I’d say for at least four nights per week over the past year, I’ve sat awake in bed, typing away on this blog, lights on, while Grey tries to shield his eyes and pass out next to me. That is pretty darn annoying — for him, I mean, not me. But not only has he been such a good sport about me asking him scanner questions at 1AM on a work-night and hearing me whine the question, “Who should I thank today?” about 200 times, but he’s also been supportive of this blog from day one.
Not to mention the fact that he’s just a great husband in general. There’s no one else I could even fathom seeing at the breakfast table or at night before I lay down in bed, every day, for the rest of my life. Like, until I am 100. That’s a REALLY REALLY long time, and it still doesn’t even scare me, so I know we’re perfect for each other. In fact, I’m looking forward to the next 70 years with my best friend and Captain Sexy.
In all honestly, the only time he really even pisses me off is when we’re driving together and, for some reason, he likes to pretend he’s Mario Andretti. But then again, I suppose I’m a control freak who just morphs into a really obnoxious back seat driver, so I guess I’m no pleasure to be around either when it comes to the car.
Regardless, I owe Grey so much. A full year of uninterrupted sleep (hahaha — with the new baby this phrase is unfortunately laughable), but also my gratitude for all his support.
Up until I met Grey, my experience with the military was limited. I was once busted, along with a group of other rowdy college kids, for skinny dipping in Lake Erie by the Coast Guard, but that hardly counts as in-depth knowledge of the workings of our military. Little did I know that one day, I’d be a Navy wife and be privy to all the sacrifices the men and women of the Armed Services make for us.
Even just being an observer into the lives of Grey and his other friends that graduated from the Naval Academy has made me have an overflowing amount of respect for every single man and woman who signs him or herself away into the service. Grey completed two tours aboard Navy warships and spent seven months in the Persian Gulf at the beginning of Operation Iraqi Freedom, but he’s had friends that have been on almost a dozen half-year deployments. There have been friends that have come back wounded, or maybe not at all.
Not to mention, every one of these people have been heroes because they’ve had the courage to put themselves in the line of fire for ME — and you, and everyone else in this country. These are people who have sacrificed time with their babies and wives and husbands to work toward a greater good. Whereas politicians get all the glory — spooning lobster bisque into their oily mouths, jet-setting off to exotic locales, and making oodles of cash — I truly believe it’s the military that has the hardest job in government. Does the President have to miss seeing him family on Thanksgiving? Or is a Senator required to live aboard a floating piece of steel for half a year? Uh, no.
So on this Veterans Day, not only am I so very grateful to all our servicemen and women worldwide, but I’m also so proud of my husband, my favorite veteran of all.
Grey and I before he left on Deployment in 2002 for SEVEN months. What a huge sacrifice these servicemen and women make for our country.
My husband has a slight obsession with meteorology. He loves, and I mean, LOVES tracking storms and weather systems. In fact, he doesn’t just enjoy stalking the hurricanes coming up the coast, but any rain or snow that heads our way. But since it’s now officially hurricane season, I can tell you he’ll be especially glued to his iPhone Weather Underground app and gleefully calculating the exact location of Earl, Fiona, and whoever comes. I’ll hear shouts of “Batten down the hatches!” and know Grey has found his happy place on the Weather Channel.
However, something tells me he may be going a little overboard with storm preparations though. He didn’t want to board up the windows of our house, but he did make me go out and buy jugs of water and canned goods, “just in case.” Maybe it’s the former Navy man in him, but he takes his foul weather preparations very seriously.
Being married to someone like Grey makes it hard to ever worry. Why bother thinking about bothersome things like nasty weather, finances, or car maintenance when he’s worried enough about all that for 10 people? Truly, since our wedding day, I must say, I never have a care in the world. There’s no need to stress because I know if things are ever really looking dark — my ever vigilant husband will worry enough for both of us.
We drove out on the beach tonight so Grey could scope out the 10 foot rollers (although they didn't look that big to me). One thing the impending storm brought us was a beautiful sunset!
Well, we’re still not officially in our new house. So first I need to thank Grey’s wonderful and very generous mom and dad who have assumed the role of our host — and on demand babysitters. Yay Rick and Louise!! The second person I need to thank is Grey, because he’s been working like a dog.
