Four New Loves

Late last week my Grandmother-in-Law took me on our yearly shopping trip for Christmas presents. She'd rather experience each grandchild's joy as she buys us presents that we pick out than to try to think up the perfect present. She also gets to spend time with us individually this way. That is rare with as many grandchildren and great-grandchildren she has. She'll pick me up,we'll do the shopping, then it's out to lunch. It always turns out to be a healthy dose of quality time. This year, she asked me what stores we'd visit. I had a grand idea. Shoe stores.

I'm lucky because my 84 1/2 year old Grandmother-in-Law is quite stylish. She's hip. If I had a petite size 2 frame and size 5 feet, I'd be shopping in HER closet. So when I mentioned shoe shopping, she was game. In the first store, (it's never just one store) we picked out these little beauties.

I didn't own any green shoes, nor any shoes with large, multi-colored beads, so these were a welcome addition to my stash. Oh, and 20% off. Score.

The next store was one chosen for its proximity to the parking space we found, (which were in short supply) not because it was one of the original candidates, but boy did it pay off.

Ladies: These were SEVEN dollars. Seven. I'll go ahead and say it. Payless. Payless rocks.

Pointy, black and sparkly. I love them.

These are my new neutral shoes.

There was one other from the day, my first pair of boots. Well, not actually my VERY first pair of boots, those were the obligatory pair of Doc Martens added to my stash in high school. I still have them. No, these boots are pointy and girly and fabulous. Very winter 2006.

Thanks Mama. I love you.

This Is Not A Bill

I had my first MRI this afternoon. It was loud.

After a not-so-great half day at work, I rushed (sped) to my 2:15 appointment in Radiology on the second floor of one giant, medical building. I was checked in quickly and directed to the appropriate waiting area where I focused on calming myself in preparation for being shoved into a small, whirring, metal tube for the upcoming half hour. Naked. And cold.

Well, not totally naked. I had one of those open-to-the-world medical gown thingys and I was given a sad excuse for a blanket.

When my name was called from the waiting area, that moment where we all feel like "The Chosen One," I took a deep breath. Mind over matter. At least I didn't have to get on a scale. I was led all the way around the building through a maze of hallways, down some stairs and then OUTSIDE. At first I thought this was some kind of evil prank...or maybe the nurse who called me was actually a serial killer who had a car running at the back entrance waiting to abduct me. Instead I was led to what looked like a FEMA trailer IN THE PARKING LOT. I climbed up the stairs and the door opened to what looked like the set of an early Star Trek film.

I was instructed to remove my earrings, glasses, shirt, pants and bra after being quizzed again about the authenticity of my body parts. Apparently these giant magnets are pretty powerful and might extract artificial metal parts inside my body. Scary picture.

Scared of unauthorized metal insertions I may have forgotten about or may have never known about, I situate myself on a tiny sliding bed under the direction of the tech. There are plastic panels to hold my head in place, sort of like stationary book ends. As I was rolled into the tube, I realized why some people may freak out. It was close quarters in there...and loud. I was rolled back out of the tube and given ear plugs (a welcome gift), then rolled right back in...where I remained motionless abiding by the instructions of the tech.

What do you feel like doing when someone tells you that you absolutely can't move? Yes. I wanted to move. I needed to move. My nose itched, I started breathing faster, my hands twitched and I wondered if "don't move" included my eyes. It was a question I forgot to ask before the test began and consequently couldn't ask because I couldn't move my mouth. So I closed my eyes and eventually the whir, muffled by the ear plugs, put me into a light sleep.

Then it was over.

I quickly dressed (because there was an older gentlemen already getting prepared for his exam in this teeny, tiny trailer and no one seemed to remember or care that I wasn't yet dressed).

I was happy to find out this week, through much jumbled medical jargon, that I have almost met my deductible for the year with all of the physical therapy and Dr. visits. My back still hurts. Merry Christmas to me.

We should have results in 2-3 days from this test. My hopes are high for a resolution.

12.18.79

Happy Birthday Russell.

Delayed Reflexes

This is my friend Paige's dog, Daisy. Every time I come to the house, the dog comes to the door to greet me, tail wagging. She sniffs me and follows me closely, all excited as I enter the house. I kneel down to greet and pet her while she leans into the attention. It's not until I sit down to visit that she starts the howling. She howls at me as if I'm an intruder beating her family. Her howls take her front two feet off of the ground as she raises her head and stretches her neck to find the deepest, loudest howl she can muster. You know, because I have offended her and must be punished.

At first, I thought it was just me. That was until another friend of ours came in a bit after my arrival and got the same treatment. Same happy greeting, tail wagging, loving dog until about 2 minutes in. Then the "get out of my house" serenade.

After the guests have come in and the howling has subsided, usually someone in the family will mumble, "It's a little late, Daisy." They think she's just slow.

I think she's just hopeful that everyone coming to visit is there to visit her. Once the petting and attention we pay to her end with the greeting, it is then that we are no longer useful to her. We serve no other purpose than to take her family's love and attention away. She doesn't know it's ever going to end. So, it's obviously time for the guest to leave. Thus the barking/howling/crying.

This dog has been severely underestimated.

My Way

The dryer buzzes. I ask him if he'll help me fold the clothes so we can put in the next load even faster. He sweetly agrees. We drag ourselves to the dryer to fold the load of towels it holds. It's late but we totally need the quilt (currently in the washer) to get a night of sound sleep.

I start folding. He starts folding. We're both folding towels and washcloths, yawning. Then I look over. He's doing it wrong. All of the edges don't line up and the crease isn't there. He doesn't even put it on the pile of all of the other folded towels in the correct way.

He catches me watching him and he stops. He holds up his towel with a humble smirk and says, "I just can't do it like you do it." He feebly tries to *snap* the towel folded as I do and laughs. We both laugh.

I can't believe he loves me anyway.

11.2.82

Happy Birthday Katheryn.

Illegal Block In The Back

This is my back. With tape.

This is my back after that tape was ripped off. Nice, isn't it?

A couple of months ago I started to experience a small pain in the middle of my back. Like most aches and pains at this age, I thought it would just go away. No dice. Finally, after ignoring it to the point of tears one day at work, (not embarrassing at all) I made an appointment with the doctor. Oddly enough she didn't find anything after that lengthy, exhaustingly thorough 5-minute investigation into my pain, so she prescribed a muscle relaxer and an anti-inflammatory and I was on the road to healing.

After all of those lovely pills were gone, I went back to the doctor...to tell her they didn't do their intended job. In spite of all of those nights I fell asleep during dinner, (I'm a bit of a light weight when it comes to medication) my pain was still there and it was worse.

After ANOTHER co-pay, she took some x-rays, told me my spine looked great, renewed my prescription and referred me to a physical therapist.

Enter the tape. Two days ago I finally got to the appointment. The man I met there renewed my faith in the possibility that my pain may eventually go away. In his charming English accent, he asked questions, he evaluated and he found my pain. My initial appointment was 2 hours. I left with that tape on my back. It restricted my movement and taught me how to function during the day without exacerbating my problem.

I am finally on the right road to healing. X marks the spot.

Shoulder Pads Are Back

Designing Women has finally made it back to television. The reruns are back on Nick at Nite. I've only just discovered this treasure, up late this evening. Eddie's at a concert and I can't help but wait up for him.

Julia Sugarbaker was my hero. She was beautiful, confident and sassy, always throwing out the perfect quip with a fair amount of class. I loved watching a show that revolved around a group of strong, southern women.

For 30 minutes it was like, totally rad to go back to 1986. Awesome.

Decisions At The Register

"Oooh! Dill Pickles. In a bag. I'm not sure if I want that or the Peanut Butter Twix."

"I don't understand how, out of everything here, you could be torn between these two things. It confounds me."

Afternoon Wedding

Yesterday afternoon Eddie and I went to an elegant, southern wedding. A friend of ours from high school married a beautiful girl we've never met. It was so nice to be invited to such an event and to see him so happy. As we get older, we get farther and farther away from some friends and closer to others. It's almost impossible, as life takes us all in different directions, to maintain every friendship. I usually know who has a baby and who gets married and maybe when someone's moving, but that's about it.

Everytime I go to an event like this and see familiar faces from the past I usually get wrapped up in memories for a while. Yesterday was a celebration of the present. The memories faded shortly after we left, but I departed holding on to one of the readings the couple selected.

Eskimo Love Song

You are my husband, you are my wife

My feet shall run because of you

My feet dance because of you

My heart shall beat because of you

My eyes see because of you

My mind thinks because of you

And I shall love, because of you

The minister spoke about how each couple that joins together in marriage has to make that commitment everyday. While I sat outside in the sunshine listening to him speak, running my fingers along my husband's back, I knew I would marry the man sitting next to me everyday, every hour, again and again until it was forever.

