Missing you

Been missing a few things lately:

• Photography. Or to put it another way, takin' pitchers. I used to really enjoy going out with the camera and capturing whatever caught my eye. The desire has been dormant for the last year or so, but it's coming back - I can feel it.
  
  
• Old friends. We grow older, get busier, live farther apart, raise families. I get it, but I miss the back-in-the-day girlfriends from time to time.
  
  
• Dancing. I still do it here and again, but only in the privacy of my own home and only when I have the place to myself. That's sad.

I am going to bring every one of these things back into my life. Starting now.

Seven years married

Seven years of falling asleep with my fingers curled around his. Of appreciating the odd burst of laughter when he's watching late-night TV in the other room. Seven years of knowing someone special has my back.

I'd say I've gotten to know every expression, every quirk, every talent and passion, but he keeps surprising me. And I wouldn't want it any other way.

I like that he teases me. I like the way he cooks. I like how he advances on the boys with both fists drawn, asking them whether they want the thunder or the lightning and then smacks them lightly in the face and gets them all wound up. I like the way he gets me wound up.

I like that he makes me feel my strengths are stronger than I imagine and my weaknesses less than I fear. He notices when I wear eye shadow, pats my butt every time I bend over, has a knack of kissing just the right spot behind the ear, and somehow manages to make me feel capable even when he's indulging me.

Happy anniversary, honey. You know I'd do it all over again, and if I knew then how good it would be, I'd have asked you myself.

This is me not taking a nap

Two hours ago I got home with only the following two thoughts circling my brain: unload the groceries and TAKE A NAP.

I let the boys out to make their mark on the backyard while I was putting things away, but they were enjoying their time in the sun (and wind - wow, is it ever windy today) so much I couldn't force the issue of coming back in so I could take five.

So I did what anyone would and got on the computer and started reading a magazine. By the time they were ready to come back in, I'd purchased concert tickets and learned that Lauren Conrad has bad hair days just like the rest of us.

Now that that's all taken care of and the gentlemen are sleeping like snoring angels, I'm hitting the hay until it's time for Daisy of Love.

Hope you're having a good Sunday and taking advantage of whatever You time you have.

Is that muscle?

For the last week I've been walking at lunchtime with a friend. She's been walking daily for awhile, but I'm a new convert. I want to walk at least two miles a day, and so far so good. It's a brisk pace, but nothing that makes me feel like keeling over (though on those 90+ degree days we had last week, it was pretty close) and I'm enjoying the hell out of it.

The test came yesterday, but I didn't realize it until halfway through the walk. I was doing it alone - no conversation, no one to keep pace with. When I learned my friend had other plans at lunch, I simply clipped the pedometer to my belt and got moving. Solo walking felt good.

This morning I woke up to a gorgeous day and no eggs. Instead of hopping in the car to head up to the store, I clipped the pedometer to my belt and got moving. It felt good.

Although the morning air was perfectly comfortable, the house felt pretty warm when I returned, so I got out of my pants to cool down. Passing the mirror, I thought, Hey now, what the fuck is this swelling behind my thigh? Is that ... could it be muscle? It could, it was, and it be. My legs have always been decent, but one thing that irks me is that the back of my thighs tend to be flat. To see that sweet sweet curve of muscle just beginning to peek out is amazing.

And it's only going to get better.

Signed,

Shapely Legs

The man who called me Missy

He smelled good. He whistled without thinking. He had solid calves and unusually shapely feet. He had a way of tilting his head when he read that I can picture as strongly as if he were sitting here with a book right now. He used to let me sit on the edge of the tub and watch him shave. He knew if I was tap dancing on the hearth that a direct look would send me giggling and scurrying, so instead he would peek around the corner of the room just every so often. He could mimic birds well enough to have them answer back. He overheard me admire how he continually learned new things, and I think it made him feel good. He was the yardstick by which I measured all other men, and he set the bar pretty damn high.

Hoo boy, Father's Day is tomorrow and I really miss him.

