It's the Little Things

I sometimes get excessively excited about what are, in all actuality, silly things.  For example:

Target Temptation

Yesterday, The Fella and I went to Target.  I love Target. A LOT. I always go in there for one thing and then come out with a cart full of stuff, and I know full well that I'm not the only person who suffers from this affliction. It's just Target. They have everything I want. (So does Kohl's, to be honest, but Target has MORE of what I want and generally for less.)

But yesterday, when we went to Target? I ... I still can't believe this happened ... but ...

I only bought the things on my list. I needed two things and ... I swear this is true ... I BOUGHT THEM. ONLY them.

We were standing in the checkout line when I realized what I had accomplished. It was like winning an Olympic event, but instead of getting a medal, I was rewarded with my own money instead of the umpteenth bottle of nail polish I didn't need (or socks and a sweater or another Christmas ornament shaped like an owl).

SO EXCITING.

Moana Mania

The Fella and I also went to see Moana this weekend. (By the way, not that Disney needs my personal endorsement, but GO SEE MOANA IT'S AMAZING.)

This was a big deal for me because I've not been to the movies in years. I would have panic attacks in movie theaters.  I would have to wait for the movies I wanted to see to be available on iTunes or Netflix so I could watch them from the well-lit safety of my couch, because even though I love me some Captain America, my love for him could not compete with the terror and inability to breathe of a theater induced panic attack.

The Fella, who likes movies, has been incredibly understanding of my "um, no no no no" reaction to the idea of going to the movies, but he also knew that I ALSO had anxiety about not being able to go to the movies. (Anxiety disorders are so very, very fun, in case you didn't know.) He also knew that I really wanted to see Moana when it came out, because I've been talking about it for ages. 

"You know, they remodeled the theater," he said. "It's a lot different. Some of the things that you find triggering are gone. Look," he said, and got out his iPad to show me how the number of seats in each theater was smaller, how the seats were set up, and that you could reserve seating. He also told me the seats were bigger, and the aisles wider. 

So I agreed to try, knowing that if I couldn't stay through the movie? He would totally understand. (And can I say -- he's just the best, y'all. Everyone's partner should be so supportive!)

I won't lie -- I had a bad moment when the lights went down. An intensely bad, "Oh noo I should not have done this" moment. But then I remembered to breathe, and to close my eyes for a moment, recite the phonetic alphabet to myself, and then spell some things phonetically. Like Mike Ohio Alpha November Alpha. Or ... Yankee Echo Lima Lima India Echo. Tango Hotel Echo Foxtrot Echo Lima Lima Alpha. (By the way, I have no idea why this works for me. It just does.) 

The moment passed. I was okay. And the movie ... well, you need to see it. I want to see it in the theater AGAIN.

Just to revel in the fact that I CAN.

Getting Saucy Up in Here

I like to cook. I've mentioned previously that I not only didn't used to enjoy cooking, but I was also terrible at it. 

Then I got real and remembered that feeding yourself (and others) is something that needs to happen with some regularity, and as long as I followed recipes, I was pretty good. I was afraid to branch out, though. I measured everything religiously, afraid to stray because if I didn't follow the recipe exactly, it might be yucky, and I have perfectionist issues.

I don't know when it was that I realized that cooking is personal. For example? I love garlic. One clove of garlic is how much you put in a recipe that doesn't CALL for garlic. Recipes that call for garlic? Probably need twice as much garlic as the recipe says. I also like things spicy, so I'm going to need more red pepper than a recipe calls for. Also, if there's cheese? Yeah, I'm going to add more cheese because there is NO such thing as too much cheese. 

So I began branching out.

And then I realized that I didn't need recipes anymore for some things, like spaghetti sauce. I have my mom's guidelines for how to make good sauce engraved in my brain, but I don't need to write them down -- and I don't follow them exactly. I like capers. I also like to toss some red wine in there. She doesn't. That's okay -- both of our sauces are delicious.

I made a huge old pot of sauce over the weekend. I froze half, we used some, I saved some for pizza, and I had lunch leftovers.

This made me stupid happy. But when a coworker said, "What is that? It smells DELICIOUS"?

I was even HAPPIER.

May the little things make you equally as happy as they make me!