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.