becoming a Texan/the worst day ever

I normally forecast my days based on my hair. So yesterday when my golden locks curled with ridiculous ease (miracle of miracles), I knew it was going to be a fabulous day. Wrong. My usual spot-on foreshadowing was completely off.

For all of you contemplating moving to another state... Just don't. Save yourself the trouble and stay where you are. Yesterday I knew I had to get Dink (my car) registered. I had been putting it off because I'm incredibly busy lazy. I also needed to get a new driver's license (hence why I curled my hair). After agonizing what shirt I wanted to wear (important life decision), I set out. The sun was shining. I was chipper.

My first sign of trouble was the line. Good heavens, it was out the door spilling into the parking lot. How could I have picked the worst day to get a license? Everyone and their small (LOUD) child in San Antonio was there. Despite the hours of waiting ahead of me (the only lines I like are the ones at Six Flags), I trudged on. After TWO hours of waiting, I finally made it to the counter.

"What are you here for?" a woman with an unruly unibrow snarled.

"Hi there! How are you? I'm here because I just moved, and I need a TX license." Smile, smile, smile. "License, Social Security, birth certificate, car registration." 

(Do you really need ALL that?)

"Oh I haven't registered yet. That's next on my list though!"

She rolled her eyes. "Come back after you have."

Two hours, wasted. How hard would that have been to put on the website? Good gravy. I set off to get Dink officially inspected (a stupid TX thing). An hour later, I had the paperwork I needed. I went to the tax office to get Dink his new shiny plate. An hour later and one zillion games of Draw Something later, I made it to the front of the ridiculous line.

"What are you here for?"

"Hi there! I'm here to register my car to Texas."

"I need your insurance, license, and car title."

"Oooo. I don't have the title. My dad does." I'm about to bust into tears...

"Sorry. I can't..."

"Wait, I have this bill of sale! It shows that I'm the owner." I put on my best schmoozy face.

Somehow I convinced him that was good enough... that or the poor kid didn't want to deal with an emotional basket case. Big, bad crocodile tears were definitely threatening to spill all over his desk.

"Okay. That will be $187." Holy balls, that's expensive.

I handed him a check, thankful at least half of this mess was over.

"Oh... sorry ma'am. We don't take temporary checks."

THE WORLD IS AGAINST ME.

"There's an ATM across the street though."

After a few minutes, I came back carrying a wad of cash. I half expected him to hand me a bag of pot for the kind of dough I just plopped on his desk. With my new (ugly) license plate, I was off to go BACK to the line of death for a new driver's license.

Two more hours of screaming babies and people cutting in line... Seriously! Just because you're fat, have a baby, or you're old doesn't mean you don't have to wait in line like the rest of us. Excuse me for not being 500 pounds with a baby on my hip (rant).   ...I finally made it to the counter. This time, I had everything. An hour later, I took this horrific picture. (I was very tempted to ask for a redo.) My hair was no longer fabulous because I had been waiting for HOURS. Wahh.

Apparently I'll get my real license in a month. Until I have to keep track of this flimsy paper that won't fit in my wallet. Thanks, Texas. My journey to becoming a Texan started at 10 and ended at 530. Movers beware. It ain't no picnic.

The "Marvels" of Men

Listen. I've been living with a boy for over six months now. (Applause, applause.) Let me tell you, it's no picnic. Besides the fact that Grahm is freakin' adorable, puts up with all my shenanigans (like moaning and groaning last night about making dinner until he finally had to cook), and makes life altogether wonderful... men are gross. With a capitol GR.

I have a brother, a dad (don't we all?), and a husband so these things aren't exactly comin' out of my Coach purse. These are documented observations. Research, if you will. This doesn't mean I don't love them, it just means.... ew.

