An apple in the hand

I am watching CBS Sunday Morning. I do not know if you have ever seen this show, but it is really rather wonderful. Light-hearted news around the country. The current feature is discussing "hand models". All I can say is these people are crack pots. Seriously, they have a woman who owns over 500 pairs of gloves and makes her kids buckle her shoes and open doors for her. I understand job security, but that seems just a bit ridiculous.

For breakfast this morning I had my near famous wheat-less pancakes. I am trying all new manner of sins to cover the fact that they taste a bit like cardboard that dissolves into sand upon chewing. Today I tried fried apples on top. It was edible. They still need more. Now they remind me of apple pie with sand. I am working on it. Any suggestions I will gladly accept. Until then, I am going to take a nap and enjoy what is left of my Sunday Morning without a small person.

Exhaustion and Letting Go

I could not get to sleep last night. Dylan was out working in the country. Well he said he was. I assumed he was. The last few times I tried to call or leave a sweet text I learned he was in his office trying to nap and I woke him up. So now I refrain. Give him space, let him be, let him create. Dating an artist is tricky some days. I tried to explain this one day. I tried to explain how that I am perfectly fine giving all the space in the world, I just need a commitment first. If I do not have a commitment then I do not know if I am letting go forever, but with a commitment, I know he is coming back and he can have all the time in the world. He said he understood completely and it sucked. I told him that was understandable and would he be back in time for dinner the next night. He wasn't. Typical. He did crawl in bed at about 11.


Next weekend is the Cotton District Arts Festival. I know he is swamped and he is trying to get the last few pieces ready before then. I just want a quiet night alone with him. He leaves May 26 for Israel. Well, London first, then Israel. Only 63 days. He shaved off 18 for me. That was sweet. I am so nervous. Last summer we were new, this summer should be old hat. But it isn't. I doubt it ever will be. I don't have Daddy to take care of the leaky faucets and remind me to mow the lawn while D is gone. I miss Dad. This summer is going to suck. I use to leave work and go have a drink with Dad and get my male fix for the day. Now it will be left to my cats. (Which are quite possibly the most effeminate beings on the planet.)

I dropped Cecelita off with her Dad tonight. They were both in good moods. Mom went with me. She and I had not had a good talk in a while. It was nice. Calming. I love talking to her and my sisters and yet at the same time it is when we have those somber moments that I am jerked back into the reality of having lost my father.

Tomorrow is the anniversary of mine and D's first kiss. That is right. Our first kiss was on Friday the 13th. It is actually kind of fitting if you know us. We had a bit of a rocky start. I asked him out, and he stared at me blankly and responded via email later that afternoon. We went out and I blew him off for a firefighter. He hung in there though and suffered through being turned down twice and once my honestly not knowing who was on the phone. (I know, I am awful.) But somehow we made it through and after dating two months he finally kissed me. Actually I kissed him. He refused to kiss me after I told him that I had a phobia about kissing and explained how it started at church camp after hearing a song about eating sushi and relating it to sucking on a bucket of tentacle slime. Somehow the image stuck with me and the thought of someone's tongue in my mouth would immediately conjure up that prepubescent image. So, I had to kiss him. Voila! I think we have done fairly well since then. That is if you give us credit for putting up with the craziness of the other party. (Although he swears that I am the one who is off in the relationship- I can't say I disagree.)

Yep, still sleepy. Still can't sleep. I have however found an amazing website. Songza.com. Enter artist or title and it will pull up 'bout darn near every piece of music close and let you listen away. It makes me happy. At present I am listening to Let Go by Frou Frou and will be on to Cornflake Girl by Tori Amos soon. I am in a somber mood. Misty really. I want to cry and just don't have the energy. Don't know if there is any one reason in particular. I guess I just want a catharsis. I will have to save it for another night. Lately I feel too tired even for that.

I did get the dog bathed and the tub scrubbed today. Go me. Oh, and I also went through Cecelia's ENTIRE wardrobe and learned that I got off easy last year and didn't have to buy anything because she barely grew. Not so this year. She has actually grown an inch in 22 days. Impressive really. So we spent a small fortune today restocking her closet. I am most proud of a shirt that has a whale on it. I like cartoon whales. They make me happy.

Ritual Sacrifice or Beauty Customs?

Last night, Dylan and I had a dinner party to attend. This may not seem like a big deal to most people, but I have recently realized I tend to suck at being appropriately attired. As such, I am trying desperately to learn how to be dressy, but not too dressy, and just what exactly the term "business casual" means. I go to work in jeans and cute tops with sandals or flip flops typically. Dressy days I will actually wear slacks, but I feel ridiculous and normally pair them with a t-shirt and vest. I love skirts. The majority of my summer attire includes a skirt. And a random shirt that may or may not match. That is just how it is. I am never really faulted for it. Except at dinner parties.

Dinner parties are different. Art events are different. I don't know how, but they are. Maybe I am just compelled to conform, who knows. Whatever it is, I am having to learn to consciously match and coordinate. Very trying for a gal who goes out of her way not to do so. Last night I wore an adorable melon colored dress with gold bangles, gold chandelier earrings, and gold Jesus sandals. (See the color coordinating? I know I was proud of myself.) I thought I looked great. I am learning men have a different opinion. According to Dylan, I had no "shape" and resembled a "Grecian pumpkin". This empire waist craze will be the death of me.

