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Last night, Catie and I went to the grocery store, figuring that it would be a ghost town during the SuperBowl. (I don’t care about football or sports at all. Sorry, I’ve tried, I just can’t make myself muster up an interest.) Apparently a lot of other people had the same idea, so it wasn’t quite as deserted as I’d hoped, but whatever. Time to shop!

Catie asked if we could get the cart that has that stupid plastic car attached to the front, and I said ok, even though it’s like steering a freaking bus down the aisles. She was really good in the store, she would hop out of the car to get things off the shelf for me (“Hey, don’tcha need spinach, Mommy? Can I get some? What else is on the list? I’ll get it, I’m a good helper!”), and she wasn’t bugging me to buy her toys or junk food. When you’re shopping with a four year-old, that’s about as much as you can ask for.

And really, it was about a 10,000% improvement compared to how she acted when we’d gone to the mall the day before. Which I will always remember as the tantrum that was so epic that an on-duty police officer came over to us to ask if we were ok. Seriously. That actually happened.

Who, me? Act naughty in a public place? Surely you jest! Why, don’t I look angelic?

We passed a mom that was shopping with her two girls – I’m guessing they were 5 or 6 years old, and they were obviously twins. They took one look at our cart and started in on their mother, “Mooo-ooom! That little girl got a car cart! How come WE didn’t get a car cart?? That’s not fair!!” I smiled sympathetically at the mom, and kept walking.

Later, when we were in the bakery section, Catie mentioned she was hungry, and asked if she could have a cookie. We were at Kroger, and they usually have a box of cookies out in the bakery for the little kids to have one. I tend not to get too uptight about the occasional treat, and since Catie was being so well-behaved, I said sure, and grabbed a cookie for her.

As luck would have it, we passed the mom with her twin girls again. They started up again, “Mooo-ooom! That little girl has a cookie! How come WE didn’t get a cookie?? We want a cookie! No fair! COOKIE COOKIE COOKIE!!!” They were like twin Veruca Salts with the whining. I kind of felt sorry for the mom, but I noticed that she didn’t respond to the kids at all when they whined, so I wondered if she hears it so much that she just tunes it out. I don’t think I could tune it out. There’s a certain pitch that little girls can hit with their voices that makes me feel like my head is going to explode. Catie has only tried it on me a few times, and it’s gotten her nowhere (the only reaction she gets from me is, “Try saying that again politely, and maybe I’ll answer you.”), so she seems to have given up on it.

Of course we passed each other two or three more times (why, God, why?), and they repeated their complaint about Cookie Injustice every time. By the last time we passed them, we were on our way to the checkout, and Catie had long since finished the damn cookie. That didn’t stop them. “That’s the little girl that had the cookie! We want a cookie too!” And so on.

Now, I generally have a rule about interfering with other people’s children. And the rule is: I don’t. I wouldn’t appreciate it if someone did it to me, so I don’t do it to anyone else. But I felt so bad for this mom, she seemed so worn out by these kids and their non-stop whining, and… well, I couldn’t resist.

So I turned to the girls and interrupted their little complaint-fest. I said, “You know why she got a cookie? Because she was really good the whole time we were in the store, and she never whined once.”

Both girls snapped their mouths shut. The mom said to them, “You see? THAT’S what it takes if you want a cookie!”

I hope the mom wasn’t offended (and I’m guessing by her reaction and the smile she gave me that she wasn’t). But I figure I bought her at least 30 seconds of shocked silence from her kids, so I’ll call that a win.

It does make me a little nervous about having two girls, though. If they both crank up the whining on me at the same time, I don’t know how I’ll react. Maybe my head really will explode. Who knows.

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When I was really little – and I’m thinking that this was when my granddad was still alive, so I’m talking like 5 years old and younger – I remember that there was a very special treat that we only got at my grandparents’ house: Donald Duck Juice.