1. Hair. Next to a wild herd (fleet?) of gorillas, men are the hairiest creatures. For real. It's everywhere! Their toes. Their pits. Their rumps. Their chests. Their backs. I just physically don't understand how that's possible. Granted us ladies shave, but EVEN if we didn't... I wouldn't have such unruly bristles sprouting up every which way. My mom says Gram is only going to get worse over time (except on his actual head) ... Joy.

2. Towel/Sheets. I think if it were up to men, these items would never get washed. I mean, seriously. Grahm would be hunky-dorey-A-okay if he used the same towel to dry off in the morning for weeks. "It's clean, babe. I'm clean when I use it." No, no, noooo. Same goes for sheets. I asked him once if he ever washed his sheets when he was in college. Mistake. Apparently, once or twice a year is good enough. Can you imagine wearing the same underwear every day for a year and only washing them when it fancies ya? It's the same thing... basically. Maybe I should send my little brother some new sheets, just in case he follows in his hygiene-questionable brother-in-law's footsteps.

3. Poop time. Why is this such a treat? You'd think they were getting massaged in there or something by how long they always drag the process out. I mean, what in the world takes so long? My dad does the crossword in there. Grahm does his best "thinking" time on his "throne." I can think of so many more comfortable places in our house to do those things. They also don't involve dropping your drawers... or anything else. ;)

There are millions more things that I'll probably never understand about the other gender. If I ever start to  "get it," somebody save me. For writing this post, I'm sure the Lord is going to "Bless" my loins with an abundance of boys. Though I may not be able to stop hair from growing everywhere or shorten their poop sessions, my children WILL have fresh towels and sheets. I'm just sayin'.

Look out, she's cranky.

I've been having to write a lot lately. The floodgates of freelancing have officially blown wide open. My poor little fingers are getting a work out (if only the butt growing on my stomach could get in on that action). I'm also a little sleep deprived. And if you know me at all, if I don't get at least 8 hours in... I turn into an ogre. Literally. I'm green, smelly, and I have some crap-tastic breath.

I start my nanny job next week, so these are my last few days of freedom from small infants who cannot communicate what they want. (But MAN are they cute.) Yet, here I sit on my bo-honkus. Typing away. I've also been on hold with Fandago for the past twenty-five minutes. Good lord, they need new music. This Edward Scissorhands techno crap ain't cutting the mustard. Being on hold is just the cherry on my already delightful afternoon of sitting in my PJs looking like a homeless troll. Fandago charged Grahm and I three times when we bought our Hunger Games tickets Sunday evening. That was one expensive movie-going experience. (Did anyone else come home with their husbands and discuss strategies for staying alive in the Hunger Games? We basically argued for thirty minutes on game plan. I'd win because I'm scrappy. And small. And just incredibly good looking. Okay, okay... I'd be the first to die.)

Forgive me for rambling. I should be trying to put a dent in the 2,000 words I need finished by tonight, but I'm not. I put the PRO in procrastination. Instead I wanted to grace my blog with my crank-o-saurus mood. (You're welcome.) The sun is shining, but my pasty, flabby skin is trapped indoors staring at a computer. Just like yesterday. And the day before.

Okay, I'm done being a sad sack. I'm going to go eat my feelings... except that we have no junk food in the house, and I'm not fit to be seen by other living things. This is the pits. Speaking of which, I should go shave mine.

Recipe for a good weekend

Sometimes all you need is a cute husband, a dive hairdo, wonderful in-laws, kick-you-in-the-crotch-fantastic sushi, and some fried Oreos... Yes, you read that right. FRIED. Tempura style Oreos, just what the doctor ordered for my cookie-obsessed husband.

I put the "Ay" in Friday! .... What?

Dear Friday: I'm kind of in shock that you're already here. This week was a whirlwind of babies, writing, and birthday madness. I'm not complainin' or anything. Lord knows my theme song has always been "Workin' for the weekend"by Loverboy. I may or may not have just YouTubed it to listen/discover who sings it. My 80s knowledge is a little hazy... I only made it for the last year of the decade, after all.