It did occur to me while trying to get ready that men do not have this problem. Dylan came home, took a shower, shaved, put on his suit sans tie, and was ready to go. I however, came home, took a shower, shaved legs, lotioned, dried hair with a diffuser, curled strategic pieces, plucked eyebrows, painted toe- and fingernails, put in contacts, put on make-up, put hair up, got dressed, stood in front of mirror, took hair down, put on jewelry and shoes, stood in front of mirror, switched jewelry and shoes, decided to put hair back up, stood in front of mirror, switched shoes, and left. Being a girl is hard work. I do like the painted nails look. They are gold like my toes. Fun to see flash while I type. I doubt they will make it through the weekend. Dylan is fond of it though. And that is another interesting point. Why do men seem to be the most fond of appearances that take the most effort? It is rather tricky to paint nails left-handed when you are a righty. Oh well.

I am including a clip from Dove. I feel this statement is so true for our society. I am no different. I paint Cecelia's toes once a week, I spend $18 for hair spray especially designed for her curly tresses, and I don't let her pick out her own clothes because frankly the combinations are too ghastly for me to bear. (I know: bad Mommy, no biscuit.)

And I am still willing to pay up to $150 for a decent pair of blue jeans. I just haven't found them yet!

Hi, My name is Alyson and I'm a blogger.

As if I do not have enough on my plate, I am adding blogging to the list. It seems this grand fad is here to stay and I might as well follow everyone else's lead. Where to begin, is there a typical beginning for one of these?

This past weekend, I traveled to Memphis to catch up with a few old friends. The purpose of the trip was to see Jessica, a recent addition to the "human incubator" club, but she was sweet enough to let me disappear to catch up with Jordan as well.

Memphis was nice. I got to have a much needed visit with Jessica, and spent way too much time in Babies R' Us continually insisting that yes, she should register for outlet covers, because one can never have enough safety products. She had a baby shower for one of her friends on Saturday and I snuck away to visit Jordan.

Here is where I am going to share a rather odd occurrence. I had yet to see J's house and was thrilled to learn I only had to drive 4 blocks to get there. However, upon my arrival I learned they were not back from running errands. It was amazingly sweet of them to leave me a means into their house until they arrived. (By this I mean I think they forgot to lock it.) I LOVE their house. It is gorgeous, and it suits them perfectly.

I want to go on record that one of the strangest feelings on the planet is waiting for someone in their house while they are gone. Especially if you have never been there before. I felt like there were Nanny-cams hidden throughout waiting for me to open the medicine cabinets. J told to me look around and I did, politely, and four minutes later had no clue what to do with myself. Typically it would be then that I would turn on the TV. I tried, I failed. (Saunders- if you have been trying to figure out why there is sound and no picture now you know why!) I picked out one of the books on the self. I sat down to read.

I read the note from the author, realized I was freezing, and there were no throws. It seemed perfectly logical to assume if I had dry hair I would be warm. I just needed a hairdryer. I went to the guest bathroom, (why there would be a spare hairdryer there I don't know), but I hated going into their bathroom. There was no hairdryer in the guest bath. I proceeded into the bedroom. I am sure at this point I looked insane as I began to talk to myself and chant what I was doing and why. I felt certain the invisible Nanny-cams would understand my plight if I spoke it aloud. There was no hairdryer in the master bath. But adjoining the bath was the closet, and in the closet was a dresser, and in the dresser there might be socks. Socks, that would work. I once again loudly announced I was just trying to get warm and was switching plans to hunting socks. Top drawer, no socks, second drawer- Bingo. I chose a lovely gray pair with white polka dots and went back to the living room with a book. (Yes, I do see the similarities in this story and "If You Give a Mouse a Cookie.")

I read the prologue. I was still freezing. Back to search for hairdryer. At last I located it. Next to the bed?!? I started to use it and then managed to suck my hair into the back, and smell that wonderful burning hair scent as I ripped the section from my scalp. I now have a small significantly shorter patch somewhere in the back. (It is probably karma for messing up their TV/surround sound combo.) With hair dry and warm toes, I went back to sit and read the next chapter.

I got thirsty. I found a cup. The cup selection was difficult I might add. I did not want glass for fear I would break it. I instead chose a plastic insulated cup to make sure I would not need a coaster in case one could not be located. I went to get water out of the fridge and managed to pour water all over the fridge door and floor due to the fact that the insulated layer made it too big to fit above the ledge. Found paper towels. Hunted and found trash can. Went back and began to read-again.

It was then that they finally came back. Thank the Lord, because I am sure next I would accidentally set their couch on fire. It was like some bad comedy of errors. I kept waiting for someone to jump out of the closet and go "Ah Ha!" And yet, when I explained that I used the hairdryer and got socks, neither Jordan nor Saunders seemed phased at all. So I guess they have people break into their house frequently and put on their clothes and use their appliances or I am just known for bizarre behavior. Either way, thanks for the socks!