The Great Emoji Birthday Party

About a month ago, I threw my very first children’s birthday party for my stepdaughter! We kindof had a party last year, in that we invited over our families at the very last minute, I cooked dinner, and her grandmother brought over a cake.  We were still moving into our new house (well, we still are moving into our new house, but it’s a bit more presentable now) and had already pulled off the world’s most inexpensive wedding.  I hadn’t had time to devote to planning an actual party.  

But I vowed that this year would be different.  

(And it was.)

I grew up as a child who always, always had a themed birthday party.  (I still have themed birthday parties, and they’re awesome, shut up.)  So I’m a firm believer that kids should have parties, and they should have themes.  Really, I just love themes.  (I blame the birthday parties.)

Kaylee has been on a slight emoji kick for the past year or so (she's pretty much claimed one half of my Femme de Bloom emoji collar clips), so I’d been working toward the idea of making her party emoji themed.  Hell, I like emojis too. (The heart eyes emoji is my spirit animal.)  The Emoji Movie was actually even than I expected.  So I started a board on my mostly-dead Pinterest dedicated to party ideas and kept my eyes peeled for emoji gifts/decorations/etc.

Then, of course, the weeks leading up to her birthday weekend coincided with my busiest weeks at work (thanks, wedding season), so I ended up not having quite as much time as I intended to go completely overboard on the themed decorations/presents/food.  

So... I only went slightly overboard. 

I picked up a bunch of emoji plates/napkins/gift bags itmes from Walmart (where I also possibly went a little overboard on gifts, but nevermind that).  I also made this cute emoji pillow from a free pattern on Ravelry, and finished it just in time for the big day! It's now joined forces with the growing legion of stuffed animals and handmade pillows on her bed.

In properly keeping with the theme, I limited the snacks to food that there are emojis for.  I don’t think anyone actually noticed this, but it pleased my internal control freak and that’s all that really matters here.  Therefore, we had pizza, chocolate chip cookies made by the birthday girl and Mark, watermelon, grapes, and strawberries.

I also made (with Kaylee's help) an emoji cake and poop emoji cupcakes!  She helped frost the face and put the eyes on the cupcakes.  She gave me a high five and declared that I had “nailed it” which pretty impressive coming from a “Nailed It!” connoisseur.

For the cake, I used this yellow cake recipe, with a basic buttercream frosting.  I scooped out two tiny bits of frosting to color for the eyes and mouth, and colored the rest as bright of a yellow as I could manage.

Pro-tip: lightly draw on the outline of the shapes you're going for before piping on the icing.  It definitely helps minimize error (unless you have a newly-seven-year-old helping you, in which case Godspeed).

For the poop emoji cupcakes, I used my go-to chocolate cake recipe that’s on the back of the Hershey's Cocoa canister.  It’s my absolute favorite, as it’s super easy and always tastes moist and delicious.  I also used this chocolate buttercream frosting, and K stuck on some edible eyeballs.  To quote my mother-in-law, “I thought they were really cute until I realized what they were.”)

In addition, I took her to Party City and let her pick out her own balloons, so I’ll just be waiting over here for my Stepmom of the Year award.

Ultimately, if you can’t be spoiled on your birthday, when can you be?

New Year, New Blog: or, I'm Not Dead Yet!

So.... I bet you thought this blog was dead, didn't you?

I totally fooled you, didn't I?

Didn't I?

Actually... you were partly right.  It was mostly dead.  In hibernation.  A respite, if you will.  Otherwise known as wedding season.  And Thanksgiving.  And Christmas.  And...

I haven't just been working, but it would take several blogs worth to catch up on everything that's gone on since July.  Assuming I've just been working is easier.  Because if it wasn't work that I got actually paid for, it's been work on my own personal projects, on maintaining friendships across state lines, and (more recently) on our house and on myself.

It's also just been a hell of a year.  In a good way.  In 2017 I...

• Turned 32.
• Moved.
• Bought a house.
• Had an amazing bachelorette party.
• Got married to the love of my life.
• Officially became a stepmom.
• Went on a mini-honeymoon to House on the Rock/Wisconsin Dells.
• Read 55 books (my yearly goal is 50).
• Won judges choice in a poetry contest.
• Made a lot of fun projects.
• Watched the solar eclipse.
• Went to Chicago for my friend's baby shower.
• Dressed up for Halloween every single day of October.
• Went to three Christmases in one day.
• Got a brand new fancy smartphone.
• Stayed home on NYE and did absolutely nothing.

It was a truly wonderful year, one of my best yet in spite of the obvious stresses of so many major life changes in such a short time frame (especially since I basically planned our wedding in about a month!).