Dear "Drive": Two words. What the heck? Holy guacamole, you were the WORST movie I've ever seen. We grossly overpaid at the RedBox down the street. Grahm and I watched you last night, expecting an entertaining movie with lots of car chases (hence the title). Instead we got no plot and lots of unexpected gore? The only winning thing about this movie was Ryan Gosling's face, and even he couldn't save this troll of a movie.

Dear Cama Gaucho: Brazilian steakhouses are my cellulite's new favorite thing. Really any place with "all you can eat" written in their menu is gonna be in my stomach's top five. We went here for Grahm's birthday. We felt like kings for an entire night. Men kept coming up to us offering us delectable meats on fancy-pants skewers. We would turn up our noses at what we didn't like, and gorge ourselves on what we did. I wish it wasn't so expensive (in the dollah or carb department) or else we would totally be going there ALL the time.

(Sorry that a rat died in my hair. Gross.)

Dear Sister: I miss you mucho grande! You are so sweet to send Grahm a birthday present, and to send ME something too! I love my new shirt. Thanks for sharing the wealth on G's bday.

Dear Grahm: I'm glad you turned 26 this week. Thanks for letting me treat you like a third grader by bring Oreo cake to your work. I know it wasn't your favorite thing, going around from office to office offering your coworkers some sweet goodness... but people needed to know it was your birthday by golly! What are wives for anyway?

Day of Birth.

Today is Grahm's 26th birthday. He's old balls.

I'm so thankful this little tyke grew into the man I love more than cheesecake (aka a whole lot). Isn't it weird to think about how each day a baby is born... and somewhere out there is another baby being born (me three years later) that's going to be drastically impacted by their birth? That probably made no sense. Point and cheese, Grahm you're the miracle whip to my BLT. Without you, I'd just be bacon on bread. (That's a terrible analogy. Bacon on bread is delicious! You catch my driftwood, righto mate?)

I love that Blake Shelton song, "God Gave Me You." That's exactly how I feel about this birthday boy. 

I'm glad you're my best friend, and we can talk about anything... from the potency of your farts (okay, mine) to our frustrations with the church.

I'm thankful you put up with me, cause unfortunately, I'm not always a swell time like you.

I love how weird you are.

 I'm so glad your favorite thing in the world (besides me) is cookies. I can (almost) always make those.

You're always very patient with me. This was on our honeymoon. Take number 4596.

You were just about to propose here. You're pretty handsome.

Happy birthday, angel face. I, for one, am eternally thankful your mamma popped you out 

twenty-six years ago.

Life Update.

I started a new job this week.

At first I was a little embarrassed to tell people about it. I mean, I did go to college after all. I didn't exactly major in Home Ec. But I've decided that I don't care who knows what I do. Judge away; I probably make more money than you anyway (Oooo, that was a snarky comment).

Up till now, I've been freelance editing from home, (I'm sure you all remember from this lovely picture.) which I love more than Grahm's face. (Okay, not that much... His face is pretty stinkin' cute.) 

While that's been awesome, and I definitely plan to continue with it... it's not consistent. We're trying to buy a house next year, and we need to start saving up some dollah dollah bills. My husband is a wonderful engineer and provider, but we want to be saving more than what we can with his paycheck. 

If college taught me anything, I know how to handle my money. Putting myself through school wasn't easy. Though I didn't come out completely debt free, I was pretty darn close. Full-time school and two jobs, ironically both of those are essentially what I'm doing now. Editing and nannying. (Someday I'll write a post about the spoiled college kids whose awful parents decide to pay for everrrrything for four years. C'mon now, that's not helping your kids be adults. Huge pet peeve of mine, not that you couldn't tell five minutes ago. Sorry, unborn children. You're gonna have to work like your mamma.)

After all, buying a house is kind a BIG deal. I'm not settling for some dump-in-the-wall/"I guess we can live with this" simply because we didn't get out acts together and save when we could. 

