Weekend Goodies

Several goodies came to us this weekend.

First goody . . . these books.
It comes in a whole set of 10, but I didn't have $100+ to spend, so I chose 3 of my favorites. I got the idea to buy these from this blog.

Confession: I bought these 3 for the color of the covers. I've never read "Cranford." Have you? Is it bedside table-worthy?


Second goody . . . these pillows for our couch.
On sale at Pottery Barn. I spent a whole week contemplating whether I should buy them or not. Finally, I sat at the computer to purchase them . . . and they were all sold out! Of course. I called the store in Salt Lake and had them set some aside for this fickle-minded girl!


Third goody . . . heaven.
This was my birthday cake! 3-layers of the most delicious chocolate cake on the planet. Brian had my sister pick it up from Magleby's Fresh in Provo. Yum!

(Formerly) Miss Independent

I used to pride myself on my independence. I opened all my jar lids, managed all my car repairs, did my taxes (I guess my dad helped a little there), carried heavy items from my apartment to my car, opened my own doors, killed spiders without so much as a gasp . . . and then I got married.

Brian went to St. George for the weekend. And I am realizing how un-independent (i.e. dependent) I've become! Tonight as I looked deep into one of our cupboards, I saw this:(If you can't tell, it's a large spider- about 1 inch big!) My heart stopped beating. I think my breathing even paused. I thought, "I need Brian!" Suddenly, I realized that I've been killing spiders for years. I reproached myself for being such a pansy and went to grab some toilet paper because I was going to smash that thing and, so doing, regain my independence!

I slowly crept my hand closer and closer, anticipating an attack at any moment. I pounced on it and smashed. As I pulled my catch out of the dark cupboard, I soon realized what my spider really was. . .
Yes, a toy spider ring. I am so lucky it didn't attack!! So, with my newfound independence, I would like to offer to come kill any plastic pests that might be haunting you.

P.S. I swear the top picture doesn't do it justice- it looked much more realistic in real life!

2 Weeks

Yesterday, Brian turned 27! (happy bday again, honey!) We had a wonderful day full of all the things Brian loves- rock climbing, good food, friends, xbox, buying new movies, and spending time with his favorite person (me!). It was a lot of fun!
With the passing of Brian's birthday, I have entered my favorite 2 weeks of the year (just so you know, I'm known to use the term "favorite" quite loosely). For two weeks, I get to be 2 years younger than my husband! Brian turned 27, yet I'm still the ripe, young age of 25! Exactly 2 weeks from his big day, I will be turning 26 and we'll go back to the 1-year apart thing. But in the meantime, I have 14 days to enjoy feeling younger than usual! Wahoo!

Dreamy

I found this picture on the blog, A Room Somewhere, about a week ago. I've gone back to it almost every day since to daydream. I want this room . . . minus the cat on the sofa. I must admit, the first few times I looked at it, I thought it was an extra pillow!P.S. I promise I'm not trying to offend every animal-owner I know. I just happen to not want a cat . . . or a dog. Bird-owners, you're next!

Together Forever

On Valentines Day, Brian and I were sealed for eternity in the Salt Lake temple!
It was the best day of my life!

Feeling Crafty

I was inspired with this idea at Christmas time on Just-A-Girl's blog. I decided to try it out with a Valentine-y twist.

I bought this frame for $1.00 at D.I. last weekend. (I forgot to take a "before" picture until after I started painting it black!)

I bought these sparkly letters 2 years ago in the Target dollar section. I loved them, but never found any way to decorate with them . . . until now!
I glued the heart on some cute scrapbook paper I had laying around my house. And here's the finished project. Ta da!

How To Tell Your Hubby Loves You

He writes it on your hand of course!Right before leaving for work this morning, Brian grabbed my hand, and after several painful scratches with the pen, showed me what he wrote. How cute is he?!

What the Conversation Hearts Told ME!! (Brian)

This morning as I woke up to the face of my wife, whom I must say is looking about the age of most young moms, I kissed her good morning and got ready for the day. As I was about to leave I looked down at the counter and saw a small pink box that was full of candy hearts. Not usually the kind of person to fall to the temptations of sweets let alone these graffiti littered sugar tablets. However, as I walked past them I may have heard, or just thought, “Take me with you.” So I swiftly pocketed the conversation hearts and rushed off to school.

As I closed the door to my truck I had the feeling that the candy should not remain in my pocket as I drove. But it came to me in the weirdest way. I thought, “We can’t see anything from in here.” I promptly removed the cavity causing sweets from my pocket and launched them towards the dash, however, I noticed one mid-flight that said, “your sweet.” I simply replied with, I know right! On the road to school where I was confronted by an endless strand of incompetence in the form of bad drivers, school buses, dump trucks and speed traps I kept unusually calm. I could not say why, but I felt calm. I could have sworn I heard small little voices serenading me on my journey. As I was grabbing my books and preparing for the mad dash to class that so often accompanies my chronic tardiness. I clearly heard, “Don’t forget us.” I looked around wondering who had expressed their desire to join me. I saw no one. Again I heard the same demand, “Don’t forget us.” I turned to my dash and saw the box of chalky heart shaped semi edible candies and listened. Once again, I heard it. This time I knew its source, the tiny pink box of “Conversation Hearts.” This cannot be, I assured myself. “Oh yes it can,” the box reassured me. I snatched it up in my hand and the box instantly went into opening statements like, “Come here often?” and “Crazy Weather we are having huh? And even “Wanna see my tattoo?” I resisted to Conversations hearts attempts to converse and walked silently as it went on and on trying to woo me into a verbal exchange. As I approached the student services building I spoke my last words to the pink box, which caused some intense staring from my peers, “See ya!” I tossed the talking pink box of hearts into the trash and continued on my way, hoping those around me would just ignore the situation and move on.

I learned two important things from this experience: One is that conversation hearts are scary beyond all reason, and two that one should never eat anything that is capable of conversing.

Allergic

Can you be allergic to thrift stores? I just went to the D.I. to get some stuff for a craft project. I was in there for about 15 minutes. When I left, my throat was completely closed up. The strange thing is that the same thing happened about 2 months ago when I went there.

I saw other shoppers who had dogs with them. Maybe I'm allergic to dogs!!! I would LOVE to have a reason to not ever get a dog. Instead of telling Brian, "I just don't like them," I could say, "What? Are you trying to kill me?!"

(I don't mean to offend any of my favorite readers who own dogs. I love you. And your dogs are very cute.)

What the Conversation Hearts Told Me

Tonight I left school pretty late after my parent-teacher conferences. I went to the grocery store near my house to pick up a few things. As I went through the checkout aisle, the cashier looked at my items: 20 boxes of conversation hearts and posterboard. She smiled and said, "The things we won't do for our kids, right?" My first thought was, What! I don't look old enough to have kids-- let alone school-age kids who are the ones who would need this kind of stuff! And who says a childless girl wouldn't ever need 20 boxes of conversation hearts for herself??

And then I realized it: I am old enough. Goodbye young Dana. Even though I'm not a mother, I feel like I've just reached the mother-age; when I could start being mistaken for a child's mom instead of their really cool, pretty, smart, sophisticated, older sister. Weird.