But now it's 2018.  I have absolutely no idea what is in store, but I hope to actually blog about it this time.

So, in case you'd forgotten, my name is Ashley and I (occasionally) write this blog.  I love clothes, pins, books, food, dogs, being an introvert, and lots and lots of nerdy things.

Over the next few weeks, I'm hoping to change the way I blog here, including more frequent blogs on a wider variety of topics than my week-to-week life.

In the meantime, you can always follow me on Instagram (username redhead_vintage_girl), where I share my almost-daily outfit post, along with photos of my crafts, food, and life in general.

It's 2018, guys.  It's a whole new year, with countless possibilities and adventures.  I'm looking forward to settling more and more into a daily routine, into our home, and into my still-newfound happiness.

What are you looking forward to?

Where Do We Go From Here

I'm struggling a lot lately with what I want this blog to be.  When I began it, almost two (two?!) years ago, its purpose was mainly to make sure I was writing weekly and to help me work through a whole world of issues and anger and frustration following my terrible first marriage and subsequent divorce.  It was a place for me to be open and honest about what had happened, to talk about the many and various changes in my life, and to talk about the things that still infuriated me.  I wanted to help others by sharing my story, but I also wanted to help myself.

I don't have those problems anymore.

I mean, I do still get angry.  But it's not like before.  I've moved on as much as I think I'm able to.  I'll probably always be a little bit pissed off over what happened, but I think that's the way it should be.

But I got married again (almost three months ago).  We bought a house.  I'm a stepmother.  I'm (still) ridiculously in love with this man that I've known for fourteen years. I have great friends who (I hope) still love me even though I'm not around very much these days.  I have a wonderful job and am, generally, having a fantastic time.  I'm busy and tired and very much in need of introverting most of the time, but I can't think of very much I'd change.

So that leaves me at a bit of a loss as to what to blog about weekly, now that wedding stress has ended.  General happiness and/or being an introvert isn't that exciting, really.  I don't have a current life goal to keep tabs on (though I probably should).  I have Instagram and Facebook for my daily selfies (and general photo-and-meme sharing).  I don't travel (much).

So what do I do?

I read.

I collect vintage and novelty clothing/accessories (and take selfies).

I knit or crochet or cross-stitch.

I bake and cook (when I can).

I step-parent.

I'm a wannabe 60s housewife.

I'm super nerdy, introverted, and not shy about any of it.

And I know there are blogs about (literally) all of these things.  But it seems impossible to narrow this random little blog into one defined category.  It also seems impractical to blog about everything I enjoy or do.

So I'm at a bit of an impasse.  I don't want to stop blogging, even though each week finds me less and less inspired as to what to write about.  Two years might be the longest amount of time I've managed to actively maintain a blog, after all.  I don't want to break my streak now!  But something needs to change.  I just don't know what.

What would you like to see more of from me?  Less of?  What are you interested in reading about?  What topics and formats do you find most appealing?  I'm clearly at a loss here, so I'm very open to ideas and feedback as to how to keep this blog going and at least fairly interesting.

P.S. Please don't say less selfies.

No Way Out

It's our two-month anniversary today, or, as Mark says, "Day 61 of the hostage situation."

People have asked me how married life is, and, really?

Honestly?

It's great.

I mean, come on.  I've got a mostly-willing hostage!  What could be wrong with that?

But, in all honesty, I love being married to my best friend.  I love it even on the days where everything feels off, or we have fights, or I cry, or everything goes wrong.  Married life is still, overall, really really great.  But our relationship and our life together was already great before we were married, so that helps.

Little known, shocking fact: marriage doesn't fix a relationship.  I should know.  It didn't fix my first relationship.

And, another shocking fact?  Marriage is work.  Really fucking hard work.  It's not all breakfasts in bed and making out in the kitchen and dinner on the table when you get home from work.

And it's even not the same as dating, even if you were already mostly living together.

Marriage requires daily maintenance.  It requires talking (which I'm not always very good at), and trust, and more vulnerability than you knew was possible.  It means someone is almost always there, for the bad days when you hate the world and everything in it, along with the good days.  You have to consider them, and you want to consider them (even when they tell you not to).

Marriage means you're going to get your feelings hurt, and you're going to find out that you unknowingly hurt theirs.

It means there is someone to willingly do the dishes for you, and someone you willingly rotate laundry for.

For me, it means waking up to coffee.  It means a partner-in-crime.  It means playing just one more game of Minion Trouble (or Chutes and Ladders, or Sorry) with Kaylee so that he can have a few minutes of down time.  It means he gives Kaylee a bath so that I can have a few minutes of down time.  It means someone who knows me better than anyone else possibly could.

