It’s hard to see it now…

I’m genuinely curious how old people think I am when they see me.

For the most part, I get the impression people think I’m much younger than I am. It could have a lot to do with my height (4′ 11.5″). I don’t even register on most “adult” height charts. They all start at five-feet. Every time I get measured at the doctor, the nurse always double and often triple checks because I can’t possibly be that short.

No really.    I am.

Yes, yes, it’s very hilarious.

Anyway.

I mean, I do have the sense of humor of a teenage boy, tend to wear stickers on my forehead, and have a penchant for arguing with stuffed animals, so…

On the flip side, I have an extremely low tolerance for blatant stupidity, I get excited for new appliances, and sitting at home on a Saturday night is way more appealing than going out, which all suggest I am, in fact, old.

 

(The work of Bob. Because you need to have some fun when you’re assembling 680 pounds of MDF in a single weekend.)

When we bought our furniture back in October, the sales lady guessed we were twenty-six and it took a great deal of effort not to laugh out loud. Though I did thank her for thinking I’m that young. (Even if you couldn’t pay me any amount of money to go back to my twenties.)

Recently—and by recently, I mean…sometime in the last six months—I was told I’m “still young” in terms of changing my mind about having kids. I’m pretty sure she had no idea how old I really am. Because in terms of having kids? I’m on the too old end of the spectrum.

Alternatively…

When I worked at Menards in high school, customers called me MA’AM all the time. And my older co-workers were all surprised to find out I was still in high school because I didn’t act like the other teenagers working there. (read: not whiny or lazy…even though I totally am)

Then there was the radiology tech that thought Bob was MY SON and not my husband. I know Bob looks young for his age, but MY SON!? The first picture I ever saw of my Robert before we met face-to-face I did think he looked fifteen…but still…

When we got married, friends of my in-laws (who knew neither of us) commented on our wedding pictures that Bob looked “way too young” to get married. Nobody said anything about me, which made me wonder how big of an age gap they thought there was between us. (He’s three years younger, for the record.)

 

  

(The most recent picture I have of the two of us is from 2012. (*sigh*…Oh Red Rocks…) Should probably do something about that.)

I don’t actually care how old people think I am. And I’m pretty sure random strangers care even less how old I actually am.

I’m just weirdly curious.

Because these are the things my brain fixates on.

I’ll continue to laugh at lube jokes, argue with the stuffed mouse sitting on my desk, and get really excited about end tables and lamps. All the while muttering to myself about the increasing number of gray hairs I keep finding.

This is my brain and welcome to it.

I have a really high forehead.

Pick up that precious something…

…and relax for a delicate few…

It’s been almost three years since our trip to Colorado. I never wrote the detailed post I had planned about it, complete with pictures and a lot of flailing about music and mountains. At the time I couldn’t write about it without ugly crying all over my computer. At this point, I think it’s best left to the mental archives.

The trip was worth every last one of those 1800+ miles we drove, but neither one of us has been in any hurry to do anything like it again anytime soon.

Until now.

On a MUCH smaller scale.

   

   

   

   

   

1.) We went to Bemidji and saw O.A.R. play the Sanford Center. Because Sara needs her live music fix. When we hit the highway on our way to get gas before heading out of town, Two Hands Up was the first song to come on the radio. I took that as a good sign for the trip. And then we got to hear it live a few hours later.

2.) Following the [sometimes drunk, apparently] GPS, it took us about 3.5 hours to drive up. The scenery is mostly trees and trees and trees and trees…and trees…and trees…and cows.

3.) Just shy of two hundred miles from home. Joel the Obstinate and Cursed Jetta was very well behaved.

4.) We stayed at the Doubletree. Expensive and fancy, but new, clean, and they gave us warm cookies at check-in.

5.) The description online when I booked the room said balcony with lake view. I had no idea Lake Bemidji would be right there.

6.) We went to dinner at Hurricane Grill and Wings. I had a chicken wrap and Bob had Mahi. It was good food.

7.) The venue was right next to the hotel. We could have just walked over (about half a mile across parking lots), but it was colder and rainier than we would have liked for the distance. Our seats weren’t bad and for the first time ever I wasn’t stuck behind the tallest person in the building…because there wasn’t anybody directly in front of us.

8.) The opening act was a band called The Wind + The Wave. I’d never heard of them before. They’re kind of that southern-folky-sound that’s all over the place these days. Not quite my style of music, but they were entertaining and put on a solid performance.

9.) O.A.R. was every bit as fan-fucking-tastic as I had hoped. They played a lot of their older stuff so it was fun to see how they have evolved over the last two decades. And if I could only pick one song that I really wanted to hear, it would have been Place to Hide, and I got exactly that.

10.) I would like to take Marc Roberge home with me and keep him and have him sit on my desk all adorable like and sing to me all day long. (Though I’d take any one of them. They’re all so damn adorable.)

11.) Post show, with ringing ears, we settled in bed and watched Game of Thrones and skimmed late night cable before crashing. My brain decided to be a total asshole and deprive me of sleep, but it allowed me a lot of time to have staring contests with Eeyore and plot writing ideas that are still stuck in my head.

12.) We were awake by 8AM so we got ready and checked out of the hotel. We stopped to see Paul Bunyan and Babe the Blue Ox like good little tourists. We could have taken time to see more, but it was 30 degrees and windy and starting to snow and we’re kind of lazy.

13.) We had breakfast at the Minnesota Nice Cafe. Bob had a corned beef hash omlet and I had a lumberjack breakfast—eggs, bacon, hashbrowns, toast—and I ate all of it.

14.) We hit the road home after breakfast. Another 3.5 hours later we stopped for gas—we’d been pushing the red line for about the final 20 miles…daredevils, us—and then made it home. Joel averaged about 30mpg on a single tank of gas. Not bad for a 13 year old car.

