Getting older was... relaxing

I had a birthday last week.

Hey - don't feel bad for not knowing!  How could you?  I didn't tell you, and besides, Facebook doesn't add birthdays to business pages as far as I know.

But if they do and NONE OF YOU wished me a Happy Birthday, well... that's awesome!  Maybe if we act like it didn't happen, then it doesn't count?

I woke up to the sound of Brian, Bailey and Drew singing 'Happy Birthday' beside my bed.  It doesn't get any better than that, folks.

Then I walked downstairs and was greeted by the smell of warm cinnamon rolls right out of the oven.  Remember when I said "it doesn't get any better than that"?  I LIED.  Cinnamon rolls make everything better!  And guess what?  The calories don't count on your birthday!  It's a law, I think.

Brian handed me a piece of notebook paper and said, "This is your birthday quiz.  If you make a 100 on it, then you'll get your birthday present."

Crap.  There's a pop quiz?  But I didn't study!

Seriously.  Is there a Pinterest for dudes that we don't know about?

Maybe it was because it was too early or maybe it was because I had a sugar high from all those cinnamon rolls, but I panicked.  I immediately starting skipping around to ones that I knew for sure.


#3 - Best blog in the world... Well that's easy!  TMZ!  Dang.  Not enough letters.  Okay, go to the next one.  My middle name....  Crap.  What's my middle name?  


Phew!  I've never been so glad to pass a test in my life.  Chateau Elan, here I come!

So for eight....long....hours...., I enjoyed luxurious pampering.  Is this what it's like to be rich?  If so, it rocks.

This photo collage tells the whole story.

Everywhere I went, people would say, "Happy Birthday, Mrs. Hohenbery.  I hope you are enjoying your day."  They sure knew how to make a girl feel special!

But then they would usually follow up with, "So, how old are you today?"

And... buzz kill.

For realz, y'all?  I'm trying to relax here and I'd really appreciate us NOT discussing my age.  You're robbing me of my lilac foot scrub happiness!

So I just smiled and said, "29".

What were they gonna do?  Check my birth certificate?

My morning began with a massage.  I knew it was going to be good when my masseuse walked in and looked like she played middle linebacker in the NFL.  Her hands were as big as the sun and I think she could have bench pressed me if she wanted to.  She also offered me a shot of Jack Daniels instead of a bottled water.  This girl had chops.

I had trouble relaxing, though.  And it's not due to my physical activity (she types as the audience breaks into laughter) because I sit all day long:  at a desk, in the car, on the couch.  Believe it or not, I'm even sitting while I type this blog.

My problem with relaxation is that I can't get my mind to turn off.  Just like me, it hardly ever shuts up.

My brain is like a pinball machine in an arcade.  One little thought sets that silver ball in motion and then it pings around in there for hours and hours.  Pretty soon, my mind is cluttered with a bunch of middle-schoolers screaming over AC/DC music and standing shoulder-to-shoulder on a soda-sticky floor that smells like old gym socks.

Figuratively speaking, of course.

So every time I felt myself starting to think too much, I drank another glass of cucumber water.  It was an Amanda Cleanse, if you will.  Eventually, it worked, but then I had to stop my facial to go to the bathroom and pee.  Twice.

I took a spa break for lunch.  I didn't have to bother with getting dressed because everybody walked around in their robes and slippers - in the parking lot, the restaurant, and even outside by the lake.

While I was eating lunch, a UPS man walked up to me and asked where the check-in desk was, and suddenly, I became incredibly aware that I was naked underneath that robe.

I bet that's how people feel who are at a nudist colony and some tard walks up to them wearing jeans and a turtleneck asking for directions to Joe's Crab Shack.  Can you say awkwarrrrrd?

And before you say anything, cheesecake and wine is a completely balanced meal.  There's fruit and dairy and.... you know, probably some other stuff, too.

Between spa services, I had use of a private hot tub, shower, bathtub, sauna and steam room.  I haven't taken a bath without a "Mama, where are you?" interruption since 2001.  I kind of felt like I was cheating on my kids.