It means planning a last-minute birthday party for Kaylee, joint-cleaning the whole house, and cooking dinner for 9 people.

It means eating Fazoli's and Imos on a fairly regular basis, even though I hate both.

It means we go see the new Pirates of the Caribbean movie, because I have an endless love for Johnny Depp.

So.

Two months into our marriage. (Plus fourteen years total of knowing each other.)  At this point of my first marriage, I'm pretty sure I already knew it was not going to be a good one.  He'd already "stopped trying" (key words for failure if there ever were any).  We were both depressed.  I couldn't see a way out, even though I desperately wanted to find one.

I don't want a way out this time.  I want a way to make it last forever.

And I'm doing my best to make sure that it does.

Wicked Stepmothers Day

Is there such a thing as Wicked Stepmother's Day?  Because I think there should be.

I know, in theory, that Mother's Day is supposed to encompass mothers of all kinds: birth, step, adoptive, grandmothers, great-grandmothers, aunts, godmothers, etc.  And so, according to that theory, this past Sunday was my first Mother's Day (outside of the one year when one of my foster dogs "gave" me a hand mixer).

I even got a free meal and free cheesecake at Pasta House out of the deal.

But, honestly?  I felt like some kind of imposter.

I'm not a mom.  Not really.  I happened to marry the love of my life, who happened to have a kid.  That doesn't make me a mom.

I joined this kid's life like some people join the army midway through the war.  I haven't been down in the trenches since the beginning, slogging through the muck and dirty diapers.  No, I joined up once the tides had turned and potty training battles had already been won.  I got here just in time for games and adventures and crafts.  (And the occasional meltdown.)

I'm not the first line of defense.  I'm not even the second.  I'm back there in the reserves, just in case backup is needed.

But, you say, you're there, Ashley.  You took on a role that no one forced you to take.  You Google mom questions like, "how do you a get a kid to stop sucking their thumb?"  You stand in the middle of the living room while drinking a glass of wine with a kid wrapped around your leg.  You wake up to tiny feet against your back.  You eat Fazoli's even though you loathe it.  You play Chutes and Ladders ten times in a row.

And that's true.

It is.

All of it.

But, I don't know.  I still don't know if I feel like a "stepmom."  Maybe it's that I've already been around for a few years, just as "Ashley" and nothing more.  The transition into living in the same house on the weekends even happened before I was officially her stepmom.  So there's been very little major shifting of roles or expectations.  I'm still Ashley.  I just also happen to now be legally bound to her dad.

I want her to be happy.  I want her to enjoy our time together, and to like me, and to make good choices.  I want her to be as well-adjusted as humanly possible.  I want to figure out the best way to make all that happen (hence the Googling).

I also love that she writes notes for "Daddy Ashley," and draws us pictures, and wants to hang out with me and play games and read books.  I love that she loves when we match.  I love that she picks out what pin I'm wearing on the weekends.

I guess that's the important part.  It's not the name that matters, it's the intention and the actions.  I would tell anyone else that, except when it comes to myself.

So, I guess I am a stepmom.  If you insist.

And maybe, just maybe, I'm not that wicked of one.

Happy and You Know It

I like to think that I'm a happy person these days.

Why shouldn't I be?  I have a good job, a wonderful husband, a sweet stepkid, a house of my own, still-married parents, and an amazing circle of friends.  I have money in the bank and all my basic needs are met.  Sure, I go through my sometimes-monthly moodiness and have moments of melancholy (and always adore alliteration), not to mention recent wedding-and-house-buying stress, but for the most part I would say that I'm definitely happy.  At the very least I'm content, and I think that's pretty awesome as well.

It's not that I expect to be happy all the time.  That would actually be boring, not to mention unrealistic.  And obviously, even though I have every reason to be thrilled with life, I'm not always.  It happens.

But I do very much enjoy my happiness.

And, quite frankly, I think I could improve on it.

Mainly, I struggle with the fact that I often let myself get overly upset by the little things.  More specifically, I let myself get overly upset by the little things that I can't control: by the guy who doesn't have his turn signal on but turns anyway, by the client who misses a question that I asked, or by someone not acting exactly how I think they should act.

Coincidentally (or not), I recently read The Happiness Project, by Gretchen Rubin, a stunt book (do something slightly crazy for a year and then write about it in a very clever manner) in which Gretchen spends a year trying every means possible to be happier and more invested in her own (already very pleasant) life.

