Monthly Archive

He slid down the wall and sat on the hallway floor of my dorm. I remember thinking he had impossibly long legs and there was no way he was comfortable sitting like that. He looked down the hall, first to his left, then his right before pulling a can of beer out of his sweatshirt pocket. He looked at me for a moment as he took his first swig, then turned to talk to his friend, clearly bored of the situation and ready to go.

At the time, it didn’t matter to me. After all, it wasn’t him I was interested in. It was his friend. I sat at my computer and flirted, laughing and touching the arm of the boy while Long Legs quietly drank his beer, probably wishing he was anywhere else but dragged along to a freshman’s dorm.

Later that night I sat cross-legged on my friend’s bed and said that Long Legs was pretty cute. I would try and set them up.

***

Four months later the boy was history and I found myself at a long and boring concert on a cold and rainy day in the company of Long Legs - or Mike. (And later, Michael.) Later that night he IMd me, we pulled our first all-night conversation and things were never the same.

***

We said “I love you” in June. Or July. I can’t remember the date, but I remember the moment like it was yesterday. I stared into his eyes and knew if I didn’t say something soon it would burst out of me and spatter against the walls of my bedroom. I inhaled, ready to speak the words when he stopped me.

“Don’t say it…”

Crestfallen, I turned away, too hurt to look at him but too proud to let him see me cry.

“Don’t say it,” he said turning my face back towards him, “because I want to say it first.”

***

The end of the year was hard. Two parents — his father, my mother — were diagnosed with cancer. I helped him pick up the pieces of himself after he learned the news. He put me back together after learning mine.

***

It rained on our first anniversary. The fickle weather in New England taunted our love with wind and water. We huddled in his truck parked in front of the ocean. I gave him a scrap book I had made.

Sitting in the dark, overlooking a spot that would one day change our lives forever, a whisper of a future was spoken over the roar of the ocean.

Wet, curly hair. Big cup of caffeinated black tea. Thirty minutes later than I usually get to work. (Thank goodness for flex time.)

We were out late last night. Every so often we head over to out friends’ house — a couple from college who now have two adorable children under the age of three. I love going over there. Amidst the chaos, the toys, the shrieks and the dirty diapers, there’s a sense of family and happiness. There’s chubby baby cheeks to kiss and baby smell to sniff from the top of his head. There’s a little monkey full of life, so excited to show me his new truck and equally happy to play with a balloon. There’s also the snacking, because when he sits on your lap and offers “this one for you,” while placing a piece of apple in your mouth, you can’t help but smile and open up.

As much as I adore the children (see yesterday’s post), it’s after they go to bed that I most enjoy. The four of us retreated to our separate domains–the men outside to start the fire, the women to look at the proofs for my invitations and talk about life, laundry and why the dishes never get done.

And when we joined the boys, fleeces zipped up to our noses, glasses of wine in hand, it just felt right. I stared into the orange glow of the flame and watched the ash fireflies dance in the air, listening to the musings of college memories and where we are today. With  my fiance to my right and my friends to my left I felt like I could stay there all night. But as the clock crept towards midnight and the fire became a pile of radiating ambers, our carriage turned back into a pumpkin and it was time to go home.

I slept like a log. The combination of fresh air, fire and wine knocking me into a solid dreamless sleep. I woke to the reality of another day. A day of work, of responsibility. A day where the oil bill and the mortgage have to be paid and editors need to be contacted and money needs to be earned.

I climbed in the shower and let the water run over my head.

The smell of cedar smoke mixed with the steam and I smiled.

I just made an appointment with a new gynecologist. For the last few years I’ve been bouncing around to whichever nurse practitioner could take me because I was healthy and basically only needed my annual to reaffirm my health and refill my prescription.

But at 25, there was a reason I wanted a real doctor. And when I asked my boss if she liked hers, she started gushing about how wonderful she is. So I called and made an appointment.

She’s not just a GYN. She’s an OB too.

No, I’m not pregnant. Not yet. But the reality is that two years from now I very well could be. And I wanted to be sure that when that time came, I had a doctor that I already knew and was comfortable with.

