i hear the secrets that you keep...

Apparently I talk in my sleep.
I wasn't made aware of this spectacular talent of mine until after I was married and shared a sleeping space with another human.
A light sleeping human.

Thank God for sacred wedding vows until death do us part, because without them, I might have frightened my bedfellow away and back into a bachelor's domain.

There was one night, when in a fitful slumber, I snatched my husbands pillow from under his sleepy head and yelled,
"That's MY pillow!"
Contentedly happy and dreaming my cares away on two overstuffed pillows, I slept peacefully, while my poor husband rested his head on a solid, cold mattress.

Another night, after a day of heavy cleaning, I crept out of bed in the middle of the night, walked across the room and started tossing clothes left and right. My tired husband woke to the ruckus and asked what I was doing. In a pissy, 'mind your own business' voice, I replied,
"I'M CLEANING!"
sigh, humph, mutter.
"Well, actually, I'm not cleaning, I'm organizing."
toss. throw. slump.
"You know what, just don't even ask."
And then I sulked back to bed, turning my back on him because 'he just didn't get it'.

During our bathroom remodel, after pulling out flooring, sinks, toilets, tubs, drywall, plaster, wallpaper, etc, etc, I had another sleeping 'moment'. We had the help of my little brother that day to tear down the plaster and lathe. He did a mighty good job, that boy. I must have thought so, because his great work made me dream and walk a fury that night...

At an ungodly hour during slumber-time, I sat up in bed, tore the covers off and stared at the wall. My husband, growing accustomed to this charade, sighed and asked what I was up to.

I turned to the wall, swept my hand across it's embossed wallpaper and said,
"I know. We'll have the kids do it."

Wiping sleep from his eyes, my husband replied,
"What??"

"We'll have the kids do it. They know how to do it right. You see? The last owners didn't know how to do it right and that's why we had to do it. We have to do it right this time."

"Honey, you're asleep. Go to bed."

"NO. I promise you, I am not asleep right now. Here, let me show you how to do it right. I'll just go grab the crowbar..."

"Um. No. You need to go to sleep, you're asleep right now, just lay back down..."

"NO! I. AM. NOT. ASLEEP. I PROMISE!"

"Go to sleep."

With a huge and overly dramatic sigh, I slumped back into bed and said with all the sass I could sleepily muster,

"Fine. But you're going to feel very silly tomorrow morning when you realize I am not asleep right now."

As you probably guessed, the next morning when I went downstairs to greet my husband and his steaming cup of coffee, he had a smirk like the Cheshire Cat himself.

With a light kiss I asked,
"How did you sleep, babe?"

Jaw dropping and walking away he replied,
"Well, I slept like crap, but I sure don't feel silly this morning."

And, in a rush, it all came back to me.

In conclusion, I think that my subconscious dream state is trying to tell me something.

I need two interchangeable pillows to keep my sleeping self satisfied.

I need to spend more awake time cleaning and organizing.

And the next time we plan a room remodel, I'll just leave it entirely up to the creepy ghost children, because, after all, they know what's best.



Oh, and also, in order to keep things spicy and surprising in the bedroom, I need to continue talking in my sleep because my husband says it's freaky.

Freaky in the bedroom is good, right?

the thanksgiving edition...

I have so much to be thankful for. So, so much. I can't even begin to think where I would be right now if it weren't for my amazing, supportive family, and my extraordinary husband.

I'm thankful for a tableful of friends and family.

Thankful that I got the chance to talk to my brother on his first Holiday away from home.

Thankful for jokes and stories that we've heard over, and over at the same dinner table for twenty years or more.

I'm thankful that I don't feel ungrateful. That I feel like I belong in the place I'm in right now. I am so unbelievably thankful to be where I am, with the people am I with. Every day it seems I take a peek at my life and wonder, 'is this where you thought you would be, is this what you want to be doing?' and I always, always think, 'YES!!' My life is an amazing life, and I wouldn't change any part of it...

It's the day after Thanksgiving. You might already be wondering why I'm in such a good mood right now and talking about love, and family, and how my life is so incredible...but, it's the day after Thanksgiving...and you know what that means!!

Christmas decorating!!

I don't know why or how it happens, but the minute you tear away the packing tape, your house suddenly reeks of Christmas. Cinnamon oozes out of the boxes, pine wafts past your nose, and suddenly it feels like Santa threw up in your house, spewing Christmas essence all over the walls and cupboards.

