Day at the Lake

Our first trip to the lake with our baby doll. She loved it! Here's the proof.

Look at that beautiful redhead and her hair blowing in the breeze. Not a care in the world!

I'm a big girl, on a boat!

I want my cake and eat it too

On the weekends, we have a LONG laundry list of things that must be done. Like childproof the kitchen cabinets, fix the rod that is holding the curtains, put up a hook in the bathroom for Madeline's towel, fold clothes, etc. Every weekend I also want to have lots of family quality time. The weekends are wonderful and I am so happy that Bryce spends his time doing the many things I want to do, like go to Target, walk around the block, go out to eat, farmers market trips, and more. Now, if Bryce even hesitates when I ask him if he wants to go to Target, ohhhhh watch out. I mean, of course he wants to go. Who wouldn't want to walk around Target for hours, looking at the labels of every bottle, trying to make up my mind about various purchases? It's pretty much my favorite place--you can go in for 2 things, with a list, and wind up with a car load of wonderous goodies! Then Monday rolls around and I am testy with Bryce all day because, well it's Monday, but also that none of our to-do-list was even touched. I am not sure if all women do this, or is it just me?

Sore Loser

I cannot play the lottery anymore. The NC Education Lottery is supposed to help for funding of our schools here in NC, but I have yet to see how it has actually helped our school system. In fact this year, all teachers received a lovely pay DECREASE in their salary. Nice. Since my mom and several of my cousins and aunts are teachers, I have in the past justified spending a few dollars here and there to help "support them" by playing the Powerball. I usually only played if the lotto was up to $100+ million. I would always choose to have them randomly select my numbers and as I looked over my little piece of paper with the numbers that would forever change my life, I began to dream. I would dream about how the minute I found out I was a millionaire, I would call my boss and let him know that I would not be coming into work that day...or the next...or ever again.

Usually at this point, my excitement had swelled enough that I absolutely had to call my sister to discuss in extreme detail exactly what I would be doing with the remainder of my millions. Since it is impossible to go on a massive shopping trip alone, Melanie would have to go with me and, of course, I would have to give her several thousands of dollars to spend for herself on this trip. We could spend hours on the phone talking in depth of all of the clothes, shoes, purses, and jeans that we would have to purchase. Of course, a large amount of the money would go into savings. Savings for my child's education, savings for retirement (effective immediately), savings for vacations, savings for anything and everything. Bryce would have a great chunk with which he could invest (and turn into even more millions for me to dream about). Charitable organizations would get hooked up like no other (usually I would even do research to determine who I wanted to donate to). Depending on how much money was at stake, my sister and I would determine exactly how much each family member would be getting of these millions. Usually she and her hubby would get $5-10 million and my parents would get $1-2 million, and so on. Next we would determine what vacations we would be going on and which ones would be mutual family vacations, our own family vacations, and then also romantic trips with just our husbands. Japan is always at the top of my list, followed by France, then Italy. This conversation of ours could last hours.

Finally on the day the lotto numbers were picked, I would get on the internet, become a refreshing queen until the numbers were finally posted. I cannot tell you how incredibily heartbroken I was each and every time that I did not win. Not only did I not win, but I did not one single time even get a dollar back to at least break even. I would go into a mild depression for a day or two. The following morning at work was usually hell. I would see the image of my closet full of clothes and shoes and purses, melt away and eventually tears would start to form as I realized my vacation in Japan would not be happening anytime soon. I didn't even need to tell Melanie the bad news, because when I called her the following morning for our usual "on-the-way-to-work-chat" her first question would be "What are you doing?" and I would respond, "Going to work" and I could actually hear her heart sink through the verizon network and 90 miles of highway.

Higher Education

Today, I started my first blog and tomorrow, I start my class again. Smart, Melissa. I always like to bite off a little more than I can chew and then complain like hell about how much it sucks. Each semester, I swear to my sister, my husband, my mom, to anyone who will listen that there is NO WAY I will make a good grade in this class and that I am doomed for failure. And then each semester, I somehow pull it together and make a decent grade. I am too much of a perfectionist and worrier to believe that the work I do is ever enough. That is why, when life is going smoothly and everything seems perfect, I have to throw something else into the mix. For this summer class I am taking, our grade is based on a group simulation "game" assignment that lasts the entire semester. My group will have to compete with the other groups in the class and our grade will be determined on how well we do in this "game." Now this scares me a bit. Not only do I have to rely on the performance of those on my team for my entire grade, but the class sounds too much like my actual job and instead of someone paying me, I am paying the school for this. I am sure over the next couple months (if I can continue to find the time for this blog), you will hear many, many, many more complaints about school and how I am certain to fail this class. It will probably not be my fault though. It is most certain to be the fault of one of my team members, or my job, or the professor.