Down, Set, Couch

I love that friends/readers that experience my fairytale firsthand REQUEST blog entries. This is such entry. KW - this is for you friend. ;)

The Vinsons run to the endzone, brand new couch in tow, TOUCHDOOOOOOWN COUCH!

My husband and I have made many purchases together. We've mastered the art of grocery shopping. We've bought beloved animals together, vehicles together, even agreed on paint colors together - but nothing would prepare us for the lesson we learned just 24 hours ago.

I have been wanting a new couch for a very long time. (For those of you that have purchased furniture with a spouse, you're laughing right now - knowing exactly where this is going.) I have spent hours in the past few months, visiting each furniture store in a 20 mile radius for a couch that was in mine and Hubby's budget, could be tolerated by both of us, that we could keep for a while. But nothing seemed to fit.

We were determined to wait until we found the perfect one, and were both willing to wait until such couch found us... until yesterday. Maybe it was the cool air... maybe it was the lack of afternoon nap... whatever it was - it made us load up in to the truck, go to only one furniture store... and make a purchase. A mistake really. A lesson really. We purchased the worst mistake/best lesson ever.

Let me explain something about our family dynamic. We're not like most couples. Normally the "whatever you want hunny, I don't care anymore" phrase comes from the male in the relationship. Normally the,"Ughhh, I can't decide, this is a big decision" phrase comes from the female... Reverse that - and that's us. I'm normally the quick-decisioned-whatever-makes-you-happy-dear one in our fairytale, and my wonderful prince is the over-thinking-super-analytical-my-way-or-high-way one.

This couch purchase would blur those roles a bit, resulting in... OLE' BLUE. Whatever image just popped into your head upon reading that is EXACTLY what we purchased... A large... fluffy... BLUE ... couch. Siiiiiiiigh. Here's the play-by-play of how this came to be.

Wifey sits in protest in the couch she chose.

Hubby swings right, insisting on Bachelor-pad-ugly-media-room-couch-recliner.

Wifey searches for open compromise.

Hubby intercepts idea, and finds suitable compromise with color options.

Pea Green, Dark Brown, Blue - set hut!

Both decide on green - begin searching for rug to tie in - then from the back!! - BAM - Hubby requests to see Blue in warehouse.

Wifey huddles with staff and friends, all eyes on her.

Hubby asks: "Green or Blue?"

Wifey sees hubby's random new Blue compromise: "Blue I guess..."

TOUCHDOOOOOOOWN COUCH.

Once the blue couch was in place... and by in place, I of course mean completely out of place, because there is not a shred of blue in my house at all, and we're not yet of retirement age where it would match my sweet porcelin collectables or grandchildren's finger paintings... once it was in the room I secretly boiled with resentment for agreeing to such an ugly thing that I now had to look at for years.

Unbeknownst to me - my husband was doing the exact same thing.

Here's what really happened on the field:

Hubby wants to finally buy wifey what she's wanted for a while: a couch.

Wifey finds uncomfortable couch, but pretty.

Hubby finds comfy couch, but ugly.

Both Wifey and Hubby search for suitable compromise.

Found it.

Hubby wonders what the blue looks like, all that was on the show room floor was pea green.

Hubby sees the blue and asks what Wifey thinks.

Wifey is intimidated by friends and staff around her.

Wifey also wants to make Hubby happy, and assumes that the blue will make him happy.

Wifey says okay to blue.

Hubby thinks Wifey is happy with blue, and that he saved the day by finding something he liked that Wifey liked too.

TOUCHDOOOOOOOWN COUCH.

Wifey questions why Hubby liked blue.

Hubby questions why Wifey liked blue.

Wifey and Hubby hate blue couch.

Wifey and Hubby wanted to make Hubby and Wifey happy.

Wifey and Hubby: 0         Couch: 1

Now. We learned a very important lesson that all couples, I assume, learn at some point (I doubt it costs them as much money as it did us to learn such lesson though). There are times when honesty and speaking your mind are needed and required. This was not one of those "honey, does my butt look big" situations.

See, we learned pretty quickly in our marriage, that when you just say whatever you're thinking, all the time, without considering the constructiveness of your words, you really just nag or tear down the other. So we've been really good about thinking before we speak, and asking ourselves if what we're saying is constructive and has a solution, or if we're just complaining or stating unchangable truths.

