R&R, shopping, and my favorite skinny jeans

Well, I'm not going into the R&R stuff. Because now it's over and that makes me sad. We had such a wonderful time on our cruise that we're already planning the next one. He got to visit with his family, and we all had a great time together, the guys in the dining room talking about whatever guys do and the ladies in my mother-in-law's bedroom watching Dancing With the Stars. I dropped Jere at the airport at 6AM on Wednesday and still managed to hit traffic coming back from Charlottesville. But I was a good Army wife, hugged him goodbye, and sent him on his way. None of that emotional junk we both hate. Unfortunately, I'm left with a mess of an apartment and piles of his laundry to wash and put away.

The goodbye stuff isn't hard. It really isn't. It's what happens after the goodbye that's so terrible to deal with. I feel like the quiet in this place is going to eat me alive. I had to drag myself to the shower Thursday evening after I discovered, as I so aptly texted Rachel, that I smelled of depression and cheese. Salty queso fresco, to be exact. Then again, showering only got me as far as a clean pair of jammies and wet hair I was too frustrated to comb.

I knew when I woke up yesterday that if I didn't get moving, I'd be in danger of staying in until Monday. So I did the one thing I could do to make sure I would leave the apartment: I bought online movie tickets for the theatre in Harrisonburg. And I really did get up and get a lot done. I bought the little digital camera I wanted for Europe, a couple heavy knit wool sweaters, a cashmere sweater in baby blue (oh so soft, mmmmmmm), and Abba's greatest hits. I bought five pair of jeans and two pair of cords. It was a good day for jeans and my butt, as I completely scored and walked out with everything I'm going to need until I lose twenty more pounds. And I really didn't want to try and force my one pair of jeans to work for three weeks in Europe, as they're already too big and will only get bigger when I start to lose guided tour weight. I mailed six, yes six, packages for Christmas. I mailed out my bills. I bought Christmas stamps. And I wandered aimlessly around the mall for a bit before I went to see Twilight.

Quick movie review: I loved it. Love love love. I know people who have read the books were a little disappointed, but after Joana said I had to read the books, I decided to hold off until I saw the movie. Because that always happens to me, liking the book better than the movie, except with The Stepford Wives. I hated that book. Anyhow, I saw Twilight yesterday surrounded by a bunch of giggling teenagers who had quite obviously read the book but were still tittering to each other, so I guess that's a good sign. And now I'm going to have to get the books for my Europe trip because Joana told me months ago I had to get them, and I've waited long enough.

On a disturbing note, I think I'm starting to look like my mother. I love my mom (seriously, mom, if you're reading this, I love you, but I never thought I'd start to resemble you), and she's absolutely adorable, but the things I'm noticing are freaking me out. We type the same way and have the same wrists. We hold our popcorn at the movies the same way when we walk.....ok, yes, that's a strange one to notice, but I was in a sweater and jeans and looked down at me and the popcorn and all I could think was that I looked a lot like my mom minus the shoes. She wouldn't wear my shoes. And I really have picked up one of her habits. She used to go to the movies every Tuesday by herself right before my sister and I got out of school. It wasn't crowded, it was cheap, and it was one of her favorite things to do. And now? I do it. Because it isn't crowded, it's cheap, and it's seriously just me time. It's not that noticing the similarities between me and my mother is so terrible. It's that it makes me feel old. And I don't want to be OLD!

Getting over myself now, and moving on to the funny email I got from Jere this morning. We had some pretty interesting conversations while he was home about our marriage and whatnot, so he sent me an online article about the "Good Enough Marriage", which talked about women waiting around for Mr. Perfect instead of Mr. Good Enough. And when I emailed him to respond, I told him that he was my perfect husband, because I tried two on before him and they didn't fit. And that he was like my favorite jeans. And my smartass husband asks, "Yes, but are they your fat jeans or your skinny jeans?"

And the answer for today at least is the skinny jeans.

Today's lesson: Never underestimate the power of "good enough". Because when you're looking for something that just fits the bill, whether it's a pair of jeans or your spouse, you can stumble onto your perfect fit.