I liked the steam room the best, though.  If I'm not going to exercise, at least I can sweat by just sitting there.

What I didn't think about was what the steam would do to my naturally curly hair.  When I got back in the car, I looked in the mirror and I actually scared myself a little.  Now I know why people started looking at me funny from about 2 o'clock on.

The good news was that if a Poison reunion concert was in town, I was totally prepared for it.  The bad news was that there wasn't.  Every rose has its thorn, y'all.

Thank you, Brian, for treating me to such a wonderful birthday!  You gave me the gift of total silence - inside and out.  How did you know exactly what I needed?

One click = One vote.  Please click the banner below to register one vote for Werdyab Blog.  Thank you!  

  

How to scare the crap out of your husband

Are you the sentimental type?  I am.  I would save every tissue that my kids ever blew their noses in if I could get away with it.  (Dumb health code.)

But I'm also a neat freak.  I want every closet, cabinet and square-inch of my house to be tidy.

So, uhmm, this presents a problem.  Because have you ever seen that episode of Hoarders when the house was completely spotless?  No?  Me neither.

It's like a serial killer who faints at the sight of blood.  Or a Victoria Secret model who loves an all-you-can-eat buffet.  Or a Mom who wants to go to the bathroom and pee ALL BY HERSELF.  They just don't go together.

Yesterday, I did my weekly organizing of the storage areas.

And you guys are still hanging out by the pool?  Pfft.  You don't know what fun is until you've organized your old photo albums by year, color and dimension!

That's when I came across my positive pregnancy tests.  Of course I saved them.  You didn't?

The tests from Bailey are almost 12 years old now.  I smiled remembering when a skinny, 25-year-old me took a pregnancy test before going out dancing with my girlfriends.  I was so sure that it would be negative that I didn't even look at the result for a half-hour.

Huh?  HOW DID THIS HAPPEN? (Well, you know what I mean.)

So I decided to read the directions.  Maybe two pink lines didn't mean that I was pregnant after all?

The instructions said that I would get the most accurate reading first thing in the morning.  Whew!  All I have to do is take another test tomorrow and it will be "accurate" and "negative".

Can you say "young" and "stupid"?  

So I took another test the next morning.  And it wasn't just positive; it was SUPER POSITIVE.  The two pink lines were so bright that I had to wear sunglasses to protect my eyes from the blinding glare.

I completely freaked out!  I was so scared that I wouldn't be a good mother.

Last night, I laughed holding that test in my hand because being a good mother came so naturally to me.  I couldn't believe that I was ever worried about it.  Even for a minute.

Then I looked at Drew's positive pregnancy test.  I smiled remembering when Brian and I decided to try and have a baby.

By the way, don't you hate it when people tell you that they're "trying to have a baby"?  TMI, y'all.  Just pour yourselves a glass of wine and turn on the "bow chicka bow wow" music right in front of me, why don'tcha?

So, uhmmm, we had been trying (ahem) to have a baby.  On Easter morning, I took a test and it was positive.  Thanks, Easter Bunny!

Even "trying" for a baby, I still completely freaked out!  How will I ever love another child as much as I love Bailey?

Last night, I laughed holding that test in my hand because my heart didn't divide like I thought it would.  Instead, it multiplied so that I could love both my children with my whole heart.  I couldn't believe that I was ever worried about it.  Even for a minute.

Needless to say, this walk down memory lane lasted longer than a Sex and the City marathon on Lifetime.

I NEEDED TO FIND A BETTER PLACE TO KEEP THESE TESTS.  But it was getting late.  And I was tired.  And that American Idol wasn't going to watch itself, you know.

So I put them in the bathroom drawer for safekeeping until the next day.  But the next day happened to include my husband's early morning search for some Q-Tips.

(You see where this is going, don't you?)

When Brian opened the drawer, this is what was in there....

But this is what he saw....

Amanda, wake up.  Is everything okay?
Well, everything was fine WHEN I WAS SLEEPING.  What's going on?
I was just making sure that everything was okay.  Is there anything that you want to tell me?
Can't think of anything.
Nothing?  Because, you know, whatever it is, it will be fine.

