Total Darkness

A couple of nights ago, Ben and I walked out of my parents' front door and into total darkness. Ben looked up and exclaimed, "Oh my gosh!" I froze and scanned the area. Adrenaline coursed through my body as I prepared to fight or flight.

"What?!" I yelled in a panicked voice.

"Look at the stars," he said. "They're amazing!"

Jeez, Louise. I quickly erased images of ferrel animals or hordes of birds or Walking Dead zombies eating us. What a re-lief.

We tilted our heads and stared at a blanket of twinkling lights that covered the sky.

"I forgot how many there are," Ben said. "I never noticed them in New York."

Easy to do in the hustle and bustle and bright lights of a big city.

House Hopes

Ben and I have been on the hunt for the perfect house since moving home in August. Now, don't let that sentence mislead you. We haven't looked every weekend... more like two (or possibly three) times.

No need to wear ourselves out or overdo it. Slow and steady wins the race, right?

The first time we looked at houses was right before Thanksgiving. We saw some nice ones, but none worth five years of savings.

I felt like Goldilocks as we wandered through homes. Some were too big, some were too small. Some were too busy, some were too bare. None were just right.

Then, the holidays came, which really slowed our hunt.

We didn't look again until a few weeks ago, in February. I'm pretty sure our realtor thought we'd either given up or permanently moved in with our parents (the latter crossed my mind a few times).

The second time, we looked at a few houses, not totally sold on anything, until... we looked at the last house of the morning. It had just gone on the market and we were the first people to look at it.

We all gasped, awestruck, as soon as we walked in the door. The house was amazing! Our realtor immediately turned to us and mouthed, "Get it. Get it!"

Ben and I just nodded, speechless.

The house surpassed every dream. We felt giddy and sick with excitement. We loved it!

Fast forward to now... Ben and I may soon own that house! We signed the final contract, passed the home inspection, got an appraisal, and now just need the bank to process the loan. We are so close to becoming homeowners.

For the next few days, we will keep our toes and fingers (and legs and arms and eyes) crossed.

Vocabulary Lesson

I taught the word "debate" to several kids. We worked on a few strategies to help them remember the definition. I shared a personal story to make a connection between the word, its meaning, and how to use it in a sentence.

They loved the story.

They enjoyed it so much that they still use the word and example... daily. Dai-ly.

I told them that sometimes I got into trouble when I was their age. If I argued with my dad when I got into trouble he would yell, "This is NOT a debate!"

Of course, I never understood what "debate" meant. I just knew it wasn't good if my dad said it in that tone at that volume with flailed arms and a red face. I only understood what the word meant after I got ballsy enough to ask him (through heaving sobs).

The kids loved this story.

They loved that: 1) I got in trouble, 2) an adult yelled at me, and 3) they now got to point a finger and yell "This is not a debate!" to their teacher.

I don't know if many would agree with that strategy, but I don't care because it worked.

And, let's be honest, this is not a debate.

Routines Schmootines

Ben and I get ready differently. It took several years for us to understand that. Getting dressed to go out on a Friday or Saturday night once proved stressful. We shared some tense moments.

I get ready and take my time. I mosey from room to room. I put on a little makeup here. I brush my hair there. I make some tea. I wander to the closet. I watch the end of a Real Housewives reunion show. There's no rush.

Ben is the opposite. He waits until the last second and then races to get ready. He rushes from room to room. He picks out and puts on one outfit. One outfit!

It all sounds easy, right? Until...

He asks me if he looks good. Ninety percent of the time he does, but 10% of the time I say "no." "No" throws him into a tizzy, which I never understand. He doesn't plan his outfit the night before (like I do) or shop specifically for it (like I do). He picks it at the last second and then gets mad when it doesn't work. Fashion takes work, dude!

Tension escalates when we compete for the one sink in the bathroom. Ben wants to shave. I want to brush my teeth. We're at a standoff until Ben asks if I really need the bathroom.

Yes, I think, I do need it. That's why I'm standing there! But, I don't say that. Instead, I step away and grit my teeth as I relinquish my right to the sink.

Because I rework my routine to accompany his, I fall behind. Before I know it, Ben sits dressed and ready on the couch with a glass of bourbon and I gape at him in my bathrobe.

I then stress and bark orders like "close the blinds" and "take out the trash." Random and unimportant tasks that make me feel better since I am to blame (again) for us being fashionably late.

