Die Buchwalds

One of the worst things about Matt’s pending job interview is that I have absolutely no patience. He says job interview, I automatically think “Yay! A House and Babies!!!” So I’ve gotten myself stuck into that situation. The one where I’ve spent WAY too much time gazing at baby items in stores and searching the Howard Hanna website for my dream house.

Whilst I was browsing, I thought I’d investigate a mystery. We saw a suspicious sign in front of a beloved former teacher’s home a few months ago. I looked it up. Not only is it absurdly out of any price range we’ll be able to afford in the next 20 years, it’s also perfect. I would love to be able to buy it and keep it as it should be. It’s one of those wonderful old farm houses, perfect for raising a large family of children who like to play outside, but no longer perfect for having a farm. I’ll cry if anything other than a nice refurbishing happens to the dance studio inside that home. What I’d really like to know, though, is WHY the house is for sale. It’s been so many years and I’m so out of touch with people who might know. *sigh*
Would anyone like to donate a few hundred grand to the Buy Amy’s Dream House fund?

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Don’t you just love how I blog about six months of marriage and my husband blogs about taking over Cleveland and pretending it’s my birthday?
He’s the best, really he is.

Today was a nutty, awesome day at CCD… In summary, I got to play with a baby. There’s a whole lot of rambling that goes along with the story, but I’ll try to stick to the point. Six-month-old babies are squishy and fun. They’re also kind of heavy.
She was a lot of fun. And she likes Funshine Bear. You can’t go wrong with a baby who likes Funshine bear. REALLY REALLY made me wish Matt had a job already.

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Today, Matt & I have been married for six whole calendar months. Marriage is great. I highly recommend it.

Married life is even better now that I get to see my husband for pretty much the same amount of time every day, with bonus time on the weekends. There’s finally enough time to share all our stories from our times apart and then have additional conversation about other things going on in the world and in our marriage. It’s bliss.

I’m starting to feel motivated to accomplish things in life again. I’m working on a craft project in preparation for Christmas and I’ve even started reading for my own benefit and enjoyment.

The current 6-month plan:

Personal Goals
*finish said book
*work on scrapbooks (currently: high school; college; “before”, “during” and “after” wedding albums)

Marriage Goals
*job for Matt
*house (or at least a start to the house hunt)
*trip to Disney World
*family expansion

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Pansy Moss of Two Sleepy Mommies has a new baby boy. Word is out that he arrived today, but still no news on his name. I could care less who gets to be president in January… I just want to know this little boy’s name!

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The other night Amy and I were watching Seventh Heaven. No, I don’t know which night it was; Seventh Heaven is on like every night of the week. It’s everywhere. It’s so omnipresent that it’s on nine days a week! Okay so maybe not so much, but it’s there a lot. And we watch it. And we were watching it on that night during which our activities consisted of watching Seventh Heaven and doing other things. Which could be any night really. Hah hah hahaha! I just tricked you into a reading a whole freakin’ paragraph and all I basically said was, “Hey, I don’t remember what night that was exactly.” Sucker.

So during the show, there was dating stuff going on. There’s always dating stuff going on in that show, amongst whatever other moral lesson it happens to be bringing to you this fine evening in question. So, after said dating stuff occurred (does occurred have one r or two r’s? I can never quite decide), Amy emits these following words of impending doom: “See what we have to look forward to?”

I did what comes naturally: I used my male intellect to produce the best course of action that would prevent said impending doom and thus make her point invalid. I told her that our children simply weren’t going to date, because they were all going to be priests and nuns. I stood triumphant, beaming with pride at my quick thinking. That was until it was realised that we’d never have grandchildren at that rate, and grandchildren are good things. See, grandchildren are children with all the fun and none of the effort. It’s like you took something of mixed blessing, like taxes, and removed the bad parts. You get all the joy af mailing random pieces of paper to complete strangers without having to spend buttloads of money while doing so.

So this brings us to my point: taxes are like children. You heard it here first.

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