Merry Christmas (letter)

Dear friends,

What a year it’s been. Welcome to the first (and possibly only) edition of our annual Christmas letter. It’s been such a big year for us, full of so many changes, we thought it would be prudent to try to sum it up for those of you that haven’t been able to keep track.

As you’re likely aware, we sold our sweet little house in Regina and moved back to Victoria at the end of March. We always knew Saskatchewan was a 3-5 year plan for us, but that didn’t make the transition any less difficult. We left behind incredible friends, a greater community than we could have ever dreamed of, and the best coffee shop. We were back in April to see Jeff and Kim get married, and are hoping to make it back for a visit in 2019.

My mom graciously let us stay with her for 8 long months while we got settled and looked for a place of our own. With three adults and one bathroom, it was hard, but we persevered and are the stronger for it.

When we sold our house in Regina the only thing we knew for certain was that my mom would take us in. We had no jobs or childcare lined up, just the faith that Victoria was our next destination and the hope that God would provide so we could hit the ground running. And that we did. We had childcare and jobs lined up before the UHaul was even loaded.

Karl and I each have good jobs. We’re lucky enough to have dear friends watching our kids during the week.

If you’re a little behind, you might not know that we recently bought a home with my dad. We are now the proud owners of half a pink duplex in beautiful Sidney by the sea. Dad is living in the main level suite, while us Mortons mostly occupy the upper level. The house needed some work done to make it livable and hygienic, but the bulk of it is scheduled for completion right before Christmas. As you read this (likely in the new year, let’s be honest) we will be done all the renovations that I naively thought could be completed in two weeks.

The kids are doing great. Parker never stops talking and is so curious about the world around him. He wants to know everything, and has a great imagination. Molly is incredibly sweet, but also becoming very strong willed. They have both done so well with all the changes of the last year and totally exceeded our expectations of them.

We’ve settled back into life in Victoria and have found a new church, new community, and reconnected with old friends. It’s so good being close to family again, and the kids absolutely adore seeing their grandparents regularly.

We accomplished a lot this year. Moving, starting new jobs, putting the kids in daycare, and doing a renovation are all big things. We’re also currently navigating through some serious health issues in the family. While I’m not sure we’ll be sorry to see the other side of 2018, it was a big year for us. We grew, we stretched, and Karl and I got our first ever night away from our kids.

We did not do a great job at keeping in touch this year. We’re sorry. You’re important to us, we just got overextended.

Please consider this your formal invitation to come over for dinner in 2019. If you’re from out of town, bring your pajamas and spend the night. We don’t have a proper guest room anymore, but our laundry room fits an air mattress quite nicely and we promise to make it cozy for you. You’re also welcome to bunk with Parker, who transitioned into a double bed this year and would love to tell you about dump trucks as you fall asleep next to him.

Merry Christmas, friends. We hope 2019 brings you much joy and happiness. Thank you for all you’ve done for us. We’d be nothing without you.

Anna

If you're still here, as always, thanks for sticking around.

My kids are currently eating popcorn and I'm introducing Parker to The Santa Clause. My tree may be coming down tonight as part of our roaring New Year's party, (I also plan on binge watching Travelers and eating Oreos in my sweat pants) but we'll finish the season strong with Tim Allen in a fat suit, just like Jesus always liked to.

Somebody pass the manna (oo-na-na)

I had an interview last week. It was in an area that I've never worked in before and a change I was up for. While the pay wasn't stellar ($0.03 less than the job I turned down the week before), it was a part time gig so I could overlook that. If you're completely confused by my reasoning I can't blame you. When you have kids, they make things complicated. Of course I could have worked that full time job because the experience was great and it was in an area that I get excited about. It just wasn't exciting enough to take me away full time from my kids and everything else going on right now.

I put on a nice dress and dropped the kids off with the sitter. I had almost 15 minutes to get to my interview five minutes away. I was cruising and living my best life. Then I had to cross some train tracks which just so happened to have a train on them. A train that slowed down and stopped right in front of me. I called the woman that was interviewing me, only to get an out of office that she was sick. I tried, I really did, but by the time I found another number to call the train was moving and I was two minutes away.

I think there are a few ways to really blow an interview, and showing up five minutes late is definitely one of them. I was lucky and they were really understanding (do trains fall under "act of God"?) so we moved past it.

Not to toot my own horn, but the interview went really well. I think I might have been made for the position. Everything the company stands for sounded good to me. It was like a match made in employment heaven. I charmed them, they charmed me, we now have a group text going where we send witty GIFs.

Just kidding, I don't know how to group text.

So aside from being tardy, I slayed that interview. I knew they were going to hire me. I put on my coat and we shook hands and said our farewells and did the obligatory casual post-interview chit chat.

"So, what are you up to for the rest of the day?"

I wasn't ready for it. I should have been. Everyone always asks. They need to kill any potential awkward silence as you leave and do a last minute psychopath check. They're trying to catch you off guard and delve deeper into who you are. They're no longer your interviewers, they're just Steve and Diane and Steve and Diane are just being friendly and you tell Steve and Diane what you're doing.

"Just going home to clean the house to get ready to sell." ABORT! ABORT! (That was my filter, kicking in a little late.)

"Oh, are you moving in Regina?" Still calm, still doing the psychopath check.

"Um... Well..." And that was it. I ruined everything. No more group texts. No more funny GIFs. No more future with the company and climbing the corporate ladder all the way to the presidency because you, my friend, have officially bombed your interview.

The thing is, that 2018 is another year of chaos because we're moving back to B.C. Last week was utter insanity because our realtors, the day before I turned down that job, told me that, in this market, it's a good time to list our house. So I spent the whole week scrubbing and packing and organizing and wondering how on earth my children have accumulated so many toys.

When we contacted our realtors we gave them a large window of time that we wanted to list in. We weren't in a rush, we just wanted to get the most value out of our home as possible. So when they said to list and it was right in the middle of my job hunt we said okay and made sure we had plenty of Tylenol on hand for our tension headaches.

I cried the whole way home from my interview. If we hadn't had an established timeline for listing I wouldn't have said anything, but I was glad it was out there. I had been feeling a lot of guilt about keeping it secret. Even working for a few months can make a big difference, and we honestly thought we'd be looking at an April list date. That's lots of time to work, wait for the house to sell, then close. I'd been looking for jobs since November so I'd always assumed I'd be committing to around six months of work.

I've given up. I'm not meant to work in Saskatchewan anymore and I have a lot of peace about it. I did hear back from the job, and they told me that if our plans change and we don't move to give them a call because they'd love to have me. Then we bonded on the phone over migraine cures and now have a meme email chain going so the whole thing wasn't a total loss.

I prayed before going into my interview that I wouldn't get the job if our house was going to sell in February. Time will tell if that prayer was answered, but I'm confident that my job right now is to stay home with the kids, host as many play dates for my mom group as I can, and get this household ready to go to the promised land. If me not working means that we have to subsist on manna in the process, well at least we're getting biblical.