Finally, now five years into our marriage, we've been able to comprise and find a few solutions that seem to work.

Still, a bigger bathroom with a double vanity would be really, really nice.

Miscommunication

My ears have slowly adjusted from northern accents to southern accents since returning to Kentucky. Still, there are times when dialectal differences will surprise me.

Yesterday, I asked a one of my little ones to tell me as many meanings as possible for the word "heel/heal."

"Oh, that's easy," she said. "Like I help you get better and..."

She paused and closed her eyes in deep thought.

"I got it!" she smiled. "Like when you go up a big heeeee-ll (hill)."

"Not hill," I said.  "Heel/heal."

"Right," she said, giving me a confused what-don't-you-get-lady look.  "Like I climbed a big heeeeeeeeee-ll."

Just a little miscommunication, that's all.

Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus

Tonight, Ben and I went to the movie "Safe Haven." A classic Nicholas Sparks movie that left half of the audience sniffling and sighing at the end.  The story touched me and, I thought, Ben as well.

We walked to the car after the movie, and I talked nonstop about it. I talked about how romantic it was.  I agreed with the casting of actors and actresses. I questioned how the main character packed so many outfits into one plastic Wal-Mart bag during her getaway. I obsessed over Julianne Hough's haircut.

I thought Ben was with me. I thought we were on the same page and he was really into the conversation, really into the movie until...

Ben stopped me mid-sentence.

"Whew, I think tonight's dinner had a lot of onions in it. Don't you?"

Oh, yeah. Right there with me. Totally in sync.

I probably lost him before the credits rolled and didn't even know it.

Rent Free Forever

Do I miss things about New York? Yes. Do I not miss things about New York? Yes.

I definitely do not miss one thing, and that is renting.

Renting was expensive, yes. But, I expected to pay a lot to live next to four star restaurants and Central Park and opera houses and a river overlooking the New Jersey coastline. Rubbing shoulders with Tina Fey came at a price.

I just never expected the unorganized and sometimes unscrupulous way landlords handled renting. I realized that renters never had an upper or even hand in the deal.

Ben and I got our entire security deposits back from our first two apartments. And, we should have. We cared for those apartments as if we owned them. We added value to those apartments! I scrubbed decades of grime out of bathroom crevices and off of floors. I retightened loose screws on cabinets and bleached dirty mini blinds. I (almost) exterminated the places from roaches and silverfish. Ugh.

They should have paid me for living there!

It was the leasing company of our last apartment that really frustrated me. Our apartment had its issues. None of which we caused. They existed before we moved in the place.

But, as it sometimes goes, we must now pay for them.

The leasing company finally returned our security deposit after Ben repeatedly called them for six months. Six months! They returned our deposit, but not without taking a nice piece of it.

Of course, the problems they made us pay for are the same problems that were already there when we moved into the apartment! The same problems I complained about for almost three years. The last 20 tenants also probably paid for those problems.

On the bright side, we got back most of our deposit. Dad said to "let it go" and "be happy" because at least we got something. A life lesson learned.

Now, I can finally shout, "C-ya, landlords. Wouldn't want to be ya!

Aging Grayfully

I really wanted one of my little guys to say the word "yellow."

"What color is the sun?" I asked.

"Red," he replied.

Almost.

"What color is lemonade?" I asked.

"I don't know!" he said enthusiastically.

Not quite.

"Aha!" I said triumphantly.  "What color is my hair?"

"Gray!" he shouted.

Oh, no.

That one hurt.

Winter Temps

Winter and cold weather have arrived. Both remind me why I loved apartments in NYC so much... they were so, so warm.

So warm, in fact, that we often cracked a few windows in the winter. We opened the windows all of the way when guests visited. I think Nelly, the rapper, was talking about apartments in Manhattan when when he sang "Hot in Here".

I thanked Con Edison daily for operating America's largest steam system and keeping us toasty until April. I once feared that New York apartments would be like my first college apartment - freezing and insanely expensive to heat. But, thankfully, that was never the case. Quite the opposite.

Oftentimes, Ben and I relaxed in the Caribbean temperatures of our place while sipping strawberry daiquiris. We lathered ourselves in tanning oil and donned sunglasses to enjoy the snowy view right outside our window.

SantaCon

Last December, we participated in NYC's funniest event... SantaCon!

SantaCon invited people of all ages to dress as Santa Claus and parade around the city. Santas followed a planned route via Twitter. The route included different bars, restaurants, city landmarks, and tourist destinations. All perfect places for Santas to mingle and take pictures.

