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?

dear veronika, please think before you speak...

During our bathroom remodel, I was in charge of picking up the new toilet from Lowes.

We had already picked it out, so all I had to do was convince my mom to drive me out there, show someone what I wanted, pay, and then load it into her car.

Easy.

I walked into the store, cool, collected, and savvy.

Every few aisles, a friendly store clerk would politely ask if I was in need of assistance.

"Why, no thank you, I know exactly what I need!" 

I would reply with confidence.

Once I crossed the store and reached the plumbing section, I quickly realized I was in need of assistance as there was no way I could carry the box of disassembled toilet all the way to the register and out to the car.

No matter. From around the corner, another friendly clerk sprang out in front of me to ask if I needed help.

"Why, yes thank you. I'll be needing someone to load this into the car!"

Quick as a whip, we were at the register and ready to pay.

As I was swiping my credit card, the nice boy manning the register asked,

"Now, where are we putting this?"

Feeling very proud of myself at this point, I matter-of-factly replied,

"Oh! We're going to be putting this in the bathroom!"

Silence.

Wait...did I hear crickets?

Why is he looking at me like that?

Is he confused?

What did I say?

Doh.

"Ohhh...you mean which car are we putting this in?"

He nods. 

Then smirks.

"Right. Okay. It's the white Vibe parked out front. But, just for the record, we were thinking of putting this sucker in the living room. You know, make things easier...less distance to travel when we gotta go? Erhm, please just forget I said that, okay?!?"

Red as a beet and dragging my pride behind me, I darted out of the store without meeting the eyes of anyone in my path.

Savvy.

Real savvy.

the coolest bathroom in the world...

Wow. 

Is summer break really over already? 

Where did it go?

How did it happen so fast?

Did I accomplish anything in the past three months?

What was I doing all summer long?

Oh yeah.

Now I remember...

Teamed up with my trusty, handy, super-hot, husband,

We turned this...

Into this...

Okay, seriously...scroll back up and look at that disgusting-ness again.

Dis.freaking.usting.

And it's not like we just didn't clean it. We did! A lot! It wouldn't get clean!

The floors were damaged from water and the super-cute-blue-checkered-linoleum was curling at the edges. We could only go two days after a good, deep clean before mildewy grossness started creeping up in all the corners because there was no air flow whatsoever. Unless you count the exhaust fan that, when you flipped the switch, would do nothing, not even turn on, for at least a good ten minutes. When you went to turn it off however, it kept running for maybe an hour. 

And our toilet seat...uffda! 

What an embarrassingly noisy cushioned disaster that was...

*Sit*...Poof! fsssssssssshhh!

But this...ahhhhhh...

Can't you just smell the lavender from the bath salts you know I'm gonna toss in there tonight??

So, anyway, before I make you too jealous...

That was our summer. 

We literally tore out our bathroom. Top to bottom.

Floors, walls, ceilings, plumbing, electrical, all completely redone, and all by ourselves with help from family. It was so much work, and I was so not expecting it to be that hard. In retrospect, I have no idea why I didn't think it would be that hard. But when the insulation and plaster were falling down into our eyes, and I was dodging hundred year old nails because I haven't had a tetanus in twenty years, I wanted to cry and wish it all away. I wanted to just close off the unfinished room, forget that we even started it and live with the fact that we would have to continue using this as our restroom...

(This is a toilet that is located in our freaky, creepy basement. We had to use this for almost three weeks.)

It really was miserable.

But, now it's over, and I'm happy.

Stay tuned for pictures of our temporary "shower" and a few embarrassing moments starring yours truly.

How the heck was your summer?

my favorite day...

Two years ago I had the best day of my life. 

My wedding.

My sister helped me dress, held my hand, and whispered sweet blessings.

A bed of petals were scattered to soften our steps...

My dreamy husband-to-be waited patiently...

Someone told me to stop crying, the music had started, and I needed to pull myself together and take my long awaited walk down the grassy aisle...

I felt like a princess in the veil my mom hand made for me.

Both my parents supported me as I took each slow step towards my future...

But then I saw him, his bottom lip quivering as much as my shaking legs. 

I fell in love with this man, my man, over and over and over again.

The women I love stood next to me, crying with me, and loving me.

Friends sung for us, and celebrated us.

And then, after vowing to each other the rest of our lives and the depth of our hearts, we walked away to "Bittersweet Symphonies"...

My new mom in law (who promised she wouldn't) cried with me out of joy.

