Fall Crazy

I love love love love love love love love love love love this time of year. Fall has been my favorite season since as long as I can remember. There is just something about seeing the colors change on the trees and finally feeling that nip in the air. It's football season, Pumpkin Spice Lattes at Starbucks, and cashmere sweaters.


It's also driving 62.9 miles to Gainsville in a monsoon to pick out that perfect Halloween accessory. No pumpkins piled on a parking lot for my son. We were headed for the real deal. Beau, Katie, and I made the hike up to The Kinsey Family Farm.


We spent the afternoon perusing the finest gourds the Kensey's had to offer. Beau and I came home with a HUGE one with a long stem (I had to strap it in the seat belt on the back seat next to Beau), a near perfect medium size one, and of course a baby one. And even though we couldn't get a hayride (which I was really looking forward to) because it was raining, we had a great time. Who knew autumnal produce could be so entertaining?


I don't know if it's the fact that I've been on a farm now two Fridays in a row and the fresh air is getting to my head, but I have totally been having daydreams about a quaint little farmhouse, lots of land, animals and tractors. Beau running in from playing the barn while I'm making homemade...er...whatever it is people make homemade... Playing church hymns on an old, out-of-tune piano. Snuggling on a front porch swing with blankets and hot chocolate. Listening to rain on a tin roof. Smelling the morning mist rolling in. Wearing gingham shirt dresses and hand-embroidered aprons. Riding my horse to Target...Oh, wait. Nope. It would never work.

My pumpkin...and a few others.

8 months!

So, yesterday Beau turned 8 months old. This past month has been just crammed full of new things. Here's your 8 month update:

• He can feed himself finger foods.



• He drinks apple juice from a sippy cup.



• He finally figured out crawling on his hands and knees...and then the next day he pulled himself up. A skill he likes to practice especially in his crib during nap time. The thing is, he hasn't learned to get himself down yet, so he stands there and whimpers until I rescue him. 10 minutes later... we go through the motions again.



• Nope, STILL no teeth.



• Beau has developed a couple new fears. Beau used to love anyone and everyone...now, I don't know how he decides, but there are just some people that terrify him. There is no rhyme or reason, either. He was just as terrified as the big, tattooed,scruffy guy redoing our bathroom as he was the nice sales lady at Pearl Vison. On the same note, me getting in the shower equates in his little head as me stepping into the gas chamber. He screams bloody murder now. I try to take my shower now during nap time. And don't try and vacuum with Beau nearby. It scares the crap out of him.

• Besides developing new fears, at the same time, Beau has become fearless of other things. Like trying to jump off the chair. The sofa. Out of my arms. Everything, really. I see many trips to the ER in my future with my little dare-devil.



• He waves "bye-bye"...on a good day.



• We are working on saying words. I swear one time when I was trying to get him to say "book" he really said it. Otherwise is just "ga...boo...baba..aaahhh".



• Beau has become extremely opinionated. He absolutely hates putting on long sleeve shirts, for example. Not to mention his new aversion of green beans. How dare I put that in his mouth!
  

Beau demonstrating his drinking skills.

Checking on Beau during nap time. This is what I found. Beau standing...not sleeping, but standing.

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Random side post! I took these today and couldn't wait to put them up, so I'm shoving them onto his birthday post. BONUS! It was such a beautiful fall day today I took Beau to the playground. We both wore ourselves out, but had the best time!

A Night at the Theatre

First, let me say that I almost never stick up for myself. I HATE confrontation and avoid it at all cost. Even if it means giving in even when I know I'm right. I started crying one time at O'Charley's because Leo made me tell the waiter that he got my order wrong. I just feel so horrible telling someone that I think they messed up or they are wrong. So yeah, I don't like ruffling feathers...AT ALL.

That said:

I am a theater junkie. Especially musical theater. It started back when I was eight years old and my church did a presentation of "South Pacific" and I played the lead character's daughter. I memorized every word to that show, lines and music, at just eight years old. Since then, it has just grown and grown. I could probably sing you the words to every song in over 100 shows. The "Showtunes" genre on my Zune is easily 5 times bigger than any other genre on there. I know, I'm a geek. But I absolutely love it. The sets, the costumes, the lights, the stories, it is intoxicating to me.

