tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-52464914675176631872023-11-15T23:40:28.930-08:00A Taste In The LifeAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11835739612994340592noreply@blogger.comBlogger977125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5246491467517663187.post-35430179264154859482014-10-09T14:29:00.001-07:002014-10-09T14:29:11.967-07:00Ebolingham<div chat-dir="f" class="km" role="chatMessage" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; margin-left: 1em;">
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<span class="kn" style="cursor: default; font-weight: bold; margin-left: -1em; zoom: 1;" title="akappel05@gmail.com">me: </span> <span dir="ltr" id=":3bk">I DID HAVE EBOLA!!</span></div>
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Passenger with "symptoms of Ebola" sends Birmingham firefighters to Birmingham-Shut<wbr></wbr>tlesworth Airport in hazmat gear... via @aldotcom</div>
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Sent at 4:17 PM on Thursday</div>
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<span class="kn" style="cursor: default; font-weight: bold; margin-left: -1em; zoom: 1;" title="akappel05@gmail.com">me: </span> <span dir="ltr" id=":30i">Best comment so far: Benito82<br />I am going to the store to get milk and bread right now.</span></div>
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<span class="kn" style="cursor: default; font-weight: bold; margin-left: -1em; zoom: 1;" title="bkappel@gmail.com">Brian: </span> <span dir="ltr" id=":3ix"><a href="https://www.yahoo.com/tech/fitness-trackers-are-a-dime-a-dozen-if-youve-99068015039.html" needshandler="needsHandler" style="color: #0065cc;">https://www.yah<wbr></wbr>oo.com/tech/fit<wbr></wbr>ness-trackers-a<wbr></wbr>re-a-dime-a-doz<wbr></wbr>en-if-youve-990<wbr></wbr>68015039.html</a></span></div>
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<span class="kn" style="cursor: default; font-weight: bold; margin-left: -1em; zoom: 1;" title="akappel05@gmail.com">me: </span> <span dir="ltr" id=":3ip">"AnonymousOne 4 minutes ago<br />James Spann says it's nothing to</span> worry about. It'll just be a dusting."</div>
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<span class="kn" style="cursor: default; font-weight: bold; margin-left: -1em; zoom: 1;" title="akappel05@gmail.com">me: </span> <span dir="ltr" id=":3iq">I feel like you and I are having very different conversations.</span></div>
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Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08335929904590051436noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5246491467517663187.post-34520128328875068722014-09-05T22:31:00.001-07:002014-09-05T22:31:32.836-07:00Revenge of the Closet SystemsA few months ago, b heard a crash in the middle of the night. Accustomed to hearing crying babies, I heard nothing. <div><br></div><div>The next morning, I stumbled into our closet to find all of b's polos and pants sprawled on the floor. The closet organizer failed. </div><div><br></div><div>We knew this could happen, or at least suspected as much when we moved in. When you shop for houses, you see what's there, like full pantries and organized closets. When you move into a house, you see what's left behind, namely dust bunnies and patched holes where the organizer had already torn from the drywall. Twice. </div><div><br></div><div>So we weren't too shocked when it happened. We got it fixed and vowed to swap it out for a better system, or at least get this one into the studs. </div><div><br></div><div>Imagine my not-so-huge surprise when we moved upstairs this week. I'd put my clothes in the guest room and cleaned out the closet in what would be our room for b's suits. </div><div><br></div><div>Let's set the scene. It's about 11pm. We're hot and exhausted. B is just starting to move the first of his hanging clothes, namely two suits, when he hangs those hangers on the rack and, you guessed it, total failure. </div><div><br></div><div>Being the fixer I am, I get b's suits downstairs to the closet below our basement steps. I hang them, even testing the racks before leaving them alone for the next 6-8 weeks. </div><div><br></div><div>Tonight, b needed something from that closet. I hear him open the door and the language start flying. He came back upstairs and said, "well, that one collapsed too." I got up and told him is move them to the laundry room when he finally pointed out my lunacy and begged me to stop breaking the systems and simply lay his suit bags on the couch, which is where you'll find them now. </div><div><br></div><div>We have three remaining systems. One full of baby clothes, one holding all my clothes and one supporting our entire wedding gift collection. I'm not hopeful, but I am sending my father in law to reinforce at least that last one ASAP. In the meantime I plan to continue my one-woman show explaining insanity and moving b's suits around from rod to rod. Wish me luck!