The Scene In Which I Think That Was The Holidays

So, the holidays happened.

I mean, I'm pretty sure they did. There was mid-November, and now it's January 1st, and I'm 99% convinced that in the six weeks between those two points I logged a couple thousand miles on my car, went to Detroit, went to Chicago, went to Detroit again, went to Toronto, wrapped a bunch of gifts, sent a bunch of cards, cooked a bunch of food, ate a bunch of food, and generally was merry.

The week of Thanksgiving I drove around solo a lot, and I spent a lot of that driving time listening to NPR, except for the one time I crossed a state line and the channel change and I totally thought I was still listening to NPR but in fact I'd tuned into the Christian Family Values network, and let me tell you, NOT the same.

We spent Thanksgiving at my parents house in Chicago with Cute Boy and his family, which was good for a lot of laughs and some very yummy food. It was Princess's first Thanksgiving with us, since we got her just after it last year, and she was amazed by the idea that the whole day was dictated by the process of MAKING, BAKING, and EATING FOOD.

We actually had to lock her out of the basement, where the turkey roaster was, for fear she'd pull a sneaky move a la the dogs in "Christmas Story" and we'd wind up with Chinese for dinner.

This, of course, from our dog with the, shall we say, discriminating palate, whose antics lead me to have to send texts like this:
Me -> Cute Boy: Princess just ate one of your socks and then barfed it back up. It's in one piece but it's really gross so I'm just going to throw it out.

After I thankfully was able to visit her just before Thanksgiving, my grandma passed away the week after the holiday and my family went to Detroit in early December. While I'm sad that she's gone, I am grateful that she was spared long-term suffering, and it was really nice to see some of my dad's immediate and extended family. I can't honestly remember the last time we all got together, even with just his brother and sister, and I was especially glad to get to spend some time with my only cousin on his side and am really looking forward to that relationship developing.

I hosted an end-of-year party for the amazing girls who help me out at lilly lane, for whom I have to thank for an incredible year with a record-setting number of weddings! The party was also a surprise baby shower for one of our gals, who is expecting the first lilly lane baby in January. We decked out the kitchen and living room in pink and Cute Boy demonstrated extreme tolerance for having a whole lot of estrogen in the house.

I watched Christmas Vacation and am completely, entirely convinced that Chevy Chase's character in the scene where he goes off on his boss for enrolling him in the jelly club is based off of one of my Uncle Bob's rants.

I got jelly for Christmas from Uncle Bob's daughter. Even though it was totally not a reference to that movie at all (she just knows how much I freakin' love Traverse City Cherry Jam) it was funny, because, um, see above if you don't know why that was funny.

We went to a holiday concert at Butler, my alma mater. It was on the same night that IU, Cute Boy's alma mater, beat Kentucky. Pretty much every single IU alum was glued to the TV.

He watched the score auto-update on his phone while chatting with other alums during the pre-concert reception.

That's love, folks. I'ma marry that boy.

I surfed the Interwebs and Etsy and found approximately eight million adorable, easy holiday crafts that I wanted to make and I bookmarked them all and then I made exactly ZERO of them, which is fine. And then my aunt, who is awesomely crafty when it comes to knitting, actually made me one of the crafts that I had had the idea for last year except that it never left the idea stage for me whereas she actually DID IT, and I LOVE IT, IT'S SO AWESOME, and I am totally going to try to do more of my ideas this year, and by more I mean AT LEAST ONE.

I earned major awesome-future-wife points by buying Cute Boy skis for Christmas, and let me tell you, I am going to remember this for the future, because this is how THIS went down:
1) I told Cute Boy I would buy him skis and gave him a budget
2) He went out and did all the research
3) He went out and bought the skis
4) I paid for them
5) He put them out on display in his "man-room" and told everyone how awesome I was
6) He wore them around the house and told everyone how awesome I was
7) He booked a ski trip with a pal (code for: girls weekend for me at home!)
8) He put them by the tree and I stuck a bow on them.

Guaranteed love of the gift + no wrapping + no shopping +points for me = CHRISTMAS AMAZINGNESS.

I also got him a calendar. It's a tradition.

We spent Christmas in Indy with my parents (visiting from Chicago) and brother, Cute Boy's folks and sister, my aunt, uncle and cousin, and "Grandpa Ed," the neighbor we got Princess from when he went into a nursing home last year. Which, if you're keeping tally, means that yes, I hosted Christmas Day Dinner for 12 people in our house.

Unfortunately, I was apparently convinced that we had, in fact, already recieved the kitchen and cooking things we registered for recently, like, say pots and pans and baking pans? Which led me to do a whole lot of dishes and scrape together a whole lot of interesting cookware solutions and have to send a couple texts to my future sister in law that looked like this:
Me -> Sister: Can you bring some water glasses? Ours all say Coors Lite.

Me ->Sister: Also, can you bring some spoons?
Sister -> Me: Like, regular spoons? Or serving spoons?
Me -> Sister: Yeah.....both please.