We could both be proud and stubborn or shy to approach after an argument, but we always worked it out. Disagreements or feelings of misunderstanding on either side seemed to fade away without a lot of talk. I usually knew where he was coming from even if I felt differently, and I think he did too. I hope he knew that I heard and listened, even if I didn't act on it immediately. Some seeds take years to come to fruition.

Although it's gotten easier over the last month or so, there are days that I wish I could give him one more kiss, see him smile, ask his advice, or hear him laugh.

I'll be thinking of you tomorrow, Dad.

Whoops

You know how sometimes there is only one bathroom in the house and someone is showering but you need to go so you knock and say "I have to pee" and the showerer is like, "That's fine, just don't flush," and you say, "Of course not" and sometime between then and when you flush you totally forget about not flushing and burning your husband with hot shower water?

Yep.

No irregularity here

Since I could only get my hands on little bitty 6 oz. bottles of mineral oil, a friend of mine picked these up for me last night at one of her neighborhood stores. She cleaned them out. I imagine sympathic looks and Ex-Lax suggestions.

This is what I'll be painting on the floor to loosen the paper, and I think it's going to work pretty well. I tested olive oil in a corner and cleared a small section, but can't see spreading olive oil throughout the room. What if it took a really long time for me to scrape? Wouldn't it go rancid? According to my sister-in-law, this shit is the ticket. Non-drying, non-rancid mineral oil.

I may need a few more bottles.

Glory hallelujah

My computer is fixed! As it turned out, it was something simple and non-virusy that was extremely easy to remedy. Though I'll miss being able to fold laundry, hit the john, read two magazines and cook a four course meal while pages load, I suppose I could get used to this.

Weekend project

So you want to pull up your carpet, eh? Sounds like a fine idea! After all, what's underneath can't be worse, can it?

I cut and pulled out carpet and pad on Saturday, and found vinyl flooring with a burlap backing below. That pulled up easily enough, but left a papery residue over the majority of the floor. I'm not quite sure what to do with it.

Warm water and a stiff-bristled brush doesn't have an effect, but I noticed while sweeping that the rubber-edged dustpan seemed to peel the paper up pretty decently.

I don't know what sort of item I can use to safely remove the paper from the floor, but I'm picturing something like a cake batter spatula but a bit more rigid.

Any ideas?

Great days

Things are on an upswing. With the swallowing of Antabuse and the attendance of meetings, my concern for my brother's health and welfare lessens. The concern has been a constant for a good fifteen years or so, but when he's going to AA and/or taking something that makes it impossible for him to drink it makes it easier for me to sleep at night.

I understand how an alcoholic may want people to fuck off - to not call, to not show up at their doorstep, to not invade the day-to-day. But if they have people who love them, too bad.

SUCK IT.

:)

Worry: A Big Sister's Prerogative

There have been some things weighing heavily on my mind lately, and I was going to give them a pass tonight, but I've changed my mind.

Alcohol.

Personally, I like it. I like that when I indulge the world seems slightly muffled. I like that I don't worry about every last thing and yet still manage to wash dishes, brush the dogs, and do laundry. I like that I can do this and not have to worry about my job or relationships. I like that I can have a drink or two or four, read a book, and still remember what page I was on in the morning.

Some people have a hell of a time with it. It affects their girlfriend, their family, and their work. Why does drinking subsume one person and not another? When my dad was sick, I never asked why. I never railed against the heavens, asking how it could be. I don't know why my brother's alcoholism is different, but it is. I RAIL.

Fuck OFF, won't you? I can't stand it. I can't stand the worry that he's going to hurt himself, hurt someone, lose his job or his relationship. I know he's tearing himself up inside and there's little I can do.

When he goes incommunicado, I worry.

I'm worried right now.

Moving forward and rotisserie chicken

Well, that was cheerful, wasn't it? That's what you get when you mix copious amounts of rum-and-coke with an uncomfortable skin condition, I suppose: a pity party. Every reader invited! Thank you so much for attending. I'd apologize for the self-indulgence, but it really wouldn't classify as a pity party without it, now would it?

Anyway ... onward!

