High Points:
He learned to high-5
Low Points:
The rest of the week.
My poor, poor bear has been sick. I blame it 100% on my work. You see, Paula was sick at work but couldn't take time off because we work for slave drivers. Because we are all exhausted, our immunities are all low and therefore most people in the office then got sick. Last Saturday I had the worst "cold" I've had in a long time. I was so dizzy I could barely walk straight, couldn't bend down to pick things up, etc. It wasn't good. So, come Sunday guess who wasn't feeling great? You guessed it, my little bear. :(
It started out just as a cold, but it was a bad cold. I know how bad because I was (and still am) experiencing it. But for him, it was worse because his little body had to fight that much harder. Then came the fever. Then Tuesday came the HIGH fever. By early yesterday morning the fever had subsided but his poor body was just worn out. Yesterday he slept like he was an infant; was only awake for 20 minutes at a time to eat very little and drink very little. In the later afternoon he did have a little spout of playfulness, then followed by another 2 hour nap. He slept most of the night, woke up 3 times but I was able to get him back to sleep pretty easily.
After 3 days at home (meaning 3 sick days for me at work) today he was well enough for day care. No more fever means no more quarantine, but he is far from "well". He was happy when I dropped him off and was excited to see his friend Ethan and Miss Kim, but the happiness didn't last long. At 9:00 they called asking me for suggestions to console him. :( They finally got him to sleep and I told them to let me know if he got unmanageable and I'd go get him. I feel so helpless and I just want to make it better. His poor little eyes look at me with such desperation, as if he's saying "mommy why can't you make this go away?" Worst. Feeling. Ever.
So that's how our week has gone. Yesterday felt like it should have been Friday...but not just tomorrow, NEXT Friday. That's how long the first 3 days were. Hopefully he is better before next Friday because, in case you've forgotten, my little boy turns ONE next Wednesday! What a wonderful William Wednesday it will be!!! :)
Jan 27, 2011
Jan 24, 2011
Another Late Birthday
In college I really enjoyed economics. Most people didn't, and one of the biggest complaints is the concept of "assumptions". In economics everything is about assumptions. If this, if that, if this, and if this long string of circumstances is true...then.....lots of work and assuming to get to a solution. I enjoyed it, but I did see the fault there. If any one of the assumptions fail, the entire equation is thrown off.
As is the case when I ASSUMED that January 23 was on Monday. Last week when I didn't have a muse for my blog, I thought "on Monday I have a birthday to write about, Tuesday I have a birthday to write about, Wednesday another birthday and William Wednesday..." and so on. Only problem: January 23 was yesterday. So, that means one more missed birthday AND an overlap today. Whatever shall I do?
Guess I'll just start at yesterday and work from there.
I remember when I was a kid there was one week out of the year which Brian loved to torment Brandon about. It was the week between January 23 and February 1. Why? Because for that one week they were the same age. In kid-world that's a big deal. Brandon was no longer the big brother. Brian was no longer the younger brother. For one week they were on even playing fields and Brian LOVED it. I know what you're all thinking - you're doing the math and realizing that if they were the same age for 8 days then that means they are less than a year apart, meaning that my mom was pregnant when Brandon was less than 3 months old (especially considering Brian went past his due date!) I know, you're all thinking she's insane. And I'd have to agree. Lesson to be learned: breast feeding is NOT a form of birth control.
Moving on.
Just like during that one week during the year in which Brian tormented Brandon over their ages, Brian got great joy out of tormenting his siblings. My mom loves to tell the story that when I was a baby Brian's favorite game was "let's try to poke Amanda's eyes out". That game didn't end as I grew up, it just morphed with my age. At one point it turned into "let's slam amanda's fingers in the door" or "let's beat amanda in the leg with a wooden bat". There were lots of violent games to be played, but I don't regret one of them. Brian was only preparing me to be the tough person that I am now, and though I would NEVER say thank you to his face, I do know that I am better because of it.
Plus, I always knew that no matter how mean he may be at home, if anyone were to EVER do anything to me, Brian was the first one to defend my name. He punched his friend Clint in the face when Clint made fun of my "boy" haircut. He threatened one of his best friend's when he asked me to the Homecoming dance. He would turn on a friend in a heartbeat if he felt like that friend had wronged me in any way, and he had my back no matter what.