The hold-up in our move’s been the fact that we’ve been doing home improvement tasks like painting and spackling before we move in — which we figure is waaaay easier to do now rather than when we’re actually living there. Hopefully, we’ll finish all the projects in the next few days and be unpacking in our new abode later this weekend. The thing is, when I say we I mean, Grey. He’s been slaving away (in a house with no AC — that gets turned on Friday) and in 100 degree temperatures. Working in the house is literally like doing DIY in a sweatbox. If you want to understand what Grey’s been doing, just put on a snowsuit and hop into your oven with a paintbrush and nail gun — that should give you a good idea.
The poor guy’s been toiling away in the heat and having an indecisive pregnant lady picking out things like paint colors isn’t helping. For example, for our hallway and the kitchen, Grey has already slathered on six coats of paint — not because it needed that much, but because I kept changing my mind about the color. Four cans of yellow paint later — I’ve finally decided Hawthorne Yellow brightened by 25% is the one!!
Lucky for me, too. If I brought home one more can of butter-hued laquer, I bet the walls would have been covered in goat’s blood because Grey would have turned into Satan. Â Gotta love home improvement!
Well, after writing yesterday’s post and thinking about Grey and I driving a gigantic U-Haul semi-truck over the Chesapeake Bay bridge (and potentially launching ourselves off of it), I started thinking the U-Haul would only equal certain death. Luckily, I convinced Grey of this and we decided to forgo a truck altogether and just get the POD delivered to our house in Arlington and then have it shipped to our new place at the beach. MUCH SIMPLER.
Then, to streamline things even more, we opted to professional movers as opposed to throwing out our backs or driving around the neighborhood looking for guys with big muscles to help. Another GOOD CHOICE.
I can’t tell you how impressive the three men were that moved the entire contents of our house into a box the size of a dump truck. It was 95 degrees out and our guys trudged up and down our 40 steps (yes, really 40) carrying everything from dressers to surfboards to Christmas tree piñatas. Our house was like a clown car full of random crap; no one knew what the hell lurked in the closets or attic but the movers were incredibly good sports. Plus, we fully expected moving to be an all day event, but the Amazon guys were done and cleaning up by 11am!
However, I think the best part of the day was the fact that I didn’t have to move a single box. Let me tell ya, ladies, the optimal time to get knocked up is before a big move. No heavy lifting or paint fumes for you. Basically, all you can do is lay on the couch and have someone feed you grapes and fan you with palm leaves. And if someone insists you tape some cardboard or wrap glass in newspapers, I’ve found the line, “What? And hurt the baby?” works wonders!
I keep finding these cartoons that perfectly explain my life. Anywho, I swear, this is exactly how our boxes were labeled. My favorite being: "STUFF THAT WILL FIT ME SOMEDAY"
As I expected we would, Grey and I have waited until the very last second to pack up our stuff for our move. It is now Thursday, a mere 24 hours until go-time, and I’m not kidding when I say our house looks like a bomb went off.
It’s not like there are packed boxes everywhere making it seem chaotic, it’s just the fact that we haven’t done anything but be extra dirty to prepare for this move. Clothes, dishes, toys, and random items are everywhere. You can’t find a clear surface in the entire house. The back of the toilet is covered with items like Easter baskets and old yearbooks and the stove is buried under old issues of US Weekly. Open the fridge and you’ll find food, yes, but also DVDs and a few old hardrives from busted laptops. It’s like an episode of Hoarders come to life. Luckily, we both work waaaaay better under pressure, so I’m sure things will get done by Friday. Â Or at least, pretty sure.
I mean, it’s not like we haven’t packed ANY boxes. We have. The only problem is, the stuff we have packed is so haphazardly thrown together, it’s like we were playing SuperMarket Sweep; there’s not rhyme or reason to any of the boxes. Most are just labeled RANDOM CRAP or STUFF. Unpacking should be as much fun, if not more as packing everything up!
As I said in yesterday’s post, Grey’s roommate Matt from the Naval Academy came to visit with us for a few days this weekend. I can honestly say, due to us moving on Friday, the house has never been more disgusting for a house guest. Of course, of all visitors, Matt could have cared less. The fridge was stocked with Pabst Blue Ribbon (only the best for our guests!) and that seemed to be all he and Grey needed (besides a few rounds of golf) to keep them happy.
Matt certainly kept Ollie entranced by his charms. One morning at breakfast I overheard Matt telling him things like, “Unit, Core, God, County” and “Stop eyeballin’ me, boy!” Ollie was both scared and in awe of his Uncle Matt, which, oddly enough, was my first impression of him too.
Our dinner conversations were unlike any I’ve had in ages, including topics like the joys of a vasectomy and untimely boners. At night, while watching sporting event after sporting event on TV, the guys swapped sea stories and reminisced about their time at the Academy when neither of them had any regard for authority. As true girls’ girl, I felt privy to a world of man-talk the likes of which I’d only dreamed! Â We had a great time catching up!!