You can probably fill in the blanks on the rest of that conversation.

If the reality show Punk'd is reading this post, I'VE GOT THE PERFECT PRANK FOR YOU.  I'm talking about the stuff that April Fools Day legends are made of.

So if you ever want to scare the crap out of your husband, just let me know and I'll totally let you borrow my positive pregnancy tests.  IF THE PRICE IS RIGHT.

One click = One vote.  Please click the banner below to register one vote for Werdyab Blog.  Thank you!  

  

Romance Lives (Even After Kids)

Disclaimer:  YOU CANNOT READ THIS POST if you are my parents, family, close friends, neighbors, acquaintances, if you taught me in kindergarten, if you are my pastor, if you go to church with me, if you go to church anywhere, if you have taught my children, if you will teach my children, if you know my children, if you are my doctor, dentist, mailman, and especially my florist.  Basically - if there is any chance that I might bump into you at Target - STOP READING NOW.

Okay.  For the two of you who are left....

I knew that I had to pick up Bailey on Valentine's night, so our family celebrated on Sunday.  Translation: We went to Golden Corral to park ourselves beside that huge chocolate fountain.  Because nothing says "romance" like consuming 4,500 calories for $9.99 a person.

Holding true to my procrastinator reputation, I stopped by the mall ON VALENTINE'S DAY to buy gifts for my husband and children.  I'm not very romantic - I know.  Keep reading and you'll see that I'm basically the dude in this scenario.

I was scurrying around the mall about 7:30 pm, still trying to find the perfect gifts, which taught me a very valuable lesson.  And it's not the one that you think.  I'm still a procrastinator.

It taught me that after a certain time on Valentine's Day, you are no longer a "last minute shopper" and now you are a "lonely soul".

You obviously have nobody to watch that new Rachel McAdams movie with - so you're here, at the mall - drowning your sorrow in Michael Kors and Haagen Dazs.  TOTAL MEAT MARKET.  Every guy looked at me like I was available and every girl looked at me with sad eyes that silently said, Being alone on Valentine's Day sucks, doesn't it?  Facebook me and we'll chat about it.  

FYI: If you're still wasting your time in the club scene, forget it.  Wear your stilettos and short shirt to the mall at sundown on Valentine's Day.  You'll find a new honey in no time flat!

Thanks for being patient.  Here comes the good part.

Later, just before bed, Bailey went into my room looking for her lost shoes and shouted, "MAMA!  Brian decorated your bedroom and bathroom for Valentine's Day!"

Then I saw all the color disappear from Brian's face.  If Cupid and Casper had a love child, at that moment, it looked exactly like my husband.

I walked in and saw the most amazing surprise!  Rose pedals were scattered all across the floor.  Chocolate covered strawberries were displayed in a heart-shaped container on the bedside table.  There were at least 40 lit candles providing the only light in the room.  New bubble bath was carefully placed beside the whirlpool tub.  There were gifts and a sweet card.  It was beautiful!

But, uh, not meant for children to see.  Ahem.  Or you - if you know me.  DO YOU KNOW ME?  ARE YOU BREAKING THE RULES?  If so, don't be shocked if I walk the other way when I see you at Target.

Embarrassing, huh?  But don't worry.  It gets worse.  Then Bailey said, "Hey, Mama!  There's a video camera in here!  Are you making a movie?"

Now before you start whispering,  Pfft.  I never took her for that type of girl,  PLEASE LET ME CLEAR SOMETHING UP.

You know how my "Momday Mornings Vlog" tab has said "Coming Soon" since I started my blog?  Well, it's actually coming soon!  Over the weekend, I filmed my friend Laura talking about pregnancy and whatnot in my room so that we could use the green backdrop.  ASK HER.  She'll back me up.  And it's not just because I threatened her life is she didn't.  I just hadn't gotten around to putting up the camera yet.

Can you imagine Bailey telling her friends and teacher all about our "Valentine's decorations" and "movie making"?  We'll probably be forced to change schools.