Brian and I didn't develop our close at-home relationship until his last year of high school, though. Up until then he was mean at home and protective at school. Not a baby sister's favorite combination, let me tell you. I wanted him OUT OF MY LIFE - with all the teenager girl-drama you can imagine. But his senior year of high school things started to change. We gained an appreciation for each other which I don't believe either of us had prior to that, and we really became close. I had always known that Brian would stop at nothing to help me, would do anything for me, and loved me in a special big-brother way - but it was in that last year that we actually developed a personal relationship.
During my first year of college Brian decided to enlist in the Army, which is 2 years later than he should have in my opinion. It was something that always tugged on him - the true inner calling that so many soldiers describe. He's very good at what he does and he enjoys it. It has made me so proud to brag about how great of a brother I have, and then its like icing on the cake when I get to add on that he is a soldier defending our freedom every day. And if all that wasn't enough, can you imagine the warmth in my heart when Brian told me that he had requested to be stationed here in Colorado later this year to be here in support of William and me? Brian hates the cold, so this is truly not for him and I couldn't be more touched.
I know that I spent most of my childhood griping and complaining that he was so mean and that I wished I had a sister, but even then I knew how blessed I was - I was just too immature to admit it. I couldn't imagine life without two older brothers, and the balance between the 2 was key. Brian practice tough, honest (sometimes painful) love and has made me a more honest and much stronger person because of it.
Wish I hadn't had my days mixed up, but I guess that gives him one more day to celebrate himself. Well deserved. Love you Brian, counting down the days until May. Happy Birthday!!!
Jan 21, 2011
I made an Announcement
I told Kaila last night that I want to write a book. I've wanted to write a book for awhile, but the problem is that I do not have a topic for my book. I don't have an idea of fiction or nonfiction, motivational or downright depressing, lecturing or musing...then there are characters, conversations, descriptions...I've got nothin.
But I want to write a book.
Should I be discouraged that less than 24 hours after my big announcement I not only have no topic for a book but don't even have one simple thing to blog about? I try not to be discouraged but come on! I've got no raccoon stories, no new twist on why it is that I need an iPad, no plans for the weekend, no news on William, no complaints on the army life that I lead...really, I've got nothin.
I don't even know anyone who was born on January 21! I had some friends in elementary who were twin sisters and their birthday was January 19. But January 19 I wasn't desperate for a topic. (good thing cause other than their names, that we shared 1/2 birthdays, and that they laughed a lot, I wouldn't know what to write anyway) Come on, January 21? Anyone?
Ok, I lied. I do have something to write about. particularly where I will be on Monday at 3:00. But I can't broadcast that on the internet for fear that someone at my job may suddenly think to look into exactly what it is that I do everyday on this blogger thing.
Hmm...what would a person do at 3:00 on a workday that they wouldn't want their job to know about. Hmm. Let's all use our imaginations. Where could I possibly be going? Where would I be going that would require that I buy a new outfit...maybe a professional one...??? What secret rendezvous could I have planned that may or may not have been spurred by the last 2 weeks (and counting) of hell? People, if you're not with me yet shoot me a text message cause I don't think I can hint any better than I already have.
So, I don't have much to write about because the only thing on my mind is my Monday afternoon event. If you've caught on, please say a quick prayer (and repeat every hour on the hour for the next 75 hours) and wish me luck. If you haven't got on, shame on you. I'm being quite clear here. Clear as mud. And once Monday at 3:00 passes (or should I say 5:00, because its expected to take 2 hours) I can move on to a very special January 23 birthday and then be back on with my wonderful random musings. Until then...fingers crossed everyone!!!
But I want to write a book.
Should I be discouraged that less than 24 hours after my big announcement I not only have no topic for a book but don't even have one simple thing to blog about? I try not to be discouraged but come on! I've got no raccoon stories, no new twist on why it is that I need an iPad, no plans for the weekend, no news on William, no complaints on the army life that I lead...really, I've got nothin.
I don't even know anyone who was born on January 21! I had some friends in elementary who were twin sisters and their birthday was January 19. But January 19 I wasn't desperate for a topic. (good thing cause other than their names, that we shared 1/2 birthdays, and that they laughed a lot, I wouldn't know what to write anyway) Come on, January 21? Anyone?
Ok, I lied. I do have something to write about. particularly where I will be on Monday at 3:00. But I can't broadcast that on the internet for fear that someone at my job may suddenly think to look into exactly what it is that I do everyday on this blogger thing.