In our couch hunting adventure, both of us wanted to make the other happy, so we only said he constructive things, not thinking about the giant household centerpiece we would be forced to live with in our home for years to come. We just wanted to make the other happy - which normally works when one sticks to what makes them happy. When both assume the other role NO ONE ends up happy.

Our 'Ole Blue found himself on Craigslist last night. He still sits in our living room, sitting all blue and couchlike for now. If someone, more than likely over the age of 60, is in the market for a blue couch, 20 hours old, for a REALLY good price they should wander over to Craigslist. And if you're someone itching to learn the lesson I did, do so with a smile, irrational optimism, bitten tongue, and empty wallet.

To Your Corners

I'm not nieve enough to think that married life is perfect.

I know the fairy tales we read as kids told stories of happily ever afters - but there's a reason the stories ended at the 'I do's' with a kiss - because that's the easy part!

If they were to write stories of Cinderella never picking up her shoes, or Snow White always talking to birds more than her Prince - the reviews wouldn't quite be the same. But those things are marriage.

Think about it. You're married. You're living with a person everyday, eating, sleeping, watching tv together day in and day out. Remember weekends spent with best friends? How by the end of the weekend tempers would flare, patience disappeared, and normally some irrational drama would unfold? Weeell... you're basically living this cycle every day after you say 'I do.' You're married and living with your grown up best friend! I think this same thing still occurs, on a more grown up level of course... sometimes. Ha.

I think all marriages go through seasons of strife. Nobody talks about it, because that's no fun, there's nothing glamorous about admitting to not being perfect. Sometimes strife seasons last a few hours, sometimes days or weeks, and in tragic cases, strife seasons can last years; because it's hidden, avoided, covered up, or ignored, and normally ends with a not-so-happy attorney duel.

I think it's time to talk about it! I don't need to spit out the over-used statistics about divorce - we all know it happens WAY too often. But, I think I should spit out the truth to seasons of strife (as I encounter them and handle them the best my little newly-wed self can).

There's something to be said about boxing. Let me explain. I rarely watch the stuff, or the MMA stuff that has flooded TV's these days, but the few times I've managed to choke down an episode Hub wants to watch, I notice that when things get stuck or the fighters are latched on and neither budge, the ref jumps in and pulls them to their corners. Interesting.

I think there's something about time-outs too. Let me explain. I was NOTORIOUS for spending time in corners for time out. Mostly because during rare angelic lapses in my childhood I would require punishment. The way my parents dealt punishment was by giving us options: were given the option of a spanking or minutes spent in time out. My zero pain tolerance is not a recent occurrence, and I always chose time out. Most of the time during my time-out times spent with my nose in the corner, I would try to see images in the wall texture, but sometimes I would actually think about what I had just been punished for. I would replay what had happened and think of how I would do it differently if it happened again. Well played parents. Well played.

Corners. Not a bad idea. Now, I'm no pro. And I haven't even been married that long. But my feasible fairy tale has several chapters of not-so-perfect-ness. Try coming home from a honeymoon paying bills with quarters! The first few pages of my fairy tale were spent fighting circumstances, and inevitably eachother because of them. So I think I can speak with some veteran knowledge on this topic. Marriage is not perfect. But with a few calculated time-outs and times in your corners, working through the non-perfect times become easier.

Never underestimate the power of a corner. Be it a man/woman cave, be it a drive around the block, or an extra long bubble bath - take time in a corner to think, pray, replay moments, compile compromises, and breathe.

Seasons of strife are almost always followed by seasons of joy. In the form of flowers, in a date night, in the form of a long awaited talk time, etc. The season of strife doesn't last forever. So when your flatulating Prince leaves the toilet seat up, forgets to take his plate to the sink, or watches one too many episodes of whatever manly channel he's landed on; and when you, Princess, wear your sweats one more night, or Pinterest a bit too long, or leave your hair in the drain again - remember that strife is common, strife is temporary, and strife is fixable.