I recognize that this kind of book is not for everyone.  But I find that I'm actually a sucker for the stunt genre.  I adored The Year of Living Biblically, The Know-It-All, and (of course) Julie and Julia, the book/movie that forever changed my attitude about cooking.  I'm unashamed of my love for the year-long-commitment genre of books.  Maybe it's because I do my own yearly commitment to reading at least 50 books.  Maybe it's because I've always subscribed to the mantra of "you can do anything for a year."  Maybe I just like the fact that I'm not the only person who writes excessively about their daily life, and the fact that some people actually become famous by doing so.

Whatever the case, I completely loved The Happiness Project.  Gretchen dealt with a lot of the same issues I have (or have had).  She's a bit of a control freak.  She's messy.  She's a slight hoarder.  She judges herself for the things she enjoys, and struggles with an innate sense of "I can totally make do without this necessary item."

In her book, Gretchen works her way through 12 months of happiness improvement, focusing each month on a different aspect of her life (kids, friends, husband, work, creativity, money, etc).

While I certainly don't intend to undertake a similar project right now, I do feel like I can improve my own happiness in baby steps, mostly by chilling the fuck out and recognizing that I do not have to (and, quite frankly, should not be allowed to) run the whole world.

So far, it's (kindof) working.

I'm trying very hard not to immediately rant when someone doesn't answer my entire e-mail.  I'm trying not to swan dive into automatic road rage (curse words and middle fingers blazing) when other drivers fail to follow common sense road rules.  I'm trying not to think that I know best about what other people should be doing.  Just because I'm multi-tasking doesn't mean everyone else needs to be.

I'm trying, ultimately, to cut other people some slack.

Is venting fun?  Is feeling superior to the idiotic drivers on the road enjoyable?  Hell yes.  Why else would we do it?  But what I'm wondering is if it is actually worthwhile.  I'm starting to think that, instead of innocently blowing off steam, I'm more likely blowing things out of proportion and giving myself a reason to be upset.  Negativity breeds more negativity, at least for me.  Once I start looking for the bad, I can always find more.  And more.

I'd rather focus on the good.  I'd rather focus on and remember Kaylee's joy of waking up and looking for Easter eggs and of opening her Easter basket rather than fixating on her stubbornness the night before.

Life isn't always going to be good.  There are going to be times when I'm going to be sad, or anxious, or sick, or heart-broken, or any number of negative emotions.  I'm going to be criticized, or be frustrated, or furious.  But while I'm happy, and while I can be happy, I don't see the point in blatantly spoiling it for myself for no good reason.

Definitely a happy day.

I can't tell you I'm going to stop being snarky and sarcastic.  Because I'm not.  And if you consider that to be a character flaw or negative trait, then so be it.  But I consider it to be an inherent part of my personality, and I actually do find happiness in a perfectly-crafted snarky comment, particularly when it makes other people laugh.  My favorite relationships (both fictional and my own) are based on the snarky, witty repartee of two people generally giving each other a hard time.

So, I'm not going to turn into Little Miss Sunshine, but I am going to try to stop bitching quite so much about things that don't really matter in the grand scheme.

And I don't care what Yoda says, because "try" is truly the operative word here.

And (Another) Happy New Year

So... it's been a while, eh?

What can I say?  It was December.

Not only are there two holidays obnoxiously and uncaringly crowding their way into the end of the month, but I work for a company that took part in 54 events just in December.  I also didn't get a big enough head start on Christmas gifts, so I ended up making at least 7 different handmade gifts in the span of a month.

Just a few things I made.

I made 33 dozen Christmas cookies, a pie, and a tart.  And?  I had my own Christmas parties to go to.

All this is to say... I have reasons why I didn't blog.  Maybe not the best of reasons, but reasons nonetheless.

But.

It's a new year (with the same old me), and I suppose it's time to climb back on the horse.

So.

The year is already off to a bit of a rough start (literally).  I slashed open my own tire on New Year's Day by somehow hitting an incredibly jagged edge to a curb.  It wasn't fair.  The only reason I was pulling over was so I could type an address into my phone safely instead of while I was driving.  See where that got me?

Then last night, my dog tried to eat several of my new pins.  This is after he ate a whole packet of ham and the Reese's trees I got in my stocking the week before.  An attempt was also made on a box of chocolates, but I retrieved it from the dragon's horde inside his crate.  He is, remarkably, not buried in the back yard yet.  But it may only be a matter of time.