My mom gets me (and herself) season tickets to the Fabulous Fox every year for Christmas. And I'm talking GOOD seats. The seats where you get to see the intricate beading on the costumes, every little detail of the set, and the beads of sweat on the actor's foreheads. I love our seats. And we have seen LOTS of shows. Let's say I know my way around the Fox, and I know where my seats, my beloved seats, are.

"Wicked" is in town this month. Our tickets were for last night. And while I do love this show (I've seen it several times now), I do...I tend to get a little "theatre snob" syndrome going on. I don't know what it is, but for some reason it makes me mad when people jump on a show bandwagon because it becomes a huge success, yet they know nothing of all the other equally, if not more amazing shows out there. Yeah, "Wicked" is a great show...but I don't even think it would make my top ten...and yet half of Atlanta was milling about the Fox trying to find their seats in the sold out show.

After the usher scans my ticket to get in I don't even look at it. We sit in the same seats every time. I know where I'm going. This particular night Lori, my sister, was with me, and my mom had gotten another ticket, but she wasn't sitting with us. So we separated in the lobby and told mom to meet me at our seats when it was over. I drug Lori past all the people waiting to be shown their seats and marched down to the front of the theatre. I pointed out our seats to her and she excused herself to the little girl's room. I continue on my bee-line for row J seat 65...where I sit for EVERY SHOW.

Ah, a lady is sitting in my seat. She's probably confused.

Heather: Excuse me... but what seat do you have?

Lady: Oh, am I in the wrong place?

Heather: I'm sorry, but I think this is my seat. Maybe you are down a couple.

Lady: But this is where my friend is sitting. (Pointing to the empty seat next to her.)

Heather: (growing frustrated because I have to be able to read everyone's bios in the Playbill BEFORE the show starts. And Confused Lady was cutting into reading time.) Well, maybe they are in your seats. (pointing to the couple in the next two chairs).

We go back and forth a bit and I keep reiterating that these are my season ticket seats.

Now everyone in the entire row is rummaging around looking at their tickets and checking the numbers on their chairs. They are comparing tickets and trying to talk me out of my stance. I am growing more and more annoyed with incompetent theatre-goers and my high-horse practically penetrated the atmosphere.

Heather: (now beginning to get a little more hostile) I sit here every show. These are my season tickets. These are my seats. (Clearly these people don't come here often...the one's I harbor secret snobbery toward, the ones who only know of "Phantom of the Opera" and "Les Mis" and "Wicked"...and now they are trying to take my kick-ass seats.)

Lady: Maybe your seats are on the other side?

Heather: (Again, growing increasingly impatient and slightly LOUDER) Ma'am these are my SEASON TICKETS. I SIT HERE EVERY SINGLE SHOW.

I basically snatch her ticket out of her hand and look at it. To my horror it says J 65. I could feel the blood flushing my face. I know what happened. Damn Ticketmaster double sold the seats. I was furious. I angerly climbed over the now full row of people witnessing my spectacle and march over to the usher.

Heather: (Now I am beyond angry. Looking back, I don't think I would have recognized myself the way I was talking to these people. Not rude, but very very direct....which I NEVER do.) Excuse me, these are my season ticket seats and these people have the same ticket. I sit here for every show that you guys have and are you going to tell me that now these people are going to sit in my seat? I COME TO EVERY SHOW AND SIT RIGHT HERE. So is this how it works? You just sell tickets and who ever shows up first gets them? ( I continue ranting, probably something to do with being a Fox Patron, season ticket holder, and sitting here every show.)

Usher: (obviously frightened and doesn't know how to respond to me...poor girl was just hired to show people where to sit, not to deal with irate "Season Ticket Holders".) Um, I'm sorry. You can go talk to the guy with the vest. (She points up the aisle.)

Heather: Oh, believe me. I will.

Before I went, though, I had to wait for Lori to return from the restroom because I didn't want her to have to face the angry mob alone like I just did. She was just a rookie herself. I was going to take care of this.

Standing in the aisle, 10 feet away from the orchestra pit I am standing, fuming, waiting for Lori. Mumbling things regarding "season tickets", "every show", and "always sit in these seats".