I’ve thought about this for years. I remember that Donald Duck Juice came in tiny glass bottles, but I couldn’t even remember what it was – orange juice? Grape soda? Did we have it with breakfast or lunch? Why was it only at my grandparents’ house? (Most likely answer: because my mom would’ve deemed it too expensive and a silly sales gimmick, meanwhile my grandmother loved nothing more than indulging her only three grandkids.)

But was there even such a thing as Donald Duck Juice? Did I imagine this? How come I’ve never seen it or heard of it since then? Was it just a silly name that my grandmother made up for our benefit?

Then yesterday, I was at the grocery store, looking for citrus juice because it’s another crazy pregnancy craving I’m having (pineapple, grapefruit, orange juice… I want them ALL). Lo and behold, I did a double take, and I almost burst into tears right there in the juice aisle.

Donald Duck Juice. It actually exists. Sure it’s in cans instead of bottles now, but that is the stuff.

I didn’t care that it was $3 for a 6-pack of tiny cans, I bought them anyway because dude, that is a piece of my childhood right there.

(Oh, and the missing 4 cans in that photo? Are currently IN MAH BELLEH. They were delicious.)

When I went to check out, the cashier was an older guy in his 40s, and he said, “Wow, they still make this stuff? I haven’t seen it since I was a kid!” I was all, “I KNOW!! Can you believe it???” I think I might have freaked him out with my Juice Enthusiasm.

I called everyone in my family afterward – my parents both remembered it, but my sister didn’t remember it at all and my brother only barely did. So weird, the way our memories work and the things that stick with us throughout the years.

Does anybody else remember Donald Duck Juice? Was it just a Southern thing? Or do y’all all think I’m completely insane now? (Entirely possible, I suppose.)

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Disclaimer: I almost never do sponsored posts, but I was given a gift card from BlogHer and HomeGoods, and hey, if you’re going to give me money to go shopping, then heck yeah I’ll blog about it. And bonus: if you read this, you get to see pictures of my kitchen. Oooh, special, right?

Since the cleaning lady came to tidy up our house last week, Dave and I have been having ongoing arguments about what I call Chronic Kitchen Counter Crap. This is the stuff that seems to live on the kitchen counter all the time, no matter what. I tend to believe that all food-related items should be put away in a pantry or a cabinet. Dave disagrees and thinks that it’s fine for frequently-used items to stay out, as this keeps them easily accessible. And it drives. me. NUTS.

Also? I am WAY more cranky about things like Chronic Kitchen Counter Crap when I am (a) pregnant and therefore grumpier in general, and (b) expecting many houseguests and visitors over the next few weeks. But it doesn’t matter how many times I put these things away, within a few hours, Dave has left them on the counter again.

So, I decided to take advantage of this HomeGoods/BlogHer gift card offer to do a little de-cluttering in my kitchen, before the holidays are in full swing.

Here are the before pictures, so you can see what I was unhappy about.

Exhibit A:

The bread pile. The knife rack and the toaster are fine, I don’t mind that they live on the counter. But we obviously eat a lot of different types of bread products (there’s wheat, white, mini-bagels, and hamburger buns in that pile), and I hate seeing that stuff all piled messily in the corner.

Here’s what it looks like after my shopping excursion.

Ideally, I would’ve liked an old-timey breadbox that I could close and shut everything away, but those are pretty hard to find these days. I like the basket as an alternative, because it makes it feel like it’s tidy and organized since it’s all in one place. And it’ll be much easier to clean around it, since I can just pick up the basket (rather than 6 different bread bags!) when I wipe down the counters.

Exhibit B:

Sugar, coffee, and tea are always out on the counter. Again, I don’t mind the electric kettle or the blender being out, since they’re both appliances that get used daily, but the food items themselves drive me crazy. I don’t even drink coffee or tea! My Diet Cokes are all neatly concealed inside the fridge. But Dave, being an Englishman, drinks a steady amount of coffee and tea pretty much all day long.

Here’s the “after” picture for that one (this is by far my favorite part of this whole kitchen tidy-up project):

I got airtight containers for the sugar, coffee, and tea. And I love them. It makes the whole counter look cleaner.