- Brought to you by a woman currently in the corner... finding images in wall texture. ;)

A New Tire, Tylenol, and a Latte Please

Finding a new place to live is becoming as common as ordering a latte for our Fairytale. In the 2.5 years my sweet hub and I have been married, we're approaching our THIRD move. *sigh* Just call us nomads. In fact, pitching a tent may be what we HAVE to settle with if this third moving adventure doesn't find solace soon. Let me explain - I'm a visual person:


December 31, 2009 - Married

Move 1: July 1, 2010 - Moved from Apartment Bachelor Pad to Rental House/Electricity Pit

Move 2 (1/2): August 1, 2011 - Homelessness/Literal Roaming from Couch to Couch
Move 2 (1/2): September 1, 2011 - Moved Back to Apartment (Less Bachelor Pad-ish this time)

Move 3: September 11, 2012 - Our 30 days notice is up...

So - if you're seeing the date of this Blog entry - you can see that we have 24 days to find a place to live. Or we're homeless again.

Now, I promise, each move has had a motive, we're not just itching for a headache; however, we could probably own stock in Tylenol.

Move 1 Motive: a tiny 1 bedroom, 1 bathroom apartment with no 'time out' space is a recipe for horror film/newlywed disaster. Not to mention the unfavorable location of said disaster was the location of a fender bender, car break in, drunken woman at front door, and the potty training location for our dogter.

Move 2 Motive: the selling of my kidney to pay for $400 electric bill in a 700 square foot space. Okay... so my kidney is intact, but you get it. REDICULOUS UTILITY BILLS.

Move 3 Motive: the 'unfavorable location' we were soooo wise to willingly return to has been the location of yet another car break in (resulting in over $1200 in property stolen), an audible upstairs birth control (a.k.a 3 year old that apparently never learned to walk, only run and jump... at night), and as of 1 week ago, a SLASHED TIRE ON MY HUSBAND'S BRAND NEW TRUCK.

Break out the boxes... AGAIN.

So. Why put our notice in if we didn't have a place to live you ask? Well, we did. A perfect place! A perfect neighborhood! A perfect price! We had paid the deposit and were signing the lease and in bold letters:

Tenant agrees to     []inside   []outside only   [X]no      pets.

No Pets?! Uhhh.... whoops. Now. This is a long story. But the short version is: thought I could give away dog, was wrong, hubby loves me, told the land lord sorry. And NOOOOW we're in a bind. Naturally, the very next call was a "wait!!" call to the apartment complex... who informed us that our apartment had already been rented upon our departure. AAAAGGGGHHH! So. Here we are. Move #3 in progress. With homelessness as a grave possibility. God is good, and we're not too worried (yet). But oh our Fairytale, gotta love it! ;)

And I'll have no whip cream on that latte please. Thank you.

Joyful Stranger

Well hello. It has certainly been a while! About 3 months! Why the absence? Well, it could be the new job, the wonderful companionship of my husband with a new job as well, the endless piles of laundry that STILL never seem to get done, the baby shopping I've been doing for my new nephew or my unborn neice due anyday, or the fluffy cloud of bliss I've been floating on for a few months not having gps. I'll let you choose.

Yes, it's true. Life has been good. Not perfect, but good. My feasible fairytale was bound to contain a FEW high points among the sea of comedic lows. And so it has. Normally I would approach this seemingly perfect period with my regular adorable pessimism waiting for it to end - but not this time. Cliche as it may sound, we've taken a different course of action. Rather than tiptoeing on happiness, waiting to trip over a terrible 'never saw that coming' circumstance - I've chosen to march onward valliantly, knowing that IF that 'never saw that coming' circumstance crops up, I DID experience bliss for a while, and bliss is allowed second helpings. Sure, crud happens, but so does blessing! Why live life waiting for the crud instead of enjoying the blessing?! Now I know, easy to say on THIS side, right? Well, that's why I'm writing it - you silly people think I just write for you? (...I do, don't listen to me) I know myself all to well, and reverting to my REALISTIC outlook is pretty much inevitable. BUUUUT, if I have record of knowing joy comes sometimes too, I'll have no choice but to push through the crud life finds itself in and wait for the blessing to come creeping out (to which I will throw it a party, buy it a pony, and never let it go).

So this joyful stranger just wanted to check in and say "Nanner Nanner, I'm happy,*sticks out tongue*" and testify to the power of the paradigm shift. Change your thinking, wait for good,  understand that good is really God's way of rewarding you for being strong through the crud, and never take it for granted. Thus sayith me.

The Wheels on the Rusted Bus...

