He's definitely on the nice list

I wonder if all men are funny about gift giving, or if it's just my husband.

To give him credit, he courageously went where no man should ever go... Christmas shopping with an emotional woman on the Saturday morning before Christmas. My mom was diagnosed with cancer on Friday, and the news was still really fresh. So he, being the great husband he is, volunteered to stand beside me as I cried through the Snuggie aisle at Bed Bath and Beyond.

So, in classic man and woman form... the clash of shopping style ensued. I meandered through the aisles of TJ Maxx, not having anything in particular in mind, but hoping something would just "jump out at me" for someone on our list. As you probably know, this is against everything a man is. This blows their mind. Mom says if I keep taking him shopping with me, he'll end up one of those glazed-over men you find sitting on a bench in the mall. They could have been there for hours. Or days. All you know is that they are miserable and are fantasizing about being at home with a beer in hand watching ESPN. Wow, now THAT'S not stereotyping. But anyway, at one point in my perusing this conversation occurred...

"Natalie there's nothing here, can we leave?"
"I'm not done looking."
"This just isn't the place, we're not going to find anything here. Let's go."
"How do you know? We've only gone down two aisles."
"I just have a feeling. Let's go."

A feeling? About TJ Maxx? You can find some bargain-priced gems in that store, honey. You just don't KNOW.

This also fascinated me: Every time I paused in question over which size, what color, etc. etc. to get of a particular present... cue husband to whip out his cell phone. "Let's just call (insert giftee) and ask them which one they want." To which I (ever so sweetly) rip the phone out of his hand and reply, "You're ridiculous." You see, I believe ever so fervently in the element of surprise for Christmas. Sure, my dad knows that I am going to get him a pair of slippers every single year. Never fails. Default Daddy gift. But do I tell him that's what he's getting? Absolutely not. It's the principle of the thing.

After several hours of following me around... I got progressively more and more stressed and more and more emotional, so he won the Best Husband of the Year Award by volunteering to do the rest of the Christmas shopping himself.

Including... his own presents. Yes. Against all I just reported above.

So last night we decided to go ahead and celebrate our Christmas together before spending the holidays with family. Somehow still as excited as a kid on Christmas morning, he handed me a bag full of stuff that he had bought for his own stocking and raced out to put together my stocking. I opened the bag and guiltily stuffed his stocking with the items, feeling terrible for not choosing them myself, but so grateful he let me go home and spend time with my mom instead. He came back in, still way more excited than necessary, considering the fact that he had no Christmas surprises. As I began revealing gifts from my stocking, I quickly realized that his excitement was stemming not from presents for himself, but from sheer delight in watching me open my stocking and enjoy the gifts he had chosen for me.

This certainly is not the first Christmas I expected, but I certainly couldn't ask for a more supportive and wonderful husband. Even if he will never be invited shopping with me again. :)

Always the bread girl, never the entree...

I think I have a pride issue.

Mom shared with me a Maxine cartoon before Thanksgiving that read "As the Thanksgiving season approaches, remember: All it takes is one undercooked turkey, and you'll be the 'dinner rolls' and 'soda' person for life."

This was in response to my report that for two events in two weeks, I was assigned the duty of providing bread. The job typically assigned to men who are known to have no domestic prowess whatsoever. "Ohhh Bobby wants to know what to bring? Tell him to bring rolls. You really can't mess that up." I mean, run into Publix, grab a bag, heat up, and viola, your job here is done.

Now in the instance of event number one, Thanksgiving at the in-laws, I am one hundred percent certain my mother-in-law meant no malice by this assignment. The kind-hearted woman, knowing we were only a couple weeks married, probably assigned this to me to alleviate any holiday stress. I appreciate that, mom. Really. And in event number two, dinner with my four best friends from college, I'm hoping the salad and bread thing was a luck of the draw and not the result of a hushed conversation... "What can we tell Natalie to bring? Remember all those bland overcooked chicken breasts she made in college? Let's give her bread and salad, just to be on the safe side."

But for whatever reason, I just can't help but listen to the little devil on my shoulder saying, "Rolls? They want rolls? Oh I'll give you rolls."

I've mentioned how much of a Publix fan that I am, and that simply walking into Publix and seeing my friend at the Simple Meals stand gives me a boost of confidence that I am capable of anything in the kitchen. Unstoppable. Sky's the limit. But I've found another thing in my life that puffs up my confidence like no other.

KitchenAid mixer. Ohhh yeah. The king of all kitchen appliances. Best wedding gift ever. That bad boy sits on my counter, just awaiting an opportunity to blend to perfection a culinary masterpiece. You could probably pour dirt and sludge into it's shiny bowl and come out with an award winning dish. Too far? Probably, but the thing is amazing.