I've decided, though, that I'm not a stay at home mom. I don't think that's a title that really fits me. Under different circumstances you could probably call me a home maker. Except, well, I'm packing everything up. I've taken all our pictures off the walls already and made our house feel so much less like our own in order to get it sale ready. So ladies, lock up your books, knickknacks, and family pictures, because I'm a home wrecker and I'm on a mission.

Does this mean I need to wear pants?

Last year was the year of the stay at home me. I didn't work for a single day (unless you count my failed craft show) and got paid to stay home with the kids. It was lovely but the real world hit and, while I don't necessarily have to work for us to survive, if we want to maintain our lifestyle or have any extra money I really do. I don't actually mind working. I enjoy getting out of the house, and I'm one of those horrendous mothers that actually needs time away from her children. It's good for them, good for me, and good for our bank account.

Because 2017 was such a chaotic year, I actually ended up sending Parker to the sitter's (aka a friend's house) for three hours a week. I didn't really realise it but I was dealing with some anxiety that was manifesting through some physical symptoms. As soon as I started taking Thursday mornings for Molly and I those symptoms pretty much went away. Parker is a sweet child, but he's two. I'm not at all blaming him for my anxiety, but it was easier to get on top of it when I had a break. We also live far away from our families and I never got a chance to have any time with just Molly. It was also, and still is, incredibly valuable for me to have a few hours to spend with just Molly, put her down for a nap, then hammer some stuff off my to-do list around the house. My only regret is that I didn't think to do it sooner.

I started looking for jobs in November with a goal of starting mid-January. I've been working in government for several years and their hiring process can take a while. I also wanted to find something part-time that would be a good fit for us and me. There wasn't a big rush for me to start working again, so I could explore my options. 

I applied for so many jobs and only heard back from one. It ended up being the only job I was really excited about. I interviewed right before Christmas and they offered me the job last week. It was posted as a part-time position (hurray!) but will actually be full-time. While waiting for their offer, my old office called to offer me some vacation coverage hours. I wasn't expecting to get the job and, with the new casual offer on the table, was kind of hoping they were a pass. I got the call last Tuesday, the day before Molly's birthday, that they wanted me. It's way too good of an opportunity to pass up so I accepted, then spent the whole afternoon crying about it.

I'm happy I've got an opportunity to fill the position, but sad because it means working 8-5 every day and I'm not emotionally ready to leave Molly. She still wakes up at night. A week ago she was still nursing four-five times a day. She's my teeny tiny baby and nowhere near as independent as Parker was at her age. She still doesn't crawl.

So guess how fun this last week has been? Sorry, Molly, but it's been an intensive week of night sleep training and day weaning. She's done okay at the weaning, but decided to be contrary and work on her first teeth. Guess how nights are going? It's okay, I'm just raising a little drug addict now. I figure we're all in for sleep training this week and if it still hasn't taken by the time I start work we'll just consider it a lost cause.

If you're judging me right now I'll stop you right there. Child number one was so. very. easy. Parker slept like a dream. When we sleep trained him it worked and that was that. I have always tried not to judge other moms, but I seriously thought that parents that said their kids wouldn't sleep train just weren't doing it right. There was a small amount of judgement there on my side. 

Not anymore. I can't believe how different my two kids are in pretty much every little thing. If having Baby Parker was an ego boost on my superior parenting skills, Molly and Toddler Parker have served to humble me so much.

So there you have it. Change number one of 2018 is that I start a new job on Monday. There are a lot of good things about starting work, but I think the hardest transition is going to be for me, not being able to wear sweatpants all day every day. Lord, beer me strength.

And I always thought I was Phoebe.

I used to think that meal planning was something for other people to do. I was too good for it. Then I realized that meal planning is not actually a big deal, and just involves three to five minutes of sitting at the table before we go to the grocery store asking Karl what he wants to eat this week. My descent into adulthood is well on its way.

I heard myself tell Karl yesterday that Parker would be around to play with tomorrow, but the kitchen wasn't going to clean itself tonight. I know, I should get a freaking mom of the year crown. At least my kitchen's clean.

My blissful four day vacation back home wasn't nearly as relaxing as I envisioned, but it was still lovely. I crammed so much Christmas shopping, eating, visiting, and baby snuggling into those four days that it made up for the lack of downtime. I had a delusion that I would go for coffee (hot chocolate) with my book and just spend a couple hours in a coffee shop, alone, relaxed, at peace. Then when it came time for it, I had to decide on a solo trip or taking that drink to go and walking along the water with my parents. I can be alone at home, but the ocean and my parents don't come to Regina very often. And if Game of Thrones has taught us anything, it's that we really don't want the ocean coming to our landlocked homes.

I also enjoyed the now unfamiliar luxury of flying alone. The last time I took an airplane by myself was nearly three years ago, during the interview process for the job that brought us to Saskatchewan. This was much more relaxing. I had a giant bag of sweet and sour Skittles (my new favourite candy in the whole entire world) to keep me company and awake several hours past my bedtime. That and the very near presence of my seat mates on the teeny tiny plane. Our thighs touched regularly. It was not magical.

While I was gone Karl informed me that Parker was sleeping in at least an hour every day. I'm not sure how, but my son has gone from toddler to teenager over night. He slept 14 hours Sunday/Monday. This is not remotely normal, but considering my flight got in at 1 a.m., I got home at 2 a.m., and I couldn't fall asleep until 4 a.m. (WHYYY?), I fully embraced it. Sometimes you don't have to understand something to know that it's magic. Don't question magic.

Today I realized I had made a significant miscalculation and will not, in fact, have enough hours for my maternity leave. I almost had a panic attack. There were nearly tears. I had visions of myself dressed up as a pregnant elf at the mall, herding children onto Santa's lap to make my few remaining hours. Thankfully, my boss is amazing and going to let me put in extra hours (even though I'm not busy) to hit my goal. I will be bringing cookies into the office every day from now until the end of December to show my appreciation.

I am 90% done my Christmas shopping. All I have left to do is get Karl something, figure out stocking stuffers, and pop our Christmas cards and a couple packages in the mail. This is what happens when you see your family over a month before Christmas and won't again until February. I feel like such a Monica. It's terrifying being so on top of things, but also incredibly empowering. If I can conquer Christmas shopping over a month early, what else can I do? Make it through an entire episode of Call The Midwife without weeping? Look out, world, I'm coming for you.

Whomp whomp #2.

Last week was a really hard week for me. I was hit full on Monday morning with a case of the sads. I was just so, so sad. I ended up phoning Karl and telling him he needed to come home from work. I went back to bed until noon, and the afternoon was better. It wasn't until Wednesday or Thursday morning that I started feeling better again and it had completely gone away.

I've been having a bit of an identity crisis. I'm a mother. I'm a woman with a career. I'm a person that really enjoys books and movies and knitting and half an hour on the treadmill. I'm a freaking onion with layers upon layers. But I'm a mom.