Some days I wish the time was now instead of a few years down the road. Last night I headed over to my boss’s house. Ashley was babysitting her children and we planned on a yummy dinner, some good wine and some great conversation. (What actually happened was better than expected. You can read her recap here. Clearly, we like wine.)

I arrived just in time for the 18-month old’s bath. It took all my willpower not to scoop him up and devour his chubby little thighs. I did, however, manage to get a bunch of kisses, a few high fives, the cutest little hug and the joy of hearing him say “More Nana?” which translates into “More Molly?” It doesn’t take much, people. Wear a miniature Beastie Boys shirt and look at me with big blue eyes and I’ll melt into a puddle of goo.

It helps if you’re also 18-months old. Typically men in their 20s wearing a diaper and a Beastie Boys shirt don’t do it for me.

I left with the warm fuzzies and my ovaries jumping around a little bit saying, “When? Now? No? How ’bout now? OK, OK. Now?”

And then I remembered that there’s still a few years to go. And a few visits with the mean, cold duck lips.

Oh come on, you know about the duck lips, don’t you? No? Then I leave you with an exert from one of my favorite passages of the Vagina Monologues. You’re welcome.

“Then there’s those exams. Who thought them up? There’s got to be a better way to do those exams. Why the scary paper dress that scratches your t!ts and crunches when you lie down so you feel like a wad of paper someone threw away. Why the rubber gloves? Why the flashlight all up there like Nancy Drew working against gravity, why the Nazi steel stirrups, the mean cold duck lips they shove inside you? What’s that?

My vagina’s angry about those visits. It gets defended weeks in advance. It won’t go out of the house. Then you get there. Don’t you hate that? “Scoot down. Relax your vagina.” Why? So you can shove mean cold duck lips inside it. I don’t think so.Why can’t they find some nice delicious purple velvet and wrap it around me, lay me down on some feathery cotton spread, put on some nice friendly pink or blue gloves, and rest my feet in some fur covered stirrups? Warm up the duck lips. Work with my vagina.”

- if I pick at a bump before bed, it will be a big honking zit on my chin by morning.

- a man’s electric razor is not meant to be used on a woman’s armpit, even in a rush. (Ow, ow, ow, OW my armpit.)

- not everyone loves shoes as much as I do. I cannot expect all seven of my bridesmaids to want to buy the same shoe. Even if they are purple and fabulous and on sale half off.

(Side note: they come in white too…should I buy them?)

- there’s only one person who can make me go to the gym. Me. So, um, self? Stop slacking this week.

- I should never doubt my reader’s taste in dresses. I’ll be ordering two to try. You’ll  have to wait and see which ones!

- Cadbury chocolate mini eggs are bad for me. I need to stop eating them. Even if Michael’s mom gave me THREE BAGS for Easter.

- seeing boxes waiting on the doorstep from the store I registered at is so exciting. We are now the proud owners of a big bamboo cutting board!

- if my hair has the perfect combination of body and curl before bed, it will look like a clown wig when I wake up.

- if I get a text in the morning that says “there will be no heat at the office today…bundle up!” I SHOULD LISTEN.

Last time I did this you guys really helped me out. So I’m enlisting you again. I have a wedding to go to next month and I’m tired of wearing the same black dress over and over again. (Also, it’s getting too big on me. Woo!) It’s time to bite the bullet and spend a little money so I can look good on the dance floor.

#1 - I love the color and the neckline. I think it’s a flattering cut and the faux wrap is very forgiving. But is the dress to plain?

#2 - An unexpected color and the detailing around the neck is pretty.

#3 - In navy — a change from the basic black. But too dark for April?

#4 - I’m a sucker for blue and the print is fun.

#5 - OK, yes, I know, it’s another little black dress. But this one looks so pretty!

#6 - Although the color is actually called “Sterling”, I think it’s too close to white to wear to a wedding. But what about for my rehearsal dinner?

Ready? Discuss.

All dresses are from Nordstrom. Your credit cards can thank me later.

- Yesterday I went to Jen’s family’s house for Easter. They were just setting up the food as we got there and we hovered around for what seemed like forever until we were finally allowed to eat. Which I did. A lot. I think two times my body weight in dessert alone.

