Sometimes I use my blog for the purpose of an online journal, social network, and pretend it's a well-followed lifestyle blog. This is one of those times.
I think he felt the same way about punctuation.
I'm so funny. Hehe.
But really, I love to laugh. It's truly one of my hobbies, but I feel like a thirteen year old when I say that.
I really do. Blame my husband for buying me an iphone and enabling this love affair. I used to get scolded for texting, now it's checking Instagram. It's more addicting than facebook, and according to Stephen, I'm one of those people who ruined Instagram for all those photography geeks.
Yay, egocentric social, pictorial networking!
I hate red roses. But I love me some orange roses.
My first flower love is actually the golden California poppy. Unfortunately it's illegal to pick in California, which is probably why there's pictures of me picking poppies with my aunt R. on the way home from church. Those rebellious Mantheis. Anyways, I settle for orange peonies and the cheaper orange rose. Oh, and the first flower Stephen ever gave me: an orange rose.
In a world where I had infinite money to spend on frivolity cash dolla', this would be the inspiration I would use to design a nursery for my first squishy live dolly baby Mau. I'm not a fan of monochromatic color schemes--it's all about accents, people. And having a pink explosion or blue explosion does not sound fun. I love the idea of a gray base with delicate accents but as my mom in law pointed out...gray for babies is kinda prison-esque.... So I'm currently a total fan of a turquoise and gold nursery. Or something. Granted, this is for a child that probably won't be here for another few years. Or maybe there will be one next year. It's a God decision. Not mine.
No, the point of this picture is not my short, baby, sausage fingers. (It's genetic. I'm descended from hobbits.) But my not-so-dainty hand is resting on a copy of J. Milton's works. I LOVE reading books in college that I read in high school, delving deeper, thinking more critically, imagining myself teaching listless high school students this information. I love the power of the written word and I cannot wait to share that power with a generation younger than myself.
I love (and all the different Greek versions of love) this man. More than chocolate, more than sparkles, more than life itself, more than anything except Jesus. Yes, I love the man behind the mask not just the mask, itself. ;) I'd also love it if we didn't have completely opposite work schedules and could have mutual days off. I actually requested my birthday off, not because I have an aversion to working on my birthday, but because I want to spend a whole day with my man, where neither of us has to rush off to work. Especially me, because I come home smelling like old mocha. Ew. He looks like a sexy beast when he comes home in his uniform.
I'm so horrible at making decisions. I used facebook and my beloved Instagram to help me decided where to put our "name and date" pillow. The "on the beds" won, so that's where it went. Our couch really isn't green, but it is an awesome hand-me-down and very comfy. And isn't that comforter gorgeous! I feel like Marie Antoinette, plus trendy burlap. ;) Because you know M.A. had a 18th century Pinterest account.
This is Stephen's all-time favorite movie. We are currently watching it and we're at this scene, or around there. Stephen loves having "background noise" in the form of his favorite movies or shows. I'm pretty sure he's preparing me for mothering toddlers. Whatevs, I secretly love it all. And I'm pretty sure ten year old me wanted to name a child Buttercup.
I love Pinterest. But only sometimes. Those sometimes are whenever baby fever strikes-- like it invariably does every other day--and I placate it with a Pinterest feeding frenzy of nursery, mothering, and dimpled toddler pins. I mean, have you seen that sinfully darling thing called a one year cake smash?! Oh! My! Goodness! Maternal instinct overflow. Thank goodness I got married young, or I would be insisting on babies "NOW" the day after we got married.
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