I love being a mom more than I ever imagined. That's not to say I didn't think I would enjoy it, it's just that I didn't realize how much I would. Parker is one of the greatest things ever invented. I love, and feel incredibly blessed, that I get to spend a year with him at home, just doing our thing. I wouldn't give him up for all the camels in the desert.

But there's more to my identity than being a mother. I struggle so much, though, with the desire to be a mom and stay home with Parker and my will to have a career and continue to be a bread winner in our family. Also to have an excuse to wear jewellery again and clothes that aren't easy access. It's called mom guilt and it's real.

Before Parker, I figured I would be a career mom. I'd take my year, love it and embrace it, but then I'd go back to my job because I'm not the kind of person that likes hanging out with kids. Except now I know, of course, that it's different when they're your own. Parker is a superior breed of child (obviously) and I really do love spending time with him.

Tomorrow Parker will be 11 months old. That means June 1, the end of my maternity leave, is fast approaching. I was faced with the prospect of sending Parker to daycare while I went back to work. He would go to a daycare where I knew he'd thrive and be loved, and I would go back to a job where there were a lot of things I loved, but a lot of struggles as well.

And all those feelings came to a head last Monday and had me questioning every choice I've ever made.

We moved to Regina just over two years ago for my job. We know now, though, that God used my job to bring us to Regina. He brought us here and plunked us down, while we were in the midst of trying to buy a house in Victoria. We thought we were going to spend the rest of our lives there, and a few months later we were living in the frozen Saskatchewan tundra. We learned in that to trust God's plan for us, because he's always got our backs. And last week I had to put my trust in Him that it was going to be okay. His plan is the best plan and I'm kind of just along for the ride.

Fast forward to this week.

I am no longer returning to my job. I have options out there, and they're all kind of terrifying, but so was returning to work a month from now. A week ago I felt like I was being crushed by sadness, unsure of what I should be doing with my life, doubting myself and my abilities as a mother and working woman. And now I'm being faced with another opportunity to trust that God's got a plan for us.

Two things have been running through my head this week on repeat. The first is Philipians 4:13. I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me. I may not "got this" but thankfully someone else sure does. The second is that old hymn, Great is thy Faithfulness. I may feel like things are spinning into scary uncharted territory, but God is so faithful. So it's going to be okay.

Why I might need to return my baby to the baby-making factory.

He's not even here yet and already I'm realizing that woah woah woah I have no idea what I'm doing.

 

I mean, babies kind of make sense. They poop. They cry. They scream when the crying isn't enough. They puke for reasons unknown. They chew on your breasts.

 

Okay. I'm coming to terms with that. I've heard some scary breast feeding stories but I'm okay with sacrificing my body for my child. Why not? He's going to come ripping and tearing out of me one way or another so why not just continue the carnage? There's really no going back now.

 

The more I hear about things on the internet, though, the more uncomfortable I get.

 

What do you mean I should bring black underwear to the hospital? Wait, what's this about pads? And did someone just say padsicle? Are you vomiting a little in your mouth right now? Because I sure am.

I need to bring my own beautiful hospital gown? And my pillow in my favourite pillow case? And a soundtrack for my labour? I'll be having a baby not throwing a slumber party!

 

What are lactation cookies? How are they different from regular cookies? If they're good for milk production I promise not to touch them until the moment my baby's born but then are they all I'm allowed to eat? Because you know me and cookies.

 

And, you know, am I going to become a dairy cow before my son is born? I know it happens, but is normal?

 

Also, how hard is the baby weight going to be to get rid of? And how much larger are my breasts going to be? Am I going to need to buy a whole new wardrobe of easily accessible shirts until my kid can feed himself?

 

I don't know sign language. Most babies these days do. Why are infants smarter than me? I know enough not to play with my own poop but I can never remember the sign for please.

 

I know people swaddle their kids, but I can barely wrap a burrito and it doesn't move. Maybe we should start eating more wraps.

 

And what about pee? I've only ever changed boy diapers before and never had a pee incident, but it's a right of passage isn't it? It's not like I've changed a lot of diapers, either, so the odds aren't really in my favour. How often can I expect a mouthful of urine? I just need to be emotionally prepared.

 

If you need me, I'll be in bed with the covers over my head.

In which I give you all the details you may or may not want.

I promise not to blog exclusively about being pregnant. Just because I can talk more about my body that I could before doesn't mean I should. So I'll try to share without over-sharing.

I'll start by answering the second question I want to blurt out whenever I hear someone's pregnant (the first being when baby's due) and just let you know that yes, baby was planned. What wasn't planned was how quickly baby would settle itself in there, but we aren't complaining. We knew that it could be a long and potentially heartbreaking process ahead of us so we were prepared. Well, as much as we could be I guess. We didn't want to get our hopes up, which is hard for someone as impatient as me.

We clearly didn't need to worry because pretty much the second I stopped taking my birth control things started to happen. And I know we're incredibly lucky.

As for your first question, the answer is June 5th. Six months from today. Eep.

I started off the whole growing a baby thing thinking I had a cold. One was going around the office and I wasn't feeling quite right. Then things started to run a little behind schedule and survey said it was a little bit more than a cold. Then I started getting tired, not wanting to drink coffee, not wanting to drink tea, not wanting to eat things, not being able to function at the gym, wanting to take three hour naps, feeling like puking every time I stood for longer than 30 seconds, and oh look, we were deep in the throes of my first trimester.

Pregnancy exhaustion is no joke. I will never again doubt anyone who says they're tired when they're pregnant. I was so tired that I had to do as much as possible sitting down because standing up used WAY too much energy and made me feel like puking. Or overheating. I used to love hot showers but all of a sudden showering became this five minutes of sheer torture. Too much standing. Too much energy. Too much pressure. Just toooooo much. My legs didn't get shaved for the entire month of October and then some.

I would sleep in my car for a full hour on my lunch break, come home and collapse into my rocking chair, unable to even make dinner. Two or three minutes in the kitchen did me in. Then I would go to bed a couple hours earlier than normal and sleep like a dead person until my alarm went off. On Saturdays and Sundays I would take two or three hour naps and only drag myself out of bed because HUNGRY but no all your food is gross except for maybe french fries and thank God for prenatal vitamins otherwise baby would totally have scurvy by now. Except I love mandarins and get can't get enough. But you get my point.

I had this dream of making banana bread cinnamon buns and drinking coffee in my rocking chair after a really successful workout but then I didn't want sugar or coffee and couldn't actually bake anything  let alone go to the gym because wow is it nap time yet?

Seriously. All I wanted to do was sleep. Actually, that's kind of still the case. Karl and I went for a 25 minute walk around the neighbourhood one afternoon and I was a complete wreck that night. I felt like the nausea was going to kill me.

Anyway, after one particularly crappy weekend where I barfed Saturday and Sunday (I've only hurled three times, guys!) I had enough and figured that while I'm not the worst off in the world my quality of life wasn't what it could be. So I went to the clinic and the oldest doctor in the world (I kid you not, I thought he was a senile patient at first) saved my sanity and hooked me up with some Diclectin. And may God bless modern medicine.