It's delicious.

We're the only one on our block to have Christmas lights, but I don't care. It makes me happy...

The wreaths are hung...

and our stockings are resting on the banister...

Glittering snowflakes are dusting the garland. Candles are lit in every corner. Twinkling lights are draped lazily, weaving in and out of faux evergreen, and chandeliers are seductively enveloped in garland.

This is the time of year that I wish I was still living at home. Wishing I still saw the familiar nutcrackers gracing the staircase, my own stocking, hand embroidered by my mom, nestled between my sibling's and clung to the fireplace, and a warm cup of hot cocoa made by my dad out of Nestle's and chocolate milk, extra thick and full of chocolaty goodness.

But, I have my own family now. A family that I have to provide these Holiday traditions for. A husband who longs for his mom as much as I do this time of year.

And so, we adorn our house with cheer and reminders of what our mothers would do. We make it our own, but still bring a piece of our child's heart into our adult home. We listen to "A Charlie Brown Christmas" soundtrack because that tugs his heartstring. And we decorate incessantly because that tugs my heartstring.

We laugh and hug, and laugh again, watching this, and this. We create our own memories and traditions, and we hold each other. Missing the absence of everything we've ever known during the Holiday season, but embracing the traditions we've started for our own little family.

And I remember, amidst all the glimmering lights, pine scented candles, and mistletoe adorning our home, this is a time to love.

It's a time to love deeper than you ever felt before.

Because...

mistletoe and

garland and

sparkles and

evergreen

and pine scented candles

and santa's

and nativities

and red

and green

and giving

and getting

and traditions...

just force you to

love a little deeper.

Happy, happy thanksgiving everyone.

the answer is yes.

People always ask me if I enjoy working with my family.

How can I not when every day starts with big, warm hugs, and ends with sticky cheeks from kisses received by the one wearing far too much lip gloss?

Workplace gossip is juicier, and stories to tell date back twenty years or more.

Compliments and criticism are mulled over quietly by each member before being delivered, to try and be as sensitive and caring as possible (for the most part, anyway...) and years and years of trust and learning to communicate are a far better teacher than team building workshops or leadership training courses.

Hysterical fits of giggles are encouraged. 

Dancing in the kitchen is a must. 

Singing out of key is preferred.

Above all that, booty slaps are highly discouraged in all other work environments.

And that's not fun at all.

(As a side note, I could have sworn I saw Jon Gosselin today and I got way more excited about it than I should have. What is wrong with me??)

(It wasn't Jon Gosselin, in case you wondered...)

saying goodbye is hard to do...

Two things are often said about me and my family. The first is that we are 'close'. This is a huge understatement. We are close, but, we are so much more than that. My family, which consists of my dad, mom, sister, brother, and myself, are so close that when one person feels something, we all feel it a hundred times more. If someone pisses the other one off, you can bet we'll be on the phone with all other members of the family for an hour, or two. After we get done with the phone bashing, we proceed to email each other about it, call each other again, and then update our facebook statuses to show the offender that we mean business. If one is happy, we revel in it, laugh, celebrate, and cook huge dinners. If one is sad, we cry, hold one other, and talk about times when...

We have telepathic tendencies. Too many phone calls have started with, "Oh, I was just dialing your number..." or, "Wow, you used your powers again, I so need to talk to you right now."

We feel each other, and it is the most surreal thing.

The second thing that is often said about me is that I'm a 'crier'. Well, this is the most understated understatement in the history of them all. I cry all the time. All the time. And I love it. It's my favorite thing about myself. I cry when I'm happy, sad, mad, or when someone tells a joke (I get that one from my mom.) I cry when someone I hardly know is hurting, I cry when people sing, I cry in the shower, I cry when my dog is frustrating me, I cry at work (and often), I cry and cry and cry. I'm sure if you asked the people who witnessed my nuptials, they would say they weren't sure if I was happy, or mortified to be getting married. I was physically unable to give my husband, family, and guests a wedding toast. I just stood with a microphone in my hand and somehow managed to whimper out, "ttthhhhankkk youuu, *sob* soooo muchhh!" But, to me, it's the greatest feeling. To have such a release of all my emotions, at any given time, it truly is the only way I know how to express myself the best.