15.) I posted this picture on Twitter, set my phone on my desk, and barely ten seconds later it buzzed to notify me the band had favorited my tweet. Benj is on the ball with that social media apparently.

Also, I predicted accurately. They’re coming back on their summer tour, but they’re playing the Basilica Block Party. That would be an even bigger nightmare than a small, standing-room-only venue. I made the right call on the road trip.

So worth it.

Too many nights…

Schools were closed yesterday because there was a windchill of twenty below. Actual temperatures were around minus two.

It’s interesting to me how things have changed in the almost two decades since I was in school. I grew up in a district that was ALWAYS the last to close school for anything. Snow had to be deep enough on the roads that buses could literally not get through. And if it was cold, the only way things closed was if the governor shut down the entire state. When that happened the temperature was minus twenty and the windchill was minus forty.

Now they shut down if they think the windchill might get into double digits below zero.

Except Burnsville. They’re still the last to close. But even they were closed yesterday.

I don’t argue that sub zero temperatures are dangerous, but I think they’ve been jumping the gun on school closings—and subsequently complaining that they’ve used too many snow days. Kids these days can’t be exposed to anything that might make them uncomfortable. It might hurt their feelings.

Anyway.

Speaking of face-splitting cold…

Wind burn from said face splitting cold?

Or allergic reaction?

I’m assuming the former, but would not be the least bit surprised by the latter.

This is what my face looked like most of the day yesterday. It cropped up sometime in the middle of the night after I woke up. I was sitting at my desk and noticed my face felt hot and my eyes were burning like I’d been doing a lot of crying. I went to investigate in the mirror and found bright red, puffy, blotchy cheeks.

I had no idea if it was a delayed reaction to the painful (face-splitting cold) wind we’d been subjected to post grocery shopping or if I was having a reaction to something.

Considering my face reacts dramatically to practically anything that touches it (Thanks Proactiv Solution!) I would not have been the least bit surprised it was an allergy. But I didn’t have any other symptoms to suggest allergy. Especially one that severe. My money is on the wind. It was really fucking painful. Shockingly so.

The redness and swelling tamed down by the end of the day and seems fine now.

And despite getting the same exposure I did, Bob had no visible reaction to the wind.

Go figure.

My face is just special apparently.

Days of ease…

Bob’s been on vacation all week and tomorrow is our last day to enjoy it.

I get so spoiled at the end of the year. Bob doesn’t take much time off throughout the year so he ends up taking a lot of time off in November and December.

I love having him home. We don’t really do anything. Nothing that we don’t do every weekend at least. It’s just more of it. And it’s awesome.

But then he has to go back to work and boo and hiss.

Adult responsibility and all that.

*sigh*

Emerson helped paint my nails.

This time we went more Tucker vs Donut instead of Red vs Blue.

Lost my mind a thousand times…

I haven’t actually seen my family since Ellie’s birthday party in July. It always feels weird getting together with my siblings because I am so much not like them. I never really realized how much until I didn’t see them constantly.

Hunter has a mustache and is taller than Mike. He’ll be seventeen in two months.

Noah is finally taller than me, his voice is changing, and he tries to speak in a higher register in an attempt replicate the way he used to sound.

Ellie is catching up to Amy in height and grins at me like it’s the funniest thing ever that she’s—several inches—taller than Auntie Sara now.

By some Thanksgiving miracle Mike didn’t have to work at Best Buy today and doesn’t have to report in until 6AM tomorrow.

And never mind the turkey—Mom had a container of raisin cookies sans raisins waiting for me. Awesome.

She also unloaded a bunch of leftover Halloween candy on us and half a pan of pumpkin bars.

One month til Christmas when we see them all again.

Christmas.

Already.

What.

The hell.

Flip on that switch…

I made cheese burger macaroni for dinner.

Or hotdish in a skillet.

Because this is Minnesota.

It’s pretty much homemade hamburger helper. I had an inspiration recipe and then changed most of it to fit my liking. Because there’s not a snowball’s chance in hell I’m using a pound of Velveeta in anything I cook.

Gag.

Turned out pretty well for an experiment.

Bob liked it, so that’s one for the victory column.

Seventy-six days…

I was rifling through some old files recently, falling into a rabbit hole of bad web design and a whole lot of writing notes for stories long forgotten, and I found a blog post. I have no idea if it was ever actually posted. It would have been on my Live Journal, but I’m too lazy (and frankly, too avoiding-bad-memories) to go through and look for it.

It’s nothing terribly ground breaking. It’s just a lengthy ramble about being with Bob, moving in together, and how unfathomable it was that everything was falling into place so easily and so fast. I had just [recently] moved in and I had yet to get fired from the Toxic Shit Hole. It’s a lot of waxing on about how awesome he is and how much I love him and how happy he makes me and…pretty much everything I still wax on about now.

But what caught my attention was the end of the post…

I did some math the other day…I’m nuts, I know…

Since the day we met, we have spent every single weekend together.

From November 18, 2007 to February 1, 2008 is 76 days.

Of those 76 days, we have spent 57 days together. (including the days when it was only a few hours coming or going)

That makes 19 days apart. And those all involved lengthy phone conversations.

This is how we’ve grown so close so fast. This is why nothing feels rushed.

I made my “official” move in with him on our 2 month anniversary. (Give or take a day or two.) From the day I moved in we have spent exactly one night apart.

It’s been seven years.

According to an internet calculator that’s 2,558 days since our first date.

2,497 days of living together.

1,887 days of marriage.

And we’re still the same clingy koala bears we were on day one.

Who knew?

The Bobs … December 2, 2007