home renovation

To most people, these two kitchen tools probably have little to nothing in common. To me, they have everything in common. You see, the number one reason I wanted a food processor was so I could create these
with more ease. They are delectable truffles of the Oreo variety, first introduced to me by a woman whose cooking I respect and admire (that would be my dear friend, Wendi). When she gave me the recipe, she told me how easy they were to make. She was right. If I had a food processor. But for the last few years, every time I make this scrumptious treat I've had to break out the rolling pin and freezer bags and hammer away. It is a painstaking process to crumble 36 Oreos by hand into a fine powder.

My mom gave me a food processor for my birthday this year, and I tried it for the first time last night. A. MAZ. ING. Seriously. It took about 3 seconds to obliterate any evidence that the powder in the bowl had once belonged in a sandwiched cookie. (Note to self: never put finger anywhere near food processor blade unless machine is unplugged.)

I think I'm in love.

Not only that, but it turns out my new kitchen gadget is good for all kinds of other purposes. I think I will soon begin to forget what life was like before it entered my life.

And while we're on the subject of new things entering our lives, I saw these at the grocery store yesterday and about died:

They were that cute. They are baby bananas. I didn't buy them, because they were about a quadruple hundred times more expensive than regular bananas, but don't think I wasn't tempted. Isn't everything just CUTER when it's a baby?

Thank you so much for all of the congratulations and happy wishes. I am getting more and more excited for our little saucer to join this family of dishes, as is my tummy which is continually expanding. I'm still wearing street clothes, but I can definitely tell my body is changing. We find out on March 5th if we're having a boy or girl, so be sure to cast your vote in the poll.

A little over a week ago, I walked outside sporting a short sleeved shirt. Spring was in the air. I know that we are only on the cusp of February, but I was deceived into the promise of tulips and butterflies, dogwood and azalea blossoms. Funny how I have only spent a year and a half as an official resident of the South, but I have most definitely become a Southern girl when it comes to my thoughts and feelings about winter. I simply don't think it should exist past Christmas. I have worn my sweaters. I have adorned my coat. My scarves. An occasional set of mittens. There is no reason for winter to remain. That is why when an ice storm from a place that is not heaven blasted through our state this weekend, my body protested immensely. I laughed when my students told me about the weather man's expectation for snow. Yet, on Friday night the snow came. Then the freezing rain came. The wind. The cold.

Here's the thing. In Utah, when a storm like that comes through, everything goes on as normal. People drive. They go to school. They go to work. They go to church.

Here, none of those things happen. The entire town shuts down. No one is equipped for snow removal, people are petrified to drive in the foreign white powder, and businesses and schools close because no one will show up anyway.

Don't worry. We laugh in the face of such danger. We were prepared, so we did not fear.

Did we go to the grocery store and buy out all of the bread and milk like other Kinston residents? No.

Did we already have a perfectly stocked food storage, which meant we needed to make no such trip to the grocery store? No, not exactly...

When I found out it was going to be that cold, and that we might be trapped inside for an entire weekend, I thought of one thing: moving in with my in-laws.

Sure enough, there were nine of us plus a tiny tot at my husband's childhood home this weekend. We had a blast. It felt like an extended holiday vacation.

We played board games.

We played card games.

We laughed and chatted.

We entertained the most precious toddler I have ever known.

We curled up in front of the gas fireplace when the electric heat failed downstairs.

We ate (because even if MY pantry is not perfectly stocked, Mama Joy's IS).

We stayed in our pajamas all day on Saturday.

We watched the yard turn into a winter landscape that could easily be mistaken for Narnia: trees draped with icicles and car windows laced with kisses from Jack Frost.

When church was canceled I can't say I was sad to think I no longer had to prepare a talk for sacrament meeting.

When it was announced that school is canceled for tomorrow I can't say I was sad to think I no longer had to get up at 6:00 in the morning.

The weekend has been pretty grand, even if I am irked at North Carolina for deceiving me into wishful thinking for Spring.

Now that we are home in our cozy cottage with plaster walls, single-paned windows, and a heating system that was probably installed sometime before I was born and is (to quote our heating and air guy) "running on borrowed time," I am most definitely sure that we made the right decision by moving out during the brunt of the storm. I am also most definitely certain that I am beyond thankful that this type of cold weather is a novelty in the state that I now call home. Otherwise, I think my love and devotion for my cute house might start to waver.

