Cheapies Splurge

There’s a cute store about a block from my office called Incognito, so I treated myself to a pair of sunglasses when I got my paycheck the other day. Obviously, it wasn’t much a ‘splurge’ since they were $5 ‘cheapies,’ but they were still cute&necessary.

MishMashMeals

Without Mr.U to cook for, I haven’t found the motivation to do any serious grocery shopping for myself, which has turned mealtime into somewhat of a free-for-all for whatever I can throw together to eat.
Leftover city – of course.
Beer
Fruit
Chip Crumbs
Spaghetti
Salad

Beer

DQ Blizzard remnants on cookie from frozen dough
Not gonna lie – I’m excited for an excuse to finally make real meals again.

Grandpa Weekend

I couldn’t have asked for a better weekend with my grandparents.I got to Mr.U’s house Friday evening, had dinner with him at Roadhouse, then headed out to a local pub to watch the Redwings playoff game. After their unfortunate loss, we decided to call it a night to ensure we’d be well-rested for the next day with grandma&grandpa. We grabbed breakfast and Nina’s then began our journey to the old farmhouse. I hid behind my sunglasses as tears filled my eyes – driving the familiar backroads and knowing that I’d find my healthy grandpa nestled in his chair wasn’t something I thought I’d ever be able to do again. Finally, I pulled in and breathed a sigh of relief. Calm down, girl. You get to see then now. I teared up as I hugged my grandma – her teeny body feeling so fragile after all these months apart. Then I stood in the kitchen in anticipation while grandpa finished “getting pretty” before slowly walking out to greet me with his walker.
He looked amazing for someone who’d spent two weeks under sedation. He always looks wonderful, but he looked especially enchanting and I felt incredibly lucky to be able to hug him again.
Mr.U&I spent the weekend at the farmhouse – we made breakfast, read a lot, giggled about old stories, drank coffee, and sat in the tranquility of a house that will forever calm my spirit. I told grandpa, “all I’ve wanted is to sit on this porch with you, you know.” And he agreed that his desires had matched mine.
My uncle (who’s becoming the “mother hen”) was in&out all weekend – bringing food, making sure all the proper medicines were taken, keeping grandpa hydrated and upright. Its precious to see a man in his 50’s dote over his father so lovingly. And we watched grandpa progress – not that I had any doubt he’d be up&about faster than expected. When we first arrived, he relied heavily on his walker. By the time we left on Sunday evening – he was hopping from room to room without it. A determined man he most certainly is. But I didn’t care if he simply slept the whole time – being near him was all I wanted.

I can tell he’s doing a lot of thinking. We may have been sitting in silence, but his head was anything besides quiet. He smiled at my grandma while she fidgeted with her IPad and watched Mr.U&I as we snuggled on the couch. I can only imagine what he’s thinking – what he wants to remember – what he can’t stop appreciating. He has no idea how much thinking, remembering, and appreciating I’ve been doing for him – and I’ll never stop.

Return to Me

I don’t even want to think about the weeks I thought I’d lost him. I just want to enjoy every minute I’m still allowed to have with him. Grandpa is flying home tomorrow with my beautiful grandma and headstrong uncle by his side. It makes me cry just to know I get to hug him again and I absolutely cannot wait. My hero – the most amazing man in the entire world – is awake, talking, walking, showering, eating, and coming home.

Bead Task

I haven’t been beading lately because my beads have been a mess.

The container got overturned in one of my many recent moves and all the compartments got mixed together
– teeny, glass beads… big wooden beads… clasps –
a daunting task to reorganize.
But I finally sat down and tackled it.
–
Dumped 3 divided, plastic containers out on my coffee table and started sorting them.
Bead by bead.
Now I can finally start&finish the elephant necklace I promised Barbie over a year ago…