So from now on I'll be a nanny by day and an editor on the side. They're adorable 3-month-old twins, Griffen and Anna. They're definitely going to be a handful (or two), but I'm excited about it. Grahm hopes this will be a temporary cure for whatever baby fever I have in me. :)

Mmmmmonday

Dear Monday,


I can't believe you had the nerve to show yourself again. You're really rude, interrupting my weekend like this. I mean, don't you know nobody likes you (especially now that we can no longer watch Ben make a fool of himself every week)?


I think we should really start seeing other days, cause this thing we got going on... it ain't workin. It's not me, it's most definitely you.


Do yourself a favor and jump off a bridge.


Sincerely,


Cranky and Sleep-Deprived

Just call me Chef Roach... Ew. Or Don't.

Yesterday I spent an ungodly amount of time browsing the recipe books at Barnes and Noble. Remind me to never write one (which is pretty laughable in an of itself, my idea of a good dinner is simply one that turns out edible) because there are way way way too many in existence.

I was searching for healthy living recipes, which did narrow the search down considerably. I avoided the Paula-Deen-slap-everything-with-tons-of-buttery-goodness kind and went more for the clean-living approach. I also decided it HAD to have pictures. I mean, I have to know how it's supposed to look before I'll attempt it.

(The dessert on the cover is a bit deceiving.)

I studied this book for an hour or so, before I bought it. I'm a little obsessed with it. Committing to a cookbook is such a big decision! It's like picking out a spouse. After all, you ARE going to be spending lots of time with it. It's gonna see you at your most vulnerable. And you're probably going to get pretty dirty with it. Ammmm I right?

I decided to make a trip to Whole Foods to complete my health-conscious day. 

Mistake 1. I left my apartment at five. I live in San Antonio, remember? WF isn't exactly a hop, skip, and jump away so I was sitting in traffic for forty-five minutes. Not to mention, I missed my exit. I swear I wouldn't use nearly as much gas if I knew where I was half of the time. Frustration to the maxola.

Mistake 2. Thinking I could concur my first Whole Foods shopping experience alone.

Mistake 3. Contemplating which time of oat I wanted to get. This left me out in the open and not moving, highly susceptible to young men who wanted to... talk? I seriously felt like I went on a first date in the middle of the grocery store. This kid (awkwardly) talked my ear off for seven whole minutes. I was trying to display my ring to him the entire time, but I don't think he ever noticed. It wasn't until he asked where I was from and I told him Oklahoma that he decided there was no point in pursuing the conversation. Texas snobs.

Dudes, if you want to hit on us at least come up with a game plan! 

Mistake 4. I had NO idea where anything was. And apparently, half of SA was in the store. I probably went up and down the aisles AT LEAST four times trying to find everything. Like what the heck is agave nectar? I may or may not have googled flaxseed so I could know what to look for...

Mistake 5. Thinking that I could buy the same amount of stuff for the same price. Oh so wrong. Eating healthy ain't cheap. No wonder I've been living like a fatty.

Mistake 6. This is the big one. Apparently, your supposed to number all of your nuts/dried fruit/flour/etc. (basically anything that comes out of those fancy bins). Who knew? I sure didn't. The lady at the cash register totally hated me because I had like fifteen bags, so she had to go to the front of the store and find the numbers for me. (Whole Foods Noob alert!)

Mistake 7. Thinking you can get it ALL at WF. You can't. I had to make a trip to HEB afterward, so I could get the missing ingredients for the dinner I was going to cook.

I was so frustrated by the time I got home (almost 8!). I was in NO mood to cook. I put the groceries away and pouted in our room, while Grahm was left pretty clueless. After thirty minutes, I explained my story... trying to be healthy, spending too much money, traffic traffic traffic, getting hit on (and badly!), not knowing anything, and frustrating the cashier...

So after all that. After all my studying/planning/buying for our new healthy living lifestyle... we decided to just go out for pizza. Hypocrite, party of two!

