Truth Tuesday

Technically, it's now Wednesday, not Tuesday. It's just been one of those days. But I need this Truth Tuesday for my sanity. One thing that has always bugged me about blogging is how everything is filtered and all rainbows and unicorns. Hooray, look at this cute apple pie I made! Let me take a crap load of photos of it for my blog! You feel me?

Well, this is not one of those posts. This is a true and blue Truth Tuesday. No filters attached.

• Moving is not fun and it's making my life not fun. For the past two weeks, Brian and I go from work to our new house to paint, sand floors and do yard work. We have done that for the past two weeks every day until midnight or after. That was fun and all . . . but now I have to face the wrath of my gross townhouse that is chock-full of our stuff. This has made me realize that I am a gross human being who has been living in filth. 

 This is our bedroom. Let me tell you, the pigsty really creates that perfect romantic feel . . .

And I really wish this photo was a scratch & sniff . . . 

• Today while cleaning out our pantry, I found items with sell by dates older than my college education. That's nasty. 

• I also found a few items in the pantry we received from our wedding (I know, gross) and I was confused to find the sell by dates were before our wedding even occurred. So, thanks, folks, for gifting us your old food. It's the thought that counts? 

• While I was in a frenzy earlier today, two boys around the age of 13 rang my doorbell and asked if they could take out my garbage for 50 cents. I checked my garbage can and it wasn't even close to being full. So I told said boys I was sorry and maybe they could come back another time and check. Now I feel like a terrible person. Years down the road these boys will probably think, "Screw society. We tried doing it right. We tried taking out peoples' trash for money and no one would support us." And then they'll be drug dealers. It's all my fault. I'm turning little boys into drug dealers. 

• Almost all our clothes are/were dirty. After doing lots of loads today, I'm about caught up. I tried doing laundry last week when I found I was out of socks and low on underwear. Brian and I are very sporadic with our laundry routine. Sometimes he does it. Sometimes I do it. We definitely don't have a set laundry day even though we probably should. So as I was preparing to do laundry last week, I found a hamper full of clothes in the laundry room. I sent a text to Brian asking if they were clean or dirty. He told me they were clean. So I brought them to our room and we started wearing them. A couple days ago, I discovered they were, in fact, dirty. I've been wearing dirty socks and underwear for the past week. But I still love Brian. 

• On top of the moving madness, our water was turned off yesterday. Guess how I found out it was turned off? I went #2 in the toilet. It would not flush. Then the sink would not turn on. Our water pressure has been crap lately so we figured it would come back on within a couple hours. Well, we then went to the house and worked into the late hours of the night. Returned to the townhouse. Water was still off. Called Logan City this morning. Not their problem. Brian discovers and fixes said problem. I finally get to flush the toilet. My human waste sat in the toilet for 20 hours. I've hit a new low. I'm sorry if you can't look at me the same after reading this. 

• I mentioned I've been wearing clean clothes that are actually dirty by accident . . . but I do it on purpose too. If you follow me on Instagram, you might have noticed a pattern . . . 

Tuesday

Thursday

Friday

It's the same shirt. But really, a girl can only risk ruining so many old t-shirts while painting. 

Well, I think we're done here. That was very therapeutic. For me at least. It was probably disturbing for you. It's okay, by next week I'll be in my dream house and I might be wearing clean clothes. 

 

Instagrams & Milk: Summer Reminiscing

Well, according to my calendar and the cooler temps here in the mountains of Utah, it appears to be fall! The very best season. It feels so cliche to say that because, like, everyone's favorite season is fall. However, in high school when everyone's favorite season was summer, my favorites were fall and winter. I have never been much of a summer girl. I absolutely love parts of summer but when looking at the season as a whole, it's not my favorite. I don't like the heat, I don't like being sweaty, and I am not crazy about summer fashion. When I'm at a cookout, on a hike or swimming then summer is the best. But on an average day in summer, it's usually just hot and I want to sit by a fan without any clothes on.

But let me not remember the days my clothes stuck to my skin, or the days I dreamed about being at the pool instead of at the office, or the days mosquitoes attacked my legs. Instead I'll reflect on the happy things by looking at this amateur collage of all my favorite summertime Instagrams.      

Summer morning runs. Swimming. Hiking. Sun-kissed skin. Monster truck shows. Amusement parks. Family gatherings. Four-wheeler rides. Fireworks. Yes, I'll choose to remember all that wonderful goodness.

I also want to add, I actually really love summer a lot. I think I was just bitter this year because it was so extremely hot. That is all.

You can find me on Instagram @mrskellwell.

A Place of Refuge

I've always had a wandering heart. The idea and act of going places always has and probably always will excite me. It's not that I don't like home but a lot of times I just don't enjoy staying at home for an extended amount of time. So it came as a shock to me when Brian and I started talking about purchasing a house. A part of me thought I could just live in apartments forever. Also, the idea of having a permanent place frightened me a little. I am the type who gets bored quickly and seeks for change. How could I ever own a house and not get sick of it?

 However, after looking at how much money we'd spent on rent since getting married, my heart sunk a little and the idea of making a house payment started to sound much more appealing than paying rent. But I was more than positive we couldn't find the right house for us, a place I could grow attached to.

But I was wrong. We found it.

Ever since I was just a little girl, I always said I would one day live in an old house and fix it up. Others' ultimate dream houses include ideas of swimming pools, massive yards, Jacuzzi tubs, and home movie theaters. However, when I think of my dream house, I think of something old and filled with charm. I think of creaking floors, porch swings and a fireplace. The idea of walls already filled with the memories and stories of other families feels endearing to me.

When we took a tour of the bungalow house, I instantly felt myself fall in love. It was built in 1914, had a huge deck and was surrounded by mature trees. It was a bonus that there was a tree house and posts for a hammock in the yard. After our initial tour, I remember turning to Brian with wide eyes and saying, "It's just like an old house in a scary movie." Which in my opinion, the houses in scary movies are almost always the prettiest. And everywhere I turned I could just see us. Living. Being. And living and being happy. I could see a Christmas tree near the fireplace, I could imagine myself coming home from a rough day and breaking down once I got inside the comfort of those walls, I could see us gathered with friends out on the deck on warm summer nights, I could imagine myself walking a dog, I could see the kids playing in the yard, I could imagine measuring their height each birthday and marking it on the wall. I could see and imagine all these things I wanted in my future that I had never been so sure of before. After months of debating, praying, revisiting the house, and weighing pros and cons, we did something that felt so crazy to me. We put in an offer. After going back and forth with the sellers a bit, we both agreed on a price. As of last week, that little bungalow became ours.

We have a house and it's a dream. Sure, the floors creak and we've been staying up late every night repainting all the rooms . . . but it's ours. I cannot wait to make it into a home. Sure, I have a wandering heart but it's nice to know it will always have a place to wander back to for rest. This house already has 100 years of memories, but I can't wait to fill it with our memories, both bitter and sweet.