My little baby brother (who is a 6 foot, nineteen year old, and who used to be the tiny boy on his first day of school, pictured above) moved out of my parents house and all the way to Colorado this past week. He now lives approximately 1167.36 miles away from me.

We are devastated. It hurts.

I know, I know, he's going to have the time of his life, he's on an adventure, it's only going to be two months 'till you see him again...but, did I say, we're close?

Taking him to the airport with my mom and sister was the hardest thing I've had to do in my life so far. To quote my mom, it felt like ''our hearts were being ripped out". Our hearts had been ripped out. Ripped out, checked into baggage claim, tossed into cargo by the TSA, and strewn about amidst all the other luggage.

And I cried. Oh, how I cried.

He's moving to Vail, Colorado to be a ski-lift operator. He'll will be having the time of his life. This kid practically came out of the womb with a snowboard strapped to his feet.

I just keep repeating those things in my mind. He's on an adventure...time of his life...adventure...adventure...

The truth is, I know this. It's still hard, but somewhere, deep down, there's a fluttering bit of excitement. I am so utterly proud of this little boy who grew up beside me, teasing and taunting me, and loving deeper than all of us combined. He's the littlest one, he got all of the best traits.

I'm excited for him because this journey of his will be full of firsts. His first time living out of the house, the nest he grew up in. His first time kissing his momma goodbye. The first time actually taking advice from his daddy. His first apartment, his first roommate. His first accounts of full responsibility.

I'm excited for the day when he can't handle another frozen pizza, or 11 cent package of Ramen and calls our mom to find out how on earth to bake a chicken, and how, oh how, do you make those lovely dumplings? He'll cunningly convince a girl to make it for him, and for the first time in months, he'll get an itty bitty taste of home.

I am excited, thrilled, for my little baby brother.

You will have the time of your life. You are on an amazing adventure. We miss you so, but are more proud of you than you can ever possibly imagine.

As for me, I'm going to go cry now. And call my mom.

say 'hello' to my little blog...

I've been wanting to start a blog for awhile now, which is strange for me. I used to own a shirt that said, "no one cares about your blog". I thought it was hilarious.

Now however, I am intrigued by this online world of journaling, spilling your guts for the world to see, sharing stories, photos, opinions, or what you had for supper last night. A whole little community brought together by wires and electricity to share what matters to them most. There are a few blogs I ''follow'' written by strong, stunning women, and I've been overwhelmingly inspired by them, so I decided to try it myself.

Plus, I can't find that shirt anywhere, so it's as if I never even owned it.

I was so excited all morning to write my very-first-ever post. I tried all day to pay attention to little details so I would have something to write about when I got home. But, absolutely nothing interesting happened today. Nothing. After I walked home, I let my puppy outside, plopped down at the computer desk, turned on some 'thinking' music to get my creative juices a-flowin, opened blogger.com, and stared at a blank screen. What to write...what to write...My fingers shied away from the keyboard and I thought to myself, "great. you spent all night setting this up, and now you can't think of a word to say. way to go failure." I let mind wander to my dog, outside hopping around in the piles of leaves, burying her nose deep, and chasing after the walnuts I heard bouncing off the roof.

I started to think that I should put this off for another day, a day when something actually happens. Something cool. When my phone rang.

"Hi, ummm, we have your dog..."  said the voice on the other end.

"What?"  says, you guessed it, me.

"We have her on our leash, we're on blankety-blank-street"

"I'll be right there!"

I flew out the door, leash and collar in hand, muttering curses along the way. I crossed one street, not it. I crossed another, a busy one, still not it. I went five blocks, crossing two busy streets to find my puppy on the end of a stranger's leash.

Now, five blocks might not seem a long way, but when you live near a downtown, almost any downtown, with busy streets and crazy people luring stray pups into their cars and homes (hey, you never know...) you kind of freak out. Especially us first-time puppy parents.

There she was, my little runt of a dog, wagging her tail ferociously, looking like she just went on the biggest adventure of her life. And, that she did, because she's not going to be left alone in the yard ever again.

So now, puppy is tucked away in her kennel, crying, howling, in fact, and here I sit with something to write about.

I'm Veronika. I have a handsome, wonderful husband, an amazing family, a big old house, and one little puppy.

This is me. And my ordinary life.

Pictured: Blog t-shirt.