So. My last post was quite a while ago. There really is no GOOD excuse for my lack of documenting the wonderful events of my life. It will be quite sad some day when I actually get around to making a hard copy of all of these posts and realize that months at a time were never written about. Now, because I have let all the fun, witty posts pass me by, I have nothing to write, so this will be my lame attempt at posting, just so I can say I wrote something. Here's a couple things:

1) We spent a wonderful Christmas with my family, and I took about three photos the entire time I was there. Somehow, a Christmas post without photos just didn't seem exciting enough. Then, by the time I decided I should post about it anyway, photo-less, the fact that it is now the end of January really makes a Christmas post seem anti-climactic. (Kind of like the Christmas cards I was going to send all of you that never made it to the post office. . . Sorry about that, folks. You still may get a Valentine's Day card if I muster up the energy to send them.) We had a grand time in Utah this year. We ate. We slept in. We ate. We were spoiled with some fabulous gifts. And we ate some more. Even now as I type this I crave the Cafe Rio that will not be mine again for months, and months, and months.

2) I've ended another semester as a high school English teacher. I think one of the main reasons I haven't posted much this year has been my extreme negativity about my job, and knowing that there's only so much I can complain about on a public forum without somehow getting fired, so there you go. I'm worn out and frustrated. Enough said. I still love teaching, but teaching somehow seems to become less and less of my job description as the months tick by, which is hard to explain unless you've ever been an employee of the public education system. If you haven't, I'm sorry that I can't elaborate. If you have, you know exactly what I'm talking about. The good news is it appears that I kept my bad attitude more concealed than I thought. On my evaluation forms this year most of my students said they appreciated my positive demeanor and how happy I always was, which made me feel a lot better about the entire situation. The new semester will start next Wednesday, so I guess it's time to just put the things I can't change to the side and enjoy the things I can.

There you go. A couple of thoughts to compensate for the thoughts that have been neglected around here the past few months.

They must have been talking about the circles under my eyes. Black, dark circles. When my alarm went off this morning, at 2:45 a.m., I momentarily lost touch with reality. I was a tad bit angry that something was daring to disturb the peaceful slumber to which my body had succumbed. For that brief moment I forgot. Then, realization struck: Shopping. Day after Thanksgiving. $97 GPS. I was awake.

I spent the next fifteen minutes trying to make myself presentable before Lauren came to pick me up. A glance in the mirror told me there wasn't much that fifteen minutes could fix: I looked like Quasimodo. My eyes were all puffy, which gave my face a sort of warped, deformed quality. A quick face wash and mascara application later, and my French-hunchback self was off to Greenville.

What is it about Black Friday, dear readers? Why is it that I simply can't resist it? On the outside it's nothing but disaster. Black Friday is mobs of people waiting in lines outside in the cold, who then start waiting in lines for a dressing room, who then move to waiting in lines to pay, and finally finish waiting in lines to get out of the parking lot, so they can drive to the next store and start again. Nothing about that sounds fun, but it IS.

When I sprinted through Target in my BYU hoodie, weaving through a sea of red shopping carts and agitated shoppers, I felt nothing but excitement. When I clutched that precious TomTom in my hand and knew that I had, indeed, won, I felt nothing but extreme satisfaction. And when I walked into Shoe Carnival thirty minutes later, and they handed me a $10 gift card just for walking into the store, I knew the day would be glorious. Glorious it was.

Eleven stores and eight hours later, I thought I might be dying.

I wonder how I will possibly walk tomorrow. I am exhausted.

At least I will die knowing I found some killer deals.

The good thing is I have 365 days to forget about how tiring Black Friday is, so I can savor it again next year.

Are headed to my classroom. I wrote a grant with another teacher and we got it! $1,000 to buy these digital, miniature camcorders with video editing software for our department. Think of all the cool project possibilities with these little babies in tow. I am so excited!

Forget about your job and remember other things that have nothing to do with it.

Sometimes, I lay in bed at night and dream about finding a nice secretarial job. You know the kind. Something low key, with a higher salary than teaching (somehow I doubt that's hard to find), with benefits, and a boss who gives me a nice Christmas bonus and an occasional, "Thanks, Katie, you're really good at your job." Maybe even a raise when he sees how fabulous I am. A nice secretarial position where I work from 8 to 5. When I go home at night, I'll be done with work. I won't have to think about it until the next morning. No papers to grade. No lazy teenagers. No homecoming ballots to copy, and stuff, and count. Let's face it: I'd make a killer secretary.