</div>Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08335929904590051436noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5246491467517663187.post-8199538238990614292014-09-04T12:54:00.001-07:002014-09-04T12:54:32.714-07:00What Shower? Remember our bathroom?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMb69xmRxDyEbdyrGL1Ori34YrQgK95QX09e7LzjcFEIwZRSRDwCBz7esJ0Kxc8XB5X6T9JX3R_SJmV-7AcS7aMY_T0esClXJOOMEs-kR4WvXq1iiB1YDdiiKRnMjCHJ1lkDkK1Dm9Vrg/s1600/IMG_5136%5B1%5D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMb69xmRxDyEbdyrGL1Ori34YrQgK95QX09e7LzjcFEIwZRSRDwCBz7esJ0Kxc8XB5X6T9JX3R_SJmV-7AcS7aMY_T0esClXJOOMEs-kR4WvXq1iiB1YDdiiKRnMjCHJ1lkDkK1Dm9Vrg/s1600/IMG_5136%5B1%5D.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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This is it 8 hours later:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih_2BsN_ZoEBynmdqidFQ6NJ1gIJUG8GMjI1vS3eZByKunoyaHREtBD5aaaKieHvkCC3U7sivc3oj5qBEUEwvQi_T-ETSN02zUm7dPgPpReUQ8AlaH8A54cCU_gMN0sO8W8gYqxhO11Z4/s1600/IMG_5149%5B1%5D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih_2BsN_ZoEBynmdqidFQ6NJ1gIJUG8GMjI1vS3eZByKunoyaHREtBD5aaaKieHvkCC3U7sivc3oj5qBEUEwvQi_T-ETSN02zUm7dPgPpReUQ8AlaH8A54cCU_gMN0sO8W8gYqxhO11Z4/s1600/IMG_5149%5B1%5D.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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No biggie. I'll just be eating a tub of ice cream in the corner.</div>
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Oh, and good news. No new valve, and no more leak in the basement.</div>
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<br />Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08335929904590051436noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5246491467517663187.post-78823089104529597542014-09-04T12:13:00.000-07:002014-09-04T12:13:15.076-07:00First HiccupGetting a "call me" text and missed call from your Project Manager is never ideal, but I like mine, so I thought maybe he was calling me to tell me that he was D.O.N.E. with the project and to come take a bath in my new tub.<br />
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Instead, sadly, he was calling to say that, when turning off the water to our master bath, the 40 year old value broke loose (something about balls or bearings or something) and, well, did what you would expect a water line might do when faced with a broken valve.<br />
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The good news? It's fixed and he's shop vac'ed out the water (insert slight panic here). Also, if B and I ever had a problem in that bathroom again (leaky sink, broken shower) in the middle of the night and had gone down to turn off this valve... well, let's just say that it wouldn't have been resolved and cleaned up within the hour. And that's just referring to the profanity we'd have to erase from O's memory.<br />
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Bump up the plumbing budget, it's Day 1!Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08335929904590051436noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5246491467517663187.post-1938892051789889852014-09-04T08:17:00.002-07:002014-09-04T08:17:56.672-07:00Reno Debrief: Conversations with BMe: I'm having a lot of trouble not going into the bathroom and salvaging all the old fixtures.<br />
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B: Um. <i>Why?</i> Why would you do that?<br /><br />
Me: To donate them.<br />
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B: The old, gold fixtures.<br />
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Me: Yes. (Sigh) I know.Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08335929904590051436noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5246491467517663187.post-58356594459954176352014-09-04T08:16:00.001-07:002014-09-04T08:16:08.323-07:00One HourIn one hour, my bathroom went from this:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFZmIScB5bbHzJcwkysyFfTlIaHjxrq9iyhBT0cG-kGnwbWtJ80tqJ4AisSdK9Wbbo6NdVc3MIO4bfl01dXnbZwVI_TPfJyTfTud5h2rFbq3L8Zp6XvUJK0NWPzdSsjnGFMXKpt1I-fSg/s1600/IMG_5135%5B1%5D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFZmIScB5bbHzJcwkysyFfTlIaHjxrq9iyhBT0cG-kGnwbWtJ80tqJ4AisSdK9Wbbo6NdVc3MIO4bfl01dXnbZwVI_TPfJyTfTud5h2rFbq3L8Zp6XvUJK0NWPzdSsjnGFMXKpt1I-fSg/s1600/IMG_5135%5B1%5D.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
To this:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqNdwKgcMYN7_PdBpVSuyBqB1YarN0Kayxv0TbDKjAGyzQcOuc1iYyNv-0bEeDSB-B6hLRJsWfoPmjKK1E-OibFOk7o-iFvq8gChzhGw0IeLAsfipPNK4DPUs3SIK0v15IhJYalACm11A/s1600/IMG_5147%5B1%5D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqNdwKgcMYN7_PdBpVSuyBqB1YarN0Kayxv0TbDKjAGyzQcOuc1iYyNv-0bEeDSB-B6hLRJsWfoPmjKK1E-OibFOk7o-iFvq8gChzhGw0IeLAsfipPNK4DPUs3SIK0v15IhJYalACm11A/s1600/IMG_5147%5B1%5D.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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I left at 8am and drove back by at 9. That's a lot of unnecessary wall, people.</div>
