People are usually shocked when I tell that that The King and I slept in a twin sized bed for the first two years of our marriage. Really, we did. And not even a real twin sized bed. We had a futon mattress. We also lived in a studio apartment, so we didn’t have any other options.

We moved to the first new house (you know, the one we built before the one we’re building now) and happily got rid of our twin size bed. We upgraded to a full size bed. But alas, we still rocked the futon mattress.

(Hey, futon mattresses are cheap and we were are poor.)

We’ve since sold the first house, as well as most of our furniture. Somehow in all of this we’re still rocking the same full size futon mattress that we bought over six years ago. And let me tell you, it’s not rocking us. Every morning The King and I wake up to find we’ve got another kink in our neck, or our back is all wacky, or we can’t feel our toes.

It was hard to admit it, but we finally did; we needed a change.

We started small. We bought new pillows. The new pillows rocked. We were both happy.

Suddenly the new pillows stopped rocking so hard. We were both back to hurting and sleeping terribly. I even succumbed to digging my old pillow out and using it again.

The King and I weren’t sure if our bodies were in pain because of the stress in our lives. I mean, maybe we were tensing up at night, thus resulting in a crappy nights sleep. Or maybe The King’s body was hurting because he’s building a house with his own hands. (I hear manual labor is hard. I hope I never find out if that’s true.)

Or maybe, just maybe it was the crappy futon mattress that we loved so many years ago.

Last week we came to a conclusion, we had to get rid of the futon. We had to suck it up and get a mattress made for the grown-ups we had become. We owed it to ourselves.

(Thankfully Macy’s was having an awesome One Day Sale! They practically paid us to take the mattress off their hands. Seriously.)

The night of January 19th will be spent sleeping on our new queen size real-life-mattress. And believe you me, I’ve got it marked on the calendar.

It’s going to be a joyous day.

So tell me, do you think a queen size will be big enough? Or should we have splurged for a California king? Dude, beds things are huge.

Friday night, before heading out to have dinner with friends, Babboo and I stopped over at our new house to check on the latest going-ons.

Behold, we have a concrete driveway:

While this may seem rather boring and not really blog worthy, it is, in fact, very exciting. Of course it doesn’t mean we’ll be moving into the house anytime soon. But it does mean that when we do move in we’ll be able to park in our garage.

And that, my friends, is what we call progress. And progress is good.

I’m constantly getting asked, “when do you think the new house will be finished?” To which I reply, “I’m not sure. The King is working as fast as he can.” It’s true, he is. The poor man could not work any harder or faster then he is. The next question is “what do you left to finish?” My reply? “The drywall is completely done and one bathroom has been painted (deep, deep purple). What’s left is everything else in the entire house; flooring, cabinets, appliances. Everything.”

Today we signed a new lease on our one-bedroom apartment. We’ve got five more months before we have to resign another lease, and pay an ever higher rent, or move into our new house.

Come the first of the year it looks like there will be a lot of new things for my little family. Screw the Holidays, we’ll be moving. Now that’s something to look forward to.

Even though we’re not looking to rent moving vans quite yet, Janet is. I will live vicariously through her and her awesome new house in DC with it’s beautiful colors and big plans.

Enough house talk, let’s talk about what a fun weekend we had.

As I mentioned at the start of this post, we met some friends for dinner on Friday night. We took them to the restaurant where The King and I had our first date. It had been quite a few months since we’d been there, but the food was just as good as we’d remembered and the parking was even worse.

(Note to The King: next time, let’s take the bus.)

We almost got beat up by the couple sitting next to us in the restaurant. Apparently they wanted to enjoy a lovely evening out and not have rice thrown at them by Babboo. While he may be cute, he’s not cute enough to get away with rice throwing in a restaurant.

Thanks to Vesper for giving us the heads up on (FREE!) Museum Day on Saturday. Babboo and I took advantage of not having to pay to hang out in a museum that we’ve already been to. We even took the bus, and you can read all about that over at my other blog.

Babboo liked the museum enough. He thought it was fun to pretend to fly the planes and helicopters. He didn’t think having older (and bigger) kids bully him out of his turn on the helicopter was much fun. I swear every picture I have our of trip looks like this one, Babboo just sitting there while some other kid has a grand time.

And since I haven’t given you enough links with this post, here is one more link for you to click on. Remember how Carrisa and I had that little blog about our love for Veronica Mars and then it got canceled and we didn’t know what to do with the little blog?

Um yeah, we figured out what to do with it.

Believe it or not, I’ve been asked a few times for a status report on our 100 pack of condoms.

I’m happy to report that we’re down about 10-15 condoms since they arrived back in June. That number may be a little skewed since Babboo got a hold of the giant bag we keep them in. He likes to carry the bag around with him. He’ll carry it into the front room, and then put it in the back of his little truck and push it around and then carry it over to the kitchen and put it in the cupboards.