Hmm...what would a person do at 3:00 on a workday that they wouldn't want their job to know about. Hmm. Let's all use our imaginations. Where could I possibly be going? Where would I be going that would require that I buy a new outfit...maybe a professional one...??? What secret rendezvous could I have planned that may or may not have been spurred by the last 2 weeks (and counting) of hell? People, if you're not with me yet shoot me a text message cause I don't think I can hint any better than I already have.
So, I don't have much to write about because the only thing on my mind is my Monday afternoon event. If you've caught on, please say a quick prayer (and repeat every hour on the hour for the next 75 hours) and wish me luck. If you haven't got on, shame on you. I'm being quite clear here. Clear as mud. And once Monday at 3:00 passes (or should I say 5:00, because its expected to take 2 hours) I can move on to a very special January 23 birthday and then be back on with my wonderful random musings. Until then...fingers crossed everyone!!!
Jan 20, 2011
Don't Pity Me, Please
I do a lot of whining on this blog, so its kind of ironic that I'm asking you to not pity me. Most of my whining, though, is about petty stuff that you wouldn't pity me for even if I wanted you to like my son not wearing shoes (which he SUCCESSFULLY wore the entire drive to goddard today!!!) or not owning an iPad or other ridiculous things like that. So when I ask you not to pity me, its about the bigger stuff.
Remember when I wrote that I don't know why its so difficult for me to allow people to help? Remember how I said its not because I'm too proud, but because William is MY child and I don't WANT to give that part up? Well, I may not have been entirely right on why exactly it bothered me. I figured it out yesterday in a conversation I had with a coworker about how hard this separation has been on Austin.
Austin and I were married by Father Tom Day who has been a huge part of my family since I was born. Before he went to seminary his family attended the same church that we did, and his wife and my mom became instant friends when they realized they both had 2 toddler sons less than 18 months apart tugging on their legs. When Tom answered the calling to serve Christ as a priest they moved to Tennessee and then back to Texas where Tom is now a priest about 2 hours from Houston. The point here being that Father Tom knows me as well as almost anyone, and knows my life more than most. He and my dad were good friends and he was the priest at my dad's memorial. So having him marry Austin and myself was important to me, and he did not disappoint. He was able to dig pretty deep during our premarital counselling sessions because he knew far more than a run of the mill minister might. He knew my life; my history. One of the most profound things he told Austin was that regardless of what we face in our marriage and our life together, it will all somehow connect to and be affected by the death of my dad. He could not have been more on point.
So I realized last week why it is that I don't want people to help me with my heavy load while Austin is gone. It isn't pride. It isn't stubbornness. It's pity, and it has to do with Father Tom's point. It's the look on their faces when I tell people Austin is leaving. It's the sound in their voices when I tell them how long he'll be gone. It's the touch of their hands when I express all that I am now responsible for on my own. You can call it what you want, but I call it pity.
When my dad was sick I HATED the way people looked at me. I felt like I was a charity case. We were so very blessed in the church family that we were a part of, and I know that we wouldn't have been able to manage everything without their help and support. I know that. I remember the endless donations we received in our church mailbox from other members of our church. I remember all the nights that my brothers and I spent at home eating food that was cooked and delivered by other church members. I remember all the people who so willingly drove me to orthodontist appointments, drove my dad to doctor's appointments if my mom had class she couldn't get out of, people who went to my house and picked up textbooks I'd forgotten then dropped them off at my school. I remember all the ways in which people shared the love of Christ through their actions and I am very, very humbled and thankful for it.
But that look. The look people gave me when I told them my dad had cancer. The look people gave me when I told them I hadn't hugged my dad in 5 weeks. The look people gave me when I told them on Feb 2 that I just knew he was going to die that day. It's an unmistakable look that just makes my stomach turn.
It's the same look I get anytime I tell people I need help because I have too much on my plate. It's the same look I get when I tell people I miss Austin or that Austin misses William or that I need a new job because I can't work these hours as a single parent for the next 9 months. It's the look I feel like I'm getting about 90% of the time these days and I hate it.
This is why its hard for me to ask people for help. This is why its hard for me to openly tell people when things are hard or when I am at my wits end. Because I don't want that look. I don't want to be pitied. I don't want people to feel bad for me or feel sorry for me or any of that. I don't want to be a charity case. I'm tired of it. I spent 4 years having people feel sorry for me and serve me and lend me a helping hand. How can I pay it forward if I am asking for it again?