It was great seeing Grey's good buddy! Here are the two guys at Matt's wedding (where Grey was his best man). We can't wait to get down to HOT-lanta later this summer to visit Matt, his wife Laura, and their two kiddos!
One of the many wonderful things about my dad, is that he’s always toting around his trusty black medicine case. He literally never leaves home without it. Though some people may call him a hypochondriac, I just call him prepared. If anyone ever gets a mysterious back spasm? Call dad. Can’t sleep? Jack’ll hook you up with some Melatonin pills. This weekend, my parents are visiting and thankfully, my dad brought me a few asthma inhalers since I forgot to refill my prescription.
Actually, my dad seems to double as a pharmacist at very convenient times. My wedding day in particular comes to mind. For some reason, I had a strange phobia of puking and peeing on myself while saying my vows. Cold feet? Nah, I was 100% sure I wanted to marry Grey; I simply didn’t want to humiliate myself in front all of my friends and family.
Apparently, my dad felt the same way because that morning, while we were getting ready, he decreed: “Stacey, I think today is a seven valium day.” I laughed, but he really wasn’t joking. Of course, I didn’t realize this until the dinner toast when he started reading his To Do List instead of his father of the bride speech. All the guests thought it a joke when he began deadpan: “Pick up giftbags. Drop off bridal bouquets. Get tux tailored.” I think he got midway down the honey-do list my mom made for him before he realized he was reading the wrong piece of paper!
I would have been rolling on the floor laughing about this, but I had hit him up for a few valium myself (which I washed down with some champagne), so I just smiled calmly during the speech and thought about how fascinating the twinkle lights on the dance floor were. In fact, most of the day I pretty much just grinned and imagined myself sliding down giant mountains made of funnel cake and floating down a river of chocolate milk. When, during the ceremony Grey was sweating buckets, I was cool as a cucumber. I remember wiping his brow with my hanky and thinking, “What’s all the fuss about?” A MUCH better alternative than barfing on myself, I must say!
Riding away on our golf cart...this is one of the last things I remember of my wedding!
While Grey was doing our taxes yesterday, I sat beside him and made robotic beeping sounds with a calculator until he ordered me out of the room so he could compute in peace. That’s pretty much the extent of my math ability: randomly tapping buttons on a TI-82 and scribbling 43-17=??? on scraps of paper. If not for Grey’s mathematical skills, we’d most definitely be living in a cardboard box along side of I-395 in financial ruin because there is no way in hell I’d be able to oversee our budget.
When I was single, my parents took my W2s to their accountant, so quite honestly, I’ve never really taken responsibility for paying taxes by myself. Forking my loot over to Uncle Sam ranks right up there with car registrations and inspection in the category of “Things I Just Don’t Understand.” Reason #597 that marrying Grey was the right decision!
Of course, Grey is the most honest and meticulous person. Much to my annoyance, he only writes off 100% legitimate things. This year, I tried to sneak in a bunch of Sephora reciepts and clothing bills into the pile of tax papers as a “work related expense” (As a magazine columnist I have to get dolled up for work functions every once in a while!) but he refused my shady deductions. I tried to talk him into writing off all our dinners out and vacations, but he just mumbled some technical jargon about “audits” and “jail time” and ignored me.
On Saturday evening we celebrated my friend Kris’ birthday by going out for Mexican. This was great for me because one of my favorite meals of all time is fish tacos. With beer and a lime. Pacifico to be precise. Of course I stuck to non-alcoholic lime coolers and since Kris is pregnant too, the wildest thing about our night was the spicy guacamole.
We hit up our local favorite, Taqueria Poblano. It’s one of the few restaurants in the area for which I have the menu memorized. Not only do they have great fish and shrimp tacos, but they serve Cholula hot sauce — which I could literally guzzle. Usually, between Grey and I we drain every last drop of the table’s bottle and then the hostess always asks us if we want to try to the “house hot sauce” which I swear is laced with some sort of hallucinogenic. Â Last time I had some I thought there were garden gnomes swimming in my margarita. Â Not that I’m complaining…
I also love the wait staff uniform: mullets and acid washed jeans. Don’t get me wrong, that doesn’t remind me of San Diego, but it does always give me a pang of homesickness for my native Pennsylvania. Ahhhh…home sweet home.
The only thing better than a good fish taco may be Grey's expression in this picture. I guess that's what giant sombreros will do to a guy.
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