The  journey to home ownership has been a slow one for me.  Twenty-four years ago, my parents sold our home, as my dad had accepted the call to pastor his first church.  We moved into a house that the church owned, right there on the church property.  We were there two and a half years before we moved again.  The next house (also owned by the church my dad pastored) was home for six years.  I graduated high school on a Friday and woke up bright and early Saturday morning to help my parents load the moving truck.  I stayed behind with my grandparents and waited to begin my freshman year of college.  The next four years are a hazy memory of  dorm rooms, on-campus apartments, off-campus apartments, mobile homes, rental houses, and friends’ sofas. 

Once graduated, I moved back to my grandparents’ house, an hour away from campus and waited for this really handsome journalism major that I’d been eyeing my last two quarters to get some sense and ask me out.  Once he finally did, I decided it was time to search for greener career pastures in the big city, where my parents lived.  Mr. Journalism followed me a couple of months later.  I moved in with my parents and waited for Mr. Journalism to pop the question looked for a place of my own.  Two years later, Mr. Journalism changed his name to HH.  (I changed mine too.)  We sped away from the church, cans a-tinkling along behind us, to our very first apartment. 

Weary from all the years of  temporary, so very eager to settle down, I’m pretty sure I started spouting off the benefits of home ownership to HH as he was carrying me over the threshold of our little love nest. 

It took him seven years and two children to hop on board the house train. 

We saved. 
We searched. 
We selected. 

We waited. 
We stomped our feet. 
We cried. 
We fought.
We waited longer. 
We cursed. 
We dug in our heels. 
We waited some more.
We walked away.

Today, we start over.  

I feel beat down from all the energy wasted on this particular house.  I feel angry at the deception that went on and ill advice received.  I feel stupid for hanging on so long.  I feel disappointed that my kids are not going to grow up in this house that I’ve been envisioning for the last six months.

At the end of it all, though, it is just a pile of bricks.  My anger will subside.  My energy and excitement will emerge again. 

As the journey continues.
Slowly.

I am on a never ending quest to simplify and downsize my makeup bag.  I used to have a Caboodle the size of a small country slammed full with glamorous goodness.  Of course, I used to have what some might call “the hook up”– I worked at the corporate level for a regional department store chain in the cosmetics area.  I was in no way a cosmetic VIP, but some vendors with very big labels did not underestimate the power of the resident bean counter and gave me stuff.  99% of that bounty is long-gone, and now I’m left with this:

My collection is so much leaner than it used to be, but my desire is to have a small bag with only my tried and true favorites.  Currently, my contents can be divided into three categories.

Here to stay:
L’Oreal  Extra Intense Liquid Pencil Eyeliner Pencils in Brown & Gray
Maybelline Define-A-Brow Eyebrow Pencil in Light Blonde
L’Oreal Bare Naturale Concealor in Fair/Light (This isn’t my favorite for under-eye use, but it is a must for blemishes!)
Chanel Irreelle Blush in Mystery (Leftover freebie.  Not even sold anymore. Will take me a sweet forever to use it all.)
Tweezerman tweezers in Pink
Shu Uemura Eyelash Curler

Just Trying Out:
Complexion Perfection Kit by Smashbox (The mineral powder foundation and the concealor I was using just were not cutting it, so I splurged on the on this collection of trial sizes.  So far, so good.  Actually, I might madly in love with the primer.  The only problem is that I traded two products–mineral powder & concealer for four–primer, foundation, concealer, & powder.  That’s not exactly simplifying.
Ulta Professional Radiant Lift Concealer (This is a highlighter, not a concealer, and, as the associate told me, is a must for my tired mama eyes.  I didn’t want him to be right.  I didn’t want to add another weapon to my arsenal, but I can tell a huge difference.)

When It’s Gone, It’s Gone:
pixi Eye Beauty Kit in Miracle Velveteen (Discontined palette – I got 75% off!)
Bobbi Brown Mini Foundation Stick in Porcelain (Hated it as foundation, but it makes a tolerable eyeshadow base.)
Maybelline Define-A-Lash Volume Mascara in Brownish Black (It’s ok, you can read more of my thoughts here.)

I also keep a massive powder brush, concealer brush, eyebrow brush, three eyeshadow brushes (all-over, angled shaper, small structured one for my arches), a kabuki brush, and an old toothbrush (for my lashes) handy.  I have an embarrassingly large number of makeup brushes, but don’t have need for them everyday, so they stay in the bathroom.

So you’ve seen mine.  Want to peek inside the makeup bags of others?  Head over to Chic Critique and see.