I’m very pleased with the results. And I’m no longer anxious about people judging the chronic messiness of my kitchen when they visit my house for the holidays, so I’d definitely call that a win.

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* Diet/exercise update: I’ve been doing pretty well so far. Trying not to eat at night has been about as difficult as I expected, which is to say, VERY. I’m drinking a lot more water, although I’m probably still drinking too much Diet Coke. One step at a time, people. For me, Diet Coke is more addiction than habit, so that one’s a little tougher.

My sister talked me into trying out The Daily Plate to track my calories, and I guess I should’ve expected to be appalled by the amount of junk I was eating, but it still caught me by surprise. The website has its pros & cons: it doesn’t strike me as the most user-friendly, but on the plus side, it does have pretty much every food item imaginable in the database (even menus at chain restaurants). My main gripe with it, or any type of food journal, is that it’s just tedious to keep a log of every single food item you put in your mouth. (Of course, I also see the benefit, that it makes you think twice about it when you know you’re going to have to see the calories on the screen right in your face later.) I’m still debating on whether or not I’ll use it long-term.

I’ve worked out the last three days in a row. On Friday, I did pilates. Saturday, I did the first couch-to-5K workout (which was hard, but I survived), and then today I did the Biggest Loser Weight-Loss Yoga. Tomorrow it’s back to the couch-to-5K, and so on & so forth.

* We went to Target today and it was insane. We shop there all the time, so I didn’t account for the traffic increase on Sunday afternoon. That’s a mistake I won’t be repeating. But listen, I get that it’s August in North Carolina and it’s insanely hot outside, but y’all: wearing a teeny-tiny swimsuit cover-up and a pair of flip-flops (and nothing else) is not appropriate shopping attire. What happens if you have to bend over to pick up that 12-pack of soda? Lord help us all. And I’m not talking about one person, there were many women that I thought, “oh wow, she really should’ve put on a bra before leaving the house.” I saw lots of kids running around the store barefoot too, which, eww. Yuck. Seriously? Really, really not ok. I think we needed the fashion police up at Target today, is what I’m saying.

* Catie continues to be almost 100% successful at peeing in the potty (she had an accident in her Pull-Up at Target today, but it was her first mistake in 5 days, & she was distracted by the toy aisle, so I’m overlooking it). Still no poops in the potty, but I think she’ll get to it soon. I’ve been shaking her Pull-Ups into the potty so she’ll have the visual “this is where it’s supposed to go” clue. And she’s been acting out scenes in which one of her toys poops its diaper and she tells it, “no no, poop goes in da potty!” (my favorite was when Molly, one of her Thomas the Tank Engine trains, pooped her diaper; I can’t even begin to wrap my head around how that’d work).

* Random kid funny: Last night Beaumont climbed across Catie, trying to get within head-scratching distance of me. Somehow part of his giant cat self ended up on Catie’s foot, which made her irate. She screamed at him, “No, Bun-bun! It’s MY foot! It’s Catie’s!” I can’t explain why that made me laugh for the next 10 minutes, but god, it really did.

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About the house thing. We made an offer on house #2. To help jog your memory, it’s this one:

This is the house that while I was walking around looking at it, I felt a lump in my throat and I almost started to cry. It’s perfect. It feels like home to me. And unlike every other house we’d seen up to that point, I couldn’t find a single thing that I didn’t like about this house.

Plus, there’s the kitchen. Oh man, let me tell y’all about the kitchen. This kitchen basically sold the house, as far as I’m concerned.

The photo is a little blurry and doesn’t really do it justice, but that kitchen is amazing. It’s freaking enormous. I can imagine us having huge dinner parties with our friends in this house. It’s so beautiful and open and inviting. I opened the (double!) doors to the pantry, and Dave said the look on my face was as though I was suddenly bathed in a warm soft light while a chorus of angels started to sing. It’s fantastic. I want to make sweet love to that kitchen. (And no, I don’t know how the mechanics of that would work. Shut up. Don’t crush my dream.)

And look! It even has a little built-in workstation.