Our humble home will soon be filled with homework, our fridge covered in report cards, and our nights filled with research papers!

No, we're not adopting a child or housing a foreign exchange student. No, we're not moving in with our parents (again). Nope. I am proud to say that my husband, who hasn't been in a classroom since 2004, is enrolled for the Spring Semester at one of our local Colleges!

The wheels on the school bus are turning again! Just not as easily or quickly as they used to when we were young pups. But he has hopped on that bus for the first time since graduating High School, and his smiling face showing me his class schedule was too adorable to not melt with pride. My 'lil ole man is going to college! Now, we're not "old" by any means (yet), and my teasing is just that, teasing. However, he didn't help matters by stating, after the big smiles and Adam Sandler/Billy Madison impressions and singing of "Back to Schhhewl" faded, that, "Oh dang...I'm going to be in a class of 18 year olds...". When our laughter subsided, I started thinking about this new chapter!

What's it going to be like to send him off to school twice a week and not work? What's it going to be like when he's craming for finals in the midst of craming for bills to be paid? What's are we going to do when he can't go play on date night because he hasn't finished his homework? Ha ha! This non-traditional lifestyle that we're embarking on may have a lot of questions, but I'm excited and ready for whatever comes our way. I'm fairly certain I should brush up on my college algebra though... I see this being a team effort in lots of ways ;)

Homelessness (3&4 of 4)

If you could plop a shadow into sunshine and bunnies - THAT's what this last leg of our homeless adventure would be summed up as. No joke. So wonderful that we made it a 2 week stay!

Our tour of lumpy beds finished up at another set of parents' spare room. And I am happy to say that it has been the perfect combination of hospitality, "chill", and occupied time that anyone can wish for. The home cooked meals were superior, the baseball games on tv were pleasantly appealing to my chill-searching husband, and the new hobbies that I picked up to occupy my time and actually tolerate the endless baseball games on tv were and still are rays of sunshine. (They're so sunshiney, they soaked the bank account dry, ha ha!)

My Martha Stewart aspirations have approached another profound check mark on the list of womanly "supposed to know how's" and I, Tamatha, am the creator of handmade jewelry. Oh yeah. Be jealous. This newfound craft has taught me 2 things: 1.) I love to model earrings and they never make me look fat & 2.) My headaches from eye-strain will soon outweigh my unwaivering denile of my age and the annoyances that come with it.

So now we embark on the transition leg of our journey that includes the transport and unpacking of mountains of boxes that resemble the livelihood of a rookie hoarder. In our greatest attempts to avoid such lifestyle, the husband has informed me that another purge of un-needed items needs to occur... we're waiting on an agreeable definition before such action is to take place. So as we buckle up for the final turns on this journey, we are truly able to see how blessed we are. As we reflect, we see many lessons learned and prepare for another exciting chapter of our Feasible Fairytale.

Happy hub being officially up-to-date with every single baseball game that has played or thought about playing for the past to weeks = Good Ending.

Happy wife with new hobby, NOT OLD ENOUGH FOR GLASSES, with lots of rest, remarkable jewelry that I mu$t $ale and stop wearing, and wonderful memories made with sweet family = Best Ending I Could Ask For.

Weeks 3& 4 of homelessness: Complete... with bells on my feet.

Homelessness (2 of 4)

To introduce this week I have to paint you a comic book mental image:

On the cover, you see a homely, Cinderella-before-the-ball sort of character, tall, brunette, great hair. She has a confused look on her face as she sits in front of a sewing machine while holding a pan of burnt cookies, and a bucket of cleaning supplies sits beside her completely untouched.

Flying in beside her you see a dashing blonde figure, with a smile, a hot pan of delicious looking homemade bread, a squeaky clean floor gleaming in the background beside a bucket of soapy water, and a basket of clever and completed art projects.

In bold letters flash the words: "Super Wife Shelters The Homeless"

The End..... ha ha!

This week we have had the honor of staying with probably the best wife ever and her very happy husband, that my husband and I call great friends. The dashing blonde figure would be the wife, and that comic book scene is literally what I have walked in the door to almost everyday. She does it all, and to perfection. Their hospitality has been amazing, and her offers to fix breakfast before work, and do our laundry, and invite our city-dog over has been above and beyond. No unhappy city wife here folks.

