My Birthday Eve

I'm 30. Tomorrow I will be 31.

As far as celebrations go, 31 isn't the greatest to be celebrated. It's just another number. A larger number. I can feel my youth fading as I type this. How does time go by so quickly?


On the positive side I did get the spend the weekend with my two favorite girls...my sister Niki and niece Aubrey. When they are around there is never a dull moment. They keep my cheeks sore from laughing and smiling so much.
This weekend included lots of shopping, singing, and dancing. Aubrey is my sister through and through. She is so funny and so smart and is at the age where she now imitates and repeats (or tries to repeat) everything. When her and Niki are around, I forget that I can't dance worth a crap and swing my arms and hips to the music just in hopes that Aubrey will do the same. And when she does, it melts my swollen Auntie heart. She is the best thing ever. They together are the best thing ever.
I cried when they left today. I missed them the minute they walked out the door. I want to see them every single day. I want to be home...in Mulkeytown. Maybe when I'm 32.

Valentine's Schmalentine's

I’m 30. Next week I will celebrate my 30^th Valentine’s Day. And I have nothing good to say about that. Valentine’s Schmalentine’s…

I get the shaft. My birthday is a week before Valentine’s Day and I get the shaft every year. Significant other wise, my beau always combined my Valentine’s and birthday gifts. And Matt (I love you dearly honey) is no different. This year I am told that our March vacation is my Valenirthday (my new word) gift. Last year was the same, but at least it was in February. Last year was also our first Valentine's Day as a married couple. I got him a mushy husband card. Did I get one in return? No. If I remember correctly, our first Valentine’s together I got a pair of tennis shoes. In Matt’s defense, I did want them and didn’t have the money to buy them myself. But really…what’s the deal?

Blame Patty and Charlie for cursing me with a February birthday, not me. What does a girl have to do to get flowers or even a card?

Almost 31...

I’m 30. I’ll be 31 in less than 6 weeks; 5 weeks and 4 days to be exact. So today I find it a good time to reflect on the age I dreaded to become. Since I am an avid list maker, I don’t think there is a better way to reminisce on my year than with a list or two…or three. Enjoy!

The 10 Best Things About My 30th Year

-I survived. At 10 I thought 30 would be the death of me.

-I spoke with friends (or at least spied on them on Facebook) that I haven’t talked to since high school.

-We sold my crappy little car for more money than it was worth and now the Yukon is mine.

-Spent more time than ever with my family. A little girl named Aubrey had something to do with that. No offence to everyone else, but I can’t get enough of her.

-New carpet, new mattress and new sofa…yes, Niki…I said sofa, not couch.

-The summer. We spent more time that ever in the boat on the lake. I love it.

-I quit a job that was ruining me without having a replacement and was offered another position the next day. And honestly, the jury is still out on it.

-Vacations. Matt and I traveled to two places I have never been...The Bahamas for my birthday and Chicago for our 1st anniversary.

-I watched my little sister grow into a wonderful mother and Aubrey grow into a beautiful little girl.

-Another amazing year spent with My Matt. That makes 3…just a life time to go.

The 5 Worst Things About My 30th Year

-I spent more than 400 hours…almost 17 days…of my life driving back and forth to Urbana. I’m joking, people. I did the math.

-My OCD became more obvious and at times caused “heated discussions” at home.

-I was diagnosed with Diabetes

-My Grandma and Uncle Tony passed away.

-No baby yet.

Three Goals I Have For My 31st Year

-Relaxation…Mexico will definitely help.

-New career…possibly. I’m never content.

-Baby. Boy, girl…I don’t care. It’s all I think about these days.

Christmas 2010

I’m 30 and just celebrated my 30th Christmas. In the end I had laughed a lot, ate too much, and was licked to death by a couple of cute doggies. But, it’s not what it used to be.

Many of my best childhood memories revolve around our unvarying holidays. For more than 20 years we celebrated at the same places with the same people and the same menu; ham at Easter, turkey on Thanksgiving, appetizers on Christmas Eve, and again, ham on Christmas. Of course the guests changed over the years. That is inevitable. New faces came and went. Old faces faded. And sure, there was a time or two that our far from random celebrations varied. But what remained; I was home and the food was fabulous.

If you know me, you know this. I am a uniform type of girl. I eat the same thing over and over again at restaurants and rarely try anything new. Everything in my house has a place. All labels face outward. I organize hangers by size and color. I like things to be the consistently the same. I fold towels the same way every single time. I loathe just the thought of variation. I follow the same routine every morning. I do things over and over again until they are perfect (e.g. the reason why I only posted 1 blog last month). Conformity is comforting. So for me, two decades of repetitious quality time with my family was fantastic. Things have changed.

Although meeting Matt was absolutely the best thing that ever happened to me, the one consequence that I dreaded was choosing with whom to spend the holidays. Like many couples, we decided to “rotate” which family we would bless with our presence at those festivities; my family Easter and Christmas one year and only Thanksgiving the next, then vice versa. Only to make things more difficult, my adorable niece Aubrey was born 4 days before Christmas last year. For this reason alone, I want to spend every Christmas in Southern Illinois.

This year I spent Christmas 8 hours from where my heart really was. The routine I have been accustomed to no longer exists. Spending every other Christmas in Missouri and the un-Followell-like meals that it brings is my new reality. And as of today, I am okay with that. We’ll see what 2012 brings.

P.S. Don’t let the title of this blog fool you. I think this ended up being more about my extremely overly obsessive compulsiveness than it did Christmas.