We cuddled each other...

And I was so, so happy...

I surprised my new husband by recording myself singing "our song" and playing it as our first dance...

I laughed.

And then he held me.

And then my sister, my heart, spoke a stream of love and made me cry, again.

Then came my baby brother, my hero, and I had to stop my new husband from choking on his laughter...

Then, my brave husband tried to speak, but got choked up. 

It made it better.

Then we cut our cake! A funky Lithuanian cake, 'cause, we're like that...

We laughed...

And grooved...

And then my dad held me.

And I'll never forget it.

For a moment, I let it all soak in...

I'm a wife. I have a husband. We have a life together.

Forever.

And then it was over...

But we still danced.

And loved.

Now, two years later. 

Nothing has changed. 

His lip still quivers and I still get wobbly knees.

I don't feel like I have a husband.

I just feel like I have the coolest roommate ever.

All photos taken by the amazing David E. Jackson.

and then something dumb happens...

...and I get attacked by a bird.

Literally. No exaggerating.
Dive-bomb, direct target, brutal attack.

Riding my bike by the river today, I felt something hit my head.
I thought it was just someone throwing something at me again...
Yes, that happens to me...and more often than I care to admit.


But then I reached up and felt a feathery mass of body.

And I freaked out.

I tried to pedal faster, but my poor bike doesn't do faster.
I think there's only like, one gear. If that.
So my feet did that funny thing, you know, like when you're walking up the stairs in the dark, and you think there's just one more step than there actually is, so you step down too hard and you get that weird sinking feeling in your tummy...yeah, that.

Stupid bird kept diving down, pecking and scratching at my head!

Finally, after about a block, it stopped.
Maybe I hit it. I don't know.

It wasn't until later, when I went to go tell my sister what happened, that I noticed my hair was wet.
BLOOD!
B.L.O.O.D!!
I got freaking owned by a bird!

In hopes that this never happens to me again, I am hear-by offering a public apology to the birds of America...

I'm sorry.
I wasn't making fun of you when I wore this two Halloween's ago...

Please don't attack me again.

As always. The joke is on me.

pen and ink...

click to enlarge.

Ps. sorry for the crappy penmanship and spelling/grammatical errors.
Pps. I love you all.

how "being green" can sometimes lead to "bloody massacre"...

I have a strange relationship with lint. I just can't justify tossing it out when it could be saved and used for cool things like this. Seriously, how awesome is that?!


So, every time I empty the lint trap out, I just set it on top of the dryer until I can think of something to do with it. But, like almost everything else I set out to do, I never get around to using it and the pile gets bigger and bigger. Eventually, my husband will inform me that our basement lint population is out of control and threatens to throw it all away if I don't create a fiber masterpiece of my own. Then he gives me 'the look'...you know, the same one that debuted here...the "you're in big trouble" look.


With a defeated sigh, I will mumble something about not being free to be myself and how my efforts of creativity are stifled by his need for cleanliness, and then trek out to the backyard with two armfuls of dusty lint. I hang it in tufts on the branches of our crabapple tree and wait for the birds to come find it to use for their nests.


Turns out, a mama rabbit found our offering and dug a little nook in the tall grasses (read: weeds) next to the fence. Tucked inside were six tiny baby bunnies all snuggled together on a bed of soft, multicolored fuzz. The would-have-been discarded fibers of our socks, shirts, and unmentionables (why do I write about underwear so much??) had provided a soft, safe haven for those little babies.


But really, only a soft haven, because it was far from safe. Even though the nest was on the other side of the fence, even though we worked so hard building and designing it to keep rabbits out and that nasty, vile dog we call ours in, it wasn't safe enough.


While we were inside cooking up a fine spaghetti dinner, Lena was outside pacing the boundary line, salivating, and formulating a plan in that pea sized brain of hers. Escape was necessary and by any means possible. She violently tore the chicken wire off the trellis and gnawed her way through the crosshatch. Squeezing her whole body through an impossibly small hole, she landed directly on top of the sleeping babies.


I can't write the rest. I am honestly still shaken, and I think it would just be cruel to put into words the horror of what came next. You know what happens. You can imagine the rest.


And that's why this post will have no picture. If that disappoints you, you are sick. Sick!


Somewhere out there is a mother rabbit who has lost her family.
I hope she didn't see it all go down.
That would suck.


Lena and I are not on speaking terms.
She has totally spoiled the joy I used to get from saving lint.