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And yes, my toddler was still sleeping. Wonder Baby.</div>
<br />Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08335929904590051436noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5246491467517663187.post-58027880458216229592014-09-04T08:14:00.000-07:002014-09-04T08:14:12.672-07:00Renovation Day 0: The Kitchen BeforeLast night, B and I (with the help of Nana!) scurried around the house clearing kitchen counters and the space in the basement below the bathroom. Our Project Manager had been by earlier to ready the house, laying down protective flooring and installing zipper doors.<br />
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Now, let me tell you, I was NOT prepared for how choppy the house is. They made a tunnel from our master bath straight out the front door, which cuts the front doors off from us, unless we want to go into the dust zone via a zipper door.<br />
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There's another zipper door from the keeping room into the kitchen, so if you go into the kitchen door, you have access to the kitchen, the dining room, and the living room, but have to go through a zipper door to get into the keeping room, our bedrooms, or the basement. Alternatively, you can go into the keeping room doors, but then only have access to the upstairs bedrooms and basement. Still with me?<br />
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I say all that to say that it would've been easier to move things around <i>before</i><b style="font-style: italic;"> </b>those doors went in. Picture me moving our bags of clothes to donate to the front yard for pick up. So the bags are in the front living room, but to get them out, I either have to take the out the back door, down the steps, around the driveway, to the front sidewalk, or lug them through two zipper doors (and around the entire first level) to get out the front door. Needless to say, taking out the trash, stashing the stand mixer, and even just remembering to get O's water cup have become true efforts that require a little forethought.<br />
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The great news is that O slept through our cleaning and prepping last night, and was <i>still asleep</i> this morning through the bathroom demo. Y'all, they gutted the bathroom and my 16 month old slept through it with nary a sound machine in sight. This kiddos is tired.<br />
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Here's a few before shots of our kitchen (and yes, my counters are <i>always</i> this clean. Why do you ask?):<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2Xn_8WfrSmXotAVEzqnhIctahZJ1CQCXC5ELu3IcVI3psEV5-Z2srW9sG8eWOKKP6pBpyCslAiCugHuJQZniNwpC3FMgKdyixbePJvUfWu5l4mKEn6qauCypwi1lJhei4kMym-m3d-wQ/s1600/IMG_5144%5B1%5D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2Xn_8WfrSmXotAVEzqnhIctahZJ1CQCXC5ELu3IcVI3psEV5-Z2srW9sG8eWOKKP6pBpyCslAiCugHuJQZniNwpC3FMgKdyixbePJvUfWu5l4mKEn6qauCypwi1lJhei4kMym-m3d-wQ/s1600/IMG_5144%5B1%5D.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitCvMe9mIL4cm3rnNqVad0zqw_rGKlMbAT3gqjzcWsPK8es0uJ8-Nd4ajWUQDfqz3EB3rmKBsbRhw_C6t6YTPHUjBXhyphenhyphenjRgdlVQxHIK98ITn3eNPRRt46ZGsuDu3F3lqiPgj_liKwgXxI/s1600/IMG_5145%5B1%5D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitCvMe9mIL4cm3rnNqVad0zqw_rGKlMbAT3gqjzcWsPK8es0uJ8-Nd4ajWUQDfqz3EB3rmKBsbRhw_C6t6YTPHUjBXhyphenhyphenjRgdlVQxHIK98ITn3eNPRRt46ZGsuDu3F3lqiPgj_liKwgXxI/s1600/IMG_5145%5B1%5D.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzpJlXFgACe8r4c9cNfHeCV6nV0hLDx4Tr5nYjGEGHsx9dk1oWvgq6FI_lTn_ESKrB932-TbYO54QnEOiEmeGSORfz8ODWkgRPV9b4BVFw1E3D2TK92L40rM7or-gFvF3lcwRG87G03Qg/s1600/IMG_5146%5B1%5D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzpJlXFgACe8r4c9cNfHeCV6nV0hLDx4Tr5nYjGEGHsx9dk1oWvgq6FI_lTn_ESKrB932-TbYO54QnEOiEmeGSORfz8ODWkgRPV9b4BVFw1E3D2TK92L40rM7or-gFvF3lcwRG87G03Qg/s1600/IMG_5146%5B1%5D.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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I'm definitely ready for a change, and it's not that we're doing a huge one-- new counters, appliances, and backs splash, but I'm also a little sad. This is a very happy kitchen, one in which I've spent a million hours feeding that sweet baby and making dinners for B and myself. </div>
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Once again? The good: This happy room will now have insulation! I've always whined that this kitchen felt <i>way</i> too hot. Well, now that the zipper doors have shut it and and dining room off from the rest of the house, there's a clear distinction in temperatures, and that's without even turning on the stove. They're adding insulation, which I hope will make a huge difference!</div>