So with the confidence of Publix and KitchenAid combined... I made rolls, from scratch, for Thanksgiving. And I have to say, they were darn good. And I may or may not have made a huge deal out of making sure everyone knew that I had made them from scratch... Pride - 1, Humility - 0.

Next up - I am making Garlic Bread with the help of my BFF KitchenAid for my dinner tomorrow night. Hopefully that will be a success... if not, Publix is just around the corner.

Domestic Diva... in training

Table set. Nice placemats out. Napkins - not the paper kind, the cloth variety... with rings. Candles - the candles my mother gave us to light for our first married dinner.

I have to admit, I had a hint of foreknowledge that I was being a tad overzealous. I'd never cooked pork before. But Publix told me it was a "Simple Meal." Easy for you to say, Publix. You've been in the food business for years. Me? I've gotten by on pasta and butter with the occasional (dreadful tasting) chicken breast for the past 5 years.

I've come to love the Publix man who stands behind his little booth, whipping up a sample of this so-called "Simple Meal" to feed you, so you can decide that this food is delicious enough to make on your own. Then you may walk the three steps to his cooler where he has laid out everything you need to prepare this meal. Brilliant, everything you need in one place, at your fingertips. Way too tempting for this lazy girl. Walk around the store collecting groceries for one meal? Nonsense! It's all right here baby.

That's why I attempted this "Pork Roast with Tropical Fruit Sauce." Feeling confident, I gathered my ingredients, checked out, and headed for my unsuspecting kitchen.

Step one: Set table as mentioned above. Step two: Put on cute apron to make this whole cooking thing legit. Step three: Begin following recipe... and this is where it all goes downhill.

Publix tells me to heat a pan over medium-high heat for 3-4 minutes. Easy. In the meantime, season pork with salt and pepper. Done. When 3-4 minutes is up, pour two tablespoons of olive oil into pan, and brown both sides of roast. Catastrophe.

Sounds simple, except for the fact that the oil in the pan immediately burned to smitherines, sending smoke throughout my apartment. I panic, run to the front door, prop it open with a reject wedding present, open the patio door, and frantically attempt to fan the smoke out of the apartment. Smoke is still billowing, so I take the walk of shame, carrying the pan of burnt smoking oil and raw roast out onto the patio, praying no one can see me.

So I skipped the whole "browning step" and went straight to the baking step. The side dishes came together luckily without flames, and the roast made it to its appropriate temperature just in time for husband to walk in the apartment.

I may have had to saw through that roast like I was sawing through a 2x4, but all in all the meal turned out decent. I can't expect to be Happy Housewife or Domestic Diva on day one, so besides almost burning down our apartment complex, I'll label this one a win. But our apartment does still have a stench of burnt dinner.

You're on my half!

Ask my college roommates, if anyone sleeps like a log, it is me. My head hits the pillow and I drift ever so easily into a glorious state of deep, relaxing sleep. (This is also how I received the nickname "banchee" in college... they found out what I was like if woken from my much loved slumber). I love to sprawl out, legs and arms extended, and enjoy the full span of my bed as I snooze.

Enter... husband. On the honeymoon we enjoyed the benefits of a king size bed - plenty of room for both of us to spread out and sleep easy. Yeah... not so much in our quaint little suburban apartment. Night two of squeezing into our queen size bed made for some hilarity last night... conversation began as follows:

"Scoot OVER! You have SO much room over there!"
"Whatever I'm about to fall off over here, YOU scoot over!"

So, we did what any mature, married couple would do. We counted the wooden slats on the headboard and divided it by two.

"There are SIXTEEN slats, one two three four five six seven EIGHT - you are OVER your half!!!"

Now I know you're probably shaking your head in disapproval... aren't they supposed to snuggle all night long? They're newlyweds for goodness sake! Well those of you who are married... oh you know what I'm talking about. Touching is only ok for the first five minutes, and then when it is sleep time... you better get out of my half of the bed.

I have to learn how to sleep more straight, or get husband a nice twin bed to sleep in. :)

Diary of a Newlywed

Rings exchanged, cake cut, bouquet tossed, garter thrown, bubbles blown... seven days in sunny Jamaica... and now tossed back into reality. Except reality is incredibly unreal.

As I sit here on my (ahem... our) sofa, folding laundry (including my husband's underwear?!) next to a massive pile of wedding presents, I can't help but reflect upon the fact that life is now, as I've known it, changed forever. And yes, this change is great. God intended us for marriage. But there is a lot of changing, a lot of compromising, that is necessary for our marital bliss to be, well, blissful.

So here I am, in the blogging world, ready to share my experiences in this new stage of life. Because, let's face it, this is going to be hilarious.