistering months, knowing that on the other side of August (or sometimes September), along with cooling temperatures, there will also be the old rememberings in this new fall in the midst of hayrides and the smell of woodsmoke and the worn sweater I'll pull down from the closet.
This year my favorite season includes sweet Sam and I can't wait to take him to the mountains and jump in piles of leaves and feed him pumpkin pie (pureed, of course). As my friend Lex would say, "shared joy is double joy," and I'm guessing this fall will be the most joy-full yet.
Pumpkin Spice Lattes, here I come.
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