I talked to my Grandpa on Christmas Day, which was sad because he was missing Grandma, but then just sort of odd because I'm pretty sure he thought I was actually my dad the whole time I was talking to him, so either he wasn't listening to me or my voice has hit a new low, no pun intended, in sexy huskiness. Either way, meh, it's cool.

My brother learned to cook and made an amazing roast and a couple side dishes, and my mom brought a ham, and I made the rest of the meal and breakfast and snacks and they actually all turned out OK and it miraculously ALL CAME TOGETHER at the right time and then at the end of the night after everyone left or was outside or was passed out I poured my mom and I shots of rum and made her drink one with me because I never realized how freaking hard it is to host a huge holiday party.

We went to Toronto for New Year's to visit Cute Boy's pals and family who live there (Cute Boy is Canadian, eh? Have I told you that yet?) and, as always, I discovered something new about the city, namely:

While out to dinner at Pangea, an amazing, amazing, amazing restaurant that Cute Boy's best friend (and best man) is chef at:
*rumble rumble rumble rumble rumble*
Me: What the eff is that? Is there some sort of freaking underground train here that I don't know about?
Cute Boy: Ummmm........you mean the subway?
Me: Get out, Toronto has a subway?
Cute Boy: *hysterical laughter*

Whatever dude, I didn't grow up here, the subway is effing UNDER THE GROUND and I just totally hadn't noticed it yet.

And then it was midnight on December 31st and 2011 came to a close and I got to kiss this really adorable blonde dude and I realized that HOLY HELL, we are getting married in less than four months, and if you think the HOLIDAYS went by fast- well, hang on, sister.

Happy New Year to you all!

The Scene In Which We Make Super Easy Centerpieces

.......now posted over at Becky Gets Crafty : Easy-Peasy Centerpieces!

The Scene In Which My Sacrifice Has Not Pleased The Gods (aka...Baby Birds Part 2)

Here's the thing.

I'm really starting to worry that the birds are out to get me.

It started last year, when devoted readers might recall I survived a vicious seagull attack while vacationing in Italy.

I'm still mocked for this.

Then, as you may recall, back in April I had an unfortunate run-in with several baby birds (if you haven't read the story, it's about halfway through the post) resulting tears, guilt, and the worst trip ever to Lowe's.

In an attempt at karmic retribution, I slaved over making this for the birds who call my yard home, and modestly thought that my offering, though humble, would appease the wrath called down upon me.

IT HAS NOT.

Because now, an adorable robin has decided that the wooden planter on my porch would be an excellent spot to build a nest.

And lay eggs.

And NOW, I have more baby birds on my conscience. Because every time we leave the house, we scare Mom off the nest. Every time we come home, we scare Mom off the nest. Every time I let Finn out, I scare Mom off the nest.

And from what I hear, when Mom's eggs hatch she's going to become a protective sort. The sort who, rather than just flocking to the nearest tree for a moment, is going to start dive-bombing me as I try to enter the house.

So I'm going to scream and wave my arms around like a crazy person. And then I'm going to scare her away with my smell and Finnigan is going to scare her and the cute little eggs that have hatched into cute little babies might die and I'm going to be responsible and I'm going to cry.

So you see, I need to appease the birds. And quickly.

Suggestions are welcome.

The Scene In Which I Restore My Karma, Lose My Voice, Eat Some Chocolate, and Open A Store (In No Particular Order).

OH HEY THERE, blog world.

It seems like the last few weeks have really been flying by. I was talking to a good friend of mine today, E, who I haven't talked to in awhile (and who passed the bar exam! woot!) and she asked how my trip to Florida was. "Gosh," I thought/said, "it was so long ago, I have to think about it!"

It was THREE WEEKS AGO.

(I miss Florida).

Apparently this is what happens when you decide that it is a really good idea to try to move everything from your house to a new store, whilst trying to get ready for a two 1/2 week off-site show, whilst trying to meet with five new clients, whilst trying to spring-clean your entire house since of course, you've just moved all your small-business stuff out of it.

I'm pretty thankful for the leftover Easter candy I have to get me through this- that and the fact that some genius finally made Junior Mints in a box that is actually one serving size, as opposed to the typical 3 or 4 servings found in a box or in a candy bar.

Seriously, WHAT good is that to me?

If I'm in a place where I'm actually buying a whole candy bar, I think it is safe to assume that I want to EAT. THE. ENTIRE. BAR. RIGHT NOW. Regardless of calories. And I'd like the makers of candy bars to investigate why they think it is a good idea to list how many calories would be in, say, 1/3 of the bar at any given time. It just makes us feel bad, dudes!

I digress. But yes, you read correctly, I HAVE A STORE!! Pleased to announce that the flower biz has vacated the condo's kitchen and is now in the process of being organized into "something resembling a workspace and storefront" in the Butler Tarkington neighborhood. More info to follow.

In addition to the craziness that you might expect that to bring, I've managed to lose my voice due to being a dumbass and playing Sing Star while already hoarse from allergies allergy-inflicted laryngitis, which I am assured has nothing to do with anything I may or may not have done, said or sung but rather the massive amount of pollen wreaking havoc on the sinuses of Indianapolis this spring.