I know that I should regear my brain to look at it as compassion rather than pity. I should remind myself that when I see other people in similar situations I do not pity them, but I do feel for them and I do want badly to ease their burden. I try and remind myself of these things, I'm just sick of being the one who has the burden. I want to be the one who's life is so put together that I lend my hand to others. At this point I can't even lend my hand to myself. When is it my turn to be charitable to other's?
So please don't pity me. Please don't look at me like your heart is broken on my behalf. Please don't reach out your arms to hug me because you think my life may fall apart. It may; you're right. But please don't show it on your face. That's how you can help me.
Remember when I wrote that I don't know why its so difficult for me to allow people to help? Remember how I said its not because I'm too proud, but because William is MY child and I don't WANT to give that part up? Well, I may not have been entirely right on why exactly it bothered me. I figured it out yesterday in a conversation I had with a coworker about how hard this separation has been on Austin.
Austin and I were married by Father Tom Day who has been a huge part of my family since I was born. Before he went to seminary his family attended the same church that we did, and his wife and my mom became instant friends when they realized they both had 2 toddler sons less than 18 months apart tugging on their legs. When Tom answered the calling to serve Christ as a priest they moved to Tennessee and then back to Texas where Tom is now a priest about 2 hours from Houston. The point here being that Father Tom knows me as well as almost anyone, and knows my life more than most. He and my dad were good friends and he was the priest at my dad's memorial. So having him marry Austin and myself was important to me, and he did not disappoint. He was able to dig pretty deep during our premarital counselling sessions because he knew far more than a run of the mill minister might. He knew my life; my history. One of the most profound things he told Austin was that regardless of what we face in our marriage and our life together, it will all somehow connect to and be affected by the death of my dad. He could not have been more on point.
So I realized last week why it is that I don't want people to help me with my heavy load while Austin is gone. It isn't pride. It isn't stubbornness. It's pity, and it has to do with Father Tom's point. It's the look on their faces when I tell people Austin is leaving. It's the sound in their voices when I tell them how long he'll be gone. It's the touch of their hands when I express all that I am now responsible for on my own. You can call it what you want, but I call it pity.
When my dad was sick I HATED the way people looked at me. I felt like I was a charity case. We were so very blessed in the church family that we were a part of, and I know that we wouldn't have been able to manage everything without their help and support. I know that. I remember the endless donations we received in our church mailbox from other members of our church. I remember all the nights that my brothers and I spent at home eating food that was cooked and delivered by other church members. I remember all the people who so willingly drove me to orthodontist appointments, drove my dad to doctor's appointments if my mom had class she couldn't get out of, people who went to my house and picked up textbooks I'd forgotten then dropped them off at my school. I remember all the ways in which people shared the love of Christ through their actions and I am very, very humbled and thankful for it.
But that look. The look people gave me when I told them my dad had cancer. The look people gave me when I told them I hadn't hugged my dad in 5 weeks. The look people gave me when I told them on Feb 2 that I just knew he was going to die that day. It's an unmistakable look that just makes my stomach turn.
It's the same look I get anytime I tell people I need help because I have too much on my plate. It's the same look I get when I tell people I miss Austin or that Austin misses William or that I need a new job because I can't work these hours as a single parent for the next 9 months. It's the look I feel like I'm getting about 90% of the time these days and I hate it.
This is why its hard for me to ask people for help. This is why its hard for me to openly tell people when things are hard or when I am at my wits end. Because I don't want that look. I don't want to be pitied. I don't want people to feel bad for me or feel sorry for me or any of that. I don't want to be a charity case. I'm tired of it. I spent 4 years having people feel sorry for me and serve me and lend me a helping hand. How can I pay it forward if I am asking for it again?
I know that I should regear my brain to look at it as compassion rather than pity. I should remind myself that when I see other people in similar situations I do not pity them, but I do feel for them and I do want badly to ease their burden. I try and remind myself of these things, I'm just sick of being the one who has the burden. I want to be the one who's life is so put together that I lend my hand to others. At this point I can't even lend my hand to myself. When is it my turn to be charitable to other's?
So please don't pity me. Please don't look at me like your heart is broken on my behalf. Please don't reach out your arms to hug me because you think my life may fall apart. It may; you're right. But please don't show it on your face. That's how you can help me.
Jan 19, 2011
William, We Have a Problem
I got unnerving letters from school on two different days last week. TWO! Can you believe it? And would you believe what they say? The first was a letter from Elise, the education director, informing us that William has reached certain milestones and is now ready to be moved up to the "zebra" room. Then the next day we got a letter from the teachers from the next room welcoming William, explaining the transition and what the routine in that room is like.