- While we were there, Jen took a picture of us on her cell phone. For some reason I never like the way they come out and am convinced I look like a Muppet. But not just any Muppet. Janice, the blonde-haired, guitar playing ”yeah man” chick. You know the one, all mouth and no eyes.

(Love the boots, Jan.)

- When I got home I was in such a food coma that I fell asleep on the couch with the TV on. When I woke up I was a little bummed that I had missed the rest of The Princess Diaries. Even though I’ve seen it before. Like 10 times. I’m 25 years old.

- After dinner I caught the second half of In Her Shoes and spent the rest of the evening alternating between hating Cameron Diaz and her perfectly fit and tanned body, and loving her wardrobe. Then hating her again because those clothes would never fit me.

- This morning I took the dog out in the freezing cold, gave him breakfast and made Michael lunch all before doing anything for myself. I commented as I dug through the fridge for the sandwich meat that I guess this is what mom’s do, right? Put everyone’s needs before their own. Kudos to all the moms out there.

- Next week is our six year anniversary and I suppose the last time we will celebrate that date. Pretty soon we’ll have a wedding anniversary! How cool is that?

- My hands are freezing. Maybe I should stop eating the frozen strawberries and make tea instead. Smart, I am.

It’s that time again, my dears. Time to cringe at the creations that are definitely not foot-worthy.

It’s a platypus mixed with a high-class call girl. Duck-billed, yet classy.

Can we just take a second and look closely at this shoe? Did you look hard? It has lips on it. LIPS, people. Not just lips on the body of the shoe, oh no, but a big, fat three dimensional lip right on the toes. This brings foot fetishes to a whole new level.

I usually require a much bigger laundry basket,  but this would be great for carrying a pair of socks to the basement. Or perhaps I could use it in the gentle cycle to wash my delicates.

Come spring, the caterpillar will shed its cocoon and become a beautiful butterfly.

The cure for an annoying coworker: stuff a cork in it.

This particular shoe deserves a lot of commentary, but it’s hidden so well by all that camo that I can’t seem to see it.

Venetian blind chic. Plus ventilation! You just can’t go wrong.

- Wake up for gym, clutch aching head, call Jen and tell her no gym.

- Wake up for work, clutch aching head, call office and tell them no work.

- Throw on slippers and fiance’s giant down coat and take dog out in the pouring rain. Will him to hurry up because the rain! it is wet!

- Call massage therapist in hopes of massaging away the knots in my neck and back that are causing the headache. Am informed she can’t take me until Monday. Pout.

- Lay on couch. Check email, read blogs, download music, watch TV.

- Top Chef marathon!

- Start to fall asleep, phone rings. It’s work. Debate not picking up.

- Pick it up.

- Panic! Problem must be solved immediately! From the couch! Through email! Frantically try and contact the person I need to speak with who is in California and is neither answering his phone nor responding to his email.

- Bury head under pillow.

- Contemplate throwing on pants and dragging myself to work.

- Look in mirror. Decide against putting on pants.

- With nothing to do but wait, place computer near head in order to hear incoming emails and curse daytime television for not providing me with a good enough distraction.

- Top Chef marathon!

- Email from boss! Hold breath…work problem solved! Turn off computer, text with Jen, sleep.

- Wake up to big dog head in my face. Try to ignore him. Ah! Do not want dog kisses! OK, you win! Take him out to pee.

- Come inside, make cornbread and chili.

- Eat cornbread batter. Not nearly as good as brownie batter.

- Michael’s home! Attempt a hug while Kodiak tries to wedge himself between us.

- Eat dinner, put on best sad face/pouty lip and try to get Michael to rub my back.

- Michael falls asleep on couch.

- Damn.

- Get sucked into a John and Kate Plus Eight marathon. I told myself I would never watch this show. Didn’t see the appeal. Until now.

- Watch John and Kate Plus Eight until I can’t keep my eyes open any more.

- Michael wakes up. Put on now-perfected sad face/pouty lip and convince him to rub my shoulders.

- OW!

- Go upstairs, get in bed, pass out.

One of my favorite wedding tasks so far has been registering. Creating a mega wish list of everything we could possibly need (or want) is like Christmas in March! I knew that somewhere along the way we’d be faced with the question, do we get it even though we won’t use it? You know what I mean — the ice cream maker, the fondue pot, the bread machine, etc. All great in theory, but I’ll tell you exactly where they’ll end up for the majority of our lives.