The Mayonniase Is A Year Old

I've been avoiding the blogging lately. I'm still a little sad about the house situation. The truth is that I still hope we'll get it. In the days after we officially declined to pay too much for the house, every time the phone rang I hoped it was surprising good news. That hope is waning, but it's still there. It makes for a bit of disappointment everyday. I hate how hope can hurt sometimes. It's exhausting.

We were supposed to be moving in this weekend. Poo.

Since this is the first anniversary of Mayonnaise and since I began the story of us with a bit about toast, I thought it would be most fitting to add another.

Cody The Toast Pirate

We've discovered something new about our pup this past week. He's crazy-in-love with toast. He'll do anything for it or ignore anything for it. I was on another breakfast food jag this past week, toast with Brummel and Brown. As soon as the toast pops up from our shiny two slotter each morning, Cody pounces out of the bed. From the kitchen I can hear the initial thump of his body weight on the wood floor and subsequent trot down the hall towards the toaster.

He stands a little too close to me while I butter the toast, sometimes nudging me with his snout, tail wagging hopefully. He follows me to the computer for the morning e-mail check and no longer able to nudge me as he would like, he climbs on the chair.

Before the toast jag, Eddie and Cody usually got up together for the morning walk. As soon as the collar and leash jingled, nothing else existed for Cody but the walk. After he discovered the toast, Eddie has to come into the room I'm in and has to PICK UP THE DOG to remove him from the room housing the toast.

He's a smart dog. He learns fast. I'm convinced that if we stepped it up by putting a piece of chicken between two pieces of toast, that dog would learn to fly.

Know When To Walk Away, Know When To Run

A couple of posts ago I wrote about having lost 4 pesky, little pounds due to us trying to purchase our first home. Two more pounds have melted away in the process, one that has not worked out as we would have liked this time around.

We didn't get the house.

I suppose it's not that we didn't get the house as much as it is they wouldn't sell it to us for a fair, market price. I know there are two sides to every story, but as I don't know their side, here's mine:

Eddie and I LOVED the house. We still love the house. We WANTED to buy the house. We offered lots and lots of money for the house. The seller accepted our offer. (I was so confident that I bought a bath caddy online the next day...you know, for the dream bathroom I was going to own.) The game began.

The first step of any sane mortgage company selected by pre-qualified buyers when an offer has been made and accepted is to get the property appraised. The buyer shells out $350 dollars (or we did) for this particular service. While we were waiting for the appraisal to return, a formality at most as far as we were concerned, we didn't begin to pack. We started to accumulate MORE things, the aforementioned bath caddy, a rather large table for our new entry way, 2 chairs and a lamp (to go on said table) to name a few. I began shopping for curtains, garden furniture, a bath armoire and other odds and ends we NEEDED* (I tend to use this word interchangeably with WANTED or WANT*) immediately.

It was like Christmas and cake-for-breakfast, finding-the-perfect-skirt-on-sale-for-$23-right-next-to-the-perfect-shoes-in-your-size-for-$10, 72°F-and-sunny-all-day kind of time. All the time. Everyday we'd wake up and talk about the new house and what we'd do...in the new house. We'd go to bed talking about what it was going to be like to go to bed in the new house. I mapped out a new route to work (a faster one) from the new house, began to plan the guests we'd have for dinner in our new house, new house, new house, new house. We drove by the new house. Several times. I wanted to see what it was like at night, at 7:00, when the sun was beginning to go down, in the afternoon when people walk their dogs, and anytime on a Saturday. It was our new hobby. We took others down the street in our cars and in caravans of friends driving by to see the house. The traffic on our new street increased 10 fold in 2 weeks.

We were moving into our new house.

Then the appraisal comes in. It's $10,000 lower than our offer. Normally, a buyer would LOVE to see this happen. It means more negotiations with the result in their favor. Nope. Not us. We knew our seller wasn't keen on negotiations. We knew this wouldn't fly. He was firm.

Alrighty. So we consider briefly digging underneath the couch cushions and pulling out the ten grand we hide in there. It's chump change. Then we look lovingly at Cody and realize it's for his puppy college education. That's expensive. But we still want the house...So.

The seller says HE'LL get another appraisal because the one the mortgage company commissioned was FAR too low, an insult. He wants us to have the house so much that he also says if the second appraisal comes in higher than our offer, he'd honor it and we'd close. If it comes in lower than our offer, then he'd concede and we'd close. I figure it's a win-win. Let's pack.

And we wait.

Just so you know, when you're trying to buy a house, everything important will happen on Fridays at 4:30pm so you can agonize over the weekend. Want to guess when the second appraisal came back?

Friday, around 5:45pm:

ktm arrives home after an unusually traffic-ridden commute to a long-faced Eddie. She puts her heavy books down and asks, "What's with the face?"

Eddie realizes that he's got to tell his wife the worst news in a good while. He's known for the better part of an hour that she's going to cry, just pacing the house.

"The appraisal was the same. He's changed his mind and is not going to sell. He says he's just going to rent it for a couple of years."

He knew it would make her cry, but not in a puddle on the kitchen floor.

Yes, I cried. I cried for a while. Friday evening was fun. Saturday was down-right exciting. By Sunday we were resigned to the fact but understandably still disappointed. Then we get a call. It's Eddie's grandmother, who has been acting on our behalf through this process. He's called her and wants to speak with us. She gave us his number and we sat on it for a while.

We didn't want to re-open the wound. We discussed it and decided to stand firm. Our offer would be 100% of the appraised price, but no more. We were already paying closing costs and willing to overlook a few needed repairs. We couldn't let our love for the house cloud our judgment. We had to be able to walk away and we were.

Eddie reluctantly calls and gets bullied. He tells us we should have used another bank (to accept a bogus appraisal he submitted that was $8,000 higher) and insults our budget. (He doesn't have a college-age dog.) Bullying is the only card he has. Except for the one he plays last. He's going to put it back on the market tomorrow!

And he did.

So, we're out $350, some gas money and some tears. Not a bad deal considering we learned a lot for this first try. Eddie and I will buy a house. We're looking and we're ready. Look out.

That's A Good Question

"Celebrity Duets is on."

"Why?"

Butt Quest 3

We got some package of digital cable so we could get the HD channels a little over a month ago. There's this handy little feature that lets us flip through the channels (even the ones we don't get) at the bottom of the screen of the show we're watching. It's a whole new level of flipping for us and sometimes we even forget we have this new tech tool.

This evening, I was flipping very quickly past the channels that we don't get (there are more of those than the ones we do)when I hear, "Stop. Go Back!"

I must have missed a football game or something on one of those ESPNs.

"A little further."

He grabs the remote, just a little excited about what he'll show me when he's reached his destination.

"There it is."

There it was. We can see the names of the shows on the channels we can't get. I'm thinking we're gonna need to change that.

"Butt Quest 3?"

"Indeed. Not one. Or Two. But THREE."

"I guess they didn't find everything they needed to find in the first two."

I have to admit. I'm kind of curious.

Four Pounds Lighter

This morning I got on the scale and it read four whole pounds lighter. That's excellent, but I don't recommend the kind of diet I've tried. Worry, nausea, fear and fright. They work like a charm.

Eddie and I have been looking for a house now for over a year. We were leisurely looking at areas of town and types of houses we'd like just before hurricane Katrina. After the water drained and the dust settled from the storm, we could afford 23% less house in Baton Rouge than before August 29, 2005. Not fun. It's hard not to feel a little selfish about our situation when we know there are thousands of people with a plight far worse than ours.

With the market the way it is in Baton Rouge, there aren't many deals to be had for buyers. The ones that are out there aren't usually listed and require research, correctly placed friends or relatives and a little luck. Eddie and I had to have a little of each.

My father is a realtor. Eddie's grandmother is a realtor. They've both experienced an unparalleled boom in business, both selling and buying, since the storm. I've done research, driving through neighborhoods and constant checking of certain websites to find the house that could be OUR house.

This past Tuesday night, I was checking one of my usual real estate haunts on the web when the cutest little number popped up. It was about 10:00pm and I called Eddie over to the computer to see my find and share my excitement. He didn't have the energy for either, instead going directly to the bed after a long, busy, tiring day.

The next morning at work (Wednesday) I checked the website assuming it would already be sold. I called my father during my afternoon commute, wanting him to come with me as soon as possible to see the house if I could make an appointment. He had several commitments, so I decided to take a little detour and drive by the house, a little out of my way home. I stalked the house, driving slowly by in my car and fell in love with the cute, little neighborhood. I went directly home and called the seller for an appointment. When I asked for a time to view the home, I could hear other voices in the background.

"Yes ma'am. Are you the person who spoke with my wife earlier?"

"Uhhh... No."

"Well, feel free to come on by anyway, there are already several people wandering around looking. We've had an amazing response."

"O.k. Thanks. I'll see you in 15 minutes."