Cycle of Ridicule

When you’re always taught you’re never good enough you eventually believe it’s actually true. But it isn’t. I had to learn that. I grew up with a dad who [yes] loved me, but had a funny way of showing it – like settling for nothing less than perfection. Considering I’m far from perfect and I came out of the womb incredibly headstrong, I marched to the beat of my own drum while he scowled in disappointment at my actions. Since I flew the coop and survived on my own, I’ve learned that he was [in fact] proud of me, just not in the typically-showy-father-way. Meaning I spend at least 19 years assuming I’d never be good enough. This is probably where my combination personality of tough-yet-people-pleasing buried itself deep into my brain.
Sometimes Mr.U can’t wrap his head around the little things I apologize for or worry about. Sometimes I can’t calm myself down when I know something won’t go right – whether or not I have control of the outcome. But all the time I’ve known that I had to figure things out myself (which tends to frustrate my Mr. when I refuse his help or assume he won’t understand what I want…) and that only I could be the one to create my own success.
Other people with fathers who didn’t build them up, though, go in an opposite direction. They may have the inner determination, but they allow themselves to rely&settle because they’ve been taught to believe they aren’t good enough. When I see this characteristic in my beautiful&capable friends it makes my heart ache for them – I know the feeling and I wish I could bottle my drive to overcome it for them. Just like falling off a bike makes some people never want to try again while others hop back on to tame the two-wheeled beast, reactions to a father’s disappointment&ridicule vary from person to person and I can only hope for the realization of one’s own capabilities to outweigh their upbringing before they’ve slid too deep.

Furniture Frenzy

I’ve had furniture&trinkets stored away for so long waiting for a home that I could finally use them in. Now – at last – I do and I’ve been anxiously awaiting their move across the state into my new space. I really wanted to get it all set up and perfect before Mr.U moves in for good. My parents know how bullet I am about wanting things and wanting them now (they’re probably the reason for my mindset, after all) so they understood my rush to pack&settle. Thus, as soon as my mom was back from her extended stay in Florida with gma&gpa, her&dad went to packing. Last Friday the swooped in with a cargo van full of all my goodies and we unloaded my life into our new attic. My dad had little faith that we could get my massive sectional [with pull-out] up the narrow stairs and into the “sitting area,” but mom&I were determined. We sweated our way through the house with everything but the largest piece of couch then coaxed dad into taking the pull-out out for its journey up the stairs. Once we’d pieced it back together, they left me to organize the chaos.I’m so happy&content with our beautiful home.

Yumtinis

My 2nd time at the bar across the street from my office
.
Rock
On Third
.
and the 2nd time out for drinks with my boss was pretty successful last night.
We ran over for a martini
and killed time before her hair appointment and my drive home
–

maybe not the best decision since my Snickertini was absurdly strong.
The experience was much better than the last time we got stale beers from our even staler waitress who handed back our half-drank bottles while lying that they had a “10 year life.”
(I fear how flat they’d be after those 10 years passed if their carbonation had dwindled to a few bubbles after a few months.)

Boss’ tini was Jack Daniels laced with something fruity and we giggled while we sipped.
I must admit that I thoroughly enjoy post-work drinks
–
Happy Hour is much more enjoyable than late-night-raging these days.

Generous Change

It’s not that my parents never gave me anything – I was just raised not to expect too much. I knew how hard they worked for the things they could afford, so I never wanted to guilt them into going above&beyond their means. When I started driving – I got a job to fill my gas tank. When I wanted expensive clothes – I saved to shop or waited for my birthday. When I wanted fast food or a restaurant dinner with friends – I never held my hand out for mommy&daddy’s money… they’d stocked up the kitchen, so if I wanted something else, it was on me. I didn’t go home for weekends in college and have them fill up Betty before heading back – with my parents, its always been about their company&love, not what/how much they’ll give me.
Mr.U’s mom, though, has few expenses and a well-paying job. Thus, she’s very generous with her money. She wants to bring home dinner for us, hand out bills to blow at the casino, make sure we’ve got extra for gas&drinks. And I’m simply not used to it. “It’s more rude in her eyes for you to say ‘no’ all the time, dear.” he explained the other night on the phone, “my mom likes to give you money.” So, I’m trying to learn to say “yes.” Not too often – not too eagerly. But change my mindset from never-accepting-a-handout and realize that it’s not always a-matter-of-taking-advantage.

the HandGrenades

This weekend Mr.U&I went to the CD Release Party for one of his highschool buddy’s bands: The HandGrenades.[cd: The Morning After] The venue was this grungy bar called the Magic Stick in Midtown with eclectic decorations and a billion trendy hipsters. Let’s just say Mr.U didn’t really fit in with his Redwings hoodie, but we were there to support a friend and enjoy each other’s company, so it didn’t faze our out-of-place selves.
The band was a wonderful mix of indie-pop-rock with a touch of motown&retro influences – the perfect combination for my British Invasion swayed ears. I’m all about local flare, so dancing around to funky music created by those born&raised in the Detroit atmosphere was a lot of fun for me. And Mr.U stood beside me with a beer&smile while I bounced&nodded.
And all around excellent experience for our first, real nighttime outing in the downtown of our new home.