WHAT?
No way. He's not big enough! He doesn't walk well enough! He can't feed himself by hand well enough! He still needs a bottle! HE DOESN'T EVEN WEAR SHOES FOR CRYING OUT LOUD.
Ok, let me clue you into a little secret. Growing up, this was the worst time of year for me. Teacher change time. Every year I cried. And cried, and cried, and cried. Never mind that at some point one could possibly see a pattern. Never mind that my upcoming teachers were always awesome. Doesn't matter. I still cried obsessively because "I never EVER want to leave second grade!" (or third, or fourth...you get it) And apparently this didn't end in junior high when I finally grew up, it just went to sleep for awhile until I had a baby. And now "I never EVER want William to leave the lion cubs"
I just can't believe it's that time already. Just like everyone says over and over again, it all goes by so fast. I'm loving every minute and I love every stage as much as, if not more than, the stage before I just can't believe its actually time. I can accept it; he is big enough. He walks wonderfully and he feeds himself like a champ. He doesn't NEED a bottle and does very well with his sippy cup instead. And the shoes...well...we'll work on it. God is getting a good, deep belly laugh at the fact that I gave grief for years over babies needing shoes and as a result has given me a child who instantly rips them off. Ethan wears shoes. Helen wears shoes. Why can't William? Again I say, God is getting a good laugh.
That's the biggest news of the week. That, and we had a WONDERFUL weekend reconnecting with our little prince William. Who is, by the way, infinitely cuter than England's Prince William. FYI :)
WHAT?
No way. He's not big enough! He doesn't walk well enough! He can't feed himself by hand well enough! He still needs a bottle! HE DOESN'T EVEN WEAR SHOES FOR CRYING OUT LOUD.
Ok, let me clue you into a little secret. Growing up, this was the worst time of year for me. Teacher change time. Every year I cried. And cried, and cried, and cried. Never mind that at some point one could possibly see a pattern. Never mind that my upcoming teachers were always awesome. Doesn't matter. I still cried obsessively because "I never EVER want to leave second grade!" (or third, or fourth...you get it) And apparently this didn't end in junior high when I finally grew up, it just went to sleep for awhile until I had a baby. And now "I never EVER want William to leave the lion cubs"
I just can't believe it's that time already. Just like everyone says over and over again, it all goes by so fast. I'm loving every minute and I love every stage as much as, if not more than, the stage before I just can't believe its actually time. I can accept it; he is big enough. He walks wonderfully and he feeds himself like a champ. He doesn't NEED a bottle and does very well with his sippy cup instead. And the shoes...well...we'll work on it. God is getting a good, deep belly laugh at the fact that I gave grief for years over babies needing shoes and as a result has given me a child who instantly rips them off. Ethan wears shoes. Helen wears shoes. Why can't William? Again I say, God is getting a good laugh.
That's the biggest news of the week. That, and we had a WONDERFUL weekend reconnecting with our little prince William. Who is, by the way, infinitely cuter than England's Prince William. FYI :)
Jan 17, 2011
Low Maintenance Gals
I love my high maintenance friends. Let me just throw that disclaimer out there before I get all of their panties in a wad. I love them very much, in all of their maintenance needs. But sometimes (ahem, a lot of times) I'm very thankful for my fellow low maintenance ladies.
The key person here being Dusti.
Dusti is Kaila's sister, who you may remember a little blurb about during Kaila's birthday post. You may also remember the shout out to her for her willingness to watch William in a crunch last weekend. That's one of the best parts of low maintenance people - they don't need a lot of notice, don't require a lot of preparation - they just go with the flow.
Or maybe that's just one of the great parts about Dusti.
I first met Dusti when her sister invited me to Dusti's house warming party. I had never met Dusti, obviously, and had never been to her house but she was more than willing to have some strange Texans come crash the party. And crash we did. We had an awesome time and were so excited to finally have met some friends. Yes, that's right - I had determined long before Dusti had that she would be one of my friends. End of story. Face it, I was desperate :)
Desperation paid off again, though, because I lucked out in finding another fabulous friend. Dusti calls it like she sees it. She can be painfully honest, but isn't that a comfort sometimes? I'll never wonder what Dusti thinks of me, my new shirt, my weird husband or my adorable baby - cause she'll let me know, whether I asked or not. She's a friend in the truest form of the word and no matter how long its been since we've seen each other I know a few things will remain the same:
1. If she's having a holiday dinner at her house she'll always extend an invitation for me
2. If I need a babysitter on the shortest of notice when her kids both have basketball games and my child screams until his face turns red, she will be there for me regardless
3. If I ask her to "pass me a roll" I better have my hands open wide ready to catch it
4. If I ever feel discouraged that I haven't seen Jodi or Kaila repeat a pair of blue jeans(or not do their hair or forget makeup or in any other way look less than perfect), there is always one other person in the world with as few pairs of jeans as me.