(This was our buzzer. Apparently they're pretty hoppin'. There was a wait at 9:30!)

Lazy Wife

You know how they say that a woman goes immediately downhill after she says "I do"?  Well, my friends, I fear the worst has happened. I'm not exactly gaining weight like a fat kid in a bakery (only a matter of time), but I am... getting lazy.

I work from home so I usually look like this from dawn to dusk:

(That took a lot of ovaries to share. Talk about a whole lot of attractiveness coming your way.)

Typically, if we aren't going going to be seen by the general public, I have a hard time making myself presentable. I mean it takes a lot to get ready in the morning. Shower. Blow dry. Straightener. Make up. Make up. Make up. It's not exactly an easy five minute slap-some-DO-on-the-BO process that guys do (Good heavens, that would be nice).

So why would I exert all that energy if Grahm is the only person I'm going to see all day? I mean he did marry me. He's kinda obligated to stick around, no matter what kinds of hideousness my face goes through. Gracious, I need an attitude adjustment.

Poor men. We deceive them into marrying us by always wearing cute clothes, fixing our hair, and disguising our faces. Little do they know, the hoodie-wearing, skipping-showers-way-too-frequently troll man living inside of us comes out post-wedding. Maybe this untamed beast is making up for lost time. After all, we have been masking slob city for like 23 years. It's time we had a break and let loose, right? Especially since we've already tricked a poor sucker into believing we're actually good looking. 

Grahm is a doll, and of course, would never say anything about his ogre-looking, hygiene-questionable wife. But lately, I've been feeling a little guilty about my laziness. 

I think I need to change my attitude from "Rats-nest hair, don't care. No one's going to see me today" to "My hard-working husband is about to come home and see his hot (not so much) mess of a wife. Maybe I should attempt looking like a normal person for his sake."

Me thinks this is a good idea. (This is me stroking the beard I just shaved off of my face.)

Life Mysteries, not exactly an exhaustive list

1. How I can't physically put mascara on without opening my mouth. Not exactly innovative stuff here, but seriously... Can't. Close. It.

2. How Worcester sauce became a thing. It's impossible to say or spell, and it's grizz to the maxola.

3. Why Grahm refuses to use our bathroom. He has to grody up the ridiculously clean guest bath. What's better about that one anyway? I know for a fact the seat isn't any plushier. I mean, sure... no one's coming over to apartment now. But when we start making friends, this habit has to go. (Refer to this post for previous apartment pooping stories, cause I know you wanna read 'em.)

4. Why picking a gynecologist seems to be life-threatening. You've gotta wonder about these people...  I literally came across a female doctor in the San Antonio area with the last name Woody-Gross. (Don't think about that one too long.) Also, I'm terrible with dealing with insurance crap. Co-pay whhaaaa?

5. Why it's impossible to tickle yourself. I wish I could make myself laugh whenever I wanted by sticking my fingers in my armpits. Talk about a good time.

6. Grahm and I went house hunting this weekend, just because. When did I become my parents? (We saw the most gorgeous $600,000 house ever. We let the relator know to call us if they go down $200, 000 or so. But for real, I was drooling over those bedrooms.

7. Why does daylight savings put me in such a good mood? I should be grouchy, I mean sleeping is kinda the only thing I'm good at it. Depriving me of an hour is like a death sentence, look out for the crazed woman with top-of-the-morning-to-ya breath...

Finally, it's Friday

Dear Friday: I'm so glad you're finally here. Your arrival means tomorrow I get to see Grahm after a long and emotionally taxing (I'm needy) eight days. I can't wait for tomorrow! Having him home will be wonderful (for obvious reasons), but it'll also be nice to not think I'm going to die every time I hear a strange sound in the middle of the night.