In case I haven't mentioned it before, I have a deep and abiding love for the rotisserie chicken and its availability in the local grocery stores. Heading home after a long day, hungry for something substantial but so lazy or tired that I can't bear the thought of cooking, my spirit is uplifted by a lovely browned chicken lying in its own delicious juices. And it's mine for six dollars.

Crack open a can of corn, shoot the moon with some Lipton Pasta Side Dish, and viola! Dinner. The next day's lunch will feature sliced chicken sandwiches with Swiss cheese on rye and lots of mayonnaise and black pepper, and then chicken salad with onion and chopped walnuts the following.

That's some good shit, provided we don't get sick of chicken in the meantime. So far, no complaints.

Third time's the charm

It's back again. This shit. This for-the-love-of-God-please-stop-I-can't-stand-it shit. As posted before, I've had a bit of trouble with psoriasis, and now it's back with a vengeance.

The medication I was taking was recently pulled from the UK, and shortly afterward pulled from the US. Something about a tiny percentage of people having fatal brain infections attributable to the medication. When I read about the UK recall I knew the US wouldn't be far behind, but I hoped maybe they'd let it slide. They didn't. (And they shouldn't). But I had forgotten how bad it could get. The itching. The warmth. The aching. The staring.

Now the horror of flare-up is really cramping my style.

I had forgotten about wearing jeans and long sleeves when the mercury pushed 75 degrees. I had forgotten how loath I was to meet anyone's eyes when I was at the store. I have terrific peripheral vision and can see people at eight o'clock doing a double-take to stare at my arms or my feet or my chest or my ears.

I took a few pictures to illustrate what I'm trying to cover up in public, and of course can't bring myself to post them. They're terrible. But they're my feet. My shins. My stomach. My shoulders.

I fucking hate this shit. It makes me want to stay in bed all day, to escape into books, to soak in the tub and stay in bed all day.

My dermatologist prescribed a useless cream that makes me smell like an old man. It doesn't work. We discussed more aggressive therapies the last time I saw him, but he wanted to go with this stuff first. Fine. I've tried it. In fact, I've used it before. It didn't work then and it doesn't work now and until I see him Saturday all I can do is slather it on and wince when it stings and hope he prescribes something a bit stronger this weekend.

So this weekend, dermatologist willing, I'll have a choice between a pill that worked last time that can kill a kidney in a year, or a pill that didn't work that goes to town on your liver. They don't like to prescribe either for more than six months. Beyond that, there's another of the biologic family that hasn't been pulled. It has good word of mouth and I'm hoping he'll skip the middle step and just prescribe Humira. Looks like fun, huh? A real barrel of monkeys.

The likelihood of those side effects doesn't scare me, and that more than anything should tell you how pissed off I am at my skin. Frankly, the likelihood of any of those side effects are low, but I still find myself weighing definite skin blemishes with the possibility of tuberculosis and cancer and thinking Ehh, but my skin would be clear!

For fuck's sake, is it too much to ask?

So close

But still a smoker.

I keep thinking, "Oh right, you were going to only smoke outside if you wanted a cigarette at home," but then Lazy Weak Me throws up some white noise, sits in front of the TV and knocks a cigarette from the pack.

Listen, I am still very proud of my not-smoking at work. That's big. But I know I can do more, and if I don't expend a bit more effort soon I'll be smoking everywhere BUT work.

That's hardly quitting. It's still an improvement and that's important, but it's not quitting. I am stronger than this.

Moving right along

Been feeling much better lately, thank goodness. Sometimes you just have a few days of suckitude before things return to normal.

Doing something concrete to improve the state of mind usually helps, so to that end I have weeded at least a quarter of the thousands of tiny maple trees trying to take up residence around the house, mulched the weeded area, done laundry, dusted, continued cleaning out the closet (this is a LONG process that has stretched almost a month), shaved my legs, painted my toenails, snuggled with dogs, read books, and got a lot of sleep.

