Tag Archives: writing

The only kind of housekeeping I do willingly.

Updates! After taking an industrial sized bottle of Pledge to the dust that had collected on that long lost Favorites page, I added a “Dear Addison” section for your (okay, my) reading convenience. I had to peel myself off the floor when I realized I had to copy and paste the Dear Addison part seven times. Seven months that girl has been around. Like a blink and an eternity all at once.

Oh, and I corrected two typos on the About page if you’re interested. Certainly made me do a little grammar dance.

That’s right—getting stuff done like it’s 12pm when it’s really 1pm. #daylightsavings. Sigh.

Let’s all celebrate some productivity up in here.gasparilla prof photo1

Therapy

Sometimes, having a new baby can get a little…tense. And you know who gets to bear the brunt of displaced emotions that you won’t direct towards that little peanut? The guy who is responsible for getting you into this mess. And once in awhile the dog who has absolutely no idea what “responsible behavior” means even though you are shouting it at her repeatedly.

In an effort to not exert physical violence on loved ones, I escape. This week, I found time for my favorite drugs.

A good write. Tucked away in a shady parking spot, windows down to let the delicious day float in, while the coffee bean napped in her car seat. For NINETY MINUTES. Followed by a walk through the breeze. Hello, bliss.

maybookA hatAnd a good run. On a crisp, not-cold-once-you-get going, dusk covered night. Hello, clarity.

A joovy

And once those two things are accomplished, I become a likeable person again, one capable of rational conversation and problem-solving as opposed to plate breaking and shin kicking.

Okay fine. These helped, too.

MMs

Snippets

I have no long narratives to share with you at the moment, so all you get to munch on are snippets. Unless you’d like me to recount in expletive-laden detail about the debacle that was Florida State vs. Wake Forest. I didn’t think so.

I was escorted out of Ross by the security guard for having a smoothie. Apparently they now have a ban on food and drink? Maybe it’s only for drinks that are pretending to be food…? I know, I’m kind of a badass. And Ross really is the epitome of unforgiving high standards.

Why do all athletic shoe designers swear that chicks want pink, purple or pink and purple shoes? We’re not all six years old. I rebelled and shopped in the men’s section. Again, me = badass.

PA042273During the half marathon, I had to fight my shorts from riding up for the last four miles. They were quite stubborn about the whole thing. So I bought my first pair of running tights. That’s alotta spandex on alotta thigh. If you happen to see me plugging along out there, avert your eyes and we’ll both pretend nothing ever happened.

This sort of thing occurs on a daily basis. Please note Bryson’s stray left foot. He is so excited when Clayton gets home that he pretty much tolerates anything. The men in my life are weird. 

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And then last week I got a nice dose of Reality Check with a side of Humiliation. One of the reviewers of a brochure draft I wrote left this comment: “This is so wrong I don’t even know where to start.” Well done, me.

Office Space

I work from home. I only mention that again (and again and again and again) so that you don’t forget how awesome I am. Sometimes it can be hard to remember with all the time wasted on pictures of my dog and the disease-carrying insects he ingests.

I made a list of all the things I was going to miss about the charming old house we rented for a year. Close to the top of the list was having a dedicated office from which to read blogs, update Facebook, tweet, write blogs and work. When we moved into our current apartment, the second bedroom had to function as a guest suite, storage unit, angry spouse retreat and office. We straight up refused to unpack anything but the essentials, so there are scads of boxes stuffed into corners, under beds, in closets and on top of our kitchen cabinets.

Soon after we moved in, we had a fabulous visit from my brother and his gal pal that required the second bedroom to look and act like a guest bedroom. We left the room that way for awhile, and I spent the few weeks after they left trying to work from the kitchen table or from the couch or from a corner table at Barnes and Noble. Inevitably, though, I got distracted by pop-tarts steps away in the pantry or a nap on those comfy couch cushions or the “Us Weekly” steps away at B & N.

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I couldn’t pull the chair out from the desk far enough to actually sit like a human being and work. It was full on grasshopper style if I wanted to accomplish anything on my beloved thrift store desk. So one morning, still decked out in pajamas (because, really, when am I not?), I did a spontaneous room re-do.

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We have absolutely no motivation to actually nail holes in the walls and hang pictures, so that makes for even less distraction. Many an afternoon in our last house was spent dreamily admiring my husband’s blue eyes in our framed wedding photos. And also bawling over the cuteness of Bryson’s long gone puppy days.

The new “decorations” became every stranded throw pillow found around the house. I didn’t even know we owned so many; I’m pretty sure they started reproducing like rabbits as soon as we closed that U-haul door during the move.

So this is where you can picture me for mumblemumble hours each day. Livin’ the dream. And never spending working hours fashioning a Bryson fort from all those pillows.