In the back of a cabinet taking up space.

Which is exactly where the big and cumbersome cheap food processor is (I bought it to make pesto once and haven’t touched it since because it’s so big. And cheap.) along with our toaster. I think we use our toaster three times a year.

I was expecting to come across the usual suspects, but I was completely surprised to find what else was out there. So, I give you the list of the oddest kitchen gadgets that we don’t need but the uniqueness of them makes me think that I have to have them.

The asparagus peeler. I brought this to the attention of my friend Ashley yesterday and she said, “you’re supposed to peel asparagus?” Yeah, I didn’t know that either. I never peel my asparagus. Am I supposed to? Is there a nutritional benefit to removing the so-called peel? Does it make your pee smell any less weird?

The cherry pitter. Call me low-class, but I usually just spit the pits in a bowl. I suppose it would be good if you were making cherry pie (tastes so good, make a grown man cry), but I do that, um, never.

The citrus knife: for when a regular knife just won’t do.

The hot chocolate pot. Ok fine, very nice. Super fancy. But where do the mini-marshmallows go, hmmmm?

The herb mincer. I actually think this is a great idea, but in reality it would become just one more thing I have to wash and it doesn’t look dishwasher friendly so no. Vetoed.

The nutmeg grinder. What is it with people and nutmeg? I swear, every time I turn on the Food Network there’s some chef raving about fresh nutmeg. Let me tell you something, for the amount of times I use nutmeg in my cooking, the pre-ground stuff will do just fine.

And finally, my personal favorite, the mango slicer. I love mangoes and they are a pain to cut so this tool really would serve its purpose. However, it totally looks like a vagina.

I have a crush.

(Michael falls out of chair.)

I have a crush on men with children. Well, not all men with children, but men who are great dads. The guys that you can tell just by looking at the way they hold their son’s hand as they walk down the sidewalk that he would give his life for that little peanut.

One of my coworkers, N, has a three-year-old son and when N talks about him I melt into a puddle of mush. You can hear the happiness in his voice and tell by the way his eyes light up that his son is his world. Every other day there’s a new picture he’s excited to show us or an anecdote he has to share. If you could read our minds, all the females in the room are thinking one big collective “awwww!”

And then there’s my former boss/forever friend, Mike. One of the things I really miss about working with him is hearing daily stories about his kids. And when they used to come by the office, whether it was just a pit stop on the way to play or for a family outing for ice cream, they brought joy to the whole office. Mike writes openly about his children and today I nearly fell out of my chair from all the cuteness. Go look!

Michael and I don’t have an exact time nailed down as to when we’ll start trying for children. We have a general idea, though. And as much as I can’t wait to be a mother, I am so looking forward to seeing him as a father. Aside from the fact that he’s going to be amazing at it, there’s something so sexy about a big, tall man holding a tiny baby in his arms.

But until that time comes, I will continue to crush on the various men I come across in my daily travels. The ones with a baby strapped to their chests koala-style, the ones giving piggy back rides down the street, the ones pushing swings, playing catch, going on hikes and everything in between.

The red ones win by a landslide. The bow shoes turned out to be more taupe than white and not only were they too big, but the pointy toe was eerily long and beak like. No thanks.

I’m going to keep looking for a white pair to possibly wear at the ceremony, but I’m definitely wearing the red ones to the reception! They fit perfectly, are completely comfortable and are totally sassy.

Speaking of fit, I love how no matter what you weigh, shoes always fit. I used my period as an excuse to slack off a little on my healthy eating plan and I swear I feel a difference after just a few days. Note to self: lay off the Cadbury mini eggs. It didn’t help that our intern brought in amazing chocolate chip cookies today. I only ate half of one.

So far.

In an effort to get myself back on track, I’m enlisting all of you. I need some new yummy yet healthy dinner ideas. Give me some!

Here’s to a happy (and healthy) weekend.

People, can I tell you how good I’ve been about money lately. SO good. I’ve been saving every possible penny for the wedding. I haven’t stepped foot in Marshalls in ages, I’ve limited myself to only one chai a week if that and I haven’t bought a pair of shoes in forever. So long, actually, that I had to take a minute and think back to the last pair I bought and I couldn’t remember! Usually I can tell you exactly which pair, where they are in my closet, the precise color, fabric, texture and heel height and what the weather was like the day of the purchase.

It’s been a long time since I bought shoes.

But last night, wedged on my side of the couch, Michael asleep on the other side and a CSI re-run playing in the background, I clicked the “Buy” button on endless.com.

I felt kind of dirty. In a good way.

I told myself that it wasn’t frivolous shopping, it was wedding shoe shopping. A must! A necessity! I can’t go barefoot! And not only that, they were on sale.  Be still my heart.

I know I just said I was going to stay with traditional white, but then I saw these, the exact color of my bridesmaid dresses and thought “ooooh pretty.” There was another pair with a flower that were stunning, but of course they didn’t have my size. So I ordered these and will make a decision when they arrive.

Jojus2 by Nine West

And then I saw these. And my heart started racing and my eyes got a wide and I fell in love. Yes, the front is simple, but people, do you see the back?

A bow! A beautiful bride-ish bow. When I pictured my wedding shoes I always thought they would have a bow. Meow.

Luichiny Zeppelin Pump

My only concern is that since these shoes only come in whole sizes, they’re not going to fit me. I read the reviews and based my size choice accordingly. I am crossing my toes that they fit.

Thank goodness for FREE overnight shipping. They’ll arrive tomorrow!

From “Anonymous”

“P is for pathetic at you judging a person because they like to go tanning.  It might be a little much,  but she’s not hurting anyone last I checked.  Just proves how shallow you are.  And you being pissy and on your period isn’t an excuse to bash someone else.  Oh and in regards to this comment, if you can dish it out then you should be able to take it.”

It’s people like you who make blogging worth it. Because you know what? You’re right. Who am I to judge?

At least I do it publicly though, right anonymous?

I forgot ‘P’ in my alphabet soup yesterday, but I got one today. ‘P’ is for Pain in the ass once a month Period that makes me irritable, tired and wanting nothing more than to crawl back in bed and sleep away this rainy day.

But I can’t, of course, so instead, I wore yoga pants to work. I debated it a little, but my office can go anywhere from dressy to t-shirts and hats so I wasn’t too worried. And when I came in, I knew I had made the right decision. I have never been more comfortable sitting at my desk than I am today. Perfect.

Speaking of comfort, I was decidedly uncomfortable yesterday as I was finishing up at the gym. I don’t know what you wear to the gym, but you can usually find me in cropped black pants, a sports bra and either a t-shirt or a tank top. I am also the color of a human being. Just putting it out there because it will be important in a minute.

As we’re getting ready to leave, a girl prances in front of me and Jen wearing teeny, tiny hot pink tight shorts, a sports bra and a men’s shirt with the neck cut off so far that her wearing it was just an excuse to say, “no, I’m not naked, I am so wearing a shirt” because it wouldn’t stay on her and was exposing everything. Every. Thing. And the worst part? She was orange. You know my feelings on this. It’s March, hunnie. No one is naturally that tan in March. You look bad.

Oh…and she hadn’t even worked up a sweat because she was too busy playing with her iPod and checking out her own ass in the mirror. (Yes, I’m pissy.) This kind of stuff bugs me on a normal week, but throw in some wacky hormones and forget about it.

The only way to remedy my mood was to curl up on the couch with Michael and eat half a bag of chocolate Cadbury Mini Eggs, their arrival at CVS being probably the only good thing about March.

Now you’ll have to excuse me, I have to go pout about being at work and actually be productive because they’re not paying me to blog.

Although that would be perfection.

I did this back in October, but there’s been so much planning since then. Time to do it again.

A- Autumn-themed. Yes, I’m getting married in October and yes, I’m using fall colors, but that does not mean I want a fall-themed wedding. As a matter of fact, I don’t want an anything-themed wedding, but every time I get a wedding-related email from a wedding-related website it suggests I outfit my reception with leaves! and acorns! and haybales omigod no.

B- Band. In the end, we couldn’t swing it and will be going with a DJ. I’m OK with the decision. I think Michael is a little bummed about it, but unless anyone wants to donate a few grand to us we’re going with a DJ. The end.