Crap. I knew it. There were already people over there. Vultures. I knew by the time I got there they would have an offer and just shut the door in our faces. We had to run.

When we arrived, there were no other perspective buyers. They didn't shut the door, they opened it wide with big smiles. We walked through the house not really consulting with each other or exchanging any looks. On the walk back to the car I looked at Eddie and we both took deep breaths.

"Someone's going to have to convince me it's a bad idea because I love it."

"Me too. What should we do?"

We both wanted it and knew it would go fast so we called the experts - our families. Eddie's grandmother (the one who just celebrated her 60th wedding anniversary) is still a full-time, successful realtor and a bulldog of a grandma who loves her grandchildren. She made an appointment for herself the very next day (Thursday) at noon. Meanwhile, I was on the phone with lenders trying to get good faith estimates and everything in order to leap into action when necessary.

The result of grandma's meeting with the seller was inconceivable. She made an offer on our behalf resulting in a verbal agreement with him to sign papers the next day (Friday). Eddie signed that next afternoon and after I got home from work we went over to the house to discuss a few last-minute details then I signed. My life away.

Worry over the amount of money we'd borrow, Nausea over paying that money back, Fear of making the wrong decision so quickly and Fright because everything happened so fast, we didn't have time to think about what we'd missed thinking about.

But it doesn't matter. In a little less than a month we should be closing on our new house (hoping NOTHING goes wrong) AND I've already lost those pesky four little pounds. I'm on my way to a slimmer me with all those beans and rice we'll be eating in the coming months.

It's so worth it.

I Owe Her

I don't know who she is but she saved me today. I was in a public place with a private issue.

Strategy: (1) Go down the vacant hall and enter the fourth door on the left. (2) Head down, no eye contact. (3) Choose an unassuming stall, enter it, close and lock the door. (4) SILENTLY take care of business, tidy up, exit...no one the wiser.

Actual, Real Life:
(1) The hall... not so vacant. I was in a public place. A college campus. During class change. It took some dodging but I was able to enter the fourth door on the left relatively unscathed.

(2) The eyes... LOTS of them. Lots of people in that crowded hall that I had to pass and weave my way around in order to get to that, "Excuse me." "Sorry." "I need to get over THERE." "Yes, I need to go in THERE." door.

(3) The stall... all were ASSuming. The doors don't really close, nor do they lock so I find myself in a precarious position of balance and contortion in order to secure my privacy in an effort to transition seamlessly to #4.

(4) The noise... So. I get in the stall, door closed (sort of) and I know this isn't going to go down as planned. There are waaay too many people in the bathroom for this to be any kind of a stealth-like mission and I don't know how much longer I can afford to be embarrassed when .....

Whrrrrrrrrrrr

Some anonymous angel, some telepathic, sympathetic girl hit THE HAND DRYER. I know she couldn't have known what a good deed she had just done, but my sin was erased. It was better than erased. It had never happened. I was free.

Girls, the next time you are in a public bathroom and you see those two feet, hoping to remain anonymous when you check under the stall (you know, to see if you're alone), pay it forward and hit that hand dryer. It will make the world a better place.

The Mystery Of The Deliciousness

This weekend I catered an anniversary party honoring the 60 years of marriage maintained by my Grandparents-in-law. (How much I am in awe of that is a different post altogether.) There were roasted and broiled and baked things. There were sliced and stacked and hot and cold things. Lots of people ate and it was good (or so I was told).

This afternoon, when I arrived home after a long day, I caught my husband making sandwiches with the last of the pork leftovers in the kitchen.

"You don't want any...do you?"

"No, you can have it."

"Yay."

"You know, I could teach you how to make that."

Pause.

Silence.

"uh..."

"You don't WANT to learn how to make it, do you?"

Pause.

Silence.

"uh..."

"You would rather smile and eat and let the mystery of the deliciousness remain an unsolvable puzzle, wouldn't you?"

"Yes. I love you?"

I love you too. Enjoy.

Schott's Original Miscellany

Tugs of War

Specifications of competition-grade rope, as prescribed by The
Tug of War International Federation:

The rope must not be less than 10 centimetres (100 mm), or more
than 12.5 centimetres (125 mm) in circumference, and must be free from knots or
other holdings for the hands. The ends of the rope shall have a whipping
finish. The minimum length of the rope must not be less than 33.5
metres.

Clean And Dry

Tomorrow morning Eddie and I have a new (to us) washer and dryer scheduled for delivery. I'm excited not only because we're getting new stuff, because getting new stuff is always fun, but I'm excited because they are free. I like free stuff. Eddie's grandmother has connections and we are often offered free stuff. Most of it we don't need or want, but we're smart enough to keep that pipeline open for things like... A FREE WASHER AND DRYER.

Score.

Our old clean-and-dry duo was old. I don't know exactly how old but they're both white, not avocado or mustard, so they're probably not as old as me but old enough to have to operate the dryer knob with a pair of smart grip pliers. I already love that memory.

I have a small amount of letting go to do when it comes to these appliances. We're certainly going to pass them on to someone who can use them because they still work well enough for the effort. It's a bit easier to give them rather than throw them away. It isn't like me to get the least bit emotional over a set of old appliances, but my PARENTS gave them to me.

This fact isn't what it seems. My parents never really had a lot of money. When Eddie and I got married, they didn't have ANY money. My parents are the kindest, most giving, appreciative people I've ever met. No matter the situation, they still believe they've been blessed in life. I've still got a lot to learn from them. Eddie and I paid for the majority of our wedding. It killed my parents that they weren't able to provide me with everything they thought I wanted with money they didn't have, so they used their talents to contribute.

One afternoon shortly before the wedding, my dad was on the way home in his Ford F150 and passed a pile of junk at the end of someone's winding, southern drive. In that pile, he saw our future washer and dryer. He turned around and gathered the discarded items into the back of his truck in hopes that he could give them new life in his work shed. He cleaned them inside and out, replaced various belts, knobs and hoses and presented us with a working pair.

They've worked for the past 4 years.


Thanks Mom and Dad. Thanks for always keeping me safe, loved, clean and dry. I love you too.

---ktm

It's Never The Right Thing To Say To A Naked Woman

"You look like a football player."




Even with my clothes on I don't want to hear that sentence, unless it's a comment on the hugeness of the many diamonds I'm wearing or on the speed and grace I have while running. Since I've already got a bit of the "wide shoulder" thing happening with my frame anyway, AND since I've often used the term "football player" to describe myself in jest, you can imagine how much I welcomed this comment. Naked.

Fear not. Eddie came into the bathroom while I was taking a bath and had just splashed water on my made-up face. The mascara was running and THAT is where he got "football player..." From those black thingys they wear under their eyes. It was all laughs after that.

But those 2 seconds before he could explain, I was trying to figure out just how he would fit in the toilet and how much I could get for all his clothes and musical equipment.

If A Group Of Lions Is Called A Pride...

Then what do you call just one lion?

Proud.

While on vacation, we visited the Brownsville Zoo. In almost every city we've lived in or visited, we've been to the zoo. Eddie loves the zoo. Loves it. That is something I find so endearing about him. He's got a genuine, innocent glow when he's watching the animals. I like to see him there and witness the child-like joy.

If he can watch those stinky animals...in the heat... and find a smile, then I know he's going to make an exceptional father.

Pillow Talk

"I went ahead and bought one of those fluorescent lanterns while I was at the store today seeing as how last year, just before the hurricanes, they were all sold out."

"Good call."

"It takes 8-double D batteries."

"What?"

"It takes a lot of batteries, so we should make sure we're stocked up on those too."

"Did you say, 'double-D'?"

"Yes, double-D."

"I don't think they make double-D batteries. It's just D."

"They make AA batteries."

"But that's not how that works."

"I was going according to breast-size. You know they have Es and Fs now too."

"Batteries?"

"No. Breasts."

"When do you think they'll start naming them after planets? Size Jupiter."

What's The Date?

June 30th. That's 1..2..3...42 days since my last post. After the first few days it was hard not to bow my head in shame when I went to check my e-mail and didn't go to my blog. After the first week it was like I was forgetting something... like I KNEW there was SOMETHING I didn't do, but the dog was fed, the cell phone bill was paid, everything was done. It was the second week when the guilt set in. Then I had to wait for something monumental to come back with, something that was worthy of the extended absence I had taken, but every story built on what I hadn't reported the day before or the week before and explaining it all seemed too overwhelming. It wasn't even that I didn't want to sit down and write, I didn't want to sit down and THINK about any of it. I had lived it and that was enough. I had pictures to edit, events to document and it didn't seem fun anymore, it seemed like work.

So I avoided it.

There was always something else to be done, something else that couldn't be left undone to set time aside for this. I admit that I have missed it.

My last entry was on my 30th birthday. This decade is going to be one for the blogs.

(For those of you who missed out on my skating birthday party, I highly recommend renting out the rink for your friends sometime. I left there with one burning question..."What if the Hokey-Pokey really is what it's all about?")

They Say It's The New 20

I used to worry a lot. I remember specifically when I was in the third grade, I worried about everything so much so that I had trouble sleeping. I worried myself right into success in things like school and friendships because I was so afraid of being bad at something, like I would end up in a pit of hungry tigers or worse if I failed. Luckily during the school years, there are things like grades and parents and peers to measure up against and to tell you whether or not you're doing a good job in life. I usually got the 'thumbs up.' I never saw a tiger (except at LSU and the zoo).

I liked being graded. It was concrete evidence that I was a success, or more importantly, proof that I wasn't a failure. Even with all of that positive feedback, I wasn't really concerned with being great, I just wanted to know I wasn't awful. I guess you could call it, "perfectionistic minimalism." I had to be perfect just so I could know I wasn't a failure, but I didn't quite want to succeed because that would be too much stress, too much pressure...more things to worry about.

Classic ktm story:

I was in the first part of elementary school when they tested me for Gifted and Talented classes. I remember the speech therapist, Ms. Polk, brought me into a little office/closet and asked me a bunch of questions like, "Who was Abraham Lincoln?" (I still don't know how knowing who Abraham Lincoln was had to do with my ability to do advanced math for my age, but whatever...) I remember thinking that if I answered all of these questions correctly, things would change and I might have to leave some of my friends. I also struggled with the instinct of trying to please all of the adults around me that I didn't want to throw the ENTIRE thing, so I compromised and answered about half of the questions right. I got what I wanted and didn't wind up having to leave all of my friends. Surprisingly, I was the only kid in the advanced reading group and the advanced math group NOT in Gifted and Talented classes.

I'm 30. Today. I don't worry about most things like I used to. Failure isn't as scary anymore, I suppose because now I've got 30 years of not-failing to back me up. When I was younger, I'd just look forward and see I had more time to mess up. Now that I'm this far through life, at least I've got all of that to fall back on.

It's harder to find a measuring stick for success or happiness once you're out of school. I don't get graded on my job or on my ability to be a good wife or daughter or friend. For the first few years of our marriage, I was trying to figure out how to measure our happiness. I knew that I was happy and that I loved my husband, but how did you measure that? Where was the grade that TOLD you you were doing a good job? A happy husband? No, that couldn't be it. A satisfying love life? No. I needed a stamp, a certificate or finally someone to tell me, lovingly, that I was insane. Thankfully I had Eddie. He helped me to measure our happiness by forcing me to answer the question, "Are you happy?" over and over again until my answer, "Yes." finally rung in my own ears.

He's never really been concerned about how to measure it. He just knew. I envy that.

I do worry a little...I guess that's how I'm built. Now that I'm 30, I feel a bit rushed. We don't have any children, not even any on the way, not even any time soon. I look ahead at that magic number 35, which just leapt closer because there's no longer a 2 in the front of my age. 35 is that scary number in my head when it's too late to have children. It's SO close and we haven't even started.

I just ran into a friend that I haven't seen in years. She's pregnant with her third. Her third. We're the same age. I don't like that measuring stick. I AM insane. Do I want three right now? No. Do I want one someday? Yes. Do I still feel rushed? Yes.

I think it's time for Eddie to ask me that question again.

Our Little Experiment

Three weeks ago, Eddie and I were talking, tossing around the idea of at least 1 TV-free night a week. After very little discussion, we decided to implement it the very next day, a Tuesday. Every Tuesday since then, including this one, has been Tv-free.

In a strange way it feels like a night off, like we've been given a free evening. I expected to feel deprived of the luxury of escape. Maybe I did feel that way...for the first 5 minutes. Then Eddie and I started to talk. About everything. We talked for hours, sat with Cody on the couch, prepared dinner together and I fell in love with my husband all over again once upon a Tuesday night.


However, this is still my favorite t-shirt.

We Drug Our Dog. Will That Make Us Bad Parents?

We live in an older home, one that was built in the early 50's. It has hardwood floors that creak,(which I love) plaster walls, some beadboard and is set up, off of the ground about a foot and a half. All of this history and charm is lost on Cody when it rains or when the wind blows faster than 10 miles an hour. He is inconsolable when it thunders, or when a particularly loud car drives by. He shakes and cries and pants. It isn't the shaking or the crying or the panting that bothers us, it's the fact that he has to shake and cry and pant ON us. Not NEAR us, but ON us.

It is all our fault. Eddie and I are big softies and always cave to a cute face. We let the dog sleep with us about two weeks after we got him, making that $100 crate suddenly useless. After that first night in the bed, when we asked him to kindly return to the crate the next evening he looked at us like we'd offered him some imitation Greenies. He refused the crate, turned on the cuteness and we caved.

When it rains, he shakes and cries and pants IN THE BED. You know, where we're trying to sleep. He can't be comforted and we can't sleep, so I begin to think about any way possible to end this hell. When I discern that uncharacteristic violence is the only way out, (and scare Eddie a little in the process) it's time to explore other options during waking hours when I am not so quick to kill anything in the way of a good night's sleep.

Upon advice from our Vet, when we know it's going to thunder and rain, we give Cody a healthy dose of Benadryl. It works like a charm. All of us can sleep through the rain for the entire night. With hurricane season approaching, I would advise all of my 3 readers to buy stock in Pfizer.

Happy Anniversary To The Man Who Brought Me Those Sweet Smelling Flowers

Happy Anniversary. I'm lovin' every minute of it.

The Day That Everything Fell

It was a lazy Saturday around here. I went to bed a little early for me for a Friday night; my head hit the pillow at 10pm. I woke up early, well rested and ready to face the laundry and dishes that tend to pile up during the week. Once I got out of bed, I rounded the corner and went into the bathroom. This is an important part of my morning ritual in more ways than one (or two. hee hee). I take a magic pill in the morning. This magic pill is extremely difficult to pry out of its safe little package with my mere mortal finger, so I use a highly specialized tool for such a job. My toothbrush. I use the end to gently push the pill from the package onto my palm. Only people trained in this method should attempt such a task. I should have been trained.

As soon as the pill fell safely into my hand, my TOOTHBRUSH jumped from my grip, did a few gravity-defying turns in front of my face and flung itself directly into the TOILET. THE TOILET. My toothbrush was in the toilet. Not only was my toothbrush in the toilet, I had to extract my toothbrush from the toilet. I quickly built a make-shift extraction device, got the toothbrush out and threw it away.


I went directly into the bedroom because I couldn't live another moment without telling Eddie what had happened. When he heard me tell the story, it would be instantly funny. It was.

About 20 minutes later, I was concentrating on a task when I hear, "Oh No!" coming from the bathroom.

I ran to the bathroom door to see my half-naked husband getting ready to shower. He was holding something in a towel, cringing and smiling at the same time.

"I dropped it."

"What?"

"I dropped it in the toilet."

"WHAT did you drop in the toilet?"

"The manual for the D50."


Our toilet is the center of the gravity. Beware.

Spring Has Sprung

This? This is my dog, or half of my dog. The storm door is closed and on the inside there's a definable doggie nose moisture line straight across. In the background there, that's a sock. Probably one of Eddie's socks, but all socks in the house serve double duty, once they're off the foot or out of the drawer, as Cody's play things. He drags them about the house and we find them in kitchen, outside, in the hall and there, near the front door.

I love that dog.

More signs of spring. The shoes that pile up near the armoire in the living room are a little skimpier.

Teen Years

My friend and I were talking this afternoon and we wandered onto the subject of teen angst. I am increasingly aware of how each day brings me farther away from that time in my life. I can remember it fondly as enough time has now passed.

We talked about (made fun) how her sister-in-law deals with it and how we used to cope. We both wrote sad, sad little poems.

I dug some little treats out.

ktm, circa 16 yrs:

I got bored so
I painted my left hand grey and pretended it was dead.
I couldn't feel my book anymore and I couldn't drive to the grocery store with that hand.
People apologized. I got cards. I held a funeral.
They sent flowers.
I had to tell them it was just a joke.
So I did.
And they laughed.
So I hit them.
With my dead hand.

___________________

ktm, circa 17 yrs:

I struggle so much.
I fight inside my head with that little girl who will have no one touch her. I hate her.
She always wins.

I want to be loved
I want to love

Sometimes I pull my knees to my lips when I'm cold. I can imagine kisses so wonderful between me and another. I can share so much.

I want to share
I want to love

I want to be involved in the night.

I'm scared.
I don't want my heart to skip a beat again. I might like it again. It might want to skip more. Maybe 2 or 5...skipping into the sunset or sunrise, leaving my body lifeless in the absence of its booms.

___________________

ktm, circa 19 yrs:

When the shadow touches the pen, he will know that I have lived. Not just that I have practiced the elementary business of breathing, but that I have envied and feared. He will know that I made the shadow dance forming "E."

Isn't She Lovely

This afternoon at around 5:30 I was taking Cody for his afternoon walk. I suited him up, harness and all, and started out. I didn't make it too far down the driveway before I decided we would go opposite our normal route. I could sense that Cody needed new things to smell (and tinkle on). This took us past Mr. Ivan's house, our neighbor. He's a sweet, old man who takes care of all the neighborhood cats. They hang out at his house during the day to keep him company as he watches over the neighborhood, and hope to get the occasional head scratch. In the evenings they go home to their respective families. I've seen it happen. When he goes inside for the evening, they scatter to different houses on the street. It's like a cartoon. He's the Snow White of our little Drive.

Cody and I pass Mr. Ivan and the cats on our way down the street. I wave and Cody goes bonkers at the possibility of catching one of the cats, so much so that he almost chokes himself on the harness, which was bought to prevent exactly that, so we hurried on.

On our way back home, I decided we'd stop and say, "Good Evening" to Mr. Ivan, no matter Cody's behavior problems with the cats. So we stop and talk. Just when I can't contain Cody anymore and am on my way home next door, Mr. Ivan stops me and says, "I want to thank you for being lovely today. I think it is so lovely when women wear skirts."

I had worn a skirt shopping earlier in the day. It wasn't anything special, I had a T-shirt paired with it and some flip-flops. Hardly glamorous, but he said I was LOVELY. Lovely is probably the perfect word. It wasn't "sexy" or "beautiful" or "pretty." It was lovely. It was a wholesome compliment. Today I have come to the conclusion that every woman should be called "lovely" at least once in her life. It feels lovely.

To My Dearest

To My Dearest, Who Sends Things Like This To Me At Work

I'm in the mood to thank you for loving me. I know that almost four years ago you promised that you would, you even volunteered to do it in front of 400 people. But then, I only had a glimpse of how you would love me. I had no idea.

I always feel considered in your world (except when you turn off the light in the room I'm still in when you leave it...unintentionally).
Thank you for sharing laughs with me everyday (even if most of them are AT, not WITH).
Thank you for cleaning the house when you know I've had a frustrating day.
Thank you for always greeting me first while resisting the cutest dog ever, making him wait his turn.
Thank you for hurting when I hurt and listening to me vent about said hurts endlessly without complaint (and holding my hand while you listen).
Thank you for letting me know that you love me in a new way everyday. (I like the hair brushing and the back scratching, so feel free to repeat a day or two.)
Thank you for breaking into my car that time, just to leave a Valentine's present (even if I returned it for a different one).
Thank you for trying to propose on that one Valentine's day, when I was unconscious because of that emergency dental surgery and all those Percocets, even though you couldn't because I was unconscious...with all the Percocets.
Thank you for waiting for me.

Sometimes I can't believe you love me, especially when I come up with such revelations like, "There is no 'almost fat'," while continuing to pester the dog once he's found his most comfortable spot after I've just eaten half a pint of sorbet and complained that I'm cold...then hot.

Thank you for always getting me a blanket and turning on the fan. That's true love.

At the Car Wash

Wash

Yeah. We TOTALLY made out in the deluxe wash.

One Heapin' Helpin'

After finishing my dinner this evening, I needed something sweet (this is not new). I went into the kitchen to prepare my dessert. I gathered the necessary elements then went back into the living room to sit next to Eddie on the couch and enjoy my creation-o-decadence.

When Eddie looks to his left, where I am seated, I get a head tossed back in laughter. He almost lost his breath. The dog was scared and leapt off of the couch. I'm still sitting there, dessert in hand, wondering WHAT his problem could be.

"Chocolate Frosting. On a Spoon?"

"Yeah."

"You know I almost did that a couple of times, but I held back in fear that you would laugh at me."

"I'm not laughing. I'm eating my frosting."

He doesn't have any sisters. He's obviously never lived with girls.

Another One of Those Times Where I've Burned Off More Than a Few Calories Laughing

Eddie and I were driving home Wednesday evening, just about to turn into the driveway, when I look at my gas gauge and make a proud declaration:

"I got gas on my way home from work."

You see, I HATE getting gas. I HATE stopping for anything when I'm driving. I am usually running late whenever I leave wherever I' m coming from to get wherever I'm going. Not only do I hate to stop, I don't have time to stop. I'm not stopping. This never-leave-on-time habit (attitude) I've developed, I know, is not a healthy one as it often necessitates that I speed.

I've tried to leave early, early enough to have some spare time when I arrive. That time doesn't exist if you don't leave early ENOUGH. How early is that? You could keep pushing your departure time back and back until all of a sudden you've left TOO early. I'm not into too early. I don't like it. When you're too early, what do you have to do? WAIT. What is waiting? It's stopping. That's what it is. Stopping. I HATE stopping. I want to do, go, be, get, walk, run, act.

I suppose it could be a control issue. Being late (or almost late) is all on my terms. Being early is having to contort myself to fit someone else's schedule. Or maybe I'm just late. I haven't decided.

Pointing out to my husband that I have gotten gas that day is code for begging for praise for doing something that I shouldn't need praise for doing. He usually abides and offers a "That's good, Sparky." or an "Excellent.", but not this time. This time his response was an unusual:

"Aw."

I did a double take. I didn't understand what he didn't understand. Then it registered. In his boy world, I had gotten gas on my way home from work. Uncomfortable, stinky gas, not expensive, stinky gas. When we both realized what had happened, I got my affirmation and we both got a great laugh. I love stopping to laugh with my husband. He rocks.

Really.

Overheard:

Her: Why do men like boobs?

Him: Maybe it has something to do with sports. After all, they are soft, round balls. And you can squeeze them.

Admissions of Guilt

1. I took 4 when I should have taken 1.

2. Yesterday on the drive home from work, I was totally speeding and rocking out to Bon Jovi's "Wanted Dead or Alive." I had Big Hair Attitude.

3. I ordered more hangers. They came in today.

Cody's Routine

6:30-7:00am: Rustle and bustle about in the bed until he gets himself kicked out.

7:10am: Says goodbye to ktm leaving for work; Eddie walks him.

8:25am: Says goodbye to Eddie leaving for work.

8:26-11:29am: Nap.

11:30am: Greet Eddie coming home for lunch.

11:35-12:15pm: Beg for Eddie's lunch / Play outside.

12:25pm: Says goodbye to Eddie going back to work.

12:26-4:37pm: Nap.

4:38pm: Greet Eddie coming home from work.

5:10pm: Bark loudly at the mailman until he vanishes from sight.

5:11pm: Continue barking loudly at what WAS the mail man, just in case he's hiding from immediate view.

5:30pm: Greet ktm as she comes home from work.

5:31-5:45pm: Begs ktm to walk him.

5:46-6:00pm: ktm walks him.

6:01pm: Gets and eats a Greenie for being a "good boy" on his evening walk.

6:05pm: Begs for whatever is being cooked/heated up for dinner.

6:30-7:30pm: Begs while ktm and Eddie eat dinner.

7:31pm: Begins growling at either ktm or Eddie to relinquish whatever is left on their plates or in their bowls because they obviously no longer want it.

7:40pm: Watches hopelessly as the left-over food is put away.

7:45pm: Sleeps on the couch (in the middle) with ktm and Eddie and will growl if interrupted.

9:00pm: Begins to eat dinner.

9:15pm: Play time. Presents any of his toys for a game of tug of war/catch in the living room. Any hints of being ignored are met with a persistence that remains unmatched.

10:30pm: Bed Time.

10:31-10:40pm: Hunts for the "perfect spot" underneath the covers, making sure to take over just enough of both sides of the bed so he's forcibly removed from aforementioned "perfect spot."

10:50pm: Sleep.

Somewhere between 11:00pm-5:00am: Gets up and steals whatever food has been left on the coffee table, drinks some water and comes back to bed.

6:30am: The rustling begins again.

I Saw, I Ordered, I Became One Of THEM

This picture is evidence that I have ordered and received my Huggable Hangers. This is not the result of sitting up on a sleepless night transfixed and mesmerized by infomercials. (Although that does happen on occasion.) I resist the urge to order just anything that I think could improve our daily lives. We DO NOT own The Little Giant, the Ab Roller, the Magic Bullet, the Power Juicer or any Winsor Pilates tapes. To date I have only ordered a shredder and some dryer lint brush thingy (to prevent house fires with my new lint-free dryer).

However.

The impact of an actual closet organizational system on one's life cannot be denied. This kind of product is any neat freak's realization of a twisted wet dream. All the hangers are the same size, the same color, and the clothes hang the same distance from the rod. I can now hang 14 sweaters in the same space that 7 hung before. Living in a home that was built way back when people apparently had NO CLOTHES (my closets are small), these are an incredible space-saver. That logic makes it easier to justify this purchase. My husband goes along with this gleefully because I do the laundry and the ironing. If I want new hangers, he knows good enough to nod and smile and get out of the way.

See. This is my closet - on neato steriods.




Tell me you don't want them.

The Big Game

This past Tuesday night I went to my first ever high school basketball game. "How can this be?" you ask? I went to a high school where they didn't have such things. No basketball, no football, no baseball. We had a Chess team though. Really. I went to a performing arts/magnet high school where those three sports were considered distractions to our academic pursuits.

One of our friends is a teacher and a coach at a local high school. From what I understand, his team is consistently the underdog. This year they made it into the playoffs so Eddie and I wanted to take the time to support him and his team by going to the big game.

When the night of the game rolled around, I was a bit nervous. I was going back to high school. It was like I was about to travel through time. It didn't matter that it wasn't my high school or that I wouldn't know a soul except for the coach and his wife. It mattered that I was going to a place where I assumed I wouldn't fit in. As we strolled towards the gym from the parking lot, I felt like I was in some kind of high school movie. There were cheerleaders in uniform congregating near the back of a truck filled with fans. They were chanting a team cheer and playing high intensity music. I held Eddie's hand and let him guide me, like a tourist in Times Square, so I could look around without worry of bumping into anyone or hitting my nose on a tree.

When we got into the gym everything was so real. This was a real high school. I couldn't get over it; I couldn't take it in fast enough. There was a concession stand, (nachos!) players in uniform, parents dressed in team colors, photographers, loud music and mascots. I loved it.

[Reading these paragraphs back to myself, it certainly

seems as though I was raised with the Amish or in

some communist country. I assure you, my high school

life was far less interesting than those.]

We sat with the coach's wife and the team videographer. They just happen to sit in the opposing team's fan section. This is so she can sit behind her husband and the videographer has a perch with the best view. Eddie and I wanted to experience the experience, and in an effort do that we could rationalize concessions. For me, that means nachos. I was able to resist the giant pickle, but it was a close call. When we returned to our seats, it was evident that we were in the parent section. I immediately deemed this the most interesting - sitting in the visiting parents section. I couldn't wait to see how these people reacted to the game. Bring on the stereotypes!

I didn't know they would actually show their faces. For the first quarter, I was concentrating more on my nachos in an effort to leave the game without wearing most of them. My parent-watching wasn't in full swing until the second quarter, but the way-too-into-the-game-grandmother showed her colors early on. She could whistle. Not the "put your lips together and blow" whistle, but the ear-drum piercing, want to throw your drink at her head, two finger in the mouth, spawn from decibel hell. Of course, she sat directly to the right of us.

On our left was dad-of-the-star-of-the-opposing-team. The other kids on his son's team could do no right. I knew it was dad-of-the-star-of-the-opposing-team when he stood up and yelled, "What? Are you STUPID? THROW THE BALL! You're a high school player. You should know better than that crap! Give Tyler the ball!" He almost hit the coach's wife with his elbow as he stood abruptly, putting his hands on his hips in consternation. He didn't look like he was having much fun.

In the end, our team lost on a bunch of sucker fouls (me and the lingo!) and only a few points. As we were leaving, we passed some tearful cheerleaders planting their faces into the chests of strong men and the room where our friend, the coach was helping to console his players. I was a little sad too. It would've been nice to see the underdog win.

My role in the high school movie ended as I walked out into the same parking lot, weaving through weary fans, tightly holding the hand of the man I searched for back in Amish country. We'll both be going back to high school next season to root for our friend and our team.

How True, How True

I've been reading...someone linked to this site and when I visited I found something else I liked. Enjoy.

Five good things to absorb while you’re still young
January 23rd, 2006
1. A lot of hippies are selfish, unpleasant, and not particularly funny
2. People who argue well aren’t necessarily right
3. Cars are kind of a weird thing to spend a lot of money on
4. People will do things for you if you ask them as a favor
5. Angry waiters totally do things to your food
--5ives

Read It. Live It.

I've waited for someone to put this exactly so.

Way Too Funny At 12:38 In The Morning

A couple of nights ago, I had just finished the new Soduku puzzle in the back of T.V. Guide and was coming off of that high. I hadn't been able to finish the crossword (as pathetic as that is) so I asked Eddie (gently woke him up) for some help. He politely and sleepily told me that he would rather continue sleeping. So I asked him a question. He didn't move for a second, then his eyes opened and I knew his wheels were turning. I had him.

He reached for the magazine so he could better examine the mess I had made, took the pencil away from me and furrowed his brow in midnight concentration.

I have an unconventional method for crossword puzzles, one that Eddie has not yet adopted. If I don't know what the solution is immediately, I skip it. On the second round, anything that makes sense and might fit gets put into the blank. It's so much more fun that way, but if you have someone come behind you trying to finish it, that can make for some interesting faces on the evaluator. Eddie usually makes those interesting faces...sometimes followed by a giggle.

When he takes the magazine, I know that he is no longer helping me. I know that it is now his puzzle and my contribution is over. That leaves me free to bother him, play with the dog distractingly and start conversations about unrelated, trivial things. While I was talking and he was concentrating, he took in a breath and exhaled, "You know what would fit here? Nebra."

-"Nebra?"

Then he lost it. The magazine fell on his chest and he covered his face to hide the laugher. He giggled for 10 seconds then broke out into a full laugh for the next 3 full minutes. That kind of laughter is infectious. We both laughed until it tapered off and it felt great.

Yes, "Nebra" may not be the funniest thing you or I have ever heard, but we've just entered this phase where we're thinking of baby names. (Not because we're pregnant or thinking of becoming pregnant in the next few months, but because we know that we'll eventually want to have a tot of our own and we'll have to call him or her something.) However, thinking of baby names is far too boring and for us, it usually transforms into conversations of what we won't be naming our spawn. It usually involves the combination of 1 male and 1 female name until we laugh. Laughter is the litmus test. Nick + Debra = Nebra. Nebra passed.

Other combinations have included: Nictoria, Jaychelle, LeStacy, Roynette, and Timabella.

The last laugh was about a nickname. Nebra would inevitably be called Nebbie. Nebbie.

"Hey, Neb."

Girlie Things

I was in a local store a few days ago, getting a few necessities and browsing at everything I didn't need. I love to browse but I don't always need to buy. I can browse in a store and more often than not, come home with nothing. So, I was doing my usual bit, the browsing, when I ran into the purse section. I picked up a few, held them, caressed them, opened them, tried them on and put them back. Such is the ritual. Sometimes things actually make their way into the buggy, get a cruise around the store and THEN I put them back. I have this need to justify the purchases. If I don't actually NEED it, after it makes its way into the buggy this little nagging voice inside my head goes on and on until I meander back to the section where the item belongs and replace it onto the shelf or rack.

After I put the purse up there was another voice, one that called me back to the purse section. At first I ignored it and headed off to look at the office supplies (one of my favorite browsing areas) then I remembered: I had a gift certificate. A GIFT CERTIFICATE. The I-don't-need-to-justify-this-purchase gift certificate. That purse made it all the way past the check-out.

I love it. It's my new favorite thing.


Sometimes, you just need them.

I Love Asparagus

...but I hate the pee.

Before I was Interrupted

This is the meme I was going to do yesterday and since I've had more time to mull it over, I feel pressure now... pressure that my answers have to be sharper, funnier and more interesting. Wish me luck.

Four Jobs I've Had

1. Gymnastics coach. You'd be surprised how much "little" kids weigh when you have to lift them over and over again.
2. Student Worker for the Louisiana Department of Agriculture and Forestry. It was interesting working for the state. I liked the holidays, that was about it.
3. Cake Builder. During one of the summers while I was in culinary school, I took a job in a bakery/pastry shop. I thought any chef worth her salt should know more about the bake shop. I gained 5 pounds.
4. Temp. Just out of college, right after 9/11 and people were afraid to hire, so I took temp. positions to pay for my wedding. I remember one so vividly. I had to call every Home Depot in the 10 states I was given to help create a database of certain fax numbers. One word: Ew.


Four Movies I Can Watch Over and Over

1. Sliding Doors
2. Say Anything
3. Christmas Vacation
4. Trading Places


Four Places I have Lived

1. In Baton Rouge, LA on Bonham St....for about 20 years
2. A dorm/apartment in Charleston, SC.
3. A dorm in Providence, RI
4. A charming house in the heart of Baton Rouge...with the husband.


Four T.V. Shows I Love

1. The Amazing Race
2. Project Runway
3. Survivor (I refuse to be ashamed of reality tv. Every man who loves sports...LOVES reality tv)
4. Sex and the City


Four Places I've Vacationed

1. Depoe Bay, Oregon
2. Park City, Utah
3. San Francisco/Santa Cruz, California
4. Houston/Dallas, Texas


Four of My Favorite Dishes

1. Macaroni & Cheese (I may make it with a nice Mornay sauce now, but I'll never stop loving it)
2. Roasted Duck with homemade garlic mashed potatoes and sweet carrots
3. Chinese #4 (Shrimp with Chinese Vegetables)
4. A GOOD seafood gumbo


Four Sites I Visit Daily

1. Dooce (obviously)
2. Liana
3. Daily Dose of Imagery
4. msn (it's my homepage)


Four Places I would Rather Be Right Now

1. Winging my way to Hawaii... on the start of a vacation with my Sparky
2. Just arriving at that bed and breakfast in Saint Francisville where we stayed for our 6-month anniversary
3. Taking pictures
4. Where Eddie is (He's on the couch with the dog as I finish this... where I'll be SHORTLY)


Five People I'm Tagging

1. Kyle
2. DooDee
3. Keith
4 & 5. Chris and Sharyl


Couch, Eddie and Buddy, Here I come. Survivor is coming on.

"Faith is Only a Measure of Gullibility"

Wow. I had to erase the previous title of: "Needed a Prompt" to replace it with the current one. I was reading Dooce today and saw that she'd answered a group of questions called a "Meme." My plan for this post was to do the same. I have to admit that I'm fairly new to blogging and reading other's blogs but I like to believe that I'm learning the lingo pretty fast. When I don't know something, I usually Google it or ask someone. I didn't know what a "Meme" was.

Google pulled up some interesting things, but one caught my eye in particular. "Christianity is a 'meme', a mind virus that infects people and manipulates their behavior."

After I read that, I had to click on the site and I knew that the meme on Dooce would wait another day. I consider myself a Christian. Notice I didn't say, "good Christian" or "right wing Christian" or "all the time perfect example of God's love." I've never visited a site like that before. I can't say I feel offended, because that's not correct. It's just weird to read something someone has written that is in complete objection to the way I've been brought up.

I do have an opinion about politics, but my ideas of what is right and just never fit on one side of the ballot. I don't think it's black or white (or blue or red). I do think there are those out there who call themselves "Christian" but have no idea about what grace is, not just grace given to us or for us, but the grace we're supposed to give to others.

I don't know if the site was meant to antagonize or if the authors feel a disconnect from someone who declared to the world that they were a Christian as they drop-kicked puppies off of a cliff. I do know that they have arguments based on religious stereotypes and I can't say that they'd be wrong about the origins of some of those stereotypes. It also makes me incredibly sad that those stereotypes exist. Isn't it the same as generalizing ALL girls as weak and emotional? Or ALL homosexuals as perverts? Or ALL republicans as war-hungry, greedy bastards? Or ALL democrats as double-talking nit-wits? Or ALL overweight people as stupid and lazy? I could go on.

In high school I had a logic and philosophy teacher named Mr. Barber. To me, he held the keys to the universe. Had I the money, and his power of persuasion, I would have employed him as my personal guide through life. Anyway, in the beginning of logic you learn the fundamentals of the argument. I learned waaaaay back then that hasty generalizations were WRONG. Not just wrong, but ignorant. Not just ignorant, but stupid.

I want so much for everyone to believe what they want, not just as I choose to. But I want them to KNOW it (I too, need to learn more everyday). I want so much for the grace that I'm taught to give (even if I'm still learning to give it) to pour over everyone so they can feel it, whether that feeling is attributed to a god or not.

I have faith.

His Story

In his words...

And Now He's a Man

Today, Eddie did two things that in his mind mark manhood.

1. He paid off our second vehicle.

2. He disposed of the remains of a dead opossum in our backyard.

So, we now own all of our vehicles outright AND we have a vermin-free back yard. Life is now nothing but bliss, canned peaches and fluffy marshmallows. It's a shame that I wasn't there to account every aspect of the entire opossum-removal project here. Although, while listening to his story, I did take away a few interesting points.

*Our shovel was a top-notch investment.
*He is the proud inventor (patent pending) of a new trash bag-trash can contraption that I don't quite understand, but do recognize it was vital to the excavation.
*He now understands why some people are vegetarians.
*The word "barf" was mentioned as he got in touch with his gag reflex.
*"It was...the most DISGUSTING thing I've ever done."

As soon as he uttered those last words, I knew we're somehow destined to have children that do little more than projectile vomit, poo and snot.

He's jinxed us, I just know it.

A Hole in the Bottom of My Favorite Sock

I've been afraid to come back here lately. Every time I sit at the computer, it's easier to read what others have to say or look at pretty pictures instead of fearing keyboard diarrhea. I still fear it. I don't want to type something that will hurt someone else's feelings or get me into any kind of awkward social situation or get me fired. All of those things are in my head, unspoken sentences, inappropriate rants, complaints, gossip and the obscene tell-off (gestures included). Each is vying for its way out into the world.

But. I'm a Christian, a friend, an employee, a leader...Trying to be great at all of those when you're only human is a project. Life is a project.

This month has been one of the more difficult ones in a long time. We've had an invasion of sorts in our home and the guests have been an unpleasant distraction. You're never YOU when that happens. Eddie and I are both looking forward to when we're US again. Then I'm sure my head will be filled less with rants and more with the kinds of things that belong here.

I pulled my favorite 'about the house' socks out of the dryer tonight, just as we got home from dinner with our friends, Kristen and Seth. They're knitted and soft and fluffy and thick and they protect my feet from everything, a gift from aunt Susie. I put the left one on, and then the right and began to get into other comfortable clothes. Then I felt it. The floor. THROUGH MY SOCK. The right one. I turned my foot over and was witness to the unconscionable fact: There was a hole in the bottom of my right sock.

That one was always my favorite (the right one).

Eddie, knowing how much I love the sock says, "That's so sad." He gives me a hug.

I shall live to blog another day.

Much To Say, Little To Write

...so now you understand why I've been so moody and why I haven't posted in a while.

Oh.

You DON'T understand, because you couldn't read the words before those three little dots because it was about work.

Work, work, work.

Tension happens and I get over it but instead of blogging, I talk to Eddie.

Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.

He rules.



*I did get to drive my boss's car today. It was rad.

Helpful Hints, Good Advice

"Don't mistake that caulk for the toothpaste."


Check.

Not Out of Fear

Last evening, I was tired and resting on the couch when I smelled something objectionable. The first suspect is always the dog. One of Cody's favorite things to do is to find the most awful smell in the yard and roll in it. He doesn't just roll, he dives into it and wiggles around on his back as I would if I found my bed full of hundred dollar bills. (He doesn't squeal with glee, however.)
His second favorite thing to do is to place himself beneath your nose after he's rolled in whatever it is that emits such a smell.

Once Eddie confirmed that it wasn't the dog, I suspected any of the half empty cups and bowls on the nearby coffee table and asked sweetly if Eddie would remove the offensive, stink-filled dishes. He did so without argument. I love him.

Still, the smell lingered. It wasn't food, it wasn't poo...Was it me? I'd been with myself the whole of the day and didn't smell it. Was it Eddie? No, he'd just kissed me on the head as he passed in front of my nose on his way to the kitchen carting the dishes. What was it?

It couldn't be the Christmas Tree. It couldn't be the water that's been sitting in that tree stand for...way too long. It's only the first week of January. People leave their trees up for much longer than we have. It couldn't be the tree.

It was the tree.

Sour, foul and potent. We couldn't believe that something so beautiful could be the culprit. So we made a decision to remove Christmas from our living room the next day.

The Scene:

This afternoon after work. He's wrapping the Christmas ornaments for another year of storage while she takes them off of the tree.

"Yeah, I'm gonna need you to detach the x-wing from the lights. Here's the first ornament I got for you. Aw."

"Remember this ornament? (precious one bought at a missions market) I'm so glad we bought it. Could you bring me the scissors?"

(I'm thinking... why would he need the scissors, because there's plenty of tissue paper provided for wrapping ornaments; what could he possibly need to cut? So I look over. He's holding up a giant piece of tissue paper. I walk over and tear it in half. Badly. It ripped in all the wrong places, but I tore it and made a couple of useful pieces out of it. He watched in understated amazement.)

"Oh. I didn't know if that would be acceptable." Sheepishly, but with a bit of a smile

I look at him while my eyes got wider and we both burst out laughing.

"Acceptable?"

"I know how you like things neat. I didn't ask for the scissors out of fear of what you might do if I tore the paper. I was just trying to do the little things that make a good husband."

How am I supposed to compete with that?

The Buddy

This is Cody. He wishes I never got a camera. He wonders why, just when he gets playful or comfortable on the couch, I hide my face behind a black box and scare him repeatedly with a bright burst of light. In spite of being scared, he still tries to smell the camera. Not just the camera, he's not satisfied until he puts his nose on the LENS. I'm getting so much better at dodging that little black nose. I've only had to clean the lens twice.

Sad excuse to post pictures of my cute dog? Maybe.

Merry Christmas to Me

I waited and waited. Then I waited some more. Last night, at 8:23pm, it finally came to my door. My present. MY CAMERA.