Cute toddler (who apparently has a mouthful of animal crackers) sold separately. Weird shadow brought to you courtesy of Cindy’s Crap Photography Skills. Get your thumb away from the lens, moron. Jeez.

There’s also the backyard, which is perfect for us: it’s flat, it’s shady, and it’s big enough for a playset. And besides the deck, it’s also got a really nice little patio area underneath a cluster of trees in the yard.

Love it. It’s just so pretty.

So we made a pretty low-ball offer, and they gave us a fair counter-offer (they met us more than halfway). We agreed, signed the paperwork, and we’re now officially under contract.

The sad part is that the house is being sold because of a divorce. The first time we saw the house, it was obvious that there was only one guy living there, so we wondered if maybe he was gay. (For the stereotypical reasons: the place was immaculately decorated and absolutely spotless.) But then our realtor noticed some wedding china in the dining room, and when Dave opened a cabinet, he saw several “how to save your marriage” self-help books. Sure enough, when our realtor talked to the other agent, the house belongs to a (currently, but not for much longer) married couple. So it’s sad, but it doesn’t appear that they have any kids, which I guess makes it slightly less tragic. And they’re obviously working together on selling the house, because they got back to us REALLY fast when we made our offer.

My sister suggested that I need to burn some sage in the house when we move in, to get rid of all of the bad karma floating around in there due to the divorce. I have no idea how to burn sage or what you’re supposed to do to get rid of bad marriage juju in a house, but I’ll look into it. Isn’t there some religion where they’ll bless your home? I can’t remember if that’s a Catholic thing or if it’s Hindu. (Because, you know, the two religions are so very similar, it makes total sense that I’d get their customs confused. Er?)

I am completely scared, and I’m not exactly sure why. Maybe it’s because we’re voluntarily putting ourselves in debt – even though we got a really good deal on the house because of the economy. Maybe it’s because this is the first time I’ve ever been involved in a house-purchasing decision. (Dave already owned our house in Washington when he and I first met.) I think it’s also because this house is so beautiful, and so perfect, and I’m afraid this is all too good to be true, so I’m waiting for something to come along and blow up in our faces. But I really, really hope I’m wrong about that last one.

Stay tuned for my next series of posts, tentatively titled “OMFG are you kidding me I have to pack again, why didn’t we just leave our crap in boxes for the past year?!?!!”

(To be fair, quite a bit of our crap is, in fact, still in boxes. Laziness and procrastination FTW!)

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I’ll write more about our weekend later (because man, it’s been a fun one), but forgive me here while I talk about buying a house and hopefully don’t bore anyone to tears.

Last week, Dave and I went house-hunting with our realtor again. I was trying not to panic, but it was looking like we were going to be homeless after July 31st unless we magically found our dream house. On Thursday, Dave had to work, so it was just me and Cara (our realtor friend) looking at houses, and pretty much everything we saw, I hated. A few of them were nice enough houses, but it just wouldn’t have been a good fit for us. Either they were too small, or they didn’t have any trees around (a pet peeve of mine; I hate it when neighborhoods are built and all of the natural foliage is cut down), or there wasn’t a place that we could’ve turned into an office for Dave, or the driveway was too hilly (visions of Catie in a few years learning to ride a bike and wiping out in the street = no thank you). There was always something that made it a no-go. So I was starting to get a little discouraged.

All of us (including Catie) went out house-hunting again on Friday morning. Aaaand now, it looks at though we’ve found not one but two houses that we really, really love. One house is in the perfect neighborhood and location, the yard is gorgeous, but the house itself has a couple of (really minor) features that I’m not crazy about (i.e., the pantry in the kitchen is really small). The second house is absolutely, 100% perfect, but I’m not totally in love with the neighborhood. I mean, it’s really nice, and it has a lot of great features (neighborhood greenway, pool, playground, etc.), the neighborhood just isn’t as aesthetically pretty as the first one. So, hmm, which to choose? Oh, and both houses are pretty much exactly the same price. Way to make the decision even harder.

Want to see them to get a better perspective of what I’m talking about? Of course you do.