In an effort to clear away some debt (which while not monstrous is slowly sucking the blood from the checkbook each month), I looked into refinancing the house a couple of days ago. This has been on our list of things to do for awhile, since we have a 5-year ARM that comes up next year and we don't want the rate being raised.* It will probably be Monday before we hear, but it looks like we can refinance at slightly less than our current rate with cash out, meaning two pesky credit cards with balances higher than I'd like can be paid off with no increase in the mortgage payment. And that, my friends, will make me happier than a pig in slop.

Matt is going to do some "lumbering" this weekend, putting up a picket fence that will run from the house to the garage and allow us to merely (I can barely see to type through the tears of joy) open the back door to let the dogs out. No more leashing Pete at 6:30 a.m. and running him to the back yard in my robe.

It's the little things, isn't it?

*I know these aren't recommended, but back then we figured we'd be moving within a few years so who cared what happened to interest rates after five years? We'd be in a new house with a terrific mortgage!

Leaning

For the last couple of weeks I've felt off.

I feel weird. Awkward. Down.

Last night I lay in bed for almost an hour thinking of accidents and death and errors I've made - a far cry from my normal state of mind, which is a bit more cheerful and self-forgiving. I thought of falling down stairs, mistakes from ten or twenty years ago, cave-ins, and debt.

I felt mortal. I felt scared. I wanted to call the boys to bed so I could feel the pressure of their bodies and hear their snores. Most of all I wanted Matt to come to bed.

The doom and gloom lifted when he did. I listened to him breathe and fell into the left-side-back-side-right-side sleep routine with a lighter heart. Such a simple something made a tremendous difference in my spirit.

Tonight will be much the same. Those stupid thoughts are crowding my mind again, no matter how I push them away. Regret. Hurt. Failing potential. Misunderstanding. Money woes.

I know I shouldn't depend on someone else to make me feel better. I know that I will feel better on my own, on a different day, that there will be months in which I'll feel accomplished and strong and capable of facing whatever life pitches my way. But for now I will take what comfort I can, whether he knows he's giving it or not.

Thanks, honey.

With the rain ...

... comes this shit.

Mind you, I swept yesterday. This mess accumulated in one room in a day and a half.

The boys have a new neighbor, a beautiful beagle puppy whose outdoor presence incites them to run heedlessly from one corner of the yard to the next and back again, trying to find the best position from which to bark indignantly. And whine. And bark. And run again.

They kick up mud which coats their undercarriages and clogs their paws. They squelch through holes they've dug in drier days and their quick turns at the gate throw filth on my shoes.

I've had it. It's bath night.

Ready for change

Did I mention I am quitting smoking? Well, I am. Since April 1 there have been no morning cigarettes, no cigarettes during work, and only a few at night. This is huge.

I need to get a handle on the nighttime smokes though, or I'll never stop entirely.

In looking back over the times I tried (however half-heartedly) to quit, I realized that I might do better to chip away at it. I know some people do best cold turkey, some do best with nicotine patches, but about 95% of my habit is just habit, and that should be easy enough to break, right?

So with an eye to that, I've been setting out three cigarettes and leaving the pack at home. No smoking in the morning, none in the car, none at work. That part has gone marvelously. No cravings. No crabbiness. No panic.

I wasn't sure how to handle it at home, though. Even if I set three out, knowing that pack was right there for the taking made it difficult. And the triggers are still there - sitting down to read a book, cuddling up to watch TV, etc. It has been too easy to slip one more cigarette in. And maybe just one more for good measure.

So the new plan is this: stick with what's been working from 11:00 p.m. to 6:00 p.m., keep three cigarettes handy (two beginning Thursday and one beginning Saturday) but only smoke them outside the house. I need to stop this shit. And it's right there, I can practically taste that clean air.

April 20th is the date that I expect to be totally smoke-free. Wish me luck (and strength) folks. I think this is finally it.

I'll let you know May 1 whether I've been successful. By that date I should be ten days without a single solitary cigarette and well on my way to a broken habit.

I CAN DO THIS.

It costs less than a new car

Well, we took the Focus in. It's been a good car, needing only springs and shocks replaced in the four years we've owned it. However, it started spewing coolant in November 2006, and after a number of attempts on our part we decided it was time to give the professionals a shot.