And think about poor Bay.  There's going to be a moment in the future when she puts everything together.  She'll be all like, "HEY.  I remember one Valentine's Day when my..... Huh?  EWWWWWWWW!"

Bless her heart.

So click on the link below if you'd like to donate to Bailey's therapy fund.  Because you know that she's going to need therapy.  And a lot of it.

Click on this banner to help me get to #1.  That's all you have to do: Just click.  
One click = one vote.   Thank you!

The Spousal Hotness Factor

My husband started running, lifting weights and dieting.  The health trifecta.  I have given him four solid weeks to quit, but he is still going strong.

Great.  This means that I will have to start exercising and eating healthy, too.  Not because I'm inspired but because of the spousal hotness factor.

One spouse cannot be +/- 2 degrees of hotness from the other spouse.  It is kind of like the Kevin Bacon thing but way more important.

No wife wants her husband to get all Ryan Reynolds hot and then get sympathy eyes from across the restaurant.  Like, 'Oh, bless his heart. She must have a great personality.'

I gave it my all for 45 minutes on the elliptical today.  I think at one point I was literally sweating chocolate chip cookies.   Is it too early in the health trifecta to throw in the towel?

I hate you, Elliptical, Spousal Hotness Factor and Ryan Reynolds.  Oh, and you, too, Kevin Bacon.

A Wife's Football Strategy

I wish I loved football.

My husband, originally from the Chicago area, is a die hard Bears fan.  When the Bears are on television, Brian puts on his jersey and cranks up the surround sound to a point where the house literally shakes.  He claps, cheers and shouts as he watches the game.  He also "talks" to the referees, which is my personal favorite.

He is so passionate about the game, but unfortunately, I'm more passionate about a good cucumber salad.

Occasionally he will look over at me, hoping to share a victorious moment, only to find me painting my nails or typing a blog.  Ahem.

He even bought me a jersey hoping to spark some love for the game.  Smart move.  Because if anything is going to ignite passion in me, it's new clothes.  This jersey is fitted though the waist with ruffled sleeves and diamond bling adorning the v-neck.  It's a diva jersey.  Score!  Figuratively speaking, of course.

I'm not a stupid person, but I just can't grasp the rules of football.  I don't know the difference between a blitz, a safety and a pylon.  In fact, I barely know the difference between offense and defense. It's some sort of block that I have.

And speaking of "block", I'm sure that I could have used a funny and poignant football analogy IF I KNEW ANYTHING ABOUT FOOTBALL.

So I tried a new strategy today to support my husband's love of pigskin.  I occasionally repeated the last thing that I heard the commentator say in the form of a question:

"A penalty flag?"

"Three yards until a 1st down?"

"Cutler's off today?"

This gives the appearance that I actually care while giving Brian someone to talk to with the perception that I'm actually interested.  Total win-win.  Our chances of winning are higher than the Bears.

This is a tactic that I learned in college while completing my psychology degree.  All a counselor really has to do is repeat the last few words of a client's sentence to keep the conversation going.

"I'm in this mess because of what happened with my mother!"

"Your mother?"

Good to know that my high-dollar education is finally paying off.

Go Bears!

Green Eyes

I love my husband. Yay me!

I was playing my iTunes library on shuffle today came across the track "Green Eyes" by Coldplay, a.k.a., "our song".

Brian and I had been dating maybe two weeks when he said that this song reminded him of me. It was such a sweet, precious moment and a memory that I treasure.

At times, I've told this story to friends and loved watching their mouths drop wide-open, not believing that a couple over the age of 15 establishes "their song" during the first two weeks of courtship.

But when I listen to the song lyrics, and I think the instant connection that we shared and what we'd been through before we met, it doesn't seem weird at all. It seems kind of obvious, actually.

And the cool thing is that it's still appropriate. Even after marriage, babies, mortgage payments and time, I still feel like this song applies to us.

That Chris Martin sure got something right. And thank God, so did I.