<br />Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08335929904590051436noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5246491467517663187.post-89911404807090607872014-09-03T10:37:00.001-07:002014-09-03T10:37:26.291-07:00Found: Lost Paci<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8N2kWezzWdcHRKKu_54dHFSykYhGfVvJHOFpnQFtGdwYCMVZ3oDMcA9sF0ItSvnDUaiMdQGWpeQQ8fD7_d1sH5nZUVq9COLRfz2xPIJeSjhl_aOtpec8zlwya75wusT3sVnJaLaar0iI/s1600/IMG_5142%5B1%5D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8N2kWezzWdcHRKKu_54dHFSykYhGfVvJHOFpnQFtGdwYCMVZ3oDMcA9sF0ItSvnDUaiMdQGWpeQQ8fD7_d1sH5nZUVq9COLRfz2xPIJeSjhl_aOtpec8zlwya75wusT3sVnJaLaar0iI/s1600/IMG_5142%5B1%5D.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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There are no words to describe the agony of finding long-lost paci here, of all places. There's just no coming back from that. </div>
<br />Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08335929904590051436noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5246491467517663187.post-43182666943596282182014-09-03T10:36:00.002-07:002014-09-04T08:33:37.700-07:00The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly: Bath Reno, Day -1Normally a call from your project manager is a good thing. <i>He's invested! He's timely! He's... early?</i><br />
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That right, G was calling to tell me that our project was going so well (the one we hadn't started), that we needed to bump up days on the schedule.<br />
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Typically, you base everything around the items you can't rush. In our case, that's the cabinets. They need a four week lead time, meaning that demo would begin two weeks before that which meant... on and on.<br />
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So imagine my surprise when our cabinets are arriving in two weeks, which means that demo starts tomorrow. Imagine B's face when he got home from work and I told him we had to be out of the bath AND the kitchen this week. We're still married.<br />
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The blessed thing is that O is a super baby. We put her down at 7 and got to work about 8, calling it a night at midnight. Our closet is packed away, our bathroom is empty, and I'm left with a few thoughts:<br />
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1) If you have ever fixed your hair to go get your hair cut, you will understand this: It KILLED me to not to clean for the contractors. When you move out, unbelievable amounts of hiding dust and dog hair tumbleweeds materialize. We knew we were demoing our shower, so we hadn't cleaned it in... a while. But we left it. And it is <i>shameful</i>.<br />
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2) We have too many clothes. I gave away four trash bags full last night, with more to come as we unpack. As B was folding his 50th Polo, he agreed, saying not nearly all of that was coming back in post-reno.<br />
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We did have a few icing-on-the-cake moments. Let's be honest: This is a luxury. That we're getting to upgrade our living space is a huge and wonderful blessing. It's also a monumental pain in the arse. I can be blessed and still be whiny, right? At least a little?<br />
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It's a stressful time for both of us at work. B has a trial coming up and I'm blessed with huge assignments stemming from a successful ad team. O is wonder baby, but wonder babies still need food and fun, and clean clothes, and bedtime stories, and maybe just one more cookie. We could've stayed home this weekend and packed leisurely, but then it just ruins a whole weekend (instead of just one night!). We'd already spent our lunch hour at the tile place selecting floors, counters, and back-splashes, so the two of us were pretty tapped out going into the night.<br />
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So B was soldiering through work, packing, a fantasy draft, and my requests to move heavy things (because I am five months pregnant), when he finally moves his first handful of suits upstairs, where we'll be living for the duration of the reno (see? Blessed! We have space to move into!). He hangs four suits, that's literally four hangers, on the bar in the closet system only to have the entire thing collapse. Y'all, it was so sad that it couldn't even be funny.<br />
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It also couldn't be infuriating because the baby was asleep just a few feet away.<br />
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All that to say, we're underway. The sheeting and floor covering is going up. Tonight I need to clean out part of my kitchen and clear all the counters, plus make sure that the space under the bathroom in the basement doesn't contain anything too precious.<br />
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In theory, we'll be done by November 1. If not, I'm coming to your house for dinner.<br />
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I leave you with the before pictures of our bathroom. So long, lovely golden hardware!<br />