Not so bad: $278.45 to do something to the thermostat housing and replace the bypass tube that likes to imitate Old Faithful.

However.

It's been awhile since the car's been in for service beyond your basic oil change. In the time spent outside a garage, it has produced paper-thin brake linings (making it fairly unsafe to drive), a loose control arm that allows our right rear tire to "walk around" its wheel well, and a battery that doesn't like to keep its charge anymore because some numbskull wired the radio in some screwed up way. That last wasn't us - we bought it this way.

All told, there's an $864.07 estimate hanging over our heads.

While part of me thinks "Screw it! That's ridiculous! Outrageous!" another part of me figures the estimates for each repair seems fair, and that it is far FAR less than giving up and buying a new car. Car payments and comprehensive insurance would cost us in 3-4 months what these repairs will.

I know it's worth it, but man does it hurt.

A bit of this and that

Matt shaved in a Fu Manchu mustache last night. I think it looks marvelous and might very well kick off a whole new facial hair revolution. Seriously. It looks pretty cool.

****

I've been exercising every day or every other day or every other other day and damn does it feel good. I haven't followed a regular exercise program since I was 13 and never expected to look forward to working out. And yet I find myself thinking of heel jacks and downward facing dogs and front flops (not what it's called, but for the life of me I can't think of the name - forward face? Front fold? FORWARD FOLD. Eureka! I think that's it) and planks and grapevines at all moments of the day. Flexing my arms and measuring bicep muscles, poking myself in the stomach to assess progress ... for whatever reason, I think the exercise bug stuck this time.

****

The dog beds are still unchewed and in use. Due to our dirt yard and a sprinkle of rain, they were getting filthy again and received a nice solid washing tonight. I decided to wash All Things Covered in Dog Hair and threw the couch-covering blankets into the mix. While they were being washed and dried the boys didn't know what to do with themselves. Pete reluctantly entered his crate and laid on the bare plastic flooring, whining softly every so often, but Willy (to make a Where am I to lay comfortably point, I'm sure), settled sideways on the floor outside his crate and stared at me with severe indignation. They seem very happy with their clean-smelling digs now.

****

Still having trouble with the nail-biting. I do fine until the TV comes on or I start reading, which Hello, is every night. Those of you who share this terrible habit will know what I mean when I say how much I dread tomorrow. Three recently-bitten nails are already aching. Those of you who don't bite your nails? Let me just say that you can chew off A LOT without realizing, and it only hurts more when the nails dry. Typing will be a bitch tomorrow.

****

It's getting late and I meant to be in bed an hour ago (trying to make it easier on the flipside), but my stupid computer is running SO SLOW and it takes forever to gear up long enough for me to check a few sites. I'm going to sign off now so I can pat myself on the back for getting to bed before 11:00.

****

Shit. With trying to upload a picture of Matt's new mustache it's almost 11:15. Close enough. Sleep tight, y'all.

The Snuggie

Dear Friend:

Seriously, the Snuggie. Would you want one, or would it be a waste of money? I ask because I want one, and it's buy one get one (plus a free book light!) and so that means yours would be practically free. I had a wonderful vision of presenting a gift-wrapped Snuggie with a note reading Just try it and it was beautiful and you loved it and tried it on right there before plopping down in your chair and enticing my dogs with your popcorn. Then I had a second vision in which you wrinkled your nose before catching yourself and saying how you'd always truly wanted a Snuggie and that regardless of how you'd mocked it you'd always kind of seen yourself in one (quick question: when you've seen yourself in one, was it burgandy or blue? I was leaning toward blue but need to doublecheck before I hit Order) and I knew you were lying but in the back of my head I still thought you'd end up liking it.

Sincerely,

I'd Really Like to Order a Snuggie and What Color Do You Want?

The Strip plus Cute Shoes

Gets you this.

Vegas bound

In 15 short minutes, Matt and I are taking off for Vegas.

Vegas, baby!

Our flight doesn't leave for awhile yet, but we're taking a detour to drop the boys off at Adam and Meagan's (thanks again, guys! great karma and/or flowers will be headed your way upon our return) and want to leave enough time for getting through airport security.