5. If I post her birthday post late because I'm not a weekend blogger she won't be offended or mind, because that's how low maintenance gals are.
Happy late birthday Dusti, and sorry my work had me too tired to even imagine going out to celebrate the beginning of the end of your 20's. Guess I'll have to make a point all year to make it up to you. Love you long time!
The key person here being Dusti.
Dusti is Kaila's sister, who you may remember a little blurb about during Kaila's birthday post. You may also remember the shout out to her for her willingness to watch William in a crunch last weekend. That's one of the best parts of low maintenance people - they don't need a lot of notice, don't require a lot of preparation - they just go with the flow.
Or maybe that's just one of the great parts about Dusti.
I first met Dusti when her sister invited me to Dusti's house warming party. I had never met Dusti, obviously, and had never been to her house but she was more than willing to have some strange Texans come crash the party. And crash we did. We had an awesome time and were so excited to finally have met some friends. Yes, that's right - I had determined long before Dusti had that she would be one of my friends. End of story. Face it, I was desperate :)
Desperation paid off again, though, because I lucked out in finding another fabulous friend. Dusti calls it like she sees it. She can be painfully honest, but isn't that a comfort sometimes? I'll never wonder what Dusti thinks of me, my new shirt, my weird husband or my adorable baby - cause she'll let me know, whether I asked or not. She's a friend in the truest form of the word and no matter how long its been since we've seen each other I know a few things will remain the same:
1. If she's having a holiday dinner at her house she'll always extend an invitation for me
2. If I need a babysitter on the shortest of notice when her kids both have basketball games and my child screams until his face turns red, she will be there for me regardless
3. If I ask her to "pass me a roll" I better have my hands open wide ready to catch it
4. If I ever feel discouraged that I haven't seen Jodi or Kaila repeat a pair of blue jeans(or not do their hair or forget makeup or in any other way look less than perfect), there is always one other person in the world with as few pairs of jeans as me.
5. If I post her birthday post late because I'm not a weekend blogger she won't be offended or mind, because that's how low maintenance gals are.
Happy late birthday Dusti, and sorry my work had me too tired to even imagine going out to celebrate the beginning of the end of your 20's. Guess I'll have to make a point all year to make it up to you. Love you long time!
Jan 13, 2011
Clean Sheets
Is there anything better in the world than clean sheets?
Well, obviously William is. And sex. (threw you off there huh?)
And guacamole.
And snow days.
Ok, maybe I should clarify: Is there anything better in all of housework than clean sheets? And to that I say I think not!
Yesterday was cleaning day at my house, my monthly treat, and clean sheets are even better when they are administered by someone other than yourself. I left a disheveled bed in the morning and came home to a neatly made bed with nice clean fresh pretty smelling soft sheets.
And the sheets? Oh, the sheets. Austin got them for me for Christmas and they are heavenly. They are 1800 thread count Egyptian cotton. He got them from a wholesaler so rather than spending over $200 like Macy's wants, he spent $40. and Oh. My. Gosh.
Yep, I love clean sheets. Even if I don't crawl in them until 12:30.
Well, obviously William is. And sex. (threw you off there huh?)
And guacamole.
And snow days.
Ok, maybe I should clarify: Is there anything better in all of housework than clean sheets? And to that I say I think not!
Yesterday was cleaning day at my house, my monthly treat, and clean sheets are even better when they are administered by someone other than yourself. I left a disheveled bed in the morning and came home to a neatly made bed with nice clean fresh pretty smelling soft sheets.
And the sheets? Oh, the sheets. Austin got them for me for Christmas and they are heavenly. They are 1800 thread count Egyptian cotton. He got them from a wholesaler so rather than spending over $200 like Macy's wants, he spent $40. and Oh. My. Gosh.
Yep, I love clean sheets. Even if I don't crawl in them until 12:30.
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