Instead, I work in a job where being good at it means I get added responsibilities with no additional compensation. And, while I work on my additional responsibilities, the stacks of papers I'm supposed to be grading just keep piling. The piles keep getting larger. And larger. And today, around the time that I agreed to be an emergency sub for someone's Spanish class during my prep period, while struggling to repair the technology that I needed for a lesson I was giving after lunch (which I wouldn't be eating because I had lunch duty), I almost cried. Almost is huge for me. I'm surprised I didn't lose it.

A lot of days I love my job. It makes me feel all warm fuzzy inside. A lot of days, in fact most days, an email from a parent thanking me for what I do for her child is enough. Having a student write, "I love you, Mrs. R!" on my whiteboard is enough. Watching a kid really GET something, and knowing I made that happen is enough. Today is not one of those days. Today I am tired. I am tired of feeling so physically exhausted. Tired of hearing, "This is boring." Tired of watching kids sleep through class. Tired of an honors class that didn't even bother to read The Great Gatsby and massacred what could have been an enlightening discussion. Tired of working twelve hour days and not getting paid for it. Today is a day I contemplate searching help wanted ads for a new profession.

Now, here I sit at home, and it's time for me to prove to myself that my life is not completely and utterly crappy. Here it goes.

On Friday, Lauren and I went shopping in Goldsboro. My mission: finds for the house. I love doing anything with Lauren, but shopping with her is especially fun. We are very thorough shoppers. We are bargain hunters. We start in one corner of a store and leave no stone unturned. We fondle every fabric, and we smell every candle. It took us about five hours to circulate three stores. Shopping is hard work, I tell you, and I'm hoping three hard core hours of it will compensate for the weeks I've neglected to go to the gym. I found some great stuff for the house at amazing prices (gotta love Ross and TJ Max). Some of my finds helped contribute to the completion of the sun room (well. . . somewhat completion) after we repainted the wicker furniture Joy and Bruce gave us. The finished product, for now, looks something like this:

Here's the wicker furniture pre-paint job and during paint job:




And the finished product:


On Saturday, Chad and I joined Cameron, Lacey, and Cassie for the U2 and Muse concert in Raleigh. U2 has long been on my list of bands to see in concert before I die. Considering this is the first time they've toured in the United States in twelve years, I'd say I kind of lucked out getting to see them. I have started to refer to this show as the highlight of my life, but since that seems to hurt Chad's feelings (something about our wedding day maybe needing to fill that spot in my memory), I'll just say this concert will forever be a close second. Muse sounds as amazing live as they do on CD; I would definitely pay to see them in concert as the headliner. And U2? I don't care if they're old. Any group that wrote songs two years after my birth and is still rocking out is just cool. Period. It was a fabulous concert. Feast your eyes and ears on the highlights:

First, here are the photos of us being amazed by the stage and excited for the concert to start. We got there VERY early, which was a super good thing. Apparently, a lot of folks were stupid and got stuck in traffic. These losers missed Muse, and in some terrifying cases, even part of U2's set. Another good reason for arriving early was getting free parking in a bank parking lot a mile away, instead of paying $20 to park at the stadium. Plus, when the security guards told us we couldn't have backpacks, it gave Lacey and I time to walk all the way back to the car. The security guard also told us we could bring treats but no water bottles. Funny how when we got back from the car, a different security guard said there was no food allowed. Don't you worry, we got to bring in our Almond Joys and Sour Patch Kids! We held the first guy to his word.

Chad and me:
Cameron's first concert. I'm pretty sure every show afterward is going to savor of anticlimax:

And video footage for your enjoyment:

My one regret is not getting any footage of the drunken Brazilian lady doing the samba during every song. Man, she had some energy.

Then, when we got home Sunday morning, I had this surprise waiting for me in my dining room:


Merry Christmas to me! This corner, china cabinet belonged to Chad's great grandmother. She recently passed away, and this is a Christmas present from Joy and Bruce, who bought it for us from her estate sale. Thank you so much! It's beautiful, sentimental, and I love it!


Yup, I'd say my life is pretty far from being crappy after all. That was therapeutic. Thanks for indulging me.