It’s a good thing we don’t get any house apartment guests.

I mean how do you explain your kid running around the house with a bag full of 100 85 condoms? Especially now that he can open the bag and pull the darned things out? I guess they are move fun to play with in their natural form.

And also easier to lose.

Last night The King brought home another delivery. Yet again it was an array of items for our enjoyment. While not the kind of items you may be thinking, still pretty fun.

Nothing like seeing your two favorite guys mulling over carpet samples.

Our last house had all wood floors. With this new house, I wanted some carpet. But only in the upstairs bedrooms. The King hasn’t been too hip on the idea. He doesn’t think that carpet will add to the ultra modern feel of the house. Dude, I just want something cozy on my toes and a soft place for Babboo to play.

We decided to let Babboo make the choice. And choose, he did.

I would like this indoor/outdoor commercial grade glue-down carpet in “Castle Gray”, please.

And so while looking over piles of carpet isn’t as fun as looking over piles of condoms, it’s still necessary.

We’ll be moving in no time.*

*and by “no time”, of course I mean “before I’m dead”.

My family and I moved to Corvaillis, Oregon when I was a kid. My dad had hurt his back working at a printing press and therefore needed to go back to school to find a different career.

We moved into the house that will forever be known as The House on 13th Street. I guess because we lived on 13th Street. My family is muy clever like that. We all look back at this house with fond memories. It was, by far, the nicest house we ever lived in. It was newly built and was big enough to fit all of us. I even had my own bedroom.

The thing I have always remembered and loved most about The House on 13th Street is the stairs. It was the 70’s and the stairs represented that era. They were covered in dark brown shag and went from the upstairs into the dining room. Oh and the best part; they were floating stairs.

My older brother and I used to go under the stairs and hang from them. As I recall, my mom even let us. Come on, it was the 70’s. A less complicated time. A time when it was okay to let you kids ride their bikes on the freeway and hang from the rafters.

While this isn’t an actual picture of our stairs, it’s one I found online and it’s perfect. Nothing says the 70’s like fake plants and a puffy leather couch.

Bow-chica-bow-wow.

When The King started drawing up the plans for our new house, he asked me what things I wanted in the house. That was easy. There were only two things I knew were must-haves.

1. A window above the kitchen sink
2. Floating stairs

Of course these weren’t the only things I wanted. I wanted a shower and a flushing toilet. Maybe even 4 of them. As well as plenty of closet space and a laundry room. But those are considered goes-without-saying items in my book.

The window above the kitchen sink was easy. The King had no problem putting that into the house design. Granted the view of the neighbor’s driveway isn’t ideal, it’s better then nothing, which is what I have now.

He had a harder time with the design for the floating stairs. During the design phase he would keep me updated on the floating stair research. I would just nod and thank him for his efforts. All the while fully expecting to have floating stairs upon the completion of the new house.

I remember him telling me he had figured out how to do them and where to find the needed equipment to fasten the risers to the walls. I remember when he told me they had been delivered and then the actual installation of the brackets began. Which, I think, posed their own problems.

Eventually it has all worked out.

I never doubted him.

(Okay, maybe a little. But still, I knew he’d come through.)

We went over to the new house on Sunday after church. Drywall had begun that week and I was itching to see the progress. I was extra excited to see the installed floating stair brackets.

I just realized I’m boring myself with this post. Let’s take this up a notch.

Last night The King asked me what was the first thing I wanted to do in the new house once we moved in. I wasn’t sure what he was looking for, so I responded by (jokingly) saying; “have sex in every room.”

“But wait, shouldn’t we have sex in every room of our apartment first?”

“It’s a one bedroom apartment, so I’m pretty sure we’ve accomplished that by now.”

“We haven’t done it in the kitchen.”

“And we’re not going to either. I’ve seen the floor in there and it’s gross.”

“Did we do it in every room in the last house?”

And then we both paused and tried to remember if we had, in fact, done it in every room of our last house.

We came to the conclusion that we’d done it in all the bedrooms, but not the office or the bathrooms. Does that count?

So tell me, does anyone else have lofty goals like this?

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Don’t forget to check out my latest New Thing, in which I will impress you with my awesome photoshop skillz. Word.

We got a call a few weekends ago from the managers of our storage unit. It was a courtesy call to let us know that someone had broken into our unit so we “might want to come down and put a new lock on it.”

“Um yeah, we’ll be there in like 2.3 minutes!”

Luckily it was a Sunday so The King could rush right there and check things out. He got to our unit and started to look around to see what had been stolen. He was pretty nervous since we had a lot of big-ticket items in there. Things like tools, Vespa scooters, our Viking range, my bike, all of our CD’s, our guest bed, and of course, my clothes.