I'm From

I’m 30 and lived in 6 towns in 2 states. I grew up in my parent’s first home and their last. I’ve inhabited a dorm, an apartment, and a townhouse. I’ve lived in the quiet country and in the middle of a questionable part of town. I survived living with my Grandma, my sister and my in-laws. Today I live on Michigan Avenue. All of those places I called home, but this is where I am really from…

I am from the orange rocking chair where my mom used to sing me to sleep and the Smurf sheets where she would lay me to bed.

I am from Grandma’s biscuits and gravy and Grandpa’s tall tales, Sunday school with Grandma Shirley and exploring (terrorizing) Mulkeytown with Uncle Tony.

I am from Frieda, Molly, Julie, Sam, Coco, Scooter, Bobby, Coby and Harley and Avery too.

I am from sleepovers with grade school friends and (years later) hangovers with them too.

I am from Scottish, Hungarian, and American Indian ancestry.

I am from pulling hair, biting, and scratching with Niki and then finally growing to be the best of friends.

I am from long school bus rides and even longer nights on the phone with best friends.

I am from Friday night football games and Saturday morning yard work.

I am from hundreds family photos kept nearby and hilarious home videos.

I am from family dinner at the table (almost) every night and green pancakes for breakfast.

I am from Christmas Eve appetizers and ham on Christmas Day.

I am from a past that keeps me awake some nights and a loving husband that keeps me in the present and looks forward to our future.

I am from chili with peanut butter and syrup sandwiches in the fall…and winter and spring and summer.

I am from birthday parties in the basement and bonfires in the yard.

I am from a heart so broken, I thought it would never heal and a heart so full of love I sometimes feel like it may explode.

I am from back road cruises and summers that seemed to last forever.

I am from Anna’s All Star Gymnastics, cheerleading, volleyball, track, and just one summer of softball; dance lessons, tennis lessons, and swim lessons.

I am from a red, then pink, then purple, then black childhood bedroom.

I am from a house in the middle of nowhere that I hated, but would now give anything to be there.

I am from Charlie’s love of music and Patty’s laugh and infectious smile; their immeasurable love, integrity, and compassion.

I feel like my life has started over more than once. That makes it difficult to remember my past; recollections are starting to fade. Sometimes I don’t know if my memories are dreams that I’ve had or if my history creates my dreams. But these I keep close to my heart. Of all the people, places, and things that consume my life, they are what make me feel most at home.

Still here...

I’m still here. It’s been awhile, I know this. I am in the middle of writing a couple ditties concerning the craziness that is my life. I’m not quite finished with either of them. I have come to believe that on top of the OCD I am also ADD. I start a project and quickly get bored. Or again, it could just be the time thing. Matt and I have a lot going on lately. House (still remodeling), work (there goes 10 hours of my day), family (Christopher one weekend, St Louis the next); the list goes on and on. Good thing we don’t have kids yet. I am sure nothing would get accomplished. Anyway…sooner than later you will get to read two posts on the same day. That’s my plan anyway. Can you hold back the excitement?!

Watch Out!

I’m 30. And I can’t drive. Or should I say forgotten how to drive properly. It’s my new thing. Here’s the story…

I spent the majority of my sophomore year of high school counting down the days until my 16th birthday would arrive. I carefully marked off the days on my calendar as I anticipated my long awaited freedom. Finally, on Wednesday February 21, 1996 the clouds parted and the heavens opened. My license picture was better than most. I wore my favorite Guess sweatshirt and my smile (just got my braces off a year earlier) was perfect. The driving I did to obtain my new “privilege” was less than perfect, but I passed. And that was all that mattered to me. I was free.

Free to back into the fence in the school parking lot. Free to get the mirror knocked off my mom’s car in front of Dairy Queen. Free to drive all the way from Jordan’s house to mine with the parking brake on. Free to run off the road and flip my car. Free to get a speeding ticket on my 18th birthday. I’m not proud.

Except for one speeding ticket, I have been a meticulous driver since then. I was told by a certain driver’s ed teacher that it was okay to brake with my left foot since I was a lefty. No one else (and by no one else, I mean Matt) seems think it’s safe. So, I have slowly but surely learned how to brake without using my left foot. I had a horrible habit of slowing down without noticing when I would talk while driving and then floor it when I did realize what I was doing. So, I have learned to use cruise to increase gas mileage. It snows like no ones business here and snowdrifts get taller than my car. So I have unwillingly learned how to plow through snow like I am skiing down the Alps. But lately, I’ve forgotten what my dad taught me when I sat on his lap as a child and drove home from grandma and grandpas house. Memories of a certain high school boyfriend yelling at me to speed up, use my turn signal, and make complete stops have faded. I have become a total ditz when it comes to commuting. It’s not my fault though.

During my 14 year driving career I have always driven cars; Sable, 1st Probe, 2nd Probe, Cavalier, and Sentra…all small cars. I drove Matt’s Sierra a couple times here and there with no harm done. Last year, Matt traded his truck for a Chevy Traverse. After a short training session on how to maneuver a larger automobile I became a pro at driving a crossover. This year, Matt (against my wishes) traded in the Traverse for a Yukon. Again, after a short training session, the Yukon became my weekend friend. Last month (thanks to a shorter commute to work) it became my best friend. Although my feet don’t touch the floor and I cannot see over the hood, we’ve had tons of fun together. In 4 weeks we have killed and animal or two or three or four. I cry every time. We have smashed a shopping cart. I couldn’t see it. And this weekend we murdered pumpkins that were supposed to go to Marshall students. Again, I couldn’t see. It’s not that I am losing my sight or not paying attention to the world around me. I’m just too short to be driving something so big. That’s my excuse anyway.

It's my new thing. I am a horrible driver, but I am working on it. Watch out Terre Haute drivers, Ang will be on the road in 11 minutes.