Green Eyes by Coldplay

Honey you are a rock

Upon which I stand

And I come here to talk

I hope you understand

That green eyes, yeah the spotlight

Shines upon you

And how could, anybody,

Deny you

I came here with a load

And it feels so much lighter now I’ve met you

And honey you should know
That I could never go on without you

Green eyes...

Honey you are the sea

Upon which I float

And I came here to talk

I think you should know

That green eyes, you’re the one that
I wanted to find

And anyone who, tried to deny you 
Must be out of their mind

Cause I came here with a load

And it feels so much lighter since I met you

Honey you should know
That I could never go on without you

Green eyes Green eyes

Ohohohohooooo Ohohohohooooo Ohohohohooooo Ohohohohooooo

Honey you are a rock
Upon which I stand

Never Settle For Anything Less Than... Butterflies

I remember the first night that Brian and I met. Laura invited me to tag along to an after-hours work function at Loca Luna one Friday night. She told me that a co-worker named Brian was going to ride down with us. She paused and said, "ya know, he is so your type."

Well, was she ever right! Brian was sitting in her living room when I walked in and introduced myself. I remember the first moment that I looked at him and I felt.... butterflies.

So what do you do when you meet somebody who you really want to impress? You say something stupid, of course.... "Hey, I like that shirt. It takes a real man to wear pink." Brian laughed and thanked me for complimenting his shirt. :) I have no clue how a terrible pick-up line like that won him over, but thankfully, somehow, it did.

Fast forward through first phone calls and first dates... through weddings and reweddings :)... through watching Bailey grow up and experiencing Drew's birth.... through the day-to-day pleasure that is our life...

When Brian came home from work this evening, the kids and I were already home. I was sitting on the couch, helping Bailey study for her spelling test, while Drew was playing on the floor with some trains.

Brian walked through the door, and I couldn't help but be reminded that he is the most handsome man that I've ever seen. And for every bit of handsome that he is on the outside, he is twice as handsome on the inside. And whaddaya know, when I saw him walk through that door tonight, I felt... butterflies.

Even after all these years, my heart still flutters like our love is brand new. I'm so lucky to have found a love like that.

You should "never settle for anything less than butterflies." Trust me. It's worth the wait.

Our first photo :)

And the winner is...

Brian was the first person that I ever met with the last name of Hohenbery. He was raised in the small town of Princeville, Illinois: population 1,636. With his Dad being one of 13 children, Brian will tell you that about every third person you meet from Princeville is a Hohenbery. He swears that's why he moved to the south - to make sure that he didn't marry someone from another branch on his family tree. But outside the city limits of Princeville, the name is pretty uncommon.

About a year after Brian and I married, we conceived our son, Drew. I went to my OB-GYN's office for the first time since my name change. I was about 7 weeks pregnant and suffering from a case of "morning sickness" that latest all day long. My doctor said, "Are you sure that it's the hormones making you queezy or is it your new name? Heh. Heh." I didn't know whether to laugh or to punch him in the mouth.

I LOVE being a Hohenbery. I am so proud to be a part of such a loving, wonderful family. But nobody can get this name right. Can't spell it. Can't pronounce it. Most people don't even attempt it. It is not unusual for me to answer a telemarketing phone call and hear the person on the other end of the line say, "Yes, uh... may I speak to, uh... Mr... Brian?" It makes me smile.

Brian and I have a running joke that we are trying to find the person who/ situation that annihilates our name the most. A Best of the Worst, if you will. We've never established an actual prize for winning, but the prize doesn't matter. It's all about the gloat of victory.

Recently I was given an award for contributions to insurance industry media. I was so proud of this recognition, especially considering that I worked with my two sisters this past year to earn it. (In case you're curious about what this entails, we wrote articles about insurance, submitted them for publication and actually had some articles published in real newpapers. But trust me, most of the articles were total snoozers. Blogging is way more fun.)

The first thing that I did was look down at the award to see how bad Hohenbery was misspelled. I laughed when I saw that both my last and first names were misspelled on the award. Since Amanda and Brian are both very common names, nobody ever gets those wrong.

I am now "Amand Hohenberry"... and I win. :)