Jumping back to Christmas itself.  I was in an astonishingly bad mood for most of the week of Christmas.  I was stressed and frustrated, people were being stupid, Mark was working ridiculous hours, and I had lost whatever Christmas spirit I usually manage to find by the week before Christmas.  All the spirit I had left went into a week's worth of Christmas outfits, with strong showings by what I started referring to as my "officially pin of Christmas," a candy cane pin that came free from La Vidriola when I ordered that amazing Christmas tree/car necklace in the second picture on the top.

But Christmas?  Christmas itself was very good.  I spent Christmas Eve devouring ribs and hanging out with Casey and her family.  I got up early on Christmas and drove to Mark's parents house for what was probably one of the most special Christmas mornings I've had in a while.  We opened presents with the two of us, Kaylee, Mark's parents, and Mark's sister (and her husband and daughter).  I've never had such a big Christmas morning, or seen so many presents all in one place.  There was a stocking for me.  There were presents for me.  And Kaylee was so, so excited about every single thing she got, including the Snoopy scarf I made for her.  I'm not going to lie; that made me so very thrilled.

Later, Mark and I went to my parents and had Christmas dinner with the usual suspects there.  We had a pleasant time occupying our traditional place as the oldest people at the kids' table, giving my parents their gifts, and eating far too many desserts before heading home for an early night and a day off together the next day.

Honestly, I'm not sure I'm recovered from the holidays yet.  I'm definitely not back on my usual schedule, the apartment is still a disaster zone, and I'm a few weeks behind on putting away laundry.  In other words? Holidays as usual.

I have the best of intentions for 2017.  I always do.  So I'm trying to ignore the very little bit of bad that's already happened and count my blessings.

2016 was, in many ways, a rough year.  It started out with my furnace, dryer, and car all breaking down in the same week.  But, I also traveled to Mexico with friends, got a raise at my job, and got engaged to my best friend/love of my life.  I had wonderful holidays, lots of parties and dinners with friends, a better relationship with my parents, weekend trips, and more happiness than I ever thought I would have. 

Evidence of a very good 2016.

I could complain, but why bother?  There's so much good to focus on instead.

Adulting Through the Holidays

I didn't blog last week, mainly because I was covered in flour and immersed in baking for about 6 hours in advance of Thanksgiving.  I took off from work early, went to the store, then went home and made two pumpkin pies, a German chocolate and coconut cream pie, and a Twinkie bundt cake.

Mark and I delighted in our freedom to stay up late, then promptly realized we're old and exhausted and went to bed around 10.

On Thanksgiving itself, we loaded up the various desserts in my car and then went our separate ways. I went to my parents' and Mark went to go pick up his daughter from her grandparents'.

This year, just to mix it up, I had invited my friend/co-worker/sisterwife Casey and her family to join my family's annual Thanksgiving gathering.  (And, in spite of my warnings, they actually showed up!)  It's already not exactly an exclusively family event.  If it were, there would usually only be about 4-5 of us total.  Instead, there are usually around 10-12, since Jake and his family have apparently become extended family over the past few years.  So, the more the merrier, right?

This addition was notable for being the first time that small children have been in my parents' new house since they moved in over five years ago.  Ever.  We kept the kids mostly contained in my mom's sunroom and entertained them with games and balloons and prop hats (see above).

After dinner, Mark and Kaylee showed up, and then the madness truly began.  My parents haven't even seen me interact with children in I don't know how long (we somehow haven't ever managed to coordinate our lives and schedules well enough to hang out with them and Kaylee together before), and suddenly I'm playing with three children aged 5 and under.  I'm surprised one of them didn't fall over in a faint.

After Casey took her crew home, Kaylee decided that she and I were going to play (of course), and that evolved into playing hide-and-seek all over my parents's house until I proved my hide-and-seek expertise and hid in the bathtub behind the shower curtain until she gave up and recruited Mark to help find me.

All in all, it was probably the most eventful Thanksgiving ever, and definitely the loudest, and my first holiday actively being a stepmom-in-training.  But?  I enjoyed it.

Thanksgiving, as we've all been told, is supposed to be that special time of year where you think about all that you're thankful for.  This year, I didn't really have to think about it, because I was literally surrounded by it.

While I may be entirely too grumpy sometimes about my overly-full schedule and my lack of sleep and free time, I'm still honestly still happier than I've been in a long time.

I might complain and bitch more than I should, but it's all sound and fury, signifying nothing.  I have wonderful friends who want to spend time with me no matter how many times I don't go to their parties, an eternally supportive family (in spite of how crazy they drive me sometimes), and the best fiance´ (and future stepdaughter) I could ask for.  I'm never ever at a lack for food or clothes (or pins), I have my own divided plate for holidays, and I've learned that I'm actually not terrible with children and am pretty much an expert at taking selfies.

