Category Archives: Uncategorized

I’m Alive

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And my little man has been surprisingly amicable.  Maybe it’s all the trips to Dairy Queen, or perhaps that I let him sleep in mommy and daddy’s bed during the thunderstorm.

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 Whatever the case may be, I’m just enjoying our one-on-one time.  Daddy doesn’t get home till Friday, but don’t try to come rob me because a) you’ll still have a lot of boxes to sort through to find any good stuff, and b) I sleep with a knife when he’s gone.  True story.  D thinks it would be pretty ineffective against an assailant, but I argue it’s much MORE effective than a gun I don’t know how to use.

(Before you jump all over me, NO, the knife is not in the bed where my kid is.)

Speaking of boys and relative naughtiness… 

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 The furry one on the left got away from me this morning when he spotted a neighbor out for a run.  So I had to chase him, in heels, while my neighbor followed behind screaming “I’ll help you!!!” 

A runner, I am not.  Add in a dress and 120 pound dog and you’ve got yourself one cranky girl.  Someone isn’t getting a pig ear tonight.

 I bought this picture at an antique store recently. 

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On the back in faded writing it says “Dutch Farmer ’19″.  I like it a lot, but then I watched an episode of Paranormal State and this family was being harrassed by the ghost of a mean old railroad worker, of whom they dug up an old photo and the girl was all “OMG, that’s totally him!” (cut to amateur drawing of ghost that looks exactly like a stick figure).  But it caused me to wonder if those things work in reverse.  Maybe this farmer’s ghost really liked this picture of himself and I just attached him to my wall.  THEN I started worrying about the buffalo skulls we have in the basement and what their spirits might thing about being a decoration.  It’s not like we’re using them as goblets, drinking wine out of them ala Lestat, but still… I’d be fighting mad if it were my dome.  Unless you bejeweled it first.

Long story to basically tell you that is the first and only piece of art we have hung in the house.  We don’t want to get too crazy till the walls are painted.  To date, we have one half of one room painted.  I’m thinking of leaving the rest as D’s welcome home gift.

What are you doing for Mother’s Day?  I plan to not paint.

 

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Modest Mid-Westerners

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24

Moving, in general, is not my favorite pastime.  Though to those around us, that might be a surprising fact considering we have moved six times in our three years of marriage.

Fingers crossed this one sticks.

The surprising thing is, of all the moves, I was looking forward to this one the least.  All the others were because we were moving towards a goal.  Sold my house, sold his house, rental, parents house (~shakes fist at that worthless builder~), until it was finally livable enough to move into…. and then surprise!  We’re off again.  Even more surprising, and at less than three weeks at the new place, I love it.  I love the house in all it’s honey-oak, white-walled, sunshiny glory, I love the neighborhood and all the friendly neighbors, I love the safety of the town when we take Bill on his walks…. I love the shopping… ;)  I love it.

I have some suspicions I’m nearing an early mid-life crisis as I bug D about a new ride and ponder the necessity of a haircut, or maybe a new tattoo.

Instead, we got a table for our breakfast nook and my blue chairs found a new home.  We can fight the never ending battle of getting Junior to sit still through a meal.  I can put pretty flowers on it.

We can be together in the evenings, at least.

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There is this book, I think you should look into it.  ”In Darkness, a Light Still Shines” by Barry Feaker who directs the homeless shelter in my home town.  It is 52 short stories, so you can read through it quickly, or more like a weekly devotion.  It’ll churn your guts up.  In a good way. <– I get no compensation – I just thought you should know about it.

We went to San Francisco last week.  We mid-westerners were not used to ascending hills nor the lack of modesty displayed by those who got warm and  just peeled off shirts or tights.  ~scandalized gasps~

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C’est moi in California.  Ahem.  D pretty much wore jeans and t-shirts so imagine the consternation of the poor concierge when we asked for recommendations for delicious eateries.

“Umm… there is a place around the corner that doesn’t require reservations.  And it is….. affordable.”

What he meant was: There is no dress code, you dumb hillbillies.

Live and learn, and drink merlot…

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Know What’s Fun?

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One of my favorite things to read is when bloggies don’t have anything in particular to talk about so they’re like… What do you want to know?

You don’t want to hear about my unpacking of boxes, we’re going out of town this week, and I’ve got nothing.

So fire away.  I know you’ve got to be just burning with questions like, Which school of thought do you belong to regarding creation vs. evolution?  Was there a second shooter on the grassy knoll?  What IS your natural hair color?

I’ll enlighten when I get back.  In the meantime, here’s a picture of my kid riding a plunger.

plunger

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Gimme

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My 10th birthday landed on Easter Sunday.  I remember wearing a dress so filled with tulle and bows it looked like I was frothing.  Dad sat and colored with me while we waited on… something.  Church?  Birthday party?  I don’t remember.  What I DO remember is Dad mournfully saying “No more single digits for you… isn’t that sad?”  It hadn’t occurred to me, but since he pointed it out I suppose I agreed.  (Dad is mushy and nostalgic.)  Eleven years later, I turned 21 on Easter Sunday and that day was equally as woeful.  No shenanigans or bad decisions for this girl.  Ohhhh no.  Cadbury eggs in their place.  I’ve had another decade of birthdays all to myself, but come this March 31, Jesus is stealing my thunder yet again.  Something about saving all of mankind.  All I know is?  Ray Bans.

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Gimme.  And also this.

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And this.

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And this.

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I like to be really intentional with my birthday gift requests, and only ask for things that are essential to the operation of my daily life.  Thus, everything you see above.

Does your birthday land on any thunder stealing deities, leprechauns, or turkeys holidays?

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Shave the Whales

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If I had even a little bit of foresight, I would have taken pictures in the new house.  Yet, at the same time if I had, you would have probably wondered why we chose to buy this particular one.newhouse1

 It is a very nice house, and one we feel lucky to have gotten our paws on but it. is. full. of. crap.

Full. Of crap.

Probably the correct word is antiques because it’s actually kind of nice crap, but literally crammed so full of it that based on the listing photos, we didn’t even want to look at it.

However, once we got in there we saw a great layout.  High ceilings.  Tons of light.  More space than we’ll ever need.  But hey, we’re Americans.  (And I also sort of promised my parents that I won’t put them in a home now.  Instead I’ll just stick them in the basement and throw biscuits down there sometimes.)

You can tell just from the outside that this house is entirely different than the one we are leaving.  At first this was a point of consternation for me, but the more I think about the feel of the newbie, the more excited I become.  It’s pretty vanilla inside, so we’ve got a nice blank slate to begin with.  And while we’ll never make this one as rustic as the last – I kind of don’t want to, because it doesn’t fit her personality.

That doesn’t mean we can’t still bring our own feel and love of all things old.  And you know what that means right?  It means the birth of a new Pinterest board.

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The appliances are white, and it’s just so dang bright in there that it seems wrong to do anything but a nice light kitchen, and I kind of dig the idea of butcher block counter tops.  You don’t even recognize me right now, do you?

But with a little bit of primitive country charm, of course.

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And I’d love to fill it with all kinds of new furniture and pieces.  (D – I can feel you cringing from here.)

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It makes my heart go pitter-pat.

Oh, and this guy.

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HAH!  Love him.

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Winding Down

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Welp.

It’s almost here.  The movers are scheduled to arrive early Friday morning, smack in the middle of Snowmageddon 2013.  Preparing for the move has been a non-event, since these goodly folks actually pack us too.  (Which, by the way, I can’t even conjure up a job I’d hate more.  I’d rather scoop elephant poop.  I would rather assist Mike Rowe.  I’d rather be a stage hand for Justin Bieber. – I take that one back.)  I was feeling pretty smug about not moving myself until a conversation with my cousin.  She’s married to a pilot in the Air Force, and they move a lot.

“Just wait till you have to watch three dudes packing up your UNDERWEAR!”

Huh.  I had not considered that.  Feeling less smug and more conscientious about the, ahem, granny in me.

Junior will hang with his grandparents for a big part of the actual move.  He freaks when I strip his bed to wash it, so I sort of don’t think he’ll do great watching his things get packed.  He took a bath in the big tub last night; likely his last as he leaves for the farm tonight.

last bath

My mom: “:( He looks like he knows.”  5 seconds after I took this picture, he climbed out of the tub and ran around the house naked screaming like a banshee, “Fast!  I fast!”.

Speaking of my mom.  She has just been insufferable lately.  When I informed them that we’ve opted out of an extended-stay option to instead crash with them, she was all “You are welcome to stay as long as you need!  You guys will take the master.  No arguments.”  No arguments?  Then I don’t even get the chance to politely decline and garner a sympathetic “We insist.” 

I told her that in lieu of rent, I plan to pay them in cilantro lime rice and pizza minus onions.  (Because that’s kind of all I know how to cook.)  She replied “Can’t wait to eat your emotionless pizza!”  Then claimed she meant to type “onionless”.  Still, I’d like to know what Freud thinks about that one.

I suggested she work on her attitude before embarking on the honor of giving us their bedroom for the second time in a year.

 Parents, man.  Can’t live with em, can’t stick em in a home yet.

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So are you set to get any snow/ice/sleet in your neck of the woods?  Last I saw was 10 – 14 inches here.  My disaster preparedness plan involves a jumbo sized bottle of wine and some jerky.  You do what you gotta do.