(Ignoring the fact that it gave me laryngitis, can I get a big THANKS UNIVERSE for the awesome spring weather this year? As in, we've actually had a spring? Not just a day where I turned off the heat and then later in the day turned on the AC * thank you, I grew up in Chicago * but a real, live, rainy, warm, plants-growing, people working outside, gardens blooming, SPRING? Love.) (Finnigan loves spring too. And eating my plants).

Back to the fact that for the better part of this week I've sounded like a teenage boy who hasn't, ummm.......well you know what he hasn't had happen yet.

I suspect that some of the laryngitis may have been universal retribution, which I have also attempted to amend this week after losing some major karma during an altercation involving a dead baby bird (DBB) last week.

I debated sharing this story, because it is AWFUL and will MAKE YOU CRY and will possibly make you want to punch me while crying out "WHY? WHYYYYY?"

In other words, Mom, stop reading now. Also any small children that might be reading this. (Sidenote- WHY would you be reading this blog if you are a small child?? Get off the Internet and go play outside! Sheesh!)

Here's the thing.

'Tis the season for baby birds and, hence, the season for baby birds to fall from nests. Because they haven't clued into the fact that Finnigan is blind, birds tend to avoid my porch as a nest-making option. Therefore, I am less clued-into watching out for the helpless fledglings and DBB's as others might be.

But last week I went to deliver flowers to someone's house and that's where THE AWFUL THING HAPPENED.

Unbeknownst to me as I traipsed up the front walk with a vase of flowers blocking my view, the homeowner had just removed a nest that she didn't know had eggs. The eggs had fallen to the porch floor, where as you might assume, they had broken and the occupants had died.

I can't stress this enough. THEY WERE ALREADY DEAD.

At any rate, I couldn't see them, and (I can't do anything to make this sound better) I stepped on one. And then, of course, I looked down to see what strange object I had squished with my flip flop.

AND NEARLY THREW UP/SCREAMED/CRIED.

My first instinct was to run for the car and sob for about 25 minutes, but as I'd already rung the doorbell, I had to remain calm and deliver the flowers. After they were safely inside and the door had shut, I (already starting to cry) examined the other fallen ones to determine that they were, in fact, already deceased and my careless stepping hadn't caused additional suffering and pain.


Despite that, I still went back to my car and cried about the DBB as I drove to the post office. I also nearly threw up about 8 times that day thinking about it and, frankly, have been choking it back as I write about it.

(I also can't stress THIS enough. If the person whose house I visited reads this, please know I absolutely, positively, in NO WAY hold any grudge against you for this unfortunate incident!!)

I got my taxes safely sent (hopefully the clerks assumed my teary face was the result of having to write those checks!) and headed out to do some other errands.

One of those included stopping at Lowe's for supplies for a weekend workshop in our neighborhood, involving- of all things- painting birdhouses and birdfeeders. In an attempt at karmic retribution, I purchased THE NICEST multiple-perch, 2' high cedar birdfeeder I could find to paint and hang in the yard. And then I spent bits and pieces of four days painting it green and orange with flower accents and pink polka dots. It made its debut this morning. They like it.

I also spent most of the day tearing up with every step I took, because (unbeknownst to me) I had actually stepped in a large wad of gum somewhere shortly after the birdie incident. Therefore every step I took I stuck to the floor a little bit. Therefore every step I took I assumed there was little bits of DBB gunk sticking to my shoe in a mad, "OUT, DAMNNED SPOT!"-esque mindset. Therefore I was in tears or in gag-mode most of the day and actually considered throwing the shoes away.

That would be when I discovered the gum.

In a really sick sort of way, that's actually kind of funny when you think about it.

But the feeder looks really nice. If you want to learn more about how easy it was to make (I can't resist!) check out BeckyGetsCrafty.blogspot.com!

(My house is not for sale, my neighbor's is. Photo angles rock.)

The Scene In Which I Start Another Blog.

I know.

Trust me, I can't believe it myself.

But, (and Cute Boy laughs every time I say this because he knows it means I've been putting a lot of thought into whatever I'm about to pronounce): HERE'S THE THING: I had to do it.

I had to do it because the other blog I've started is, in fact, a craft blog. And while I know that my audience here might enjoy the occasional craft story (especially when they go awry- like the time when I was 11 and my friend Lisa and I decided to have an "ocean-themed art show" in my basement and decided mood lighting in the form of putting a blue plastic bag over the lightbulb was a good idea....) I can't imagine starting a blog post here with "Today I was creating these supercute felt flower/button pins!"

I had to do it because once I had the idea to do it, I was off and running with more ideas for more posts and, had I put them all on here, this would have turned into a craft blog anyway.

And finally, I had to do it because - if we're being honest - if I'm going to go ahead and share cake recipes, flower-making tips, and knitting know-how, I think it's best if those things are separated from posts about trying to learn to ski, or vacations in Toronto with Cute Boy.

Thus, a Blog Was Born, and it can be found at www.beckygetscrafty.blogspot.com should you be inclined to pull out your yarn anytime soon.

But trust me, should hilarity, embarassment or utter failure occur during the creation of any crafting - you'll be the first to know, right here.