I popped my first pill around noon and by the end of the day I could function. The drugs got rid of the nausea (more or less) and actually helped reduce my exhaustion. So I spent the next weekend baking up a storm and feeling more like myself than I had for ages.

Truthfully, I was only really sick for two or three weeks. I'm still tired and I'm still nauseous but when I compare it to how I felt before you won't hear me complain. Unless I'm trying to get Karl to do the dishes or something.

This week has felt a bit like a bit of  a step back for me and I didn't go to work yesterday because I was too tired and couldn't imagine sitting at my desk, feeling as ick as I did and getting anything done. So I slept for another three hours, caught up on TV, finished knitting a couple blankets, and had my first ever full physical. I'm still tired, a little nauseous, and came home and cried after spending 45 minutes in Walmart tonight but that could happen to anyone at any time.

I also have to admit that I bought maternity jeans a good two or three weeks ago. I'm not sure if I just ignored it before, but pregnancy and gas are a real thing. And not necessarily gas leaving your body in an embarrassing and unsocially acceptable manner, but in the way that your innards start slowing down and you have a massive baby bump sooner than you ever thought imaginable but really it's just a gas baby causing you pain and your clothes to look tighter. Which is why I was skulking around the maternity section of Old Navy on my lunch break one day, praying that nobody I knew would see me. 

I bought a belly band this weekend and it's amazing. I can wear pants that would otherwise cause me physical pain to do up with no problems. It's almost like wearing sweatpants. True story, I've been dying to get pregnant ever since I first heard of belly bands just so I could get one. Every day can be a fat day! And, yes, I have a little bump, but it just looks like a pot belly.

And on that note, even though it's Friday it's after 10 and that means that I'm about 15 minutes away from turning into an incoherent pile of tears and exhaustion. And all this talk about nausea is making me nauseous. Time to sleep it off for 12 hours.

Start spreading the news.

2015 is going to be a big year.

Big. Huge. Colossal.

They're coming out with a new Star Wars. A new Jurassic Park. A new Princess Diaries book.

And I'm going to be big. Huge. Colossal, too.

Because we're increasing our ranks and adding a mini Morton to the mix.

Coming at you June 2015.

Mark your calendars!

Coming back

My goal to blog once a week this summer kind of fell flat after we got back from California. To be fair, though, a week after I wrote that post we were pretty much back in Regina and summer was promptly over. Except for last weekend, which was glorious, but now it's pushing -1 and I actually dug out my mittens for the drive to work tomorrow. So there's that.

Our trip home was so good and so full. And I had only two surprisingly emotional moments the whole time. And by that I mean there were only two occasions where I nearly lost it.

After a very long day on the way out and missing two ferries due to road accidents and traffic, we got to Victoria an hour after anticipated. I was exhausted, and driving to my mom's house and down the familiar streets I started getting choked up. It's not my neighbourhood anymore. Those streets aren't mine anymore. I'm not going for painfully slow jogs on those hills anymore. Sure, the ugly eggplant coloured house still looks the same and the people at the end of Mom's street are still (how many years later?) painting their siding, but it's not my neighbourhood anymore. Because I live 2000 km away.

And that was a lot to take in.

The other tough moment for me was walking into our church in Victoria. We'd only been going there about eight months before we moved to Regina so it was never the home that the church we grew up in and got married in was. Most of our friends go somewhere else. But when we walked into that church that Sunday morning, 11 hours after getting back from California, it was only about 30 seconds before I was attacked from behind and given a huge hug from one of our good friends. And that made me feel all the feelings.

The drive back to Regina was surreal. We stopped in Swalwell and spent the day with the family, then headed east to Saskatchewan. It felt like a backwards holiday, but as soon as we got into town it was very real. And, yeah, I cried, because Regina isn't home and it feels less like my neighbourhood than the one we used to live in in Victoria. Because at least I can find my way around the old neighbourhood without having to look at Google maps.

But home is where your family is, and Karl is in Regina, and, following that, I think home is where your bed is. And I am in love with my bed. And now that the duvet's on it's kind of like all the good things are all together at once.

The week back was frustrating and crazy. I had vacation brain at work all week and even went so far as to delete meeting minutes I was supposed to send to the whole staff. We also had to paint our entire basement (thus saving us over $800 off of our reno) and that was a whole new level of hair pulling frustration due to a contractor that doesn't communicate as well as we'd hoped. And painting. Because painting always sounds so easy and relaxing but after six hours of it on a Friday night you need to do the dishes to mentally slow down until 1 a.m. Because painting will damage you. So. much. spun. cotton. 

Sunday morning came around, though, and it was glorious. I had breakfast on the deck, then our church had a bbq, and later we invited the neighbours over for a drink on the deck. It was kind of the perfect way to end a hard week.

As we were sitting in church I knew, again, that God brought us to Saskatchewan for a reason. As much as I don't love Regina, I've never really doubted that this is where we're supposed to be right now. We're not thriving like some people would, and I'm so glad we have a house to keep us busy, but we're simple folk and I'm glad that regrets aren't part of this package.

And you know what? In less than 48 hours we're going to be those people with a separate living room and T.V. room. And that just doesn't happen in Victoria for people like us.

I'm looking forward to having you over for a visit in our living room. The pumpkin scones will be just coming out of the oven when you show up.

I could DIE.

Today was a big day in our lives in Regina. Big. Huge. Collosus. So big that I don't even think I can tell you in words how monumentally life changing it was. But I'll try because I've come this far already.

Today was the day that things started turning green.

Yes! You read that right. While the blossoms were peeking out right around January 1st at home, today was the first day the grass decided to show a little colour other than brown here in the elbow of Saskatchewan (not to be confused with Elbow, Saskatchewan, where my grandfather was born).

We had a lot of rain yesterday. I practically salivated over all the non-fluffy condensation. Rain. It's a west coaster's original love and hate relationship. We hate it because dang it never goes away and we reallllly wanted to have a BBQ this weekend, but we love it because it keeps everything so lush, so fresh, and it almost never turns into snow because it's so balmy all year round. Displaced west coasters yearn for rain like addicts crave their next hits. Yep, yesterday had some gooood stuff. It did not disappoint.

I asked one of my co-workers if she thought the rain would turn things green, but she was sceptical, saying that it would need to be warmer. Well, joke's on her because I, like every good west coaster, know that it doesn't take much rain to rejuvenate the world and bring forth the new hope of GREEN.

I had a grumpy morning so I decided to go home for lunch and treat myself to a hot chocolate (almond milk, chocolate chips, microwave, frother, boom, you're welcome) which I never do. There's something about a nice day that makes me feel like the world is full of possibilities, so I cranked up my Switchfoot song, rocked my brand new and utterly amazing sunglasses, opened the sun roof, and rocked out half way home. That is, until I saw. Seriously, it was all I could do not to drive my car into the meridian on the highway and roll around in the grass when I saw the bits of green peeking out amidst the brown. I was so giddy I wanted to shriek. (I may or may not have.) I wanted to take at least eight pictures of the grass and Instagram every single one of them.