The King scouted around the unit and found a lot of over turned boxes, but it didn’t look like anything specific had been stolen. Plus, all that stuff has been in storage for so long, we really didn’t even remember what was in there that might have been stolen.

I’m sure the thieves had specific things they were looking to steal. Things they knew they could sell fast for drug money. They didn’t have the man-power, or the knowledge to know how much the range was worth. And the tool chest was blocked by said range, so they couldn’t even get into it to steal. I’m not sure why they left the brand new weed eater just sitting there or the bike. I guess they hadn’t planned on doing any yard work, and forget about a leisurely bike ride through the city.

The new house is getting closer and closer to being done. The King has promised me that drywall work will begin before the month is over, and we all remember the promise last year that we won’t have to spend another Christmas in the apartment. Plus, we just resigned our lease, only for 3 months.

The King went down to the storage unit again this weekend. It was time to move part of the range out of storage and into the new house for installation. This meant he would be spending a little more time going through the storage unit and could check, again, to make sure nothing of importance was stolen.

He called me once he was down there.

“Did you find any of the boxes of my summer skirts?”

“No, but I found one labeled Isabel’s purses.”

“That’s a start. But nothing labeled skirts, huh?”

“Nope. Just purses. Do you need them?”

“No. Just my skirts.”

The King’s office had all just got new fancy Apple computers when we were getting ready to move. He collected all the boxes from the computers and brought them home for me to use in packing. They were great boxes, so we used them for the things we were putting into our storage unit.

It wasn’t until The King was looking around our storage unit yesterday that he realized maybe this wasn’t the best idea. Every single one of the computer boxes had been cut open and kicked.

I can only imagine that the thieves thought they had hit pay dirt when they broke into our unit and saw it full of computers. That is until they cut them open and realized they were full of crappy things like CD’s, baby books, and maybe even a few summer skirts. And since this pissed them off, they just kicked all the boxes.

Yeah, that’ll show us to use fancy boxes for storage. And crappy locks.
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For those of you that missed my meeting with Rhett Miller of the Old 97’s, check out that post from last week. And for those of you who aren’t sure who Rhett Miller or the Old 97’s are, go to their website for free downloads of their music!! I promise you, you’ll like it. And then you’ll thank me. Plus hello, free downloads!!

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And another thing, check out my post over at my other blog for my latest New Thing.

When I was about 12 years old my older brother and I got into a fight on our way home from the bus stop. I don’t remember what it was about, but words were said. Hurtful words. My mom sat me down and told me a story about when she was a teenager.

One spring day my uncles were playing a game together. The younger brother cheated and thus won the game. His older brother was upset. He got up and stormed out of the room telling his little brother; I wish you were dead!

The next day my 17 year old uncle got into a farming accident and died shortly after. My surviving uncle never forgave himself for the cruel words he said the day before.

My mom told me this story as a reminder that I needed to watch the words I said. She told me that I should never say something that I would later regret.

Words cannot be taken back.

I haven’t been very good at posting this week. It’s not that I don’t have anything to say. It’s that I don’t have anything nice to say.

I’m fed up. And fed up is not pretty on me. I’ve become an ugly person. An ugly person with no end in sight.

It boils down to the fact that I’m sick of living in this in-between state. I’m sick of making due with what were stuck with. What I thought would only be temporary has become my permanent. My life. The only thing I know.

I don’t remember what it’s like to have a yard. To have a place outside of my home to call my own. A place where I can throw a blanket down and hang out with my kid that isn’t inside surrounded by furniture and carpet.

I don’t remember what it’s like to have a bathroom to use while someone is in the other bathroom. Or a kitchen that we can fit in. Or appliances that work. Hell, I don’t even remember what it’s like to eat dinner at a table and not sitting on a couch with my plate resting on my lap.

I don’t know what it’s like to have my own bedroom without a crib in it. I’ve never had a nursery where I could hang up the artwork we bought for Babboo. I don’t own a dresser. I don’t have a place to keep my shoes. I don’t have room to hang up my jackets because our coat closet is housing baby clothes and a stroller.

I can’t remember what it’s like to be married to someone that you see when you get off work. I don’t remember what it’s like to spend a Saturday not stuck inside an apartment all day alone with a baby. I don’t remember what it’s like to eat dinner before 8:30 because you wait to eat with your husband. I don’t know what it’s like to have someone there to help me pick up the toys at the end of the night. I can’t remember what it’s like to have someone there to help you fold the laundry. Or dry as you wash.
I can’t remember what a normal marriage is like.

I’m afraid that it’s going to be like this forever. And I don’t know what to do.