I look around and see just about everyone in my section's eyes are on me. I make contact with a couple that were looking at me with a bit of sympathy and I again reiterate for the onethousandth time that these were my season tickets and I know I'm in the right place.

Suddenly a thought crossed my mind.

Nooo.

Couldn't be.

I dig through my purse for my ticket.

I literally felt the blood rush from my head. I probably turned ghost white, and a little lump came to my throat, and everything got a little dizzy.

Through my blurry vision there it was.

J 64.

It was the first show of the new season... and yes, our seats had moved. They were the exact same, just mirrored. (At the Fox the even numbers are on the right side of center and the odd numbered seats are on the left.)

I was so embarrassed, I couldn't even apologize. I ran up the aisle with my tail between my legs praying to intercept Lori along the way. I finally found her, and guided her to the two empty seats on the other side of the theatre. Telling her of what had just gone down, and how awful I was, the ONE time I tried to stick up for myself.

I didn't have time to read the bios. But it WAS a great show. Even if I did have to climb on the bandwagon.

10/10 Do It Again!!

***As I keep trying to view this post after I published it EVERY time it cuts out some pictures and/or something. There should be 19 pictures (I know, I went a bit overboard), and make sure Blogger includes my story of the dog at the end. Keep Refreshing People! ...and on a different note, I'm so frustrated because Blogger is not spacing my paragraphs like I want! Sorry it looks like they are just jumbled together! Heather and Blogger, NOT BFF today.***

A wise man once said, "10-10 Do it again!". That man, I'm proud to say, was my Daddy...the groom.

And that's exactly what he did.

October 10, Daddy and Donna tied the knot on a friend's farm. The weather was perfect and the scenery could not have been more beautiful. Beau was excited that the first wedding he ever got to attend was his Pappy's.

Photos of festivities:Aren't they too cute?Jessie (my sister), Donna, Daddy, and moi.

Derek (Jessie's hubby, my bro-in-law, and Leo's fellow red-head), Leo and Beau...duh.
Horses and a sunset.

Beautiful Orchids.

Family Photo!

Sisters... I know, I know...she's tall, thin, and blonde...NOT fair.

Um, yeah, that's my son on a miniature horse. Just your average Friday night.

It was really a great evening. Congrats to the newlyweds and welcome to the family Donna. By the way, you are being such a good sport becoming an "intant grandma"...or should I say Mammie? HAHA! (See, my dad really wants Beau to call him Pappy...so, we were saying that we guess Donna would be Mammie...So we would have Mammie and Pappy. But JUST KIDDING!).

We had such a good night, that it almost overshadows the fact that I HIT A DOG when we were leaving. (Leo came straight from work, so he met me there...I know you were wondering...) We were on a narrow country road and a little black and white dog ran out RIGHT in front of me. I slammed on the breaks.... THUD THUD THUD. I immediately burst into tears; visualizing have to get my baby out of the car, sobbing, walking up to the house and knocking on the door to inform the little wide-eyed, freckle-faced, pig-tailed girl that I just creamed her last year's birthday present that she begged for. But when I pulled over I saw it running down the road, yelping. I definitely hit it, but I guess he's gonna be OK. Poor guy. I felt horrible. I mean, this is the same girl that nearly killed her entire carpool on the the way to school one day because I swerved off the road to avoid hitting a mangy stray (Lori, Steph...do you guys remember that?).

*exhausted sigh*

A glimpse of my old life...

Sometimes I wish my life had a soundtrack. Last month, as I rolled into my parking space I couldn't help but hear the Elton John song "The Bitch is Back"... For the first time in 8 months I pulled in for a day at the boutique. For those who don't know, in my pre-mommyhood life I was manager and buyer at Finders Keepers. I absolutely loved my job and the people I worked for/with. While I was gone, having a baby and all, I really missed being around "the girls" and not to mention being surrounded by fabulous clothes and accessories. You'd be so surprised, in awe even, of what people bring in. I mean, if I had a classic quilted Chanel bag with chain straps, you would have to pry it out of my cold, lifeless fingers before I got rid of it. But that's neither here nor there...

