A Rose By Any Other Name

To navigate outside of our homes we have named streets, towns, states, countries, rivers and oceans.  These names help us to communicate with each other about these places or about their relationship to other places.  It is the same system within the home.  We name rooms within the home, generally according to their use.  We eat in the dining room, we bathe in the bathroom and so on.  Eddie and I have a home office, one that we call The Computer Room.  That name just kind of evolved.  I suppose it was unintentional, but I don't think we wanted to associate that room with work so neither of us used the word "office" when referring to it, the room with the computer.  So, it was The Computer Room.

A couple of evenings ago, Eddie asked me to retrieve something for him from a room in our house that HE named, a name I had not yet heard.  

"Sparky, can you find that thing for me in the Toilet Paper Room?"

The Toilet Paper Room.

The Toilet Paper Room is not the bathroom.  Since one room in our new house has essentially been used for storage since we moved in, it really hasn't received a name.  Neither one of us wants to refer to it as The Storage Room and I suppose that calling it The Spare Bedroom wouldn't have been a bad idea, but who wants normal?

One day, we brought home an exceptionally large purchase of toilet paper.  Instead of opening the entire thing and dividing the rolls between bathrooms (and taking up a lot of storage space), it wound up in the 'other' bedroom.  I knew exactly where my Sparky wanted me to go to get the thing he needed - the room with the toilet paper.  The Toilet Paper Room.

When we go to sell this house, that will be a special feature.  

    

 

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.