The Mother of All Plans

I am a planner. It is what I do. It is what I enjoy. I plan and I can't help myself. There. I've said it.

In less than two weeks, my husband and I are taking a long weekend and going to Walt Disney World. However, until last night, I hadn't planned any of the details. What is the reason, you ask? The reason is, that I liked knowing I still had all of that planning ahead of me. I couldn't wait to do it, but somehow, it was comforting knowing that I still had it to do. There was still planning to be done. I was saving it--for fun. This is the kind of sick mind I possess.

Last night, I asked if my husband would consider doing the planning with with me. It would be a team effort. We've been married eleven years. He knows exactly what this means. He generously agreed anyway. I was ecstatic! We put on music and closed the blinds. We made cocktails. He grabbed his laptop and I grabbed books and maps and notepaper.

We decided which parks to go to on what days. We listed out every attraction we wanted to see. We decided where to eat and at what time so we can make our dinner reservations. We used the a detailed map of each park to determine the order in which we should see the attractions so that no time would be wasted.

I now have a plan. I now have a full itinerary of what we will see and do on those days and I know exactly how we will do it. It was extraordinarily satisfying.

Here's the kicker. It took 5 hours. WE PLANNED FOR 5 HOURS STRAIGHT.

My husband deserves a medal for putting up me.

Where is My Long Underwear?

I went out to grab the mail this evening and EUREKA!--I received a BIG catalog from ski.com. Seventy full-color pages of snowy mountains, powdery-white trails and hot tubs. Eighty different resorts worldwide.

Even though it is still 100 degrees outside (I think we are on day eleven of 99 degrees and up temperatures), I have to admit, my heart skipped a little beat.

Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow!

Summer Lovin'

Today was our ninth consecutive day of over 99 degree weather in the Nashville area. Growing up in Pennsylvania, our summers were never quite this intense.

However, despite the blazing heat, the high air conditioning bills, the dried out lawns and searing-hot car seats, I do still love summer in the South. One of the many reasons is this:

I absolutely, positively love my magnolia tree. Is that so wrong?

Arms Are Overrated Anyway...

It was almost 100 degrees outside yesterday, so the husband and I decided to go to to pool for a little while. I wanted to get some sun, but it was a little hot to just lay by the pool. So, I decided I may swim a few laps so that I could burn some calories while getting some sun.

I had it all planned out--swim on my back to side A and swim on my stomach to side B so that I get even color on both sides. The pool water was refreshing, so I swam. And swam. And swam some more.

I swam so much that today I think--in fact I'm pretty sure--both of my arms will fall out of their sockets at some point in the day.

Ow. I didn't know it could hurt to lift my coffee.

Strange Addiction

One of my New Year's resolutions in January was to learn to do a Sudoku puzzle. I honestly thought I would learn how to do a puzzle and call it a day. Mark it off the list. End it right there.

Not so much.

I love these stupid things. I love when they're easy. I love when they challenge me. I love when they downright frustrate me to the point of wanting to throw my book out the window. I love the fresh clean slate of starting a brand new puzzle. I love the satisfaction of filling in the last number of a puzzle. Just the very sight of my book of 400 puzzles brings me a little joy.

If someone told me I could never do another Sudoku puzzle ever again, I would be sad. I would mourn. I would go through withdrawal.

I wonder if there is a Franklin, Tennessee chapter of Sudoku Addicts Anonymous?

Kicking Like a Girl

You know how we all have our strengths and our weaknesses? Well, I kick like a girl. Yes, the secret is out. I don't think a career as an NFL kicker is going to pan out for me.

Sometimes at work, towards the end of the day, Nerf footballs are kicked over the sea of cubicles from the marketing department to as far back in the design department as one can get. It's great stress relief. Hitting the wall in the back where the restrooms are, or making it clear into the kitchen is the the ultimate kick.

I've tried several times and I haven't been able to clear the filing cabinets. I kick and then DOOF! It slams straight ahead, right into the gray metal.

There could be several reasons for this:

First, when asked if I kick with my left or right foot, I had no idea. I assumed my right foot (since I write with my right hand), but is this really common knowledge for most people? I generally don't go around kicking things enough to have a preferred foot.

Second, I am afraid that I might kick the hand of the person holding the ball and hurt their hand or finger, so I think I panic slightly at the last minute as my foot is about to make contact with the ball.

Third, I am afraid that I might kick that person's hand and hurt my foot (although I'm sure their hand would hurt worse). Again, last minute panic.

Fourth, come on, we've all seen the Charlie Brown holiday specials enough to know that someone might pull the ball away and I would land on my back after yelling "AUUUUGH!" and then be called a "blockhead".

Fifth, this is a real good way to chip a pedicure.

Finally, I think I kick like a girl because I am a girl. I'm not sure that I can do much about that.