House in progress: New living room seating

Since Scott's graduation, we've kind of toned down on the house a bit. I guess when the threat of your whole family coming to see your house is looming, you have a little more of a fire underneath you to get things done. The office is still not up to picture-taking standards, and the guest bedroom is serving as a catch all for anything we don't want to deal with at the moment. We have, however, made an unexpected change.

Wednesday night, Scott and I were sitting down to eat dinner at the dinner table in the living room. (One of my goals when we moved into this house was to eat dinner at the table and not on the couch. We've improved to eating there about 60 percent of the time, but sometimes the couch and TV wins.) When Scott went to pop up the footrest on his recliner, it was accompanied by a terrible metallic screech. He closed it back with another screech and a clang. When he looked underneath the chair, a large metal piece and several screws and springs were there to greet him. His man chair was dead.

Friday night we went to a local furniture store to see what they had to offer. There was football to be watched the next day, and you can't watch football without a man chair. Scott found quite a few that fit the bill but landed on one in particular. He then began to convince me that we really needed the leather couch that went with it.

Scott's always been down on our couch. He says the color is too rusty, the shape too modern, the vibe too 70s and what have you. But I've always loved that couch. He's got his man chair, and I have my couch. It's my napping companion and is the cushiest couch you'll ever sit on.

But Scott won the couch battle after he had me sit on the one in the store. It was quite comfy and not quite the cold leather I was anticipating.

The pair were dropped off just in time for kick off on Saturday.

Here's the living room before:

This picture was taken once we got everything set up after moving in. I failed to get a proper before shot before the new stuff came. The chair got hauled off, and the couch is now in the office to give me a proper grad school reading space other than the bed. I'll probably fail asleep reading there, too, though.

And here is the living room after:

Both ends of the couch recline, so Scott and I can easily both be comfortable on the couch, with him sitting on the end with his feet up and my head in his lap laying the other way. And as for the couch's nap-ability? It passed my battery of tests on Saturday and Sunday, so it gets my stamp of approval. Now to find some throw pillows that pass the nap test.

Sick days

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While I was laying on my couch yesterday, bemoaning my puny condition, I realized that my sick day routine now still looks a lot like my sick days in high school. The only way to feel better is curling up on the couch or in your bed and hosting your own sick day movie marathon, getting up only to rummage through the kitchen for bland foods to eat (Uncle Ben's microwavable rice and lunchbox-sized applesauce cups were on yesterday's menu).

I watch all the same movies on my sick days. Then, it was "Moulin Rouge," "Pretty in Pink" and "Monty Python and the Holy Grail" (all on VHS, too). Now it's "Breakfast at Tiffany's," "Ferris Bueller's Day Off" and a Beatles movie of my choosing (yesterday it was "Yellow Submarine"). These are the movies that Scott refuses to watch with me. He doesn't know their timeless joy. (I blame "Ferris" for my longstanding crush on Matthew Broderick.)

I think the comfort in having sick day movies is that you don't have to be completely conscious to enjoy them. The delirium of your fever or unfocusing eyes brought on by cold medicine don't interfere with the plot that you already know by heart. And they always make me feel better, too — definitely better than depressing daytime TV with their "go to college in your pj's" or "sell your kidneys for quick cash" commercials. If I was Dr. Jennifer Hannigan, I'd recommend three cc's of DVDs — stat! — then call me in the morning.

What is your sick day routine?

College game day

Giddy with the excitement of two children on Christmas eve, Scott and I just couldn't take it any longer and made the trip to Fayetteville Friday night. We had been waiting for the first kick off since January, and the time had finally come!

Saturday was full of the game day traditions we'd come to love last year and miss during the off season. We hit up our favorite bookstore as well as some really neat shops in downtown Fayetteville. If you've ever found yourself lacking in Razorback apparel, that is definitely the place to go. Plus, there was a speciality knitting and crochet shop there, too! I was in heaven.

For lunch, we went to the Catfish Hole, a favorite restaurant for all things Southern and fried. It was a special occasion, though, as they were hosting basketball coach Mike Anderson and a potential future Razorback basketball player. The enthusiasm of the announcer was pretty entertaining. It was like a religious revival. The former assistant coach of our national championship winning days come home to restore the glory to Bud Walton Arena! Can I get an amen?!

We also got our picture with Mike Anderson, not before I made a fool out of myself trying to shake his hand with the hand I was also holding my sucker with. This one definitely gets to go on the bookshelf next to the one of D.J.!

Afterward, it was game time! We walloped the other team (as to be expected) and had a great time in our old seats just like old times. There was lots of woo pig-ing and finger wiggling, plus a couple of amazing punt returns by Joe Adams. Will this season be our championship year? If everyone we play is like Missouri State, I don't see why not! (We're not that lucky though.)

It's almost here!

Tomorrow kicks of the Razorback football season, and I know we're all thinking the same thing — what will I wear?! Yes, this is the ever-important question I'm faced with every game day. I used to be a jeans and Arkansas T-shirt girl — that is, until we went to Ole Miss. You see, Ole Miss fans show up, sartorially speaking, for football games. No T-shirts, here. The guys are decked out in their Southern preppy finery, with button-up shirts, khakis, sweaters and loafers accompanying their "Hoddy Toddy" styrofoam cups. And the girls are in skirts or dresses and heels. I felt like quite the shlub in my jeans and hoodie.

Since then, I've vowed to no longer feel shlub-like on game day. I've taken a cue from the Old Miss fans and from the Arkansas sorority girls (just fashion-wise, not morally) and put together a chart of what to wear throughout the season, inspired by this post, from accessories, dresses, tops and bottoms, outerwear, and the all-important shoes.

{Row 1: sunglasses, necklace, sunscreen, pearls, koozie, scarf, gloves, tights, thermos, blanket// Row 2: dress 1, dress 2, dress 3, dress 4// Row 3: sleeveless top, red striped top, white sweater, red sweater// Row 4: striped cardigan, drape-front jacket, red jacket, black coat// Row 5: red skirt, red belt, red shorts, khaki shorts, jeans, red pants// Row 6: sandals, TOMS, ballet flats, boots}

So, what's your game day dress approach? As I was hemming and hawing through my closet as to what to wear tomorrow, Scott reminded me that it is a football game and not a fashion show, but he is the one bringing several outfits to choose from. 

What I'm loving Wednesday

{Linked up at This Kind of Love}

Is it already Wednesday? Let's hope the rest of this week goes by as quickly as the first half did.

Obviously I'm loving that the first Razorback game of the season is Saturday! I've been making mental lists of things I've missed about Fayetteville so we can be sure to hit them up. I'm dreaming of Doe's drop biscuits, that's for sure!

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I'm loving these boots I got for my birthday. I was always under the impression that, as a short person, boots would just make my already short legs look shorter. But then I got these lovelies from my mom and dad for my birthday and was proven wrong. I feel like Monica when I say that they look cute with skirts, dresses and pants, but they do! I even bought a pair of skinny jeans to wear with them. Who am I?

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And of course I'm loving my sweet husband. He's had a rough couple of weeks at work, and I'm looking forward to cheering him up with a long weekend that includes Arkansas football!

Bits & pieces: Vanna's Choice yarn (I'm a crochet nerd and proud!); new clothes bought with birthday money; time spent with family; and baby tomatoes. 

Being 26 doesn't stink

I'll be honest. I haven't been looking forward to the big 2-6. I'm no longer in my "early 20s" (although I can say "mid-20s" still). But after a weekend away in Nashville celebrating with my family, I think 26 is going to be — dare I say it? — the best year ever if all the fun we had is any indication.

Saturday we went to Local Taco for lunch. The restaurant uses only local ingredients (hence the name) and makes a variety of tacos from classic Mexican to barbecue and fried chicken versions. I got the southern fried chicken and grilled steak, and they were delicious. I took our lunch out as an opportunity to up my blogger cred and take pictures of my food. Oh, and my family, too. You can't miss out on them.

After lunch we went to Las Paletas, a local popsicle place, for dessert. They make all their own popsicles in a variety of flavor combinations. I got pistachio, and Scott got pineapple chili. And then he got raspberry lime. They were good enough to get several of.

We then moved on to Courtney's new condo. She and Dad spent most of the summer working out there putting down floors, fixing the kitchen, painting furniture. They literally put their blood, sweat and tears into it, and it looks great! And while all their hard work paid off, the only picture of Courtney's place that I walked away with is this one of her and her and her roommates' resident straw giraffe, Norman.

Then, we capped off the afternoon like any weekend in Nashville should be, and went shopping. I was probably too happy to be back in my favorite JCrew, but there's no proper online substitution for being in the actual store. It was perfect. The whole family left with something — even Dad, who had actually been in the mall three times that week! Mark that day on your calendars as it will be celebrated for generations to come.

Sunday was church followed by more dining out (this time I had cinnamon French toast at Southside Grill but had my blogger badge revoked since I didn't take a picture of it). We then began the long drive back, stopping to see my grandmother, uncle, aunt and cousins along the way.

It was a wonderful weekend, and, just like all wonderful weekends, was much too short. Since today is my actual birthday and not the grand celebration leading up to it, Scott said he'd take me to dinner, and I've requested Which Wich because although I may be 26 now, I still have the tastes of a six year old.

Scott also excelled in buying my birthday present (since I pulled it up on the computer for him to order. I'm subtle). I got this necklace I'd pinned on Pinterest from Etsy with a J, a heart and an S on it, for reasons that should be obvious. I love it and have worn it every day since I opened it early last week. I have no self-control.

Yes, I think I can say that 26 definitely doesn't stink as much as I thought it would. Let's not even talk about 27, though.

Roses are red, my hair is gray...

I just can't rock the gray streak like Stacey does.

My 26th birthday is Monday, and I can already feel Father Time tick-tick-ticking away at me. And he's attacking my hair.

I have a pretty set after-work routine. I always brush my hair when I get home because, somewhere between the hours of 8 a.m.-5 p.m., birds nest in my hair. It's like I work in a wind tunnel. I don't know how it gets so tangled just sitting at a desk. As I was untying my hair knots, I noticed a glint. Not a "Oh, my hair's so shiny like a Pantene commercial" glint, but a silver glint. A gray glint.

I've seen this guy before. The first time I plucked him from my head and had Scott convince me that he was actually blonde. The second time he hid beneath his dark brown brothers, escaping my clutches and living to go on being gray another day. But last night, he was unabashedly gray — slapping me in the face, taunting me with early bird specials and orthopedic shoes. And this time, he brought friends — well, a friend and a half. There was one who was semi-converted and had only partially gone over to the dark side — make that the gray side.

I searched and separated and singled out the offenders, read them their last rites, and yanked them from my head, sending them to spend the remainder of their days in the sink drain.

But then, this morning, I was shaken to my core when I saw a snowy white hair waving at me — from my eyebrow. Really? What cruel twist of fate is this? Not only will I be forced to dip my head in the dark, muddy waters of permanent hair dye to control the mutiny there, but I'll also be forced to dye my eyebrows?

I give up. Start sending me my membership card, AARP. I'll be at Western Sizzlin' at 3 p.m. if you need me.