Dear Wal-Mart: Good lord, you've got the Easter candy out in full throttle. I mean, are three aisles really necessary? While I normally appreciate the chocolately, caramel goodness in convenient egg-like (mouth-size) shapes, I am trying to eat better. Thanks for making it ten times more difficult with all the glorious pastel colors and fun-size packages.

Dear Lauren: You've been one of my favorite bloggers for a while now (at crazy ever after), but this week you will took the cake. Thanks for being so great and emailing me lots of advice/encouragement. I appreciate you more than you know! (I'll let you know if I get it soon!) ... Wow that was ambiguous.

Dear Straight No Chaser (aka the band that sings the awesome rendition of the "12 Days of Christmas"): Last week I went to see one of your shows with my wonderful in-laws. Apparently you have more than Christmas songs going for ya, who knew? You guys were fun and talented... but evidently there's two SNC groups. One profesh, one not so much. We saw the not so much. They were still awesome though, and we enjoyed hearing ten guys sing a zillion songs acapella.

I tweeted about our disappoint in not getting the real deal. Almost immediately a SNC member (of the profesh group) and their band's manager tweeted back! Long story short, I scored free tickets to their upcoming show in Austin. I don't think I've ever gotten anything free in my life, so I'm a little over excited about these.

Moral of this story: Complain on Twitter and good things happen?

Dear Grahm: Our apartment has been lonely without you here. I'm so excited to have you back. I've learned a lot in your absence. 1) I'm a total slob without you here. 2) God definitely did NOT give me the gift of singleness. 3) I married the right person, for sure. I've mostly missed holding your hand and laughing with you, is that weird? I mean I can't exactly hold my own hand and laugh at my own jokes, the neighbors already think I'm crazy with all the scream singing.

Hurry home, booger buns!

Blog and Body Makeover

Thanks to Brittany at Magnolia Pair, I found the amazing Bri at The Secret Life of Bee! She was able to recreate my blog. I'm kind of in love with it. I wonder what she could do for my thunder thighs?

Speaking of my outer Michelin Man, I've been doing a lot of food research (Actual research, not the kind wear I go to every bakery in town and pretend like I'm planning a wedding for the free samples). I've been feeling really crummy lately (mostly because I've been living off of butter and Dr Pepper). So I decided it was time to rethink my diet.  

I've learned a lot about the millions of terrible things I cram into my mouth. Things I didn't even know were bad! Like wheat bread. Who knew? Obviously, I'm not an expert. I'm not pretending to know the difference (yet) between good fat and bad fat.

I'm not about go vegan, or give up cheeseburgers (God forbid) and sugar. But when I went to the grocery store today, I actually read the labels. I got more fruits and veggies and meat. I avoided crackers, cheese, and sugar. Annnnnd, I didn't buy any soda (Miracle of miracles!). 

I'm actually really excited about learning about nutrition, and improving the quality of food I eat. (Hopefully the husband will, too.)  I'm excited to see my body change and get a renewed sense of energy. Life as an eighty-year-old turtle ain't fun.

Things I do when my husband's gone for the week

1. Let loose. Deodorant? Optional. Pants? Not necessary. Clipping my toenails on the couch and forgetting about them till morning? Of course. I haven't showered in three days. I've busted out the granny panties. My room is a cross between Forever 21 and Hurricane Katrina. I haven't even deigned to make the bed... or shave.

I guess I feel like I have to live by example when he's here (love ya, babe). If he sees me throwing my clothes around the room like a blind hummingbird, well... he's probably to take the chaos to a new mannish level. But when he's gone, I take my normal anal-like tendencies and kick 'em to the curb.

2. Make new habits. This morning I woke up and decided that I'm going to do lunges, squats, and wall slides before I get ready every day. I started sleeping with a pillow between my legs cause my mom told me my knees would get knobby if I don't. I (kinda sorta) decided to take us off soda (don't hold me to this one). I also bought a pack of floss yesterday while at Wal-Mart. Who am I?