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Stuff and Things

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  • I have announced to D that I will not be cleaning house again until after we’re out of it.
  • Then we forgot to replace the filter and you should see the dust.
  • You can literally see Bill outlines on the hardwoods.
  • The moving company comes tomorrow to estimate how much time and manpower it will take to get us packed.
  • My best guess is: a lot.
  • (Glad it’s not me.)
  • Still not going to dust.
  • We are going to take a second look at a house that we might maybe make an offer on.  Maybe.
  • We feel like this about it:unimpressed
  • How my mom feels about the possibility of us not making an offer and moving into their house.skeered
  • I have developed an eye twitch, likely due to the house hunt.
  • Strangers think I’m winking at them.  Creepily.
  • I watched “Something’s Gotta Give” and decided the best solution is to become a playwrite and buy a house with a private beach.  When asked what I will write about, my best answer so far has been “stuff and things”.
  • Note to self: work on ideas for play….
  • After I write my play and get my beach house, I have the perfect art for the bathroom.tub

So at least there’s that….

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Meh

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The house hunt continues. 

We’ve looked at several different styles.  New construction, older homes, homes in no-maintenance sub-divisions.  So far my strongest reaction to any of them has been “meh”.

We found a foreclosure that we thought was marginally better than meh, so we threw a luke warm offer at them on the same day as a few other people and didn’t get it.  I was just disappointed enough to shrug a shoulder.

Then we went to see a house on a golf course with a basketball court in the back yard and I thought we were on to something.  But by the looks of the wavy basement floor and the cracks in the walls, half the house is sinking.  (No wonder it was in our price range.)  I’m so tired of house shopping I suggested we just throw some spackle at it but D and our realtor both said no.  Darn practicality to heck.

Then we went back to a neighborhood where the construction is so new we were just looking at the frames of houses.  At that point my apathy had reached such a level that my eyes shifted to the driveways and I realized that I don’t have a Range Rover.  I whined to D that I’m the ONLY person I know without one.  But he said if we bought a Range Rover we might have to live in it.  …Which kinda doesn’t sound too bad.

D’s latest suggestion is throwing a dart at the listings, buy whatever it lands on, then build a cabin somewhere else to live in in our free time. 

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Which just sounds like more work to me.  See?  Apathy.

In other news, I have no other news. 

Send good vibes or else!

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Word.

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37

Here’s the thing.

I started this blog out of the excitement of building our house.  That experience was largely a disappointment.  But I do enjoy writing and through the blog I met some genuinely talented and interesting people.  So I kept it up with house happenings and some random side projects which, let’s be honest, were mostly disappointing.  ;)

Now we are moving out of the house and I have no idea what kind of place we will end up in.  All I know is that 2012 drained us.  We’re running on empty trying to get this one sold.  D has zero desire to work on another house and I can’t blame the man.  My own desire level is at about 2%.  I realized that as I was house shopping online, I nixed one perfectly suitable house because one of the bedrooms had lavender walls.  I a) can’t abide lavender walls and b) have only about 2% desire to repaint them.

There’s also this:  While most of the other blogs I read revolve around housey stuff, because I love housey stuff, sometimes actually writing about it (and this is just me – no judgies here) feels so…. trifling.

I don’t know, man.  Something has shifted in the past few weeks.  Here I am, laying awake at night worrying about the house selling before February 7th so that we get a handsome moving bonus from the relocation company, while others in my life are literally losing spouses and children and livlihoods. 

I’m judging kitchens by the lack of their double ovens and 5 burner gas stoves.  By their lavender walls.  When did I get so spoiled?  So first worldy?  I’ve only had those things for 6 months out of my 31 years, for gosh’s sake!

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That’s not me.  It’s not us.  It’s not who I want my son to be. 

That stuff is just… stuff.  It is inconsequential.  I no longer want to be consumed with it.  I’ve got a serious case of cleaning-out-my-closet-fever.

This morning I read a post by Flower Patch Farmgirl that knocked a little perspective in to me.  She picks one word to focus on through the year.  I didn’t make any resolutions, mostly because I feel a little messy inside but also sort of think resolutions are dumb.  But a word did come to mind.

Present.

It’s a homonym.  Because I’m such a deep thinker and all.  I just want to be more present.  I have so, so much around me to enjoy.  And it’s all such a gift.  (Get it?)  I want to focus more on the now, worry less about that which I cannot control, and really soak up all the gifts I’ve been given – for no reason – to someone as undeserving as I. 

And maybe pay a little of it forward.

So there you have it. 

Things might get a little random and messy around here.  If you end up sticking around, well, I make no promises.

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