Pulling the cashmere over my eyes.

Some people have addiction issues, trust issues, control issues... the list goes on. I have issues. (Duh) The issue that confuses me the most about myself, is the one I have with textures and fabrics. More so the collaboration of the two in certain circumstances.

For instance, I love a good cotton t-shirt, and the feel of a nice, soft, lightweight cotton sweater is wonderful. Therefore, cotton must be good.

Unless it is in the form of a cotton ball or mitten. Not so much a swab though. Cotton balls are to me what nails on a chalkboard are to others. The sound (yes they do TO make a sound when you squish them), and the feel of them make me gag. Literally. Check my bathroom. Guess what you won't find? And mittens? Not so bad when they are worn for the first time. Once they get washed and get cotton balls hanging on them, I consider them garbage material. What's worse is when snow gets stuck on them. Blech.


Next on my list is velvet. Velvet is fine as a table runner or a pad underneath my lamps and flower pots to prevent scratching. Put it on any piece of clothing, and watch as I silently judge it for being so tacky. I blame this on the dress I wore to my sophomore semi-formal dance. Why, Mom, why?


Flannel. Oh, flannel. Besides my hatred for the sound of the word, (say it- weird, isn't it?) shirts (sometimes) are fine. Pajama pants and sheets are no bueno. The flannel (ew) sheets keep you warm in the winter, don't they? Yes, but you wake up in a pool of your own sweat in the morning... hair all stuck to the back of your sweaty neck...gross. Now, imagine what your bottom half endures when wearing flannel pajama pants. I'm just guessing here since I could never get the nerve to try them out for myself.


In conclusion, I will end with my issues with sweatpants in particular. I have a veeeery special place in my tiny, cold, shriveled up heart for sweatpants without so much as a speck of elastic at any- ANY- opening. The waistband should be adjusted via cotton or ribbon-esque tie. The openings at the ankles should not have any closings. I wear sweatpants for a very specific reason. That reason is comfort, and I will decide when and where restrictions in clothing should happen. I'll tell you that it is NEVER when I'm wearing sweatpants.


















It appears from this angry rant of fabrics and their various forms that I will be wearing sweatpants at some point in the next few days.

Oh, and I don't like wool either.

Kiss off, snowglobes

I like the minimalist look. All of my walls are all off white, with the exception of my kitchen which has a dash of yellow. I have black and white photographs decorating the rooms. The decorations that are granted a place all have clean, simple lines. My closet is arranged according to color, including the shelves for sweaters, sweatshirts, and shoes. Boots have another system.

Everything has its place. That is, until Christmas shows up, bringing along all of its stuff. Rearranged furniture and knick-knack glittery Santas gives me anxiety. They are only visitors of my home, but they mess up my jive. Christmas is my nemesis. Mark is in his glory during Christmas. He's a colored light, aluminum garland draped all over the place kind of guy. Because I am such a phenomenal wife (ahem), I will live in a disaster zone for a month to make the kiddies and husband happy.

Insert devious, echoing, devil laughter now.

It's January, and Santa has taken his jolly ass back to the North. We purged the house of Christmas today. I feel human again. Not surprisingly, today my neck has regained 90% of its range of motion.

figs. a-d courtesy here

Open House

Last Monday I went to preschool to pick up Dylan. When I arrived, he handed me an invitation to the school’s “Open House.” The open house party would be open to the parents and siblings of the preschoolers. Dylan had taken a good amount of time to decorate this invitation for us, and through the past week, the teachers had gotten the kids pumped up about their party that would take place on Wednesday the 19th (last night) from 6:30pm until 8:00pm.

Yesterday afternoon Dylan told me that he had been busy all day at school baking cookies, making Jello, and arranging plates of carrots with the teachers for the Open House. All day that’s all Dylan talked about.

It was finally time to go to the party. When we got there at 6:30, we were stuffed into Dylan’s room with 19 other preschoolers, their siblings, parents, and their grandparents! I have never felt so claustrophobic in my life.

The teachers had set up a TV, playing a video of the kids doing various activities during the day. Besides that, there was no order in the crowd. There were no planned events for parents- tours, presentations, and such, like I thought they would have. It was kind of like all of these parents brought their kids just to watch them play with the toys there.

There were the dads watching their boys build big houses out of the wooden blocks. Grandparents were in awe over the tiny sized bathrooms provided for the kids. There was actually a mom in the “kitchen area” teaching the kids what all of the fake foods were called.

I was the mom who was busy looking for those damn cookies that I heard about all day.

Dylan was looking for the cookies too when we ran into each other by the bathroom doors. That’s when he pointed out to me which black cat on the door was his. I could tell. Can you tell which one could possibly be painted by a kid with mild obsessive compulsive disorder? Yep, it’s the one on the bottom. Just the outline, thank you very much. I am not worried by this picture. I would be if I were the mom of the kid who painted just the tail. I bet that was the drug dealer kid.

The boys were getting restless. Dylan was playing on the computer, Jordan was crying, and a mom of another baby, about Jordan’s size came up to me wanting to know how old he was. My God, how LONG have we been here already?!

At 6:52 pm, we all converged by the front door, grabbed some cookies and called it a night. We bragged about the party and how delicious Dylan’s cookies were the entire ride home. We spent the rest of the night playing with Dylan at home and eating those cookies that we had stuffed into our pockets.

Forks, cotton, and Jordan, OH MY!

There are certain things in life that can turn a person's stomach instantly. Sometimes people have those weird phobias or things that they just cannot tolerate. You know, fingernails on a chalkboard, fear of heights, etc. I had a friend who couldn't stand the sound of teeth on silverware. Needless to say, she rarely ate out, and at home, she used plastic ware, but the "classy" kind, she would always remind me.

I have my own quirks, like anyone. My biggest is my dislike for certain fabrics or materials. One being cotton balls. I can't stand the way they feel, especially when you have to pull them apart. I don't like wool in most clothing. Along the same lines- mittens. Cotton mittens, covered in snow. Every time I see it, I want to vomit. I am having a hard time writing about this, I am feeling a bit ill suddenly...

Dylan is even stranger. When Dylan is eating, he can't stand the sight of Jordan eating at the same time. Even if he is as clean as can be- not a speck of food on his face, he still can't stand it. I have seen Dylan eat a peanut butter sandwich, look over at Jordan eating, and throw everything back up.

I have actually had to buy a centerpiece for my kitchen table for Dylan. This way, when I am feeding Jordan, he can put the centerpiece between himself and Jordan. I don't know if it is only Jordan, or if any baby would have this effect with Dylan. I am not about to try it out though.

I am pretty sure that we are not the only ones in the world with a horrid dislike for something. I wonder, what does everyone else cringe to? Feel free to leave your weirdness in the comments...