I read of more and more families not doing Santa for the kids, in hopes to keep their Christmas more Christ-centered.  And, you know what?  I SO get it.  But for us, Santa just seems to fit.  You can read more of my thoughts on Santa over at Impress Your Kids.

My girl is something else.  She’s a ham.  She’s a foodie.  She’s an adrenaline-junkie. 

Looks like we can add “skeptic” to the list, too:

Thank you to everyone who has emailed to check in on our progress with buying the house and to ask why things have been so quiet at WBFS.  I can pretty much answer both questions with this –We’re still living with my parents.  They are being very gracious, but I think we are ALL ready for our own space. 

Personally, I wouldn’t mind my own Christmas tree either. 

Maybe even my own forks.  

But, whatever.

In case you missed it on Facebook & Twitter last week, a photographer from the New York Times came to my [parents'] house to take some pics of HH, who’d been interviewed for an article about reading books on his iPhone.

Though my mom and I fluffed and straightened and Febreezed for what seemed like forever, I thought it would be a quick come in, snap a couple poses of HH reading on the couch and then it would be done.  My parents would be gone to Bible study, so I could easily keep the kids entertained with some play-doh and/or coloring books.

Wrong.

The photographer stayed almost two hours.  He was very pleasant and didn’t seem bothered that my 15 month-old stood staring at him the whole time.  (She’s a little intense.  And judgemental.) And he seemed quite interested in Wog’s Halloween candy and guitar playing skills.  He even invited Bug into a couple of shots.

I don’t think  he was prepared for the slingshot.  Or the massive gas-passing from my parent’s geriatric, not-so-miniature dachshund.  But, hey,  he works for the New York Times while living in Alabama.  I’m sure “Rollwithit” is his middle name.

The article turned out really good.  Surprisingly, it didn’t have the whole Look, folks in Alabama CAN read! slant, as I’d jokingly anticipated.

Click on over to see the article and feast your eyes upon the handsomeness that is my hubby.  It appears that Bug has made it to the big time as well.

Look at these swanky dessert plates!!  I won them over at Vintage Dutch Girl…like forever ago.  I only opened the box long enough to swipe a picture.  Then, I promptly sealed them back up, because, in case you haven’t heard…

I was supposed to be MOVING!!!!!

But, these pretty plates are still sitting in storage awaiting their debut, which it appears, sadly,  won’t be Thanksgiving.  I just could no longer bear not showing them off.  So, here they are.  You’ll just have to imagine them sporting the pumpkin pie.

You know the rest. The truth is that I haven’t been able to say many nice things, so I’ve been pretty quiet. We’re still waiting to close on the house. We’re not receiving very good communication — even from our own representation. It’s been frustrating and heartbreaking. There are bright spots. We’ve learned a lesson or two and the generosity and love of our family and friends has been so humbling. We’re hanging in there for now. Hopefully, I’ll have some good news to share soon.
*Fingers crossed*

And while one would think that was a good thing, the truth is that is stinks!  Two weeks ago I set up two autoposts, both were 100% ready, but the subject matter was still up in the air.  Fast forward a little and here I sit, still waiting to hit post.

Well, lest you think I’m literally sitting around waiting to post, I should say that I’m actually not.  I’m frantically throwing things in boxes.  Frantically, not only because I have two kids that are opposed to my actually accomplishing a task like packing a box, but because I have to be out of the rental house in two days.  What?!  Two days?!  Oh, my friends, that’s not even the fun part!  What could possibly be more fun than moving everything you own within a few days?!  Try not having a place to move your stuff to.

Yeah, I know.

I haven’t really mentioned the house search or the pending purchase because I know how everything can go south in a hot minute.  I also know the nature of my luck — sucky.  So, I’ve put off posting about it so as not to jinx anything.  But, as I sit here, surrounded by half-packed boxes, I realize that it is pretty clear that we’re moving.  What I can’t post, unfortunately, is that we’ve bought our very first house.  Because it’s been two weeks since our first scheduled closing and it has yet to be rescheduled.

Yeah, I know.

Fortunately, my parents have generously opened their home to us.  They live right across town and have a virtually unoccupied upstairs.  Unoccupied, if you don’t count the faint smell of cat pee from the year that my sister, her husband, and all of their animals–both great and small– occupied it.  But these are tough times and if a roof over my family’s heads means that we’ll all smell like cat pee for a little while… well, what’s a little nose-holding among friends?  (Consider this your warning, if you know me in real life!)

So, say a prayer or two for us as we await signing the papers on our new house.  And, for me especially,  as I try to navigate managing my household while under the roof of someone with twice the authority as me but with half the rules– my mama.