Thousands and thousands of Santas traipsed around the city during SantaCon. Santas stumbled off buses, popped out of subways, took over the Brooklyn Bridge, snoozed on park benches, caught taxis, and marched down the street. Big bellies and white beards dominated that day... because nothing says Christmas like 5,000 Santas outside of City Hall.

Kids and tourists loved it. New Yorkers, though, played it very cool. Apparently, it takes more than 5,000 Santas to shock them.

Ben waited for the subway by our apartment.

Reed and Ben on the subway. 

Reed's beard was M.I.A. He went for a more chic and modern Santa look.

More Santas at the other end of the subway car.

Ben and I posed for next year's Christmas card.

Ben... one of many in his legit, store bought Santa suit.

Me in my homemade Santa suit.
Amazingly, all cotton balls survived. My gluing skills are unmatched.

Santas everywhere!

SFF (Santa Friends Forever).

Santas took over Battery Park in lower Manhattan.

Santas grabbed lunch at a restaurant.

All Must Go: Chapter 5

This is the last chapter of the saga, All Must Go. It has to be the last chapter because, besides our bed, we were out of furniture. It doesn't take long to clear a 330 square foot apartment.

We sold our Ikea Billy Bookcase and TV stand to a young couple from Queens with two kids and a baby on the way. Ben and I helped the husband load their new belongings into their van, happy to know our stuff was going to a good home.

The TV stand, which amazingly survived two moves.

The bookcase, which also survived two moves, was more than just a bookcase. It was an "everything-case". Since we only had eight tiny cabinets in the kitchen to hold all cookware and food, the bookcase caught the overflow. Our bookcase held (in alphabetical order): bitters, board games, books, bourbon, cameras, checkbooks, DVDs, headphones, picture albums, umbrellas, wrapping paper, and anything else without a real home. 

How those pressed wood shelves never bowed or broke is beyond me... must be the Dutch engineering.

I almost forgot! We had one piece of furniture for sale for $0 (that's right, free!), but it never sold. Not that it would have survived a move of any kind. I lovingly present... our dresser. 

Our infamous dresser. It balanced precariously on a stack of books and always leaned a little to the right. The base of the drawers fell out every time we laid something, like a sock or a pair of underwear, in them. The front of the bottom left drawer popped off whenever we touched it, which always raised Ben's blood pressure. Wherever the dresser sat is where it stayed. 

Don't let the dresser's sleek facade fool you... this puppy was a ticking time bomb and could have collapsed or imploded at any given moment.

All Must Go: Added Pictures

* Scroll down to see pictures of all of the furniture we sold. I uploaded them with their appropriate post.

All Must Go: Chapter 4

We sold our Ikea dining room table, four matching chairs, and two Ikea Poang chairs to two men who arrived in a rented minivan. The men were in their late 30s and had just become roommates through Craigslist, which is also how they found us.

Craigslist really has a magical way of bringing all sorts of people together.

The men inspected the furniture they planned to buy and then took inventory of anything else in our apartment that they might possibly want, like our wine racks or George Forman grill.

One of the men smoked a lot of cigarettes and wasn't in the best of health. So, Ben, myself, and our two new friends relaxed a bit in the AC in our living room on the Ikea Poang chairs they had just purchased. We took a breather and engaged in some small talk before tackling the elevator and stairs again in the July heat.

We loaded the furniture in their van and shook hands.

Ben and I sadly waved goodbye and watched a little more of the past five years fade and disappear into the distance.

Our New York life was leaving us, piece by piece.

One of our Ikea Poang chairs.

Our Ikea dining room table that...

easily expanded to fit more people! 

Thumbs up, Ikea, for a great design.

All Must Go: Chapter 3

We next sold our couch. We handed that over to three college students with big grins on our faces. Huge grins, actually.

We smiled because we got the couch for free and then sold it for $75. Cha-ching! Their student loans turned into cold hard cash in our pockets.

We found the couch four and half years ago on the sidewalk. Yes, the sidewalk (against my better judgment). A guy moved out of his apartment and set his furniture on the street. People flocked from all directions to snatch the furniture. Bookshelves, lamps, and chairs bobbed amongst pedestrians on Broadway and West End Avenue.

Ben asked the doorman about the cleanliness of the furniture. More pointedly, did the guy have bedbugs? The doorman alleviated all fears by saying the owner had never had bedbugs and was simply moving to a bigger place that needed new furniture.

We then carried the free and clean couch home.

Now, young collegiate minds determined the best way to maneuver our couch into a tiny elevator. Ben and I admired their tenacity and happily waved goodbye as they descended the front steps of building. Adios, couch! Adios, old friend.

Our couch.

All Must Go: Chapter 2

The next piece of furniture sold on Craigslist was an Expedit IKEA bookshelf with baskets. Everyone wanted the Expedit! It was our biggest hit.

We sold it to a college student, a girl fresh off the plane from Washington. Literally, fresh off the plane. She and her mother arrived in New York the day before they showed up at my apartment.

Luckily, I donned appropriate moving/athletic attire when they arrived, just in case they needed extra help moving the bookshelf. That thought ended up being the understatement of the century.

They walked into our apartment and inspected the bookshelf. They handed me cash and then nonchalantly asked, "What's the best way to get this home?" They dropped that bombshell with a straight face.

I hid my shock. Rookies! I had two New York City Craigslist amateurs on my hands.

"Well... we could try a cab." I said with a shrug, doubting that the bookshelf would ever fit in one, though I hoped the new cabs might, might, have enough space.

The girl and I carried the bookshelf down our hallway, onto the elevator, and a block up the street to the corner. Her mother carried the 6 large baskets in trash bags.

We hailed one cab, who pulled over and then sped away once he saw the bookshelf. Other cabs just blew by us without ever hitting the brakes. Where was their adventurous spirit?

I hailed an SUV, thinking the bookshelf might slide over the backseat. The cabdriver, very unhappy about the situation, let us try to load the bookshelf. It didn't work.

He floored it before we even slammed the trunk door.

We hailed one of the new cabs. The cab parked slightly in the middle of the crosswalk, blocking one lane. Not the best place to park and load furniture, but whatever. I didn't want the cabbie second guessing any decision he was making at the moment.

We started to load the bookshelf and the cabdriver immediately began cussing. He cussed at us. He cussed at the bookshelf. And, then, he cussed about the Yankees losing their last game. His stress level only elevated mine.

After a few minutes of pushing and pulling the bookshelf inside the cab, the cabbie yelled for us to get the bookshelf out of his taxi before it ripped the upholstery.  I cannot write his exact words because this blog would instantly go from a PG to an R rating.

I calmly explained that the picture on the backseat showed how it folded down so that wheelchairs (and bookshelves) could fit. But, unfortunately, by this point, the cabbie was ballistic and I could not reason with him. We pulled the bookshelf out of the cab and sat it down on the sidewalk.

Did I mention it was about 98 degrees in July?

The girl, her mother, and I contemplated our next move (because that bookshelf was not going back in my apartment) until an elderly woman walked over to us to share this advice...

"You three are really stupid. Really, really stupid! What idiots load furniture in the middle of a crosswalk? Where am I supposed to walk? You. Are. Really. Stupid."

I closed my eyes and breathed deeply. I prayed, probably harder than I had ever prayed in my life, to remain calm. Jail would definitely ruin any future employment opportunities and I'd probably not survive.

I opened my eyes. The old woman still stood in front of me. Staring. My southern roots took hold and I sweetly replied, "Why, thank you so much for your help. We really appreciate it." I then turned away, and glanced back only once to see her walk away until...

I felt a hard poke on my back. I turned around and stared at the same old woman.

Round two.

"I just wanted you to know what idiots you people are! Complete idiots! I could have died crossing the street," she proclaimed.

Right then, I wished she had.

I couldn't hold back any longer. I blame the heat. I blame the cab's bad design. I blame New York.

I pointed back and snapped, "Lady! We got it. WE GOT IT!"

I then wheeled around to face my partners in crime. The mother looked shocked. But, the girl smiled and said, "Wow! People are pretty intense here."

Ya think?

I no longer cared about the bookshelf. I didn't care if we left it on the street or bashed it to pieces. I would have voted for the latter if given a choice.

I wiped the sweat from the brow, ready to admit defeat, when a man driving a U-Haul van pulled over beside us. I turned to the girl and said, "Ask him if he'll take the bookshelf for $20. Now."

She did.

He said, "yes."

The guy singlehandedly restored my faith in people.

In less than five minutes, we loaded the bookshelf and I waved goodbye to one of the most difficult moving fiascos I had ever encountered.

Or, almost ever encountered.

The Expedit in all of its glory.