I checked my purse and it's knife-free. No tweezers, clippers, or bottles over 1 oz. Security should be a breeze.

I like the night life

I like to boogie ...

If liking the night life means staying up late and liking to boogie means alternating between doing laundry and reading books written about the Victorian era, that is. I like my life, but recognize that it isn't what most would consider "happening".

Tonight's festivities included painting toenails (mine), reading (Anne Perry's Thomas and Charlotte Pitt series) and repeatedly letting the boys out to revel in yet another snowy gift from Mother Nature.

I'd considered going over a few towns to celebrate a friend's sister's birthday, but the one car started spewing antifreeze again and Matt took the other to poker. Plus I was feeling lazy and stay-at-homey.

Laundry is done, I'm at the end of a chapter, and I'm ready for bed. Peace out.

Numbskull

At some point I must have decided I'd had enough of winter, because I'm no longer wrapping scarves around my neck and putting on gloves when I leave the house.

I know better. I know that just because I'm done with it doesn't mean the cold weather has passed, and walking from the car with the freezing wind blowing through the open coat I clutch with purple hands only highlights that WINTER IS NOT OVER, YOU DUMBASS.

DRESS FOR IT.

Waiting on Tuesday

Goodbye to kidney-beaning spines, adios to stiff and achy lower backs, and hello to the novelty of waking up rested!

We stuck with our current mattress until the few remaining comfortable sleep positions were a thing of the past, and are more than ready for a new sleep surface.

We went looking yesterday and laid on mattress after mattress. At our last stop, after the salesman discreetly retired for a moment, we laid on our sides facing each other (impossible to do on our current bed without both rolling into a huge mid-bed dent) and agreed. This is the mattress for us.

Great things will come of this. Restful sleep. Less awkward fooling around (you try fooling around in the middle of a bed divot - it's difficult!). And of course, restful sleep. I expect Wednesday will be a happy day.

Turning into my mother

I just used the word jazzy to describe a car. Earlier, I told someone they looked sharp, and yesterday I used the word dippy.

What in God's name is happening to me?

Mid-winter cleanup

Today, for the first time since early December, the snow and ice retreated enough that I could get out and clean the yard. Before I go further, let me remind you that we have two dogs who eat and excrete prodigiously. The yard has been covered in snow or ice for almost two months, and I started to hyperventilate when I did the math (2 dogs x at least twice a day x approximately 60 days, and Oh my God is Willy eating again?). This was going to be a doozy.

It will be like a really gross treasure hunt! I told myself, and obtained the strongest garbage bags I could find.

The tools of the trade:



Even with all the dirt we hauled in over the last two summers, our back yard is at a very low level and takes days to dry after a heavy rain or snow melt. The possibility of stepping in poop aside, some foot protection was in order:



Four Hefty Steel Sak bags were filled to weight capacity while I grabbed, bagged, and grimaced. There's still one edge of the yard to do yet, but it's the least visited and the light was failing and a fairly large dent has been made.

This is the one thing (aside from shedding and barking out windows) that I dislike about being responsible for dogs. Not the day-to-day pick up - that's nothing - but the winter thaws.

If you're still reading, I'm impressed. I know it's a rather inelegant topic, but good Lord am I proud of myself. I had to share.

Blinds

Three damn trips to Meijer later and the windows have new blinds. Most of them do, anyway. Such a simple thing, replacing blinds, yet my heartrate rose to aerobic levels before it was through.

To spare you future trauma, let me just say that whatever you measure, add an inch.

Well hello!

How have you been? Keeping warm? I have missed you so.

I'm feeling much better, thank you! Good family, good friends, and good dogs will do that, it seems. The nail-biting and drinking are at a minimum, and I hope at least the first habit will soon be banished entirely. I miss my pretty nails.

There was a moment the other day that I think I actually heard my spirit crack, and enough was finally enough. I'd been thinking that for quite awhile, but there's a big difference between thinking it and feeling it. I've had enough.

This spirit is back in the game.