Me. Horrible. I can't even keep up the tiny bitty committment that I made to post to this thing once a week.
I have a good reason. I do. I just can't share it with the world proper for a few more weeks. No, I'm not pregnant. That chapter is closed.
We're settled into our new house and I absolutely LOVE my home. Really. I think out of all of the places we've lived and owned, this one is by far my absolute favorite. It used to be my 1958 little Connecticut house. But this 1969 split level with a walk out basement is doing it for me. I've lived in a brand new home that we built from the ground up and I am convinced after this purchase that I love old homes. I have a thing for them. They have character, and they're built WELL. I can't ever see myself buying new again, unless Chris and I win the lottery and build our dream home. At which time I will make SURE that it is built well.
We went to Home Depot and bought a raised cedar planter box last week so I could plant tomatoes, sugar snap peas, red and yellow bell peppers, cilantro (I could eat that stuff STRAIGHT off the stem!) and basil. I also bought two blueberry bushes. And now I'm reading that I most likely will not have fruit for 3-4 years! Whoops!
My mom and my sister have birthdays coming up this Sunday. Yes, both of them. On one day. I think they're both going to be 21.
And I have a baby shower to attend this Saturday. It seems everyone around me is getting pregnant. Almost like I am being tested. But as much as it may 'sting' for a minute, I'm ok. I'm happy for my friends, I really am.
And that's all I have. It's Friday and I am going home at 3.