I'm not the person I used to be, I don't have the life I used to have, and all of that is more than fine.  To quote a book I just read this past month, life is so good.

And for that? I'm very, very thankful.

We're Having a Heat Wave

It's hot.

It's really, really hot.

St. Louis is in the middle of a heat advisory, and I've used that as a excuse to not feel so bad when I don't take Thunder on a walk in the mornings.

It's not just the heat.  Being St. Louis, it's the humidity.  It makes for a disgusting, oppressive stew that sucks the will to live from you in the time it takes to walk from the parking lot into a building.  My hair doesn't stand a chance unless I wear it up, which I have been for probably a week straight, in a variety of experimental updos.  

In spite of the heat, I haven't stayed home nearly as much as I imagined I would.  Usually, my summers are spent daydreaming about lounging in front of a fan with the air conditioning turned up.  But this summer?  This summer I've barely been home long enough to do much lounging at all.

Obviously, I have to leave the house for work.  During the week, this means a short drive to and from the office and day spent in blissful air conditioning.  But when I work on the weekends, manual labor and sweating outside is involved, at least to load and unload a vehicle. 

But I've also ventured out in the heat to sweat on my own free will and for, allegedly, enjoyment.

On Saturday, I was up and suggesting brunch to Alexis by 9:30.  That night, Mark and I went to the Muny to see Young Frankenstein from the free seats with his daughter and niece.

On Monday (my day off), I invited myself along to the Science Center to hang out with Casey and her two kids (after Audrey, my biggest fan, expressed her disappointment that I wouldn't see her pigtails), and still managed to go grocery shopping and make dinner.

Tonight we're going out to eat with Mark's sister.

And, somehow, we still might go to the Muny this upcoming weekend, if the heat breaks enough.  And are having dinner at my parents' on Monday.

I feel like ever since I started getting divorced, my life went into overdrive.  Before, time seemed to drag out into the all-too-certain future.  I knew what to expect from each day, each week.  And now, when I have no idea what will happen next?  Time flies.  I'm still trying to figure out what to make for dinner three Mondays ago and, for all I know, tomorrow is Christmas.  

I don't know how it got to be July.  I don't even know how it's already 5:00 on a Wednesday again. 

All I know is that time spent with Mark goes far too quickly.  We never seem to have enough time together, even when we spend three solid weeks in each other's company.  We've been together for three years now, and yet it can't possibly have been that long.  Or that short.  Something strange happens to time with us, something as hazy as heat coming off asphalt.  

And something strange has happened to me, in that I've become something resembling "good with kids."  For being the girl who never wanted kids and was never comfortable around them, I spend an awful lot of time hanging around them lately, and all of it by choice.

As I mentioned, it's been a very kid-centric weekend, and it doesn't feel uncomfortable or strange to be the one waiting for a five year old to go to the bathroom so I can help her wash her hands, or to put her shoes on, or to carry a toddler to the car when she's sad about leaving the Science Center.  What's strange is that it all feels... normal.  

It could be the heat wave, but I don't really mind being a stepmom-in-training, or spending my days off with little kids.  In fact, I usually end up enjoying it.

Definitely the heat wave.

The Pretty Vintage Girl Anniversary Blog

I've hit two milestones in blog-dom, all in the same week!

First: last week's engagement blog was the most well-and-widely read to date, topping out at just shy of 420 views!  I am, quite frankly, a little flabbergasted.  And pretty convinced it will be hard to ever reach similar numbers.  It's not every day I get engaged, after all.  (So far, just twice, and I hope to keep it that way.)

Second: I've been blogging for a year! July 10th marked my one-year blog-iversary.  That baby of a blog was written as I was coming off celebrating a year since my ex-husband moved out and as I was still decidedly new at working full-time for Fish Eye Fun.  It was short and hesitant and I obviously had no idea what I was doing.  It was the literary equivalent of me sticking a toe in the water to see how cold it was.  I had no idea what this blog would be.

And really, I still don't.

Because I don't think I ever would have dreamed that I would write about what I have in this past year.  My original vision for my blog was something much more frivolous and superficial because I didn't think I could possibly talk about the truth.  Talking about shopping and clothes and books would be much easier, and surely more accessible.  After all, who would want to hear about my life week after week?  I'm not that exciting.  I'm a divorced introvert who still carries far too much baggage for her own liking.  I work all the time and spend the rest of the time with my boyfriend.  What's readable about that?

I never thought I'd be able to keep up with blogging every week (well, almost every week).  I definitely didn't think my boyfriend (fiancé, whatever) would be going around passing out my blog address to everyone on his route!  I didn't think people I knew in passing would comment or reach out to me after something I wrote.