C- Ceremony. As soon as the church is officially booked I need to start planning my ceremony. Will there be readings? Who will do them? Is there a unity candle? How will I decorate the pews? The packet says no receiving line at the church but if I ask pretty please with Jesus on top will you let me?

D- Dinner. I better get to eat some of it. For what we’re paying for all our guests to eat I’d really like to taste the food. I hear that often the bride and groom don’t really get to eat. Hi, do you know me? I like to eat.

E- Engagement. Six months in a few weeks. It’s going by so quickly!

F- Father/daughter dance. I still haven’t figured this one out. The song I had in mind is too fast and so many of the traditional ones kind of creep me out. I wanted to surprise my dad, but perhaps I should let him help pick it.

G- Groomsmen. Five to my seven girls. Which means two lucky lads get to walk with a lady on each arm. Ow, ow!

H- Hair. I think I’ve been very much NOT a Bridezilla throughout this whole processes. The only thing that may be considered a little bitchy is that I told my girls I don’t care how you do your hair, you just can’t wear it like mine. That’s not too bad, right?

I- Invitations. They’re being designed! I can’t wait to see how they turn out.

J- Jewelry. I am wearing a simple gold and diamond bracelet that belonged to my great-grandmother. I need to figure out the earrings.

K- Knowledge. I’ve been picking the brains of former brides for helpful hints and tips, must-dos and stuff not to worry about it. I even emailed my friend last night and asked about her undergarments! Luckily, she loves me and responded right away.

L- Love. Oh yeah, we got that covered.

M- Music. It is “suggested” that we use the organist in the church for our ceremony music. I’m not really sold on that idea since I have a specific song I want to walk down the aisle to and I have a feeling the organist doesn’t know any David Gray. So I’m looking into a string quartet or trio. I think it would be very pretty.

N- Need tissues. Feel it my be inappropriate to put inside bra. Will make bridesmaids carry in their bras instead.

O- Ocean. Cross your fingers it doesn’t rain because I really want pictures by the sea.

P- (Um, apparently I forgot ‘P’ my first time around. Interesting.)

Q- Questions left to answer. What time will the ceremony start? Will that leave enough time for outdoor pictures afterwards? I don’t really want to see Michael before the ceremony, but a lot of people recommended it. Should we?

R- Rehearsal dinner invitations. I think we need them, his mom thinks we don’t. Thoughts?

S- Shoes. I haven’t bought them yet but I’ll need them when I got for my dress alterations so I have to get a move on. I’ve thrown out the idea of colored shoes and decided to go the traditional white. But fabulous white, natch.

T- Transportation. We have a big bridal party so only the girls are going to have special transportation to and from the hotel, church and reception. I haven’t done enough research yet to make a decision, but Rhode Island has a super cute trolley that gets used for weddings and I might do that instead of a limo. Maybe. We’ll see.

U- Undergarments. I think my something blue will be blue undies. Cute, no?

V- Vacation. I could use one with all this planning. Thing is, I’m basically saving every penny so a vacation isn’t really an option

W- Wish list. aka, my registry. Um…I kind of want everything on it. Right now.

X- eXercise- Since I started I’ve lost a good amount of weight and toned up. But I still can’t banish that pesky under-arm flub. So annoying!

Y- Youngsters. There will be none attending the wedding. Sorry, parents.

Z- So, I don’t have a Z. Sorry.

This weekend was completely and totally wedding productive. Starting with Saturday evening. While torrential rain beat down on the roof of the store, Michael and I registered. He wasn’t into it at first (and he will maintain the the utensil aisle was pure torture) (a spaghetti spoon? Why do we need a spaghetti spoon?) (Because we do.), but once he got into the wish list scanning groove, we had a good time.

The one thing we didn’t register for is china, because we’re set to inherit a boatload of it and even if we wanted our own we don’t have the space for it. So imagine my surprise when we sat down in the bridal section to set up our registry and were met by a burly guy named John — polo shirt unbuttoned a tad too far, multiple tattoos cascading down his arms, heavy northern Rhode Island accent and hands as big as baseball mitts — trying to convince us after I told him no, we won’t be getting china, that china was exactly what we needed. He went as far as to slam a dinner plate down on the table to prove its durability. How did this guy get stuck in the bridal registry?

Impressive, John. Really. Now give us the scanning gun.

Two hours later we emerged triumphant — our list full of everything from ridiculously high thread-count sheets to kitchen appliances to mixing bowls. I realize that we probably won’t get everything on our list, but anyone who gets Michael the fancy-pants coffee maker will be good in his book.

Sunday morning, bright and early, we went to church. I was a little apprehensive because I really wanted to like it. I wanted to feel comfortable and relaxed and I wanted it to be the place we would have our ceremony.

I lucked out.

The service was probably the most comfortable I’ve ever felt in a religious setting. The church is beautiful, yet simple. The service was community oriented, relaxed and happy. It didn’t feel overbearing, stuffy or harsh. It felt right.

We’re calling today to book it!

And to top of the weekend, his mother agreed to host the rehearsal dinner. It’s all coming together!

It took an emotional evening full of tears, a fitful night’s sleep, a long day in the office and one hour in the gym to come to a conclusion:

I’m not quitting the blog. (”I want to quit the gym!” Friends? Anyone? That episode was on last night.)

Wednesday night was not a good night. Concerns from both Michael and my family regarding privacy on my blog came to a head and I didn’t want to deal with it. I felt that by changing the way I talk about things I would be compromising my blog, my writing. I sat on the couch trying to hold the tears in, my bottom lip quivering and my nose threatening to run at any moment, holding the new InSyle Weddings in front of me. I tried to focus on the page but the words began to swim.

I almost deleted the blog. The whole thing. Gone.

But Michael asked me not to — said I would regret it in the end. He was right. Of course he was right. I mean, here I am, one day after I told you I was taking the weekend off, writing a post. I can’t stay away. This blog is more than just a blog, it’s a lifeline.

Yesterday only reaffirmed what I already knew. Thank you to everyone who emailed, commented and sent Gchats. Thank you to the more than 11,000 visitors who stopped by yesterday and to the delurkers who popped up to say please stay.

I’ve made a few changes in my archives. Nothing major, nothing that effects my writing or my “story”.  Just enough to put worried minds at ease. It’s a crazy world we’re living in and while I’m not the least bit worried about the readers I know and love, I have to listen to my future husband when he voices his concerns about our safety and the people that find me by Googling not-so-nice things.

I’m promise to stick around for you as long as you stick around for me.

Deal? 

Just until Monday.

I need to sort some things out and make a few decisions.

What did people do before blogs? Write in journals? Maybe I should get a journal.

When I started to blog, I was very upfront with Michael about what I was doing. I told him how I was writing about my life, him included, and that while I would write about practically everything, I wouldn’t write about absolutely everything. I don’t write about things said in confidence, I don’t write about sex and I only touch on his job.

On Sunday we had a conversation that got me a little upset. Or a lot upset, actually. I’m not going to go into details, but it had to do with his mom and anyone who has been reading for awhile knows how she is often a source of angst. After the conversation was over, Michael asked if I was going to blog about it.

“Probably,” I said with a laugh. Until I looked at his expression. “Unless you don’t want me to…”

He didn’t. For the first time in the history of my blog, he asked me not to write about something.

I think that upset me more than the conversation itself, because for almost two years, when something happens in my life, I tell you. My readers. And your comments and emails and feedback are better than a celebration parade or a $100/hour therapy session. You’re a support system, even if I don’t officially know most of you.

I’m not angry for him asking me not to blog about it. I respect him and if he asks me not to, I won’t. No question. But it made me take a step back and really think. These Little Moments isn’t just about me anymore. It’s about him too. And one day it will probably be about our child.

Sometimes I’ll get an email from my mom passing along a message from my aunt: you’re revealing too much. I never agree. I think I walk the fine line between just enough and too much information, but never cross over that line.

But what I have to remember is that Michael didn’t ask to be introduced to a world full of strangers. I just threw him out there. So if he looks into my eyes and asks me not to share, I won’t. Even though I want to. A lot.

Maybe you keep it all under wraps or maybe you put it all out there. How do you keep the balance?