I wanted someone to be there to share in my heartfelt joy that, holy cow, they weren't lying! Winter does end here eventually. There may be a bit of snow in the forecast for later this week but you can't blow out this green spark once it's lit. It's like a freaking fuse and we're about to ignite in the glory of the warmth and the GREEN. It's like a rebellion and, everyone knows, you can't stop the signal.

It was so green I could DIE.

Part of me wants to take my car shovel (yes, it's a survival tool here in the elbow) and sneak outside tonight to bring in a patch of grass and put it in our dining room. We have the space, and I think it would really cheer things up in here. I'm not sure, though, but our landlord might get fined by the condo association if we get caught. In less than two months, though, I can drink my hot chocolate on my own lawn. Front and back and, oh, I can't imagine it would turn brown by then. Mmm... green...

Sorry, still fantasizing about rolling around in it. I just want to hug it.

One story of commitment, another of backing out.

So. News.

If you follow me on the Instagram or we’re friends on the Facebook you may be able to predict what I’m about to say. No, I’m not wild with child (seriously, people), but something equally as money sucking is going on in our lives. Officially. Team Morton has, as of 1:40 p.m., - wait for it - bought a house. We met the house last Saturday and since then we’ve gone through a mini bidding war, the home inspection, the financing, the getting a loan built in to our mortgage to give it a killer basement reno/new roof, and the deep breathing with our heads between our knees as we realize that, woah, life is mega different than we anticipated six months ago. Can I get an amen?

We’re all set to take over ownership on June 13^th. I anticipate a meteor shower will happen that night right onto our roof because everything’s gone so smoothly up until this point. And our realtor even loved the pumpkin scone I gave him while we closed everything down. So I mean, a house buying and an appreciative audience for my baking? Perfect day off. Well, that and we've got Alberta family visiting for the holiday. I'll be putting on my bunny ears in the morning to make my nephew's first ever Easter memorable to the max. At least for those of us with fully developed adult brains and hand-eye coordination.

Anyway.

Someone put a notice up at my gym offering free massages because she’s a student. Normally, I wouldn’t reply to that kind of thing but a) it’s a women’s only gym and b) my benefits don’t kick in until September and wouldn’t it be so nice to just have to pay a tip and get a free massage? My back shivers with delight just thinking about. So do my aching shoulders. Ah...

So I texted the number and indicated my interest. It didn't take long before I got a response and we back and forthed a little about my availability before she gave me her address and offered to see me the next evening.

The thing is, her address is in The Hood. Yeah, we live in a city with an area commonly referred to as The Hood. I'm not even kidding you.

Regina has a decently high crime and murder rate but something like practically all percent of it takes place in the North Central part of town a.k.a. The Hood. The rest of the city is pretty safe unless you count everyone on the road driving like they stole it and their hair's on fire.

I texted a couple people I knew in the city about whether it was a good idea or not to go there and to verify if it really was The Hood and their responses were pretty much the same: Well, it's up to you, but maybe don't go at night? 

That kind of seals the deal doesn't it? I totally backed out.

So two more months until Karl's benefits kick in and four and a half until mine do (weird, I know) and then I can have some professional work out the shoulder knots without having to carry extra tension in my them the whole time wondering if my car will still have wheels on it when I get out.

I've got your back.

One of the joys of living in a new city is that there are very few things to distract me from blogging, like friends and social events. Aside from the six days of work I had this week, sleep, trying to find a grocery store that sells Earth Balance squares, and the multiple trips to Costco that are apparently inevitable when you move provinces.

We just wrapped up a big week at work that started on Sunday with a conference we were putting on. Come Wednesday morning everyone in the office was scratching their heads trying to figure out why their brains said it was Friday but the calendar said it was Wednesday and holy cow, did we really have to keep showing up for two more days? It was all good in the end, though, because you never quite appreciate five o'clock as much as you do when you're stuck in a work related time warp and don't even talk to me about how exciting, nay, giddy I was yesterday when it was FINALLY Friday and I had a hot date with my husband, couch, some leftover spaghetti, and Frozen.

Yeah, we went there. I kept hearing about how Frozen was THE movie to see. "So good! So amazing! Life. Changing." Well, it was entertaining, refreshing (and not just because while they have rather Swedish sounding names I'm pretty sure it was based on life in Regina), and funny, it wasn't alllllll that. I mean, the songs didn't change life my. All they did was make me feel inadequate about my relationship with Karl because we never sing about our feelings to each other. Like, not ever. 

My brother in law is going away for work next week (you know, the Alberta family) so I invited my sister in law to come visit for the week. And she is! And she's even bringing my nephew with her, so score! My first set of multiple house guests (not counting my dad because he is not a multiple, unless you're multiplying by one) in our unpacked, set up place. I wasn't going to clean the bathrooms this weekend because I'm lazy to the core and love to make excuses but I will clean all three toilets and even vacuum the stairs for this occasion. And guess what? If you come stay with me on our open-door guest policy I will do the exact same for you, too!

It was while I was restocking the downstairs bathroom with toilet paper this morning that I realized Karl and I might be in trouble. We used to be the people that had more TP and paper towel than we knew what to do with (okay, I knew what to do with it. I was going to use it to barter for protection come the zombie apocalypse because while we do have a lot of peanut butter and canned beans we don't have any guns or crossbows or any skills with them that we know of and don't even think for a second that toilet paper isn't going to be a luxury item. Especially three-ply Charmin like we're currently stocking. Just like the queen.) but now we're only down to a couple rolls (hello, fourth trip to Costco in a month!) thanks to having three bathrooms that constantly need to be stocked. I am NOT that host that leaves you wanting for TP and hoping there's a stray Kleenex around to save the day. But, in case you're wondering, there is always a box of Kleenex (Puffs, actually, because we are JUST LIKE THE QUEEN) right behind you.

Anyway, even if we're running low on TP, but still doing well with paper towel, thanks for asking, I have a new item to barter come the apocalypse: chocolate chips. Non-dairy chocolate chips, at that. Karl and I hit up Bulk Barn before going to Costco on Wednesday night because I know they carry chocolate chips I can eat and I needed cashews. There's something about the grocery stores here that makes them highly inferior to the ones in B.C. It was also Karl's first trip to Bulk Barn and if you've never been there it's basically Disneyland for fat people because EVERYTHING. The thing is, not everything is a good deal so you have to know your prices, but I knew that cashews and chocolate chips were a good deal (especially since they were both on sale). So I spent $20 on them. 

Cue our trip to Costco and all of a sudden Costco has the 2 kg bag of semi-sweets that don't have any dairy? You do not pass up something that valuable and rare because you just might never see it again. So in case you're wondering, we now have about 10 lbs of chocolate chips. I'll be wheeling and dealing in chocolate chip cookies come the zombie apocalypse. It'll be legendary. I'll be the chocolate chip lady up in Regina and people will QUEST to get here. Just like Atlanta, but less zombies and more chocolate at the finish line.