So.  One year later.

What's changed?

Obviously, I'm engaged.

And obviously I've been gainfully employed for over a year.

But also, it's been two years since my ex moved out.

I've destroyed my wedding dress.

I got a new furnace, bought a washer and dryer, bought a mattress, and fixed my car.

I went to Mexico.

I turned 31.

I've been spending my free weekends playing step-mommy. And enjoying it more than I ever thought I would, to be honest.

I've eaten a lot of nachos.  I've read not-enough books.  I've gained new friends and lost some who were apparently never really friends to begin with.  I've traveled back and forth across the Midwest, both for work and for fun.  I've gone to a few shows, and tried to be as social as I can.  I've been unapologetic about my life and what I want to do or not do.

A lot happens in a year.  I'm not the person I was a year ago, in many ways.  I'm snarkier, happier, friendlier, and more honestly... me.  I'm less willing to put up with bullshit.  I like the person I am, and I like where this year has led.

Where things are going from here?  I have absolutely no idea.

As I said, I'm still not entirely certain where this blog is going.  I rarely know what I'm going to blog about from one week to the next, much less what I'll be talking about in another year.

As for me?  There are obviously a lot of changes on the horizon.  Right now I'm still getting used to this sharp, shiny ring on my finger and we're not even remotely discussing an actual date.  I have absolutely no idea what the next year will hold, but I know that I'm definitely looking forward to whatever it is!

I'll be sure to write about it, naturally.  And you're welcome to read along, if you like!

Holidazed

Well, I survived a slightly whirlwind Easter weekend out of town with Mark and a large portion of his family (most of whom I'd never met before).

We went out to Hopkins, MO (go to Kansas City and turn right) on Friday after Mark got off work.  His parents had already gone with his sister and daughter earlier in the day, so we made the 6-hour drive by ourselves.  I brought along books and knitting.  Mark brought audiobooks.  We didn't need any of it, because, instead, we talked.  For the entire trip.  Non-stop.  We had to stop and get throat lozenges.  Because we're ridiculous.

The rest of the weekend went well, I believe.  I met tons of his family members and helped wrangle/entertain Kaylee (by which I mean playing catch with my shoes, playing hide-and-seek, looking at my old View Master, and coloring).  I know I was under scrutiny for being the "new girlfriend," and to see how well I fit into the future stepmom role.  But, with my newly earned title of Child Whisperer, I like to think I passed.  At the very least, she didn't drown on my watch while we were trying to teach her to swim in the hotel pool.  So there's that.  And she chose to sleep snuggled up to me instead of her dad, which was nice for my ego but pretty terrible for my sleep.

We drove back Sunday (Well, Mark drove. I watched movies in the backseat with Kaylee until we both fell asleep.), dropped her off, and went to my parents' house for Easter.

Well, I thought we went there for Easter.

What we apparently went there for was my mom telling Mark everything she always hated about my ex, his family, and the fact that I married him.

This went on for what felt like five hours, but that could have been because I was so embarrassed I was nauseous.

She detailed how she and my dad contemplated bribing me with a trip to England or downright kidnapping me before the wedding (until they saw an actual news story where parents were arrested for doing that exact thing).  She told him how they hoped that my ex would have gone to seminary when he was supposed to so that I would come to my senses, instead of him delaying his entry to seminary for a year so I wouldn't be on my own without him to keep an eye on me.

She talked about how she had contingency plans for everything, including me turning around in the middle of the ceremony and telling her I didn't want to get married.  About how his mom turned to her the day after we got married and triumphantly told her that Alec was my problem now.  How my mom was depressed and cried herself to sleep most nights before I got married.  How they didn't think I would make it more than five years.

(Well, ha.  I made it seven.  So take that.)

I'm choosing to believe that this giant pile-on took place because she actually likes Mark and not because she's subtly warning him that she's not about to let me make the same mistake twice.

I'm also choosing to believe that one day she won't feel the need to bring my wreck of a marriage up as often as she does.

But what I've learned over the past two years is that the inevitable thing about being in a relationship with someone after a prior long-term relationship ends is the comparison factor.  This is only compounded by the fact that we both ended long-term relationships.

Everyone is comparing him to your ex.  Everyone is comparing you to his ex.  You're comparing yourselves to your respective exes.

It can be a bit much.

I know I'm guilty of interpreting things my parents (and his parents, and our friends) say and do to determine how they compare our current relationship to our past ones.  And I know I'm guilty of seeking the validation that our relationship now is better than our past ones.