Dear Work,

Why do you have to be Monday through Friday? Why can’t you be Tuesday through Thursday? Or maybe just Wednesday. Yeah, just Wednesday. You and I would get along great then. It’s not that I don’t like you, Work. I do. I just like my couch better.

Yours in laziness,

Molly

——————–

Dear Hotel I Blocked Rooms At For The Wedding,

I realize you’re not officially open until the end of the week, but you already allowed me to make a room block with you. You also told me that my block went live and guests can now book their rooms. Why then do you insist on sending all my guests to voice mail and not calling them back?

I called you, Hotel. And you told me, “Oops! Sorry, Molly. Our mistake. Please have your guests call the 800 number.” I forgave you, Hotel. I really did. I understood your pain of trying to open on time and happily sent the 800 number off to my friends and family.

And then I got an email from my friend, telling me that the operator at the 800 number said NO. YOU ARE WRONG. and sent her back to the local number. You are sending me on a vicious circle, Hotel and I don’t like it. You better shape up because I know where you live.

Currently without a room to get ready for her wedding,

Molly

——————–

Dear Winter,

Leave.

Cold in Rhode,

Molly

——————–

I’m guest posting over at The Light(er) Side today. Check it out.

“Nothing good happens after 3 a.m.,” Michael’s best man said to me.

We stood at the bar discussing the difference between the Rhode Island bar scene (bars close at 1 a.m.) and the New York City bar scene (bars close at 4 a.m.) while college friends were scattered around us at tables and on bar stools.

“You’re either bombed out of your mind, going home with someone you won’t remember the next day…or, well, both.”

I laughed and rarely being one to make it till last call, Michael nodded along.

Around 12:30 my friends were ready to leave, so I said my goodbyes and asked Michael to take the dog out when he got home in a half hour.

At 1:30 my phone rang. It was Michael, saying that they were just leaving that bar and he was going to head back with his friends to hang out for a little while. I wasn’t upset, his best man is never in town and I knew he hadn’t had a guys night in awhile. I said goodnight, rolled over and fell asleep.

Until 2:30, when I woke up and realized he wasn’t home. After an hour of tossing and turning I looked at the clock again. 3:30. Then four. I didn’t want to be one of those girls that calls her man over and over again demanding to know where he is. I knew where he was, but this was so out of character for him that all I could imagine was his car tipped over on the side of the icy road. And really, doesn’t nothing good happen after 3 a.m.?

So I called.

“Hello?” he shouted over a clearly noisy room.

“It’s 4 a.m.”

“What?!”

“It’s 4 a.m.”

“Huh?”

“IT’S FOUR O’CLOCK IN THE MORNING!!!”

“Oh yeah, I know. I’ll be home in a little bit.”

The Crazy doesn’t come out often. As a matter of fact, she’s been lying rather dormant lately. So you can imagine my surprise when all of the sudden, there was Crazy, boiling my blood and making it impossible for me to fall back asleep until I heard him pull in just after five. I was furious. I turned my back to him as he got in bed, stinking of beer and cigars. I couldn’t sleep. I knew I was being unreasonable. He had gone out and had fun with his friends. He’s never out that late. It’s not like he was hanging out with other woman. Why was I so upset?

The alarm blared at 7:30. We were supposed to attend a service at a church we’re considering for the wedding. I knew the minute I opened my eyes that we weren’t going. Michael slammed the alarm off and mumbled “No.” into the pillow. A light bulb went off. That’s why I was mad. I anticipated it last night and then there it was. “He doesn’t care about the wedding,” The Crazy whispered in my ear.

I told her to shut up and went back to sleep.

Later that morning, still annoyed, I loaded the dishwasher with flourish, clanging each dish in with unnecessary force. Moments later Michael was behind me, wrapping his arms around my middle and whispering an apology into my ear. Not ready to give in just yet, I told him why I was mad, told him that going to the church was important to me and I feel like he disregarded it for a night of boozing.

He apologized, then told me about how much fun he had with the guys. How the night was like old times. As he described the best man riding around on a lawn tractor I couldn’t help but laugh. And with the laughter came forgiveness and the banishing of The Crazy.

Hopefully she’ll stay in hiding for a very long time.