Anywho, long story even longer, I'm back on the schedule...Saturdays that is. I am so fortunate that my husband is really smart and an extremely hard worker and I get to stay home with my baby. Saturdays are going to be a day where I can get up and go to work, have some girl time, and adult conversation. And, if it's a REALLY good day, said day will end "next door" (the Mexican restaurant next to the shop) with said girlfriends and jumbo margaritas on the rocks. Bonus: Leo and Beau get to spend a quality day together, which is good for both of them. Until Beau eats Leo alive...

This was my first day back. Hi Stephanie! (you are such a blog stalker! hehe!)

Beau and Uncle Jessi. My former roommate and one of my best friends. I mean seriously, we lived together, worked together and hung out together for two straight years and only had one fight. She bought a pair of boots that I had and I got mad at her for copying me. DRAMA. I kid you not.

Me, Stephanie, Casey and Julia at the Boutique. I'm really not as short as I look in this picture...I don't think.

Beau giving Betsy kisses. Beau style.

Me checking out my Christmas windows... I was seven months pregnant. Although, you can't really tell from this angle. Believe me, my booty is not normally that cumbersome. I only included this photo because you can actually see our cute little storefront.

Since we are going there, and it's the season, this is a picture of me and Casey last year on Halloween. We were Paris Hilton and Nicole Richie (since both Nicole and I were both preggers at the time).

Oh yeah, and by the way, I'm going to be doing a blog for work too, so when I get that up and running you need to check that out too!

Just A Thought: 2

You might call it "procrastination". I like to call it, "works well under pressure".

Non-Framers

Granted, for the most part Beau is extremely cooperative when I break out the camera. But, contrary to popular belief, he does have his days when sweetly smiling for pictures is the last thing on his little mind. All I wanted was a cute picture of Beau on our doorstep wearing his Georgia Tech shirt. I mean, is that too much for a mom to ask? Beau, on the other hand was way more interested in the cars driving past us, passers-by, and specks on the concrete. (sigh.) Just for kicks (and to prove that Beau, too, has his days...) here is the montage of non-framers that I got.

Gym Ra(n)t

I love going to the gym. It makes me feel good. Physically and mentally. Four hours a week...all to myself. While I'm rocking out to Rhianna I can simultaneously strive for a rockin' bod and take a mental break from the day and just let my mind wander...

But today it didn't get very far...

Please, someone tell me what is the deal with the girls coming to the gym with the perfectly coiffed hair and full face of make-up? I know, I know...you are going to tell me they are just coming from the office. No my friend. Not these girls...I mean, maybe they are, but I know a newly applied layer of MAC and Pantene Extra-Hold when I see it. They are all decked out in their little matching spandex ensemble...shorty shorts and glorified bra. Boobs for miles; and yeah, we get it... your thighs don't touch. Please rub it in while I'm threatening to start an electrical fire over here on the treadmill from all the friction MY thighs are producing. Way to make me insecure in my oversize t-shirt, running shorts, mis-matched socks, lucky I even brushed my teeth. And don't remind me about putting a sports bra on a pair that nursed a very hungry little boy for five months. That is a disappearing act that even Copperfield can't top. It's really a moot point.

Um...anyway...back to what I was bitching, er, saying.


Someone please fill me in on their secret on how they manage not to sweat when they work out. Nay a hair misplaced. They could literally go from LA Fitness to the stage of the Miss Georgia pageant and not shower (or re-do their hair, for that matter). I leave that place looking like a pre-pubescent boy who just had his round in the dunk tank at the school carnival. My 5 year old oversize "Peachtree Road Race" t-shirt soaked. My hair matted and dripping.


I mean, isn't it bad enough that they take up all the prime elliptical real estate, parking their perky, spandex wrapped asses in front of Dancing With the Stars and I'm stuck with Nancy Grace squawking about "the twins". I swear, everytime she says "Caylee Anthony" (courtesy of the closed captioning) I increase my incline...now there is a hard workout. Who needs a personal trainer when you have an ongoing saga in Orlando and the most worthless "journalist" that ever existed to update with every waking detail.

Oh, and newsflash...you aren't working out hard enough if you can leisurely flip through this week's US Magazine. On the contrary, I had two pieces of pizza and macaroni and cheese (for lunch) today, so move over, make room for Heather, her sweaty self, and Rhianna. And thank you for the motivation, and Nancy Grace for the kick butt workout.