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Looking in the sink area from the hall beside the bathroom. There are a LOT of doors right now. Be prepared.</div>
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Turning to the right. More doors! This one to the water closet-- toilet and shower areas. We have what our contractor calls an "elbow knocker", a shower just wide enough to knock your elbows, but deep enough for the Blue Man Group. Meanwhile, our toilet area could seat five for dinner.</div>
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Turning to the left. The double vanities! I'm not going to lie. This area was part of what sold me on our house. Double sinks! Huge closet! Separate shower! But I'll be happy to have my bathtub... I hope. And less wall paper. And separate mirrors.</div>
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Looking into the main closet area.</div>
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Standing in the main closet area looking at the double closet doors (yes, we have a TON of storage space. Had. Had.) Insert new double vanity here.</div>
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Stay tuned, and start me a KickStarter for marital counseling if this goes past November 1. </div>
<br />Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08335929904590051436noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5246491467517663187.post-4119061921198411022014-08-27T06:04:00.000-07:002014-08-27T06:04:53.382-07:00"Can I Wash Your Dishes?"I think by now we're all pretty aware that I can be a little... obsessive. Anyone remember the <a href="http://www.atasteinthelife.com/2011/07/6-towels.html" target="_blank">towel incident</a> in Jacksonville? We're about to take it to the next level.<br />
<br />
Starting next week, B & I are taking on some major home renovations. And my "taking on", I mean begging my in-laws to please help us find and hire fantastic contractors. Maybe the better word is enduring. B & I are <i>enduring</i> some major home renovations.<br />
<br />
So, obviously, the dreams have begun. Last night I comforted one unhappy toddler's nightmare, then proceeded to have one of my own, only I wasn't asleep.<br />
<br />
I lay awake on the couch with the terrible realization that our bathtub wasn't going to fit through our bedroom door. Mind you, I'm not ordering some massive bathtub; this is a standard soaker. Our doors, however, are shipped straight from Mayberry and are exactly the width of a washing machine (another story for another time).<br />
<br />
As I resisted the urge to email my contractor at 3am to alert him to what was clearly THE PROBLEM TO END ALL PROBLEMS, I had another awful realization: The bathtub is delivered to the top of the driveway. Above the dumpster. Now fear has set in that not only will I not have a bathtub in my bathroom, but it will be stuck at the end of my driveway for all to see. Forever. Alabama chic.<br />
<br />
I was finally able to nod off to sleep when the strange dreams, the real ones, began to happen. I dreamed I was hanging out with my best friend from childhood whom I still adore and admire today, and all I could manage to do was wash her dishes and inspect her sink. <i>Does she like this one? </i>I wondered. <i>It has the funny slanted angles.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Even my dreams betray me.<br />
<br />
In a world of true trial, I believe these qualify as beyond #firstworldproblems. But, for now, they are my problems which, unfortunately, make them B's problems, so say a little prayer for him (and maybe buy him an extra afternoon coffee).<br />
<br />Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08335929904590051436noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5246491467517663187.post-48017019026780864492014-01-06T14:42:00.003-08:002014-01-06T14:42:46.923-08:00Through the Monitor"You're all good now, O. I got the poop out of your belly button."Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08335929904590051436noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5246491467517663187.post-65504103920942377222014-01-02T12:54:00.002-08:002014-01-02T12:54:35.689-08:00How to Survive TodayIt's a new year and, if you've ever stopped by here before, I bet you can figure out what my resolution is.<br />
<br />
I've missed writing. I love being able to look back at Newlywed Moments I wrote about with B. I hate that I've missed the past 18 month, but a lot has happened.<br />
<br />
First, I've survived, in every sense of the word. I survived fabulous family trips, memorable holidays, and another anniversary with B. And in the midst of that, I survived, three pregnancies, only one of which resulted in a too-good-to-be-true baby. I survived the birth of our daughter, O, and every snuggle, bath, swaddle, and story since.<br />
<br />
For weeks, I didn't write because my mind was consumed with happy baby news, and then I didn't write (at least not here) because I couