Naive Is Evian Spelled Backwards

Every single day since January 1 of this year, I've been religiously registering to win the HGTV Dream Home.  (You can totally register every day until February 19th!)  I love the idea that I COULD win.  I like daydreaming about what we'd do with it, when we'd go and how much easier it would make our lives, you know, when we win.  (After we sell it for the cash.)

So, one of the days that I entered while at work (it literally takes 30 seconds), I came home and started talking to Eddie about it.  I started planning out loud what we'd do when we won.  He was quiet for a while and then his facial expression started to change from "just listening" to "a little concerned."  At this point, I stopped my optimistic, out-loud planning for our future dream home and asked him what else he was thinking about.

He hesitates.

"You know, we're not going to win this thing."

Blink.  Blink.  Blink.

"You just seem a little too sure about this and I don't want your feelings to get hurt when we don't win."

Not wanting to give up: "But we COULD win.  Right?"

"We're NOT going to win.  Do you even know what the odds are?"

"O.k.  WE'RE not going to win.  I'M going to win.  When I win, YOU'LL have to admit you were wrong.  And you won't be invited to MY house."

"O.k, O.k, O.k.  I take it back.  You're going to win and when you do, I'll go around saying, 'I was wrong.'  I want to come to the house."

When we win, we're totally getting a new desk and a new chair.

He Could Write A Tips Column For A Men's Magazine

We had an engagement that evening and neither one of us wanted to get up off the couch, off of each other, leaving a comfortable cuddle to get appropriately dressed. I knew I had to leave the cocoon first because getting ready to go, for me, doesn't end with a shower. That's where it begins. After I bathed myself and washed my hair, I was spending time in the mirror on hair and make-up when Eddie passes my bathroom fully dressed.

"You know, it's not really fair. It takes you so much less time to get dressed to go out. I'm jealous."

"Yeah. But no matter how long I'd spend, I'd never look as good as you."





Smooth.

They Call That "Business Naked"

This is a term Eddie coined after seeing me in a stage of undress after work.  

Eddie, let's trademark it.

12.18.79

Happy Birthday Russell.

Russell would have been 28 today. He was/is my little brother.

Last month I wrote a bit about my sister.  My brother was the middle child, my sister was the youngest.  Ever since I started this blog, I wanted to write about each of them, but I never thought I could sit down long enough, reach deep, and do their memories justice.  One day I will.  

Russell died twelve years ago, just ten days after his 16th birthday.  Car accident.

I miss his laugh.  It was contagious.  

For My Sparky

Happy Birthday my love. Oh so glad you were born.

This Comes Highly Recommended

A Sunday afternoon nap on a comfy couch with a warm, cuddly dog in a living room lit by only a Christmas tree.

mmmmmm.

Some People Have To Shovel Snow...

While others have to rake. In December.

Our front yard this morning:

Our Christmas Tree Has Crabs

Yes, that's real popcorn that I strung for the tree. It's become a tradition for us to adorn the tree with exploded corn since we've been married. Six bags of microwave popcorn. Six. That's how much popcorn it takes to adequately cover a seven and a half foot tree. I don't want to flock the tree, but in the south it's a little taste of something like snow on the large green thing in the living room. Except the corn is a little butterier I would imagine.

Eddie and I have also collected Christmas ornaments each year of our marriage. If we travel, we'll try to pick up something interesting that reminds us of our adventure. Below is an ornament we picked up when I took Eddie on a tour of the town where I work (I commute an hour). Yes, that's a real crab shell painted with a wintry scene. The Quintessential Louisiana Christmas ornament. We would have paid almost any price.

Discover The Hidden Value Of Your Purchases By Reading The Instructions

When Eddie and I moved into this house, there was a list of things I wanted to change.  Notice I didn't type, "...we wanted to change."  I believe this is a fundamental difference between most of the men I know and most of the women I know.  Eddie is generally thankful to have a place to lay his head.  He needs very little.  For him, a comfortable bed and a fan in a room with pink walls provides a relaxing sanctuary for a night of good sleep.  The same bed and fan and walls for me is a pink prison that must be changed.  Immediately.  I will dwell on the pinkness of the pink and how it ugli-fies my comfortable bed until I paint it.  Eddie will pass the walls and only see cool pillows and soft sheets.  It astounds me that happiness can exist with so much less work than I seem to have to put into it.  (In our previous house, the master bedroom was PINK when we moved in.  Not pink when we moved out.)      

We began the changes in this house by ripping out the carpet in a majority of the rooms and replacing it with wood.  This was priority one for me.  Notice I typed, "We began the changes..." because it took more than one of us to pay for it.

Next on the list of affordable improvements was the sink/faucet combo in the kitchen.  After many trips to the local home improvement store, we (I) decided on exactly what would replace our way-too-small, hard-to-turn-on-and-off sink and faucet.  We bought and brought home to install.  We loved everything about them.  

Except one thing.

Our faucet would only run as a sprayer.  When we would do dishes or get a drink of water, more of the spray would bounce off of a dish or the bottom of the sink to DRENCH us EVERY TIME we used it.  But it was pretty and it was what I wanted, so I didn't want to complain.  I didn't want to complain to Eddie about the rather expensive faucet that I picked out.  Dangerous territory.

So we lived with it.  For about seven months.  

Last week, I've gotten another grand idea for more organization in the house and am cataloguing and storing all of our instruction manuals we've collected over the years.  I'm discarding those that are no longer necessary and perusing those that are still applicable when I stop at the one with pictures of our faucet on the front and I started to read.

There it was.  Right under the heading: YES, YOU ARE A MORON.  YOU SHOULD HAVE READ THESE INSTRUCTIONS WHEN YOU GOT THE FAUCET TO AVOID GETTING WET EVERY TIME YOU USE IT. 

The key to removing the barrier to my almost-perfect faucet's perfection was before me:  The instructions for switching the spray on the nozzle.  There were even diagrams.  I swear an untouched light bulb turned on somewhere in the house at that very moment.

It took 1 second to change from get-me-wet spray to flowing-stream-of-lovely-dryness.  

I ran to show Eddie my genius.  I left the water running.  

It wasn't going to drench the counter (and the floor and the rug) this time. 

Next:  The counters.  

You Broke The Thermometer?

Being sick isn't frustrating enough.  Eddie's got the ick.  This evening he wanted to confirm he had a fever.  We still have one of those old school thermometers (not digital), so Eddie rinsed it off and tried to shake it before he used it.  

He shook it against the side of the sink.  It busted.  Shiny, watery metallic stuff flew all over the kitchen along with bits and pieces of sharp, broken glass.  Some reflective liquid landed on his feet, the floor, the counter and the rug in the kitchen.  It eventually transferred onto his shirt, a bathroom towel, his forearm and valuable electronic devices.  

Some time was spent accessing information on the Internet about what to do in this case.

All is well now.  We killed it.  Thanks Internet.    

But I NEED It

I arrived home from work this afternoon a little tired and weary from the week.  I've looked forward to the freedom of Friday night since late Sunday evening.  The freedom to stay awake until sleep comes to get me is a luxury I can't often indulge as a natural night owl who has to get up quite early for work.  When I can stay awake as long as I want, into the wee hours of the morning, it's like I'm stealing time.  In the winter, when the night creeps more and more into the day, I feel like I have less time to do everything I need and want to do.  I hate that.

Now that I'm hosting Christmas dinner, I feel like I have to do more stuff with less time.  This evening, my Friday evening, I came home from work with a well constructed To Do list for the weekend in my head.  I walked in the door, poured a glass of wine and decided to procrastinate.  Later on in the evening, I got the energy to get some of the shopping out of the way and after a few stops made my way over to Michaels.  I meandered through all of the Christmas decor, picture frames and art supplies with nearly nothing in my basket until I stumbled upon it.  The ceiling of the store opened up and the street lights turned toward it to reveal that... Martha Stewart has a craft collection at Michaels. 

I wanted everything.

I'm not really a crafter, but I could find an excuse to purchase a kit for hand puppets.  BECAUSE IT WAS PRETTY.  I NEED a bird stamp and a leaf sticker and a pair of beige scissors and paper flowers and a photo album and patterned ribbon.  

Because they're pretty.  

The packaging made me want to EAT everything.  It was all just the right color and shape and texture, but I knew better than to go too near.  Just like I know better than to go down the office/school supply aisle in any store.  It's bad news for all involved.  First, I'll waste time examining everything, imagining how I'll use it and what new furniture I'll need to keep it at its best.  Next, I'll pick up everything just to hold it.  I'll even carry it around for a while.  

It's a great way to spend a Friday night.  I need those.

Christmas Decorating Decision

This is how I will be presenting the napkins.

I've rolled the napkin, (my grey that will be masquerading as silver) tied it with a ribbon that was threaded through a Christmas ornament (4 for $0.79 at Target) and knotted in the back. That's one decision down. On to the next three hundred forty seven.

My First Time

When Eddie and I moved into this house, a house that would fit more than just the two of us and the dog without sitting in shifts, I offered it up to the family as a holiday mecca for all that I knew it could be. I offered it nonchalantly because I knew it would take years for the mothers to relinquish their hold on the "Family Christmas," which would be the same amount of time it would take for me to feel like this house was ready for anything like that. A mere ten months later, I'm not fit to host braille tutoring.

This weekend I found out (1) my family listens when I say things I almost mean... and they remember and (2) I would be hosting Christmas this year. In my house. Christmas is usually hosted by one of the matriarchs of the family, a person with an abundance of serving dishes, silverware and Christmas decorations. It takes cabinets full of take-home Tupperware, wine glasses and napkin rings. I don't have themed dishes or a bread basket or more than three dishtowels (none of which match any other).

I've always wanted to host something like this because it's for both sides of our family. Eddie's family and my family will both feel like Christmas is on their turf, which works for everyone. It makes the most sense, really. BUT I do this thing to myself where I go and put on all kinds of pressure to make everything perfect except I don't even know what perfect is in this case, because we're trying to make something new. I've been spending this week worrying about what that is and how to achieve it.

We're excited because it's a chance to start traditions and embrace the holiday in a new way while giving others a chance to enjoy themselves without the worry of, "Is everyone ELSE happy? Does everyone ELSE have what they need?"

Eddie's just excited because it'll be impossible for me to make us late arriving (because it'll be here) and we'll be having roasted duck (at his request). He does not realize that hosting this holiday means that we'll have to start cleaning immediately. And we won't stop until the duck is done.

Looking Back

Eddie and I cleaned out a closet this past weekend and I've unearthed some old gems. I was looking through some middle school yearbooks. I have learned something in all these years. I'm older and wiser. I will spread the wisdom:

Don't do perms. Ever.

Piece Of A Journal

Excerpt from 9.19.2000

Brave does not equal fearless. In fact, the mere definition of brave implies that some amount of fear must come first. Brave is being afraid but getting on a plane anyway. Brave is closing your eyes and jumping from the platform and into the water. Brave is getting in the car after the accidents.

I am scared.

I am brave.

Childhood Memories

This sits on a shelf in my living room. It's a piece of pop culture and a piece of my childhood. I "made" this in Vacation Bible School during the summer before my third grade year. All we had to do was paint the form with glazes that would run when fired in the kiln. I made sure my E.T.'s right index finger was glowing red, you know, just like in the movie.

I hope I'm not the only one that puts third grade art up in her living room.

Haiku

You'll need to turn left
So get in the left lane now
Now. I'm not kidding

Because It's Pretty

This evening, my coughing is suppressed by a few well chosen medications and a prescription of sushi with friends.

I haven't been out for pleasure in a little while, so I went through my closet and chose something I've been meaning to wear. It's a beautiful sweater I bought a hundred years ago and I've been waiting for the right weather, the right feeling and the right fit (depends on the day) to wear it out on the town.

I put it on after choosing the appropriate shoes and pants. I think it looks smashing. But it's itchy. And uncomfortable. I'm not really sure how long I'll be able to stand it, frankly.

However. I will suffer because it's pretty. I'm a girl and I took an oath.

I Am Thankful For...

My husband because he finds a way to love me in a new way every day.

My family because their love is unconditional.

My dog because he is always honest and true (and cuddly.)

Nyquil because it will allow me to recharge before I work tomorrow.

Happy Thanksgiving all.

We Have A Dog

Sometimes I can't believe I live with an animal.

He has opinions.

He likes it under our bed. That's where I found him for this shot.

Found

Check this out.

Need Rock-Hard Abs?

Get a cold. Cough a lot. You'll be bikini-ready in no time.




*Little slice of life from here: Eddie made me some "feel good" brownies (not the kind with the "special ingredient." These were made just because I'm sick, to make me feel better about being sick because when I'm sick, he makes me brownies) and we ate them while we watched the end of The Biggest Loser, the part where they weighed in. That's the only portion of the show we watched. And we watched it while we ate brownies.

I'll cough them off tomorrow.

If You Know What's Good

--"You need to get a hair cut this week."

"I know. Today was a particularly interesting hair day for me."

--"Seriously, call Bennett tomorrow and make an appointment."

(half-hearted) "Yeah."

--"No. If you don't want ME to cut it while you're sleeping, then call Bennett. Tomorrow."

Blink. Blink. (a little scared)

--(giggles malevolently. then coughs.)

Way Under The Weather

*Sniff

*Sniff

*Cough, Cough

...complaining about headaches and swollen lymph nodes.

...complaining about the fact that I've got to be at work tomorrow at 5am.

Ew.

Pity Eddie.

Discrimination

When I am in the check-out line, my eyes often wander to the sides where all of the impulse purchase candy and gum live. On more than one occasion, I've tried to buy gum at the last minute but I can't seem to find any gum that I can enjoy. It's all sugarless. I don't do sugarless.

If you can't tell whether or not your soft drink is diet, pass it to me. I can tell instantly. Or, YOU can tell instantly by the face I make when I confirm that it is, in fact, sugar free.

EVERYTHING has gone sugar free. I had to throw away yogurt, purchased in haste (didn't have time to read the entire label). What I had read of the label, in the first few ingredients I found sugar. When I got it home and tasted my first spoonful, I instantly knew something was wrong, so I read the entire ingredient statement. There it was, in the last few ingredients. Why would you need to put artificial sweetener in something that ALREADY has sugar in it?

I don't do sugarless. Bubbalicious, where are you?

I've Just Taken Two Nyquil

Now I'm headed to bed. They've kicked in.

How To End An Argument With A Not-So-Technical Win

Expose your sparring partner's buttocks. This will end any argument abruptly, especially those silly ones where you can sense the tide is beginning to turn against you and you've realized your position is weak.

This gives you the upper hand immediately. Covered butt beats exposed butt. You usually wind up laughing together. Because butts are funny anytime.

How I Begin My Day

This morning around 4:00am Cody vomited in the bed. Where we were sleeping.

4:00am.

That'd be the time I got up this morning.

The Road To Hell Is Paved With Good Intentions

This evening just after work and walking the dog, Eddie and Cody and I all snuggled in the bed for a bit. It was such a nice little moment. Our little family. Until I teased the dog so much that he couldn't stand it and we all wound up on the floor wrestling with a quilt. After our wrestling match, Eddie and Cody settled in on the bed while I got changed for my trip to the gym.

I was searching for my running shoes when I hear my cell ringing in the kitchen. I run to catch it because that's what you do when your phone rings from the other end of the house. I answered knowing full well what would happen if I did.

On the other end of the line my friend begged us to meet her for dinner. I balked. I was going to the gym. I was dressed, my hair was already up and ugly. I suppose I shouldn't have had her on speaker phone for Eddie to hear when she threw out Fleur de Lis as an option. He groaned. All I had to do was say, "let's go."

So I did. And we did. I ate pizza in my gym clothes.

Little White Lie

This evening I met with my girls group. My friend and I agreed almost four years ago that we'd take on this challenge. We have 7 girls (they were all 12-13 when we started) that are part of our circle. Each week, we have dinner, talk and focus on a "lesson" of some sort that usually jolts us out of the routine of our lives for a bit. It makes us think a little more about how we choose to live our lives, or about why we've chosen to live our lives pointed in a certain direction. As the leaders, we are ever aware that we do not have any of the answers and make it alarmingly clear each week, whether intended or not. While the group is based out of our common church, we tackle more than just Jesus. Neither of us who lead wanted another poorly attended Sunday School class during the week.

I'd say it's going well in year four. Our girls (I love calling them "our girls") are maturing and it's easier to have a conversational type "lesson" without being simply a moderator between stories about their grandmothers or their dogs. We can participate in the group discussion and have to direct it back toward the original topic less and less. Now, if there are tangents, the questions they birth will often prove more thoughtful than we could have hoped. The girls (our girls) are bringing the discussions into their lives and bringing their lives back into the discussions.

This evening, nearing the end of our time together, we decided to go around the group, each giving one high and one low for their week since we last met. I listened to highs of upcoming Thanksgiving break and lows of painful dental surgery. I would be the last to contribute. I was thinking about it. I had to THINK about my high for the week. I already had a low. My parents aren't doing so well at the moment. I thought about how much I loved my husband and how much I enjoy being with him, but immediately felt guilty because I take him for granted sometimes. I couldn't come up with a high right away. That's not usually like me. I can find the humor in anything. Especially if it's inappropriate for 16 yr olds.

Then it was my turn.

I decided to go ahead and start with the high. I told them something that I was proud of for the week, but it wasn't a high. I lied. It was just too pathetic NOT to have a high for the week. I'm a little low.

I kept the smile on, we all hugged and parted and I was on my way home. My usual go-to talk radio stations had been taken over with sports so I hit "scan." I stopped at a dj's story that caught my ear. She hadn't had a great week either. I was in the mood to take comfort in another's pain. Wait. That came out wrong. I was in the mood to take comfort in the fact that there are others out there, others like me, who have crappy days and live to tell about it.

Don't tell me you don't do it.

So, I'm listening to this story about how she's in a hurry to get something in a store, about how she's frustrated because she can't find the item and is carrying around her 9 month old, about how she finally gets to the check-out where this little old lady and some kids are in front of her and she's late for where she needs to be. Then she stops because the kids in front of her are playing with their new toys, their prizes from the trip to the store. She watches them and loses track of just how long she'd been in line (like when you get a juicy magazine and suddenly don't care about how long the person in front of you is taking to move on - even though you hunted for the shortest line). When she realized she'd been there for longer than she'd expected, she looked up to see the old lady was stalling, digging in the bottom of her purse for the change she needed to pay the entire bill for those prizes. When she caught on to what was happening, she dug in her purse and helped meet the bill.

While still late, she said it was the highlight of her day.

I have things to learn this week.

Not Just For Special Occasions

First, let it be known that I hate shopping for food. I have to do that quite frequently for work and while I love to cook, I'd rather have this list of things that I need and give that to another person who would then bring me everything on that list and put it away neatly in my house.

The problem with that scenario is the fact that I almost never shop with a list. I get inspired by what I see in the store and there's dinner. I'm still working on a solution for that. I won't give up.

I've also gotten a little too good at the whole letting the dishes wait thing. This combination could only have resulted with the following admission:

A couple of evenings ago, I had a bowl of cereal for dinner. On my wedding china.

Ongoing Home Projects

In February, I posted about closing on this house. Since that time I haven't really posted any pictures. We've managed to do quite a bit of painting, staining and new floor and sink installation. Still, I haven't been so gung-ho.

It was really rough for me when we didn't get the first house, especially when we went so far in the process. After that, no house measured up. In the end, when we decided to purchase this house, it was a lot to do with the fact that it was definitely time to buy and because it was a killer deal. With the other house, it was move-in ready. I wouldn't change the cabinets or the floor or the colors on the walls.

This house is a different story.

We'll be replacing this tomorrow.



(The fan and not the popcorn ceiling. THAT'S another project altogether.)

Sweet Smelling Update

Earlier this week, I shared a little story that gave a peek into the extent of my neurosis. A majority of the time I can keep the minor things under control. I can recognize when I start to obsess over something, like when we first got married, I had to have the dishes and laundry done before we went to bed each night...except I'd put it off until later and at bedtime, I'd choose cleaning over sleep. Come to think of it, maybe it wasn't ME that recognized it. It was Eddie. It wasn't that he minded me staying up to clean, it was the attitude I had when it was time. I wanted to be together, with my new husband, so it made total sense to ask him to help.

It wasn't his idea of together time.

I've made progress. There are dishes in the sink that will stay there until the morning and I've generally run out of time to do laundry during the week. It gets done on the weekends.

I wasn't kidding about worrying about whether or not I was beginning to smell. I checked each day, several times a day for the rest of the work week. I applied the deodorant in the morning after drying my underarms meticulously. I used a different towel. I didn't change deodorant or anything because I'm limited in a deodorant choice, which is an entirely different post altogether. I don't do scented.

My week of intense observation has confirmed that I, in fact, do not smell. My body has not built up an immunity to deodorant and flowers do not fall as I pass (as I turn around to check one more time, just in case).

At The Speed of Retail

On Halloween this year, I waited until the last minute to pick up some candy. I went into a local store just after work to search through what was left on the Halloween aisle in an effort to get a bargain and still compete for the 'good house' on the block.

I was in such a hurry to pick through the bags of Butterfingers and KitKats that I didn't slow down until I was forced to stop at the check-out. I glanced at the week's gossip and debated on picking up one of those magazines, but I still have that fear of "getting caught" with one.

Not that there's anything wrong with that.

I totally check the MSN entertainment section most mornings on the web BUT before I could reach my hand out to pick up the latest on Britney, I noticed it. I heard the CHRISTMAS music playing in the store. Halloween wasn't even OVER yet. In fact, it hadn't even started.

During the holidays, one of our local radio stations switches over to all Christmas music, all the time. I scanned my radio stations this afternoon and I ran across it. There it was. Christmas music. It's November 8th.

Happy New Year, everyone.

Our Middle Names Are The Same

I've been thinking about my cousin a lot this week. I've been struggling with feeling left out of her life for the past few years. Which makes me feel a little guilty. My uncle, her father, died two years ago this month. He was my father's only brother. His little brother.

When my uncle died, my father wanted to swoop in and help the family with everything, but he never wanted to intrude. He made it clear that he loved them and was there if they needed him, but he didn't push. He waited. I imagine that was pretty difficult. I'd never really know because my father has built a pretty good stone wall. It's been well crafted through the years of being the oldest, being The Dad and always having a good answer to any hard question I'd ask. I never really knew if he was scared of anything.

I followed his lead in loving them. I'd call and leave short messages on their answering machine to let them know I was thinking of them, or I'd just leave a little joke to make them laugh. It was easier not to push them when they were an 8 hour car ride away.

Then they moved a little closer. I'd have to ride only 3 hours to visit. They worked, I worked. Time passed. Fast. It passed so fast that Susan met, dated and became engaged to a man that I had never met. The first I heard of him was when we got a call from my aunt telling us to expect a wedding invitation in the mail. I couldn't believe it. All of a sudden I felt completely over-protective. My uncle was gone and totally out of the blue I felt like the self-appointed guard dog for his side of the family. If this guy was going to get to my cousin, he was going to have to get through ME.

Just in case you were wondering, it really wasn't helpful to have adopted this attitude when I met him for the first time. At his wedding. I introduced myself and my parents before the ceremony and waited for him to...I don't know, bow or something. I expected him to go on and on about how sorry he was that we hadn't met before and how he'd promise to love and cherish my cousin like the queen that she is, because he knows (from reputation) that I'd have to hurt him if he did otherwise.

But that didn't happen. He shook my hand and that was it. I can't say I warmed to him. Then he started treating Susan like she was HIS. I don't think he understood that she was MINE for 26 years. He didn't know me and that meant that he didn't know her. We grew up together.

Now we're both grown up. And she's married. And I feel guilty for not having been there. I feel guilty for not pushing harder. I feel selfish and I know it's unjustified. Frustrating.

It's frustrating because I love her and she seems so happy. I feel selfish because I had nothing to do with that.

How's that for honesty?

After Thirty Minutes This Afternoon

After work, after the workout, I was down on the mat for a bit of stretching. I was reaching far to my toes and turned my head to the side to reach a bit farther. And I smelled myself.

Yes, I had run hard and I was sweaty AND it was near the end of the day but the question ran through my mind, did I put on deodorant this morning? I went through my morning routine in my mind, the cell phone, the bath, the pill, the toothbrush, and yes - the deodorant. Maybe it was just too soon after the bath for such an application and I was a little too wet for the deodorant to, you know, stick.

I refuse to believe that my body's capacity for emitting smell has exceeded my deodorant's capacity to cover it up or stop it altogether. After 31 years and a savvy sense of smell, this can't be an unnoticed ongoing occurrence. That kind of thing can't just magically change overnight. Can it?

I don't look forward to the rest of the week when I'm compulsively checking to see if I smell. Or when I smell. At what point in the day do I need to reapply? Do I really want to publish this little event on the internet?

Yes. Neurosis is interesting. Isn't it?

Geez.

The Laws Of Attraction

Loudly, from down the hall while carrying clothes to hide in another room, I playfully ask: "Sparky, what will it take? What will I have to give you to change that light bulb before the girls get here?"

Do you know what he said? He said,"A light bulb."


THAT's why I love this man. He could have taken total advantage of me in my desperation to have the house ready before my guests arrived. But he didn't.

Opposites do attract.

The Inner Judgemental

My cousin Susan, 26, got married yesterday evening. She married a Pentecostal minister and joined a ready-made family. Her new husband is a widower with a little girl. I can't help but be a little afraid for what the future holds for her. I don't like admitting that, or thinking that my adult cousin isn't capable of making her own correct life choices. I also don't like admitting that the reason I don't think she's capable of making her own choices is because they aren't MY choices. You know, for her.

Like finishing her degree or the part in their vows where she had to say, "obey." OBEY. I didn't think we did that anymore. "WE" as in ALL WOMEN.

No matter our differences, nothing changes the fact that she was a beautiful, happy bride. I will work on that whole trust thing.

Curls And Bows

This evening I will be attending a Pentecostal wedding. The hairstyles are always interesting.

11.2.82

Happy Birthday Katheryn.


Katheryn would have been 25 today. She was/is my little sister.

I hated typing that sentence. Even after seven years, I haven't mastered the art of sharing a story about my siblings in a discussion where other people are sharing stories about their siblings without some kind of awkward confusion about tense. And death. I can't bring myself to say, "she was my little sister" because she is my little sister -- wherever she is. But if I tell some story and I don't clarify the fact that to some she was my little sister, inevitably questions like "So, where is she living now?" will be asked. Then I have to answer them. I've run out of euphemisms for "she died."

I don't like answering those kinds of questions because it makes people uncomfortable (me included) and then the mood of the conversation changes from sharing happy, funny stories to serious and concerned and suddenly all about me. There's got to be some unwritten social rule that says you can't smile or laugh within 10 minutes of someone mentioning death. Everyone seems to know that rule. In my experience they obey it more than any other social rule out there. I'm usually the first one to crack a joke if I've been put in that position.

I just want to tell the stories and laugh with the group that's sharing about their brother or sister. And for a minute, while I'm laughing and no one knows better, I can pretend she's still here.

Weekend Getaway

A couple of weekends ago, Eddie and I drove a few hours and wound up in Natchez, Mississippi. It wasn't really all that unplanned. Eddie's aunt has a second house there. Her first house is in New Orleans, which is why she decided to go ahead and purchase a second house just in case that first house is ever again...inaccessible. It also makes a great destination for her freeloading relatives looking for a manageable but lovely weekend escape. I guess it would be unfair to call us all freeloaders. She did invite us. Visitors help to keep the place lived in between the times she ventures up there. So, I guess you could say we were really helping out. That's right. We HAD to go. To help his aunt. And we didn't even charge her anything.

It was a completely stress-free trip. I was able to take quite a few pictures, which should make their way on my flickr page in due course. There's one I thought captured Natchez:



It's a beautiful, historic town that wasn't bustling with any familiar pace. I wouldn't call it neglected; it's just been there long enough to have the dirty turn into interesting. In my mind, there's "new dirty" and that's just dirty. It's supposed to be clean and it isn't. It's wrong. Then there's the "old dirty" which has had a chance to develop some character. It's like those wrinkles caused from squinting into the sunshine. They are in just the right places and show that your lips and eyes and cheeks follow familiar paths to a smile.




*The mansion in the background is Rosalie.
*Update (the set of Natchez photos on flickr can be seen here.)

This Is Not A Bill

So. This is getting a little out of hand. I began this blog a couple of years ago in an effort to write more, to feel better about writing more and because I can't really keep up with the scrapbook. I haven't posted in over a month and realizing this, I've decided to do something drastic. I've joined NaBloPoMo. Even with the ENTIRE month of November looming, I couldn't let October end without a post.

I've been a little afraid to sit down in front of a blank screen and a keyboard for fear of what inappropriate content may seep through my fingertips well-versed in type. I haven't been confident in my ability to edit myself. It was just easier to stay away than to feel like I was leaving something out or trying to type around the elephant in this room. Deciding to challenge myself by committing to post every day in November, I've basically decided to work a little harder in that editing effort. In the end, I know I'll feel better. I've missed this small, little outlet. I've missed contributing my pieces to the universe of useless data out there.

There are a few things in this world that I'll never understand. Instead of having them explained to me, I'd MUCH rather complain about the fact that I don't understand them. That's usually much more fun. And funny. I don't understand why, while on our daily walks, when Cody runs out of pee, he will still stop at everything he deems pee-worthy, lift his leg and wait for the pee that would have come. I don't understand why I'm only 5'2" and I don't understand why the doctor will send you something detailing a variety of costs, procedures and insurance information if above it all it states, "This Is Not A Bill." O.k. So, this is not a bill. This is not a lot of things. This Is Not A Shoe. This Is Not A Software Program. This is something that is useless to me.