But why?  It's not like I need the validation.  I don't.  I may want it (who doesn't?), but I don't need it.  I'm better when I'm not worrying what people think of me, and I'm sure Mark is too.  I know I don't want him to worry about if he's doing something that my ex used to do.  And I don't want to worry about if one day my mom will be regaling someone else with the next rendition of "why did Ashley do that?" I want us to just be us.

On the other hand, it's all but impossible for a relationship of any kind to stand on its own.  We are all always building off our past experiences, off our past friends and lovers.  The past shapes us, whether we want it to or not, for better or for worse.  And I like to believe that even the worst of the past has made for a better present.

But that's just me.  You are, of course, free to make your own judgements.  And I'm free to (try to) not care about them.

No Fairy Godmothers, Please

I've never really known what to do with kids.  I was an only child and was never around that many kids younger than myself growing up.  So little kids have always been this enigma, wrapped in diapers and tiny shoes and spilled food.  They have a language all their own.  They're generally loud in restaurants.  They don't exactly have much interest in books.  They watch the same thing on repeat.

Kids have usually liked me, though.  I blame this on the fact that I wear bright colors, lots of jewelry, and generally look different from most other people in the room.

But even if they did like me, I still had no idea what to do with them.  What do you talk about?  What do you do?  What if you drop them?  Do they bounce?  What if they get ahold of one of your poison apples?  What if you build a house out of candy and accidentally lure them into it?

Anything can happen, you know.

I played Cinderella's stepmother in my college production of Into the Woods.  So I know how this is supposed to work, in fairy-tale land.  The stepmother attempts to ruin her stepchild's life with menial, pointless chores that keep her from having any fun whatsoever.  In return, the stepchild gets a makeover, a new car, and a celebrity wedding.  The stepmother, in the end, starves to death.  Cheery.

So, when I found myself with a boyfriend who happened to have a kid, I was understandably a little concerned.  What if she didn't like me?  What if the first words out of her very small mouth were, "You're not my mom"?  What if I unwittingly force her to sweep the cinders from the fireplace and cause her to miss the king's ball?

(Enough with the wicked stepmother/witch comparisons, already.  I don't even have a fireplace.  Yet.)

So.  The three of us have been hanging out, off and on, for a while now.  And it didn't start out perfectly.  She was not one of those kids who instantly thought I was the coolest thing since sliced bread.  On the other hand, she didn't run away screaming, and I haven't noticed that any woodland animals help her do her chores.  So there's that.

She's shy.  I completely respect that.  I don't generally start talking to people I just met, either.  And if I could, I'm sure I'd hide behind Mark when meeting new people.  Unfortunately, that behavior is generally frowned upon once you're out of elementary school.

Lately, however, she's decided that she likes me.  She even wanted to sit by me at lunch on Sunday, which is a far cry from her peeking at me from around corners.  And I've finally figured out that I don't need to worry so much about what there is to do or talk about.  She generally figures out what we're going to do for us.  And she's almost five, so there's no end of things she wants to talk about.

For someone who previously never felt overly comfortable around kids, I'm enjoying weekends with her and Mark.  We have bookstore adventures, we eat a lot of Chick-fil-A, we color in the coloring books I bought for my birthday party (and which have obviously come very much in handy), and we have sword fights in the aisles of WalMart.  We also went to a three-year-old's birthday party, and the three of us struggled up the biggest bounce house monstrosity I've ever seen.  And I have half of Monsters, Inc. basically memorized now, which is obviously a useful life skill.

And, shockingly, Thunder likes her.  Thunder doesn't like anyone right off the bat.  Especially people who are unpredictable (and what's more unpredictable than a small child?).  But they met a few weeks ago, and he was an amazingly well-behaved dog.  He galloped around after her.  He played gently with her.  He didn't snap at her when she picked up his toys.  It was... unexpected and awesome.

Really, none of this is what I expected in life.  Believe me when I say that I never thought I'd be doing anything remotely like this, much less doing it willingly and liking it.  Being a stepmom-in-training was about as high on my to-do list as being a 29-year-old divorcee.  Then love came along and changed everything.  Like it does.

If there's one thing I've learned, it's that life gets in the way of our best-laid plans, and of our worst-laid plans.  We find ourselves doing the opposite of what we intended, often with people we never expected.  And, it works, strangely enough.  It's not always easy, and it's not always fun, and you're not always sure how you got here or if you did the right thing along the way.  But, in general, it works.  (At least for now.  I know better than to make much in the way of definitive statements towards the future.)

But I really hope this kid never shows an affinity towards glass slippers or talking mice.