This is house number one:

And this is house number two:

I know, right? They’re both really, really pretty.

So, this afternoon we’re meeting up with our realtor again to look at both houses and try to do a side-by-side comparison of them. And as much as I hate making decisions, I’m feeling pretty good about this one, because I’m pretty sure that we’d be happy in either place. So I’m trying to relax and trust that God or the universe or whatever will make sure that we end up exactly where we’re supposed to be. Cross your fingers for us. I’d really like this decision to be made so I can start planning our next steps (like, you know, the actual move).

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I’ve got a bunch of stuff swirling around my head right now, but most of it is not really all that interesting. I doubt any of y’all really want to hear about:
* This chapter I’m writing, which is due on Friday, and has got me all sorts of stressed out. Oh, and how yesterday I drew the most awesome diagram of an Active Directory-integrated DNS zone in the entire history of diagrams of DNS zones. Yeah, baby.
* The fact that my house is a mess (because of the aforementioned book deadline) and it’s starting to gross me out. I’m already making a mental list of which tasks I’m going to tackle as soon as I’m done writing.
* House-hunting and my ridiculously long list of criteria, and how we sort of like this one new development, but there are a whole bunch of risks associated with new developments these days, and oh my god, how am I supposed to make a decision like this? Whine whine, woe is me and my privileged little life. People are losing their dream homes left and right and I’m debating over whether to buy resale or have a house custom-built for us. Yeah. Poor me, I know. Shut up, Cindy. God.

So instead, let’s talk about BlogHer. Because I’m going.

It’s next month, and I’m already getting a little nervous. As it turns out, when you go to BlogHer, it’s not just the conference itself (which is on Friday and Saturday), but there are also a bunch of parties. So, I’m flying in on Thursday evening, and I’ve already RSVP’ed to two different parties that night. And that’s just Thursday! Before the conference has even officially started!

And I’m also going to the Room 704 party that night (alas, their badges aren’t working).

The parties are at different times, so that’s fine, I should be able to attend both. But here’s the thing: everyone dresses up for these events. And my wardrobe consists mostly of jeans and hoodies. Seriously, you should see the shoes that some people plan on wearing. (Hi, Heather!) It’s crazy. I’m definitely feeling the pressure to cute-ify myself up a bit. (Yes, I just used cute as a verb. Shush.)

So I’m now shopping online for dresses that I can wear on the plane, so I can arrive at the hotel looking gorgeous and ready to party. It’s only an hour and a half direct flight, but you know, it’ll be July. So the sweatiness (and ensuing shiny forehead) is a concern. And I need a dress with at least a little bit of sleeve. Because as much as I might act like my flabby upper arms don’t bother me and I’m fine and “yeah, I’m cool with my size 12-ness” in person, I also know people will be taking pictures at these parties. And if I see photos of my flabby upper arms, my whole self-acceptance facade will fly out the window, and I will cry and beg people to delete the pictures of me. So that’s no good. But it does make it harder to shop, since it seems that most dresses are sleeveless.

I did, however, manage to find these online (thank you, Macys.com – now if you’d only make linking easier so I don’t have to copy & paste everything):

I think this one is my favorite. It’s so pretty and looks like it would be very flattering.

I honestly can’t tell if this is flattering or not because of that ridiculous pose the model is doing. But I think I might like it? Maybe?

I’m not sure what I think about the brown, but it also comes in black. It meets my two requirements as far as covering a little bit of arm and not being too clingy on my tummy area. And if worn with the right bra, it might actually give the illusion that I have boobs. Hmm.

I don’t usually like all-over prints on me, but something about this dress really appeals to me. I’m not sure what it is, but it’s cute.

This one might work, since I know I won’t look nearly as severe and dead-behind-the-eyes as the model. I probably won’t lean on walls like that either.

What do y’all think? Votes?

As for the shoes, I think I’m going to have to find some cute ballet flats or something, because I refuse to be That Woman who wears heels through the airport. Maybe I’ll toss something cuter in my bag to change into once I get to the party, but I haven’t figured that part out yet.

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