As you may have guessed, we received a "This Is Not A Bill" sheet of paper in the mail this afternoon. It was accompanied by another sheet of paper marked, "This Is A Bill." The total was -$56.80.

I don't understand that.

I Like To Sweat

These are my running shoes.

About two weeks ago I began going to the gym. Again. Again. You see, we have never stopped our membership at the local gym. Every month I see that money (our dues) leave my checking account and I thought that simple fact would motivate me to "get my money's worth" because I'm totally that kind of person, but that psychology hasn't worked so well for the past 5 years. We haven't stopped our membership because of the fact that I MIGHT want to go or I'll eventually go AND because if you try to stop your membership they send Uncle Nunzio to your house to help you change your mind. That usually works.

Eddie and I get in little gym jags when the guilt of not going has built up to a point where we HAVE to go just to get rid of it. Kind of like the dentist. You pay for that torture too.

These past two weeks I've been going every day that I can (even on weekends) in an effort to feel better in general. IF I happen to lose a few pounds in the process, then I can find it in my heart to accept that.

Our gym recently opened up a satellite location just for us girls. Chicks are great and all but the fact that it opened almost DOWN THE STREET is a huge plus for me. It's really just one less excuse not to go. I've never been to a chick gym before. The biggest differences are that there are no sports magazines and there are more than enough fans circulating air everywhere. You can't be in any work out area without feeling the breeze of a nearby fan. I'm not worried about my hair; it's the fact that when I'm finished running I don't step off of the treadmill wearing the badge of having worked out - the extremely sweaty shirt. When I come home from the chick gym, Cody gives me the sniff-down and treats me like some sort of salt lick. I don't care for this.

For now I'll have to settle for the sweat-drenched sport bra and a nice, quick shower after the gym.

On Being Me

Two evenings ago I came home from work, walked the dog, rested a bit and changed into those clothes you change into when you know you're not going to be leaving the house anymore that evening. I put my hair up in a ponytail, put the fluffy socks on and got comfortable.

Then someone called. It was some of our friends and they were game for sushi. In like an hour. I LOVE sushi. Once Eddie got home from work and was excited to get out for the evening I actually had to get dressed. Again.

I threw on some pants from the work day and dressed them up with a few choice accessories and a shirt/sweater thingy. I wasn't confident so I turned to my loving husband and asked, "How do I look?" We were almost running late and I'd hate to think he took that into account when he answered, "You look great."

We get into the car and I have to check the second half-hearted make up job of the day in the flip down mirror on the passenger's side every five minutes on the way there. I still wasn't confident, so I asked Eddie that question again. I got the same answer. I wanted him to find something wrong so I could fix it. Anything.

We finally get to our destination. We get out of the car and are walking toward the restaurant through the parking lot. I ask him again. He smiles and gives me the same answer. Now, I know he loves me, but what did I really expect him to say? We were AT the restaurant. Even if he had found something wrong with the make up or the outfit or the... anything, what was I going to do about it then? I told him so and he laughed. He grabbed my hand and led me through a group of people blocking the entrance. He kept smiling.

I'm glad he loves me.

I'm glad the light wasn't very good in the restaurant.

The Donut Letter

So. I go to the mailbox this afternoon after a brisk walking-of-the-dog. The walk was short because Cody is irrationally afraid of rain. Or wind. Or of any discussion involving rain or wind. When it thunders, he crawls right under the bed and puts his paws directly over his shaggy eyebrows to block out the world.

I remove the mail and start to flip through the envelopes and flyers. There's an envelope from the holder of my student loans telling me that another month's worth has been electronically zapped from my checking account. There's an invitation to the Annual Red Apple Sale from some store, a letter from the church and an invitation for my husband to receive Playboy, delivered directly to our home, for one year for only ONE DOLLAR. I put that aside for his review. I decided then to open the letter from the church. Our address was hand written on the envelope. How often do you see that anymore? It deserved my attention.

Inside the envelope were two letters. Both began with, "Dear Volunteer." That's right. I volunteered for things. Things I would eventually have to do. It's really great to feel like you've done something already when you sign up to volunteer. It feels good to sign up. Then the letter comes.

I have obligated myself to bring donuts to the casual church service once every few weeks. I have to bring 3 dozen when it's my turn. I have volunteered to EAT donuts. That's what I've done. Those girls in Playboy, they eat donuts, don't they?

The Secret To A Happy Marriage

I think I've figured this one out and I'm gonna spill the beans. Get this:

Each person has to genuinely think that they got the better deal.

That's it. I think that attitude propels you toward being better for your husband or wife every day.

By the way, I TOTALLY got the better deal. I win. It is all about winning.

Some Things Should Come With A Warning Label

WARNING: Do not watch all available DVD seasons of "24" in a 5 week span. It's an emotional hazard.

I have recently finished the 5th season of "24." Now, I DID watch as many episodes as I could each evening and every chance I got until I HAD to sleep or eat or go to work. I watched them back to back to back, season after season until I hit the end of season 5. The entire season 6 isn't out yet or I'd have devoured that one too. Truth be told, I'm a little relieved that it isn't available for a while. I could stand to get off of the emotional roller coaster for a bit.

I have another confession. I left Eddie in the dust about 3 seasons ago. At first, the decision to begin the "24" adventure was made by the both of us. That first season was something we would look forward to enjoying together - until Eddie started with the dreams that someone was trying to kill him and that he was constantly in danger, which happened about mid-way through the second season.

He knew I was "involved" with the show and put up with my new addiction because he knew it would run its course. Eventually. I probably should have stopped watching with him because I got really involved. Too involved. It's all I wanted to do.

What's she doing?
She's watching "24."

Now that I'm at the end of a harsh season, having seen the little prequel clip on You Tube for the next seemingly harsher season, I've been down lately. Not just the kind of down you'd expect to experience from a t.v. show, but I think I've been just a little depressed. My empathy for this character is crippling. Can't this guy be allowed a little happiness? Just a little? AND they killed Edgar. That was exceedingly harsh. I didn't just get the television viewer's dose of harsh, weekly surprises, I got a concentrated pill that hit my stomach like a rock.

Now I'm in some sort of withdrawal to boot. Do they make a drug for that?

Maybe I can borrow some one's "Dawson's Creek" series or something. I hear there are fewer torture scenes.

Wit

Eddie: *Sneeze. *Sneeze. *Sneeze.

*Sneeze.

ktm: Are you alright?

Eddie: Apparently, I'm allergic to whatever time it is.

Still On The Crack

It's 11:33pm this evening. One of my co-workers has lent me the 4th season of 24. I'm up having watched the first 6 episodes this evening. So, I MAY have a little crush on Jack Bauer.

Is that so wrong?

It's Like Crack. Or So I've Heard.

Recently Eddie and I have been hooked on 24. Yes, I said, "recently." We didn't really find the time to watch it before. The truth is, to me, it didn't really look that interesting. But now, NOW I'm one of THOSE people. Except I'm like 6 years behind.

One of our friends has the DVD set so we've got this free, commercial-free source of entertainment. Right now, however, Eddie is not here. He's been 'not here' a lot this week in the evenings because of obligations at work. That's fine and all, but we kind of have this unspoken trust that neither of us will watch another episode without the other one. It's fun to watch it together. It's fun until one of us isn't here. Like now. Right now, when I NEED to know what's happened to Jack Bauer. Kim's gotten into some kind of dog trap in the woods and President Palmer is in danger. Somebody's lying to him. I've got to know who. Now.

There's the garage door. I sure hope you're not tired. We're gonna watch. I'll hold your eye lids open.

I love you.

No Expiration Date

I still mean to keep the promise that's engraved on our rings, "Mine." Five years and counting, my Sparky.

Happy St. Valentine's Day

"Happy Valentine's Day. I bought you a house."

"That's funny. I bought you the same thing."



I love you, Mr. Manes.

Okay, So I Almost Forgot My Password To Post

I don't want to disappoint my only 2 loyal readers out there. I have a quick update: We closed on our new house on January 26, 2007. The bank now owns our home. It really is the American dream. We haven't moved yet. In fact, we really haven't even packed a single thing. We're giving the current occupant more time to move...more on that later.

Happy, Happy, Joy, Joy.

Before January Is Over

It's usually around this two week mark that I get the itch to post. Maybe it's not an itch...it's a guilty type of tickle.

Early last week Eddie and I signed a purchase agreement on another house. This is the second time we'll be going through this whole process. I haven't really let myself get excited about this one. That last experience kind of ripped my heart out just a little. I'm holding my breath. We haven't packed anything yet. If all goes well, we'll be moving in a little over two weeks. TWO WEEKS.

Chocolate Cake For Breakfast

The cake had a dense and perfect crumb. It was rich with smooth, decadent chocolate frosting. It was warm and wonderful complimented by a chilled glass of milk. My husband bought them for me.

Happy new year E. I love you.

And The Winner Is...

My doctor's nurse called my cell phone last week while I was at work. I recognized the number. I don't know too many people who would recognize the number to their doctor's office when it appears on their cell phone. I suppose that puts me in an elite few. Yes, I'll choose to look at it that way.

She had the results of my recent MRI. I braced myself for the answer, the solution to all of my pain was around the corner, it was in the next breath of this stranger.

"Well, the Dr. has reviewed the results of the test and she's concluded that everything is absolutely normal. There are no herniated or bulging discs or any other abnormalities detected by this test. Everything looks great."

I crumbled. Now, it's not that I WANT something to be wrong with me. Something IS wrong with me. No one is able to find it. I don't think there are many more times in my life when I've been this frustrated. Not until the nurse recommended seeing a pain management doctor.

A pain management doctor. Why don't they just send me to a hypnotist? Maybe they can convince me that I don't have any pain since the only physical evidence is my wincing when touched and frequent tearing up when asked to pick anything up that weighs over 10 lbs. No convincing physical evidence anyway.

A pain management doctor. That recommendation means only one thing to me: I will have this pain forever, that everyone has given up and that I am now expected to learn how to "manage it." O.k. So that's three things.

Sorry Cody. No college for you. Mama's going back to the physical therapist.

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?")