I also got a library card. Look at me go! I got it with my new Saskatchewan driver's licence in which I actually look good. Why didn't we move to this province years ago? B.C.'s license gave me five o'clock shadow! And as much as I love five o'clock these days, I do not enjoy rocking it on my less than chiselled jaw line.

Anna out.


P.S. Frankenpie was not a flaming failure!

Big news for Team Morton

The past five weeks have been incredibly stressful for Karl and I and it all came to a head today.

Five weeks ago, Karl and I were getting ready for Christmas, thinking about buying a house, and expecting to live our little lives along the same track they've been on for the past few years, living happily in Victoria. Then I got phone a call about a job opportunity in Regina.

Long story short, I had a four day window to apply for a job two provinces over with an organization that I would kill to work with here. So I did. And a week later I interviewed for it. Two weeks later I was invited to fly out to Regina to interview in person for the position. Now, less than a week later, Karl and I ready to take the plunge.

Yep, the Mortons are moving to Saskatchewan.

(source)

While we are both madly in love with Victoria (the Hawaii of Canada), we're willing to make the move to Regina (the armpit of Canada, but maybe that's Saskatoon so at the very least it's the elbow) for such a big career move.

The position I'll be going into is a HUGE step up. And if that's not enough to convince you that I'm excited, trust me when I say that I was seriously doubting if I would ever make it this far (at least financially) over the next 30 years before I retire. You know, just for some perspective.

Karl's making some big personal decisions, too. I mean, aside from the obvious. He's selling his Mustang. His first car, his collector's item. I thought he was going to ask to be buried it in when he died. I was always afraid that if I made him choose between me and the car I'd end up alone. Truly, I never thought this day would come. Yep, we're all in.

You know, I was feeling like I was in a bit of a rut with my life. Normally that's when I'd go to the hair dresser and get her to chop it all off. I've already done that, though, so there's not a lot of room to go shorter. I guess this will have to do, though.

I start at the beginning of March, so we'll be packing up and heading away from the coast at the end of February.

We've been really stressed out, and I wasn't even sure whether I wanted to go until I went out there for my interview. We always said that the only reason we'd leave Victoria would be for a big career move for me. Karl's a mechanic so his career can go anywhere and we're not anticipating him having any trouble finding work. I just can't believe this opportunity actually came. It wasn't until I actually got to Regina and sat in on a staff meeting that I knew we could do it. God has given us such an amazing opportunity and we're not going to waste it.

I know it's going to be tough, but we have the tools to do it. We started going to a new church over the summer and have met some really wonderful people. We're disappointed that we won't be around to continue building into all the new relationships we've been making, but it was an important lesson to us that we can, in fact, do it. I didn't even know we had it in us. Besides, thanks to technology it's easy to keep in touch with everyone. The number of baby photos on my phone attests to that.

We've had an army of people praying for us along the way. At first we just told our parents and a few select others, then as things progressed with the interview process we started telling more people and asking them to pray for us. We didn't tell too many people, though, because didn't want to make a big deal of it if it fizzled out.

The thing is, I know a lot of people move away from their families all the time, but if you're doing it for the first time it's really, really hard. Five weeks of stress hard. Ugly crying hard. Now that we know, though, it feels like a huge weight has been lifted. Having so many people praying for us, and knowing that God is faithful and has a plan for us, has really brought a certain amount of peace over the whole thing. And we've got motivational mugs to help get us through it all when we forget that.

This is the right place.

Before you freak out, this really is Watching Douglas Street. It was Watching Douglas Street. Now it's Make Mine Decaf.

You know what's hard? Blog names. Since I left my job on Douglas I've been trying to think of a way to make my blog reflect who I am without being totally weird and obscure. I like to think I've accomplished that here today.

I didn't do it alone, though. Angi is the skills behind the makeover. She even helped me pick out the new name. I mean, if you think about it, I'm much more decaffeinated than a Douglas watcher. Heck, I don't even have a window anymore. And she did an amazing job, right?

So why the makeover? Well, even though I don't blog like I used to, I still like my blog. For everything a season, right? I'm not going anywhere and neither is the internet, so there will come a time when I'm frantically blogging once again, I'm sure of it. I'm still holding onto my dream of becoming a stay-at-home-Anna someday. Blogging will clearly be a big part of that knitting, decaf coffee drinking, and spray painting lifestyle.

So let me know what you think of the change!

PS There's also a button for your iPhone, too. Who wouldn't want to have me on their phone? Isn't Angi amazing?

Are you lost?

Well, folks, it's official. Watching Douglas Street is now a thing of the past. It was time.

The new blog URL is www.makeminedecaf.blogspot.com.

I hope you like the changes as much as I do!

Meet my nemesis.

We all have our struggles and for the past few years, especially the past six months, mine has been migraines. But guess what, nerds? I think I've kicked them!

It turns out my body might not actually hate me and that my real nemesis is actually (wait for it...) dairy.

Seriously. Dairy.

It's been about a month since I gave up dairy per the recommendation of the naturopath. Two weeks after that I had a chiropractor appointment where I was informed that my head is actually sitting straight (because apparently I'm a freak with a slightly tilted head thanks to wacky neck bones) and it's probably because my body isn't so inflamed. Not the kind of inflamed that makes my clothes fit better, but the kind that makes my bones and joints and muscles or what have you sit happier and easier and be less angry with each other.

Aside from the whole neck bone being less angry and jutting out thing, I actually feel better. My whole state of being hasn't changed and it's not like I feel like I have more energy or anything, but it has been five weeks since my last migraine. Five. Weeks. That means I'm three weeks overdue for one migraine and a week overdue for another. Bi-weekly migraines can go eat it. As long as it's non-dairy.

I haven't had this kind of lengthy migraine interval since AUGUST.

I realize that a month off of dairy might be a little early to be shouting victory from the rooftops, but hey, even small victories are victories nonetheless.

Next weekend I hit up the naturopath again to talk about the next step in my dairy-free process. I'll give her all my money to suggest that I try goats milk and cheese and see how that works for me. Maybe I won't have to be completely dairy-free. Even if I am, though, it's not too bad.

Dinner's been less exciting without cheese, but that just means I need to think a little harder. I made French toast with almond milk the other day and it actually tasted better than usual. Take that, cow udders.

It's funny, I used to drink chocolate milk after a run because I heard it was good for you and I wanted an excuse to drink chocolate milk. There was a period there where I thought exercising might be causing my migraines. I guess in the grand scheme of things I'd rather have the ability to kill myself running than drinking chocolate milk.

The dairy-free transition hasn't been very difficult. Because I had my adenoids removed and a lot ear infections as a kid, the naturopath suggested dairy might be my culprit. The other option was gluten. I would so much rather have a dairy allergy (my first food allergy!) than a gluten one.