This isn't just any camera. It's my FIRST digital camera. I know, I know... Where have I been? This is classic me. I won't settle for just anything and when I want something, I want EXACTLY what I have in mind and I'm willing to wait. I waited for the perfect husband and it only took 8 years from the day we met to marry.

However. My patience has limits when things don't make sense.

With the help of our friend Keith, Eddie and I ordered our Nikon d50, appropriate lenses, memory cards and software from B&H photo on December 17. I chose the UPS 3-day select delivery because while I could justify spending $1,000 on a camera and accessories, I couldn't justify spending over $20 in shipping. After all, I'm patient.

I got the tracking number and I waited. Eleven days later, I received the package. 11. After Christmas. It was scanned 3 times on the 19th, twice on the 20th, once on the 21st, 3 times on the 22, (those scans on the 21 and 22--all in the SAME city) 3 times on the 23, (once with the comment, "The package was missed at the UPS facility, UPS will deliver on the next business day"), declared lost between the 23rd and 28th only to arrive at my home with no warning, but after the search party had already gone out. In total, delivery was rescheduled 3 times, I called UPS 6 times, B&H-2 times and gnawed on a leather strap to control my temper for only the last 4 days.

I had a hard time coming to terms with spending this much money on something other than our basic needs. Eddie and I made a decision early on in our marriage to BUY things not charge them. Because we actually pay for everything we buy WHEN we buy it, sometimes we have to wait. The plan was to wait a bit longer for such a treat, but PaPa Hansen (Eddie's grandfather) saw to it that we didn't. He gave us a gift contingent on the fact that we do nothing sensible with it. He's 84 and wants to see us enjoy spending said gift.

My original plan was to ENJOY the money in a car that we could OWN after the last couple of payments. I could go to PaPa, point to the car and say, "See, I'm enjoying driving to work in this car that I now own." Eddie nudged me away from this logic and I'm glad that he did.

PaPa's gonna be proud.

After I finish reading the manual and SLR Digital Camera Photography for Dummies, some interesting pics may find their way here. I make no promises.

Post-Christmas Cocoon: Coffee Table Inventory

This Christmas, Eddie and I spent a fair amount of time out of our own, comfortable house celebrating the birth of our Lord and Savior with family, friends and church congregation.

It wasn't until LATE Sunday evening, we were able to return to our home, our dog and our much needed vegetative state. That is the part of the holiday that is really the most fun. I love food and chocolate and presents (as I write, mine is still held captive by the UPS man), but I love to be at home with my husband much, much more. I know that MAY make me a bit of a dork, but I'm far from worried.

We both had Monday off of work, so we chose to spend our day camped out on our luscious couch.

This morning before I cleaned it, our coffee table held:

advil......................1 bottle

blankets................3 each (near the couch)

bowls.....................4 each (one with remnants of this week's cereal-Cocoa Pebbles)

brushes.................1 each (to groom the dog)

coasters................1 set (a fixture)

dvds.....................2 each (Christmas Vacation and Batman Begins, both gifts)

m&ms....................1/4 bag (I won't tell who ate them)

pillows...................3 each (near the couch, remnants of the weekend)

remote controls..3 each (they all serve a purpose, I PROMISE)

rubber bands.......1 each

salt.........................1 shaker

scissors.................1 pair

sharpies................1 each

socks.....................7 pair (clean and folded, I might add)

star wars glass.....1 each

t-shirt....................1 each (gleefully taken off when Eddie said he would brush my hair)

thank you list........1 each (for birthday presents)

tv guide..................1 each (two weeks old)

It's a big table and we like it.

Throwing Rocks at Life

On my way to work earlier this week, I suffered the joy of traveling 20 miles per hour behind an 18 wheeler. The driver was searching for the correct place to turn left (he kept his left blinker on the entire way--I suppose that was easier for him). He would stop at EVERY plant entrance where workers were congregated to ask if that was where he was supposed to be. It lasted about 10 miles and 1 million years.

Of course, I was 5 minutes late for work. I hate that. No one wants to hear about that truck or the fact that the road was winding, with LOTS of passing cars so there was no way around.

When I finally got to work, there was little room left on the gravel parking lot provided. I had a distinct urge to throw those rocks.

With the traffic building for the holidays in an already overcrowded city (it took me 2 hours to get home last night) and family get-togethers looming ALL weekend, someone better hide ALL the rocks.

12.18.79

Happy Birthday Russell.

12.17.75

Happy 30th Birthday Eddie!

90 Miles from home in 1999

After 28 years in the same home, my parents are moving, so I've been going through a lot of my old things lately. I went to get what remained in my old room a few months ago. I piled it in an unused room in our house, intending to sort through the memories and keep what was necessary. I make it a point to do this often so I'm not weighted down with so much stuff. Sometimes Eddie can't believe the kinds of things I'll throw away...or shred...or burn.

I don't like clutter. Before my methods are attacked, I'll have it known that I do hang on to special things. I'm not a total hard heart but I like to assess what needs to be saved or condensed on a regular basis. It keeps everything in perspective and allows for only special items to become sacred because of their meaning to me - not just because I've had them for 15 years.

Off track.

Anyway, I found some disks in an old booksack from culinary school. I suppose they had been spared from the purges because they concealed something important OR I'd just never had the time to open any of those files since I stored them in that old Jansport. I took the time yesterday.

I found an old journal kept during the time of my first culinary internship at the Marriott in New Orleans. Here are a few clips.

Week One
"In a new city, there are certain living arrangements one needs to make simply to function without hassle from day to day. This morning, I had made none of them. I got stuck in a toll lane, never having dealt with a toll bridge. I would have to adapt. I wound up paying for parking...all 14 dollars of it. I am now officially working to park. Fun. Fun. Fun."

Week Two
"My intention is to stand out and learn as much as possible in the time allotted...if it doesn't kill me."

Week Three
"Here's hoping an "experienced me" can thumb through these words in a few years and have a nice chuckle at the lack of self-confidence they convey." Nope. Still the same Kristen. No matter how many successes, she's still convinced her first failure is just around the corner.

Week Four
"Self doubt is a nasty thing. Over-analyzing a situation, unfortunately, is one of my strong points."

Week Five
"This week marks my last here in the Riverview and I couldn't have left with a bigger bang than ringing in the new Millennium by serving 200 people 8 courses. I was invigorated. I wasn't helpless or scared, it was affirming to perform quickly and to respond without hesitation."

Eddie's got the other couple of weeks e-mailed to him because I couldn't extract them from the disk. I can't wait to read THOSE.

I think I already know what they'll say. They'll say that I'm still Kristen and she hasn't changed, really. I'm a little older, a little wiser and a lot less shy but I'm still me. Every time I've kept a journal, (sporadically) I've written to a me in the future assuming I would be a different person or that I would have forgotten the who that I was when I wrote it. I thought that as I aged, I would transform into someone dramatically different. That didn't happen.

I'm glad it didn't.

Houses With Only Red Christmas Lights Are Creepy

They just are.

Special Gifts

I can turn the hot water on and off in the bath tub with only my left foot.

The Very First Words We Ever Spoke

Late 1992- It was the beginning of our junior year in high school. My best friend, Emily, was in my Algebra II class. She sat two rows over and to the back. This was before she lied to the teacher, telling her she couldn't see the board, in order to move into the only empty desk-the one directly in front of me.

Just before the annual Christmas dance, (an important social event when you're 16) there was a vital need for constant communication between friends. During Algebra II one day leading up to the dance, I needed to be updated on the latest in Emily's world. I needed to know at the very moment we were learning about x, if she had a date to said dance. I am not proud of the measures I had to take to obtain the intel. I had to pass a note.

I pulled out a piece of paper and wrote, "Do you have a date to the dance?" I folded it and passed it to a boy in the row next to mine, hoping it would reach its intended without detection. I watched as he opened it, glanced at the contents and then looked back at me. I mouthed quickly, "It's for Emily." The kind boy folded it back and passed it on.

I don't remember what happened after that...because this is my version of the story. It is a piece of my life that I wouldn't otherwise remember if I hadn't married anonymous note-passer 10 years later.

His version is much funnier.

Late 1992- Eddie was sitting quietly, paying attention in Algebra II. Some girl he's never spoken to hands him a note. Confused, he opens the note and reads it. It says, "Do you have a date to the dance?" Even more confused, he's thinking, Is this girl asking ME to the dance... what do I...then he looks back at me long enough for me to mouth, "It's for Emily." He folds the note back and passes it to Emily wondering what just happened and if anyone knew what he was thinking. He took notice of me after that.

I used to wonder what my future husband was doing, where he was living, was he older than me or younger? Let it be a lesson to you. Anonymous man on the street, the one you don't know in the movie theatre, the boy you ask to pass a note to your best friend...10 years from now you could wind up married to him!