These amazing gestures have taught me a really painful lesson though... humility. I'm the one that is used to making people feel at home. I mean, I certainly don't do it with the ease that Super-wife does, I quite honestly didn't know a person could bake bread and that it comes without twisty-ties, but I do enjoy hosting a good party and making sure people are happy at my home. I'm the one that offers to do things and help people, laundry is quite possibly my cryptonite, but if a plate needs to be taken, a cup filled, a blanket needed, I'm there man. So being the one it's done to has been difficult for me.

You know, in several accounts it says that Jesus Christ washed the disciples feet the night before His crucifixion. Peter responded like I feel I am now, "No! You will never wash my feet!" Jesus explains that He must and then says something profound as he explained that he is the master, and they are his students, "I am giving you an example to follow." Sometimes it's hard to let yourself be ministered to when you spend so long doing the ministering. But when you stop someone from following the example we've all been called to follow, we're taking away an opportunity for them to minister! The Lord has taken this week to humble his servant, I see that I am no greater than my master, and a sweet wife to who extended her generosity helped me see that.

Week 2 of being homeless: Complete... with clean feet. John 13:6

Homelessness (1 of 4)

What do you get when you add 1 crooked bed, 3 million square feet of country dirt, 30 minute commute one way, 1 unhappy city dog, 1 unhappy city wife, 1 happy husband, and hours of male bonding? My first week being homeless. That's what you get.

The crooked bed was tolerable, comfy when you ignored the slanting of your body throughout the night, and hey, it was a bed and not a lumpy couch! (The crookedness was caused by a broken box spring mattress that was discovered halfway through the week. We were committed to it that far, good soldiers finish strong.)

The 3 million square feet of dirt - not so cozy or tolerable, but with close-toed shoes, was manageable.

The 30 minute commute one way - great time for talking and off-key duets, so who can complain - oh wait, our wallets at the gas pump weren't so cheery.

The unhappy city dog - really just solidified our notions that our precious dogter is not meant for dirt and bugs and the constant noises at night. I woke up at 2 am and peered out the window at my inside-dog forced outside to see her in the dirt, laying down, and her lil city dog head pop up and look for which night creature and/or leaf made a noise this time. Poor thing got no rest.

The unhappy city wife - played endless hours of solitare and freecell in a room with no wireless internet capabilities or cable. I embraced my weeklong stone age with early bedtimes and only one tearfilled breakdown. Success.

The happy husband made the rest of the not so happy-filled circumstances totally worth it. I admit that my dirt-covered flip flops and groggy pup were nothing when I was able to see the hub so happy. He missed his dad, loves using his muscles for outdoor chores, loves talking politics and religion, and all of which he was able to do to his heart's content :) Ergo the male bonding that tied the whole week together.

Week 1 of being homeless: Complete... with dirty feet.

Home*Sweet(ish)*Home

My husband and I have resided in a quaint rental home for one whole year this month. Ah yes. And by quaint I of course mean a little slice of hell just for me. Now, I am not one to use such language on the world wide web, which is why I am literally referring to Hell... the firey pit, the domain of evil, the -- you get it. Even the electric company decided to join in in the demonic interference! More on that later.

Aside from the disgusting dark brown carpets, the tiny kitchen/laundry/dining room, the lack of DISH WASHER, the surround sound wind capabilities due to poorly installed windows, and the tub that refused to drain properly - the BLISTERING HEAT in the shelter I called home is what forced my husband and I to do the unthinkable... move back into an apartment. An apologetic phone call to our landlord and a search for cardboard boxes began our journey out of hell and into something more confined. Joy. Receiving an electric bill matching the Kardashian's eye-liner receipt makes people do crazy things. I'm not thrilled about the apartment life re-entering our marriage, but the first 6 months of our marriage and the horror film it resembled were just so darn fun that we can't wait to do it again.

We are currently partaking in the leg of the journey that consists of boxes being packed, and I am truly impressed by the sheer amount of crap 2 simple people can accumulate in a 700 sq. foot space. A purge of pre-hoarder tendencies is on the books (aka a Garage Sale) and we've received notice that our apartment won't be ready for a month... meaning chapter 2 to this terrible adventure will include a rousing game of homelessness and lots of lumpy couches.

Ah yes. Home*Sweet HOT & SOON-TO-BE-NON-EXISTENT*Home.