Giving up things I love in my diet isn't actually that foreign to me. One year ago today I decided to kick my caffeine habit in the teeth. I even gave up bananas. Bananas eventually found their way back in to my diet (which is good because they're my favourite food ever), but I only ever tripped up once on the caffeine train and it triggered the never-ending migraine train I'm just getting off of now.

Giving up caffeine was hard, terrible, and I was so grumpy. But I did it. No. Regrets.

I used to think that maybe chai lattes gave me migraines from the caffeine or spices. Ironic, eh? It was the milk not the chai. Go figure.

While caffeine might no longer be the nemesis I thought it was, I'm not going back. I'm a decaffeinated, dairy-free type now. I also think a good Friday night is spent at home watching television with my husband and knitting. I'm basically a senior citizen/hippy. My knees even crack sometimes when I stand up.

Is it possible this no dairy thing is having a placebo effect? Maybe, but I don't care. I'd rather trick myself into feeling good and give up dairy than live the way I have been since September.

So, one more time now, all together. Let's do this thing.

Keeping up with the changes.

So I started a little series, I like to think, about the changes in my life. There's been some pretty big ones lately and I wanted to keep up with them. Actually, I kind of started this series when I was hoping I would get my new dream job. Well, I did, so that was fun.

Anyway, another change that's been going on is running. I started doing that this fall, right after Thanksgiving, and was doing pretty well. What up, Couch to 5K? Seriously, it was amazing. Within three weeks I went from running downhill for a minute and dying to running for 8 minutes straight in five weeks. 8 minutes was the longest I had ever, in my entire life, run. I've kind of fallen down on the program, never completing the last two weeks which were 28 minute and 30 minute runs. I did the 23 minute runs and then ran out of motivation. 28 is pretty much 23 and there are a lot of hills around my house. I knew I could but I was just getting bored. Way to go, Anna.

Well, a couple weeks ago I started thinking that a treadmill would be good for me. No hills, doesn't end up really far from home, and I could boost my confidence with duration. What an excellent chance to listen to an audio book.

The thing is, short of buying a treadmill, I'd have to go to a gym to fill my running ambitions. And? I hate gyms. Hate. Them.

When I was in England, I got a free membership to the gym on campus. It's was a nice gym (I guess) and frequented by all the ridiculously skinny/rich/attractive (aka all) girls that went to the private school I worked at. There were also some locals that came, too, but it was more expensive than the community gym, so they were freakishly healthy. Me? Not so much. I'm squishy. Not super squishy, but  all around a little soft. My muscles need to be felt for; they do not bulge and or/glisten attractively. If it's bulging, it's certainly not a muscle. More likely it's my lunch.

I went a couple times to the gym there, but mostly felt too awkward and embarrassed to be there. (You may have noticed that awkwardness is a general theme of my life.) Anyway, I didn't like the gym. It also happened to be the place where I taught swimming lessons to kids that could swim better than me. Six year-olds were doing the breaststroke while I paddled awkwardly along beside them. I can swim, but my technique is rotten and I'm not going to get anywhere fast. I really hated that building.

Gyms are also not free. This I know. I actually have a pass to a gym, where I do yoga. Less than $6 a class is a wicked deal. I haven't been for a month or so, but it's a real bona fide gym, full of awkwardly healthy people with glistening muscles. I usually shower before going to class, whereas most of the other attendees are just coming for a cool down from their mega intense step/aerobic classes. They, too, glisten, even though the lighting's dim.

So Karl and I are working our way through Financial Peace and have a pretty stringent budget. There is no part of me that would like to sacrifice my clothing budget just so I can be lazy and run inside on the flatland so price was a really big factor in which gym I decided to join. So was women's only and location. Ideally, the gym would be right next door, never be busy, and cost a dollar per visit. Or, you know, be free.

Well, the best I was finding was $29/month. Not bad, but it wasn't near home or work, and I'd definitely have to drive. It was also definitely not a women's gym, but I figured in the beginning that would be a bit of a pipe dream. Price was the biggest motivator, after all.

Well, in swept my mother. She has a free membership to one of the local pools because she works for the city. Because I'm almost a dependent (living in her basement and such, never mind that I'm married and make my own moneys) I got a membership for $12 a month.  $12. Drop-in is $5.75. If I go twice I'm basically breaking even. Three times and I'm making a profit. I've already been Friday and Sunday so I'm basically a financial guru. I'm not even budgeting for this membership because it can come out of our blow money. And the location? About a five minute detour on the way home from work and ten minutes home. Not that I've convinced myself to bring my workout clothes to work, yet.

There is, however, a drawback to the location. Like I said before, it's a pool. The cardio equipment is all on the upper level, but still in the same area as the swimming area. In other words, it's a tropical sauna in there. I'm also a fainter. Now, all of the cardio equipment have fans pointed directly at them.  Except, you know, the treadmills. There are fans in the ceilings, but only two of the five treadmills have them in remotely useful locations.

The first time I went, I didn't get a good treadmill to fan location. I did after fifteen minutes. The second time I got a good treadmill but still had to walk more than I would have liked. That was Sunday. I was smart and hydrated as much as humanly possible before going. I had to pee when I got on the treadmill and everything. 35 minutes later and roughly 20 minutes of collective running I was a sweaty mess. I'd brought my water bottle, which I never do outside, and had drank half of it, but I no longer had to pee and needed to sit down for five minutes so I didn't pass out from the heat after. I have quite the delicate ecosystem. It's a pain.

It's frustrating not being to go as hard as I want because of the heat, but I figure I'll either get used to it eventually and be able to run marathons in Haiti, or I'll die and it'll be a pathetic story. Then, at least, I'll have a legitimate reason to hate the gym.

I plan to go at least twice this week, you know, t0 acclimatize myself to the conditions. I try to look like I belong and not look directly at any of the skinny, glistening people. I'm not wearing the skin-tight workout wear, preffering the oversized t-shirts and yoga capris with pockets, but it's okay. My hair is a bit of a problem, since it plays a big part in my over-heating. I picked a great time to go for unmanageable hair. Lucky for me, I know what a couple bobby pins can do to it, and, since I'm married, don't really care if I looked like a European soccer playing man. Fact.

Tell me about your gym horror stories. Or love stories, I guess, but then I'm not sure we can still be friends. I also need more audiobook material for the treadmill. Something super gripping and escapist. Go!

Chapter II: A New Beginning

Today was the first day of my new job. I have my own desk, a cubicle, a spider plant, phone, and the people across the way from me have a huge window view. It's almost like I have a window. I also have one of those stylish card things for around my neck that I have to wave to get into every room in the building. It's a whole new office experience for me.

Like most of my first days before this one, I spent a significant portion of it sitting on the floor, filing stuff. I need to stop wearing dresses on my first day. Am I the only person that assume a sitting on the floor position to do filing? It just seems logical. It's also a great way to get to know new co-workers as they crawl around me to get to where they're going.

I'm pretty sure there's an unwritten office law that all filing is to be put off for several years until Anna's first day. Fact.

Not only did today bring about a significant change in my employment situation (aka bye bye, Douglas) but I also got my hair cut this weekend.

I was getting tired of my long, gorgeous locks turning into gigantor tangles when I wore scarves so I bit the bullet and decided to go about 4" shorter to just below my shoulders. I wanted layers and I wanted them layery.

Terrible, terrible self bathroom before shot.

Totally below my shoulders.

So my haircut ended up being a little bit more dramatic than intended. The lady who did my hair is really nice and I really like her, but I'm not sure I'll go back. For obvious reasons. The thing is, she was really excited for me to go shorter and I think that by telling her I trusted her judgement I may have unintentionally given her a little too much leeway. I also have no intention of rocking the straight across bangs this time. It makes me feel like a spy. I also identify with my "swoosh."

Oh well. Even though I wasn't emotionally ready to go this short, and lament often and loudly, it's not like I haven't been here before. This is the fourth time in my life I've gone this drastically short. I am indeed counting the time I was six. When we got married two and a half years ago I had decently short hair.

Have a picture.

I'm just staring into your soul, don't stress.

Also, smack dab in the middle of "the awkward years" I cut my hair all sorts of short. Sadly I don't have a lot of pictures to share with you. They're probably buried in a stack of CDs somewhere. I also don't have any photos of super cute six year old me. Karl says that I was a cute little kid, until grade two. Then what was once two eyebrows became one. It wasn't a very happy union.

This, however, was a very happy mid-air union for 17 year old Anna.

When I was 16 I took short hair one step too far. I was inspired by Jon Foreman, okay?

Nope, that's not a cute boy, folks. It's ME on the tail end of the awkward years. Yep, tail end.

So in an effort to find photos of myself with short hair from way back when I realized two things: 1. When in grade 12, as I  tried to grow out my terribly short hair I had just below the shoulder hair and it looked dang good; 2. I really did enjoy having short hair. It was cute, it was fun, it was so, so high maintenance. So I guess I'll survive. But I'm still going to mourn the loss of my length.

Okay, that's been enough reminiscing for me for one day. I feel like I've come a long, long way.

AMIRIGHT?

Monumental occasion.

This is my 200th post. Not that I care so much about that stuff, because I'm frankly surprised it's only my 200th. I mean, I blog three times a day when the spirit (in this case it's the spirit of boredom) moves me. Only 200? That's kid stuff!

How fitting, though, that my 200th post also coincides with my blog giveaway ending and a winner being announced. Even though only six people entered my giveaway, I'm totally happy with that. I blog because I want to and I like you and like making things. Now I get to combine all three of those things together to basically form a happy giveaway of joy, or my Victory Giveaway as I renamed it yesterday.

It's also a little coincidental that my 200th blog post and giveaway coincide with a bit of a turning point in my blogging ways. For the next week and a half I'll be here the same as I always have. Blogging. Creeping Douglas street. Keeping it decaffeinated and polka dotted. But after that? Things are going to be a changing.

I like my blog and I've been keeping it up for almost a full year. When it started it was a little rougher, a little more long winded, and little less visually me. It was red, after all. Now it's green and polka dotted (in case you hadn't noticed). It was small and local for the longest time but in the past few months it's turned into something a little bigger, a little more international. But just a little.

I'd like to keep blogging once I start my new job, because it's a good outlet but I'm also enjoying the little community it's created. That and so all my wit doesn't get stored up inside me, spilling out towards my new coworkers and making them uncomfortable. (In high school I once told someone my underwear matched my shoelaces. She thought I was handicapped for a while after that. For the record, they were checkered and worth sharing about.) This is just a new season for me, and I hope to do at least weekly updates. Or something. I might reinvent the blog's name since I won't be on Douglas anymore, but let's cross that bridge when I come to it. I also want to keep reading the blogs I've come to really enjoy. Because really, that's what it's all about.

All I can say is, there'll always be twitter.

But now, what you're really waiting for. The winner: Jessi

Woot woot.

So Jessi has actually been reading my blog since some time around the awkward beginning. She also just saved me a whole lot of postage because she's local. I guess she really earned her scarf with all the faithful reading she's done over the past several months. Cheers to Jessi!

And, fun fact, Jessi actually helped teach me how to knit. What goes around comes around, eh?

In case you didn't win, don't worry. I rather enjoyed the intimate giveaway so I expect I'll be doing another one in the not too distant future. Because I still like you.

Jessi also requested her scarf in either dirty snow white, grey, teal, mustard, or dark orange. In other words, Whatever colour I like the most at the store. I do, however, have a special place in my heart for any colour that sounds like a naughty Disney character. Shout out to Angi for spreading that new colour around.

You can bet that I'm going to post a photo of Jessi and her prize won scarf on here in a couple weeks.

Happy 200th to me!

This is new and exciting.

Okay guys, this is it. Things are getting crazy up in here.

A lot of bloggers do giveaways. I don't consider myself a blogger so much as a person that blogs because her day job is way too freaking boring not to. And I have a lot of feelings and wit that need to be shared. I started this blog almost a year ago because I really wanted to. Plain and simple. I didn't do it because I wanted to be a part of the bigger blogging community, promote myself, or even make money off of it. That's all good, too, because my readership is low and I really don't mind.

I blog because I want to and I do it for me. I do what I want and that doesn't usually involve doing linkups or whatever else unless I want it to. That's not to say that I don't appreciate those of you that read my blog and, even better, comment. It gives me the warm fuzzies, especially since I've never even met you but you still seem to like me. Actually, that might be why you like me. It might also be why I like you.

The point is, I like you and you like me and we have come together here through this blog to share something special. Me, you, polka dots, and pictures of my bathroom.

So I want to do a giveaway. Think of it as an almost one year of blogging hurrah. Whether you've been with me from the awkward beginning or are brand spanking new and getting going in the awkward present, it's all good.

I don't care where you're from, if you live in the same town as me or in another country, I just want to give you something I've made. I've found that most giveaways ask you to share and promote them. I'm not going to ask you to do that unless you want to. All you have to do is leave a comment with your favourite colour (or a colour you'd like the prize in). Easy peasy. You should also say something nice while you're leaving that comment. Just because. My blog my rules. Please note, you can only enter once. Otherwise I'll just get annoyed.

The giveaway will run for one week, and at the end I'll contact the winner to get their mailing information. It'll take me about a week (possibly two if life gets crazy town) to make the prize in the winner's chosen colour, then I'll send it off through the mail in an economical fashion. Sure, you'll be waiting a month to get your prize, but just think how excited you'll be when you get it in the mail and it's like Christmas all over again.

So what's the prize? I'm glad you asked! See what I'm wearing? You get that except better because it'll be yours.

For the record, I'm pretty sure a guy could look just as sassy in this scarf as I do. I'm also sorry for making that face at you.

Happy times and good luck!


a Rafflecopter giveaway

Yeah, you could look this darling, too. Minus the zombie mittens.