3. Decorate. I haven't actually started this yet, but I did find a few delightful goodies at GoodWill. I was also entirely too close to buying a neon yellow and orange men's shirt today for 50 cents, just because I could. Amuuurricah!

4. Eat my body weight. In crap. Good lord, this isn't unusual. Normally, however, I try to disguise the 300-lb whale wallowing in my belly. I mean, the hubs doesn't need to see that his wife has the stomach of forty men, does he?

You probably shouldn't watch this

Yes, this is my first video. Yes, the editing is terrible.
Yes, this did entertain me all day. Yes, I need a life.

Yes, I changed my outfit to give you some variety. Yes, I'm considerate.
Yes, this really isn't funny. Yes, I'm aware.

Yes, Adele would be ashamed.

You're welcome.



Happy six months, husband. I love you!

Oh dear, Friday

Dear in-laws: Thanks for giving me this adorable framed picture of baby Grahm. Holy cute factor. Grahm kinda hates it, but I love having it around the apartment (for obvious reasons). It also makes me want to go to Burger King.

Dear random author: When I first saw this book in the writing/grammar section of Barnes and Noble, I thought it was just a clever title. Maybe the F word it spoke of was fiction? But no. You wrote an entire book on the etymology of the actual F word. Really? What kind of research does that involve? And do you really think the world needs to know this?

Dear Scale: Why can't we be friends? Seriously, my crotch biscuits are getting out of control. I know I step on you a lot, but can't we learn to just get along?

Dear Bandeaus: You are a whole new kind of freedom. I'm a little obsessed. Your "one size fits all" label gives me hope. As President of the Itty Bitty Titty Committee, I'm grateful that big Betty down the street and I can finally wear the same size undergarments. That's one small step for women, one giant leap for Jena.

Dear Grahm: You left me today. At 5:15 this morning. Listening to your alarm go off six different times wasn't exactly the ideal wakeup call, but I still love you. You're headed back to Nevada for  eight days. My pity party has already commenced. It was, however, hilarious to watch you pack last night. Apparently the best system for filling a suitcase, according to you, is throwing everything you own on the floor for easy access. Hrmph. Guess I should go clean that up now...

WreaTHursday

I've been meaning to do this post for a while now... I think I got so crapped out on crafts after Christmas, when I was madly hot-glueing into oblivion, that I haven't even wanted to think about the words DIY in a while. (My Pinterest is calling me a liar.) I think I'm finally coming out of my crafting haze now that's it March and the warthog decided to show himself (err is is groundhog?).

If you've been with me for a while, you know I love wreaths. Remember the sad, sad tale (read here) of my book page wreath? Wasn't she beautiful?

I've made several wreaths since her demise, none of which I've liked as much. (Maybe I'm choosing not to get so attached to my creations.)

I made three burlap wreaths, and I probably never will again. One for mom, the MiL, and my aunt. That was a freakin' bounty of burlap. And was so messy. I'm still convinced it's plastered all over my body...

I'm smiling in this picture, but really I'm annoyed. Cutting fabric into these tiny squares was the cherry on top of my burlap nightmare.

More or less, they all looked like this:

I also made my mom a coffee-filter wreath. My inspiration came from my wedding, where she slaved (for hours and hours and hours) over these giant fluff balls (made of coffee filters and lanterns). We loved them. Apparently so did other people, cause they're stealing our brilliance (dontcha hate when that happens?). I can't even really be mad, I mean... I'd probably steal this, too. (Tooting-my-own-horn alert.)

I dyed the coffee filters for her wreath. Again, messy.

I made myself one (duh). There's a lie straight from my armpit (or Pinterest) that claims if you buy foam piping from Lowe's and bend it into a circle... it'll save you money instead of buying a wreath form. Pay the extra few bucks, ya cheapO, and get the form. Otherwise your creation will look like a lop-sided donut like this one.

And this one I made for our living room. Can you tell what our color scheme is?

I obviously have a problem.