Split level ranch?

So I've been looking at houses to rent in the Houston area, for when husband and I go out there for a visit when he comes home. Right now we live in an old neighborhood with old houses, The Saint Streets. I love this neighborhood so much, with the mix of old and young people, retirees and college students, professors and artists. Unfortunately, the area of Houston that we're looking to move to doesn't quite have that scene. Instead of old houses, nearly all are built between 1970-1980, during the oil boom. Lots have half paneled walls, brick fireplaces, glass doors from the master bedrooms to the backyard, culs de sac, things that were a "big deal" at that time. At the time these neighborhoods were built, they probably looked a lot like Uncle Bob's in Urban Cowboy (one of my FAVORITE movies), houses sprouting up so quick, no time for the grass to even grow in the yard before they're bought . It's interesting how industry can determine so much about an area. At first the thought of moving into a split level ranch style house didn't appeal to me, but if I hum the Urban Cowboy soundtrack, it feels very right.

Houston means that I'm one day closer to you...

Well, the word is out. We're moving. To Houston. For husband's new position. This is not a huge surprise, as we've expected this would happen for the last year, but it's still a tiny bit shocking. While husband and I are both excited, we're pretty bummed about leaving family and friends. I hang out with my parents a lot (and I'm not afraid to say it), so it will be strange not to have that option. But, on the flip side, Houston is merely 4 hours away, not exactly far. And oh how nice it will be to be in a large city, a city with an Ikea and a Benetton and movie theaters that show indie movies. Unfortunately, before we will be able to enjoy the perks, we have to move. We have to pack up all of the nonsense we've acquired since we got married 4 years ago. Husband is offshore again for now, so it's up to me to get the bulk of this done. I wonder what I could offer my friends to bribe them into helping me. Unlimited chicken fingers from Raisin' Canes just isn't going to do it this time around I'm afraid.

In other news, because of my impending move, I've departed from roller derby. This is a sad thing, but also a relief. Honestly? I didn't have the time needed to devote to all of my responsibilities as Vice President. And that's not fair to anyone. But now I feel restless.

I guess I should transfer that restless feeling into weeding out clothes. No fun at all!

Husband and Riley, just after the Saints won the Super Bowl. Every great picture I have of these guys together is them on our porch, wet, and screaming.

Case in point?



Hurricane Gustav, 2008

I hate Mardi Gras. There, I said it. I hate the parades, I hate the traffic that's caused by all the barricades. I hate the beads and the constant flow of alcohol. Don't get me wrong, I like to drink as much as the next Louisianan, but I hate feeling obligated to do so. The only thing that I look forward to are King Cakes (check the archives for an explanation). Husband was offshore for the holiday this year, which is just as well, as he feels the same way I do about it all. I guess maybe if I had kids it would be different, but probably not. Too many years of getting up insanely early to come to Lafayette and stand outside ALL DAY to watch parades has just put me out of the spirit.

So today is Ash Wednesday, the start of Lent. Here's when ALL the Catholics (of which I am one) start claiming that meat is BAD and eating seafood is a SACRIFICE. No. If you live here, where shrimp and crawfish and crabs and catfish are abundant, it is not a sacrifice. Let's be honest, what tastes better, a hamburger or a shrimp poboy? Spaghetti and meatballs or crawfish etoufee (crawfish in a tomato sauce with onions, bell peppers, spices, on rice. It's amazing.)? God is on your little game people. Especially you, crawfish farmers, whose prices will inexplicably JUMP today for the next 40 days.

Unfortunately, husband was not home for Valentine's Day either, and for some reason, this year it really bothered me. I guess because when he comes home next week, I will have seen him a total of 14 days this YEAR. But soon, all of that will change! :) Sorry for the crypticness (definitely not a word), more details to come soon!

easy come, easy go

I keep waiting for it to get easier when he leaves. It's been nearly 4 years. There was a time when it was ok, and now it's just hard. Any moment I don't spend with him while he's home, I regret. It's like when people try to catch up on sleep, but you never do.

FRAZZLED

When husband is home, I get insanely unorganized. The house is a wreck, my office is an absolute disaster, and I'm behind on things I need to do. Husband was supposed to go offshore on Wednesday morning, but things have gotten pushed back, which of course is lovely. I adore having him home. Unfortunately, when he's home, all we want to do is hang out with each other, because we know the call could come any moment that he'll have to leave. Who wants to clean or organize paperwork when they could be snuggling on a couch for the last time for 2 weeks? But, this weekend, everything changes. I am going to organize my life. I'm going to take all the loose paperwork and put it where it belongs. I'm going to return emails and finish scanning papers and move my summer clothes back into the closet (it's in the 70's here today). I'm going to call my sister and catch up with her, I'm going to call my best friend and catch up with her. I'm going to finish sewing the purse I started a couple of weeks ago. I'm going to write for pleasure. I'm going to watch the Saints try their damndest to get into Superbowl. I'm going to clean out the tupperware containers I've been meaning to give back to my in laws for a month. I'm going to make some decisions to increase my happiness and decrease my stress level. Very much looking forward to all of it.

Oh the places you'll go...

(AP Photo/The Clarion-Ledger, Ryan Moore)

As you know, I was born and raised here in Louisiana, so by default, I'm a fan of the New Orleans Saints. Now, I don't have any brothers, and my dad is from Germany, where football is a sport that you actually use your feet, so I don't remember American football being a big tradition on Sunday's in my house (though the World Cup always was), but as I grew up and started dating, I realized that football is really friggin important to American guys. Husband is a major Saints fan, and this season I've actually gotten really into the games. Mostly because I actually understand what 1st and 10 means now. The Saints have had a truly beautiful season, but my favorite part? Number 19, Devery Henderson. Devery and I graduated from the same school, he a year after me. A fairly large school (1200 kids, 9-12), in a not so big town (17,000). I remember him vaguely, I think we may have had a class together, but other than that, we weren't friends or anything. I wasn't really interested in high school football (if you saw our record, you wouldn't blame me), but I have to say, it's FANTASTIC seeing a guy from my home town on our state's football team. And not just ON the team, but one of the shining stars. It's not often that I get the swell of pride in where I live, but when the Saints play, it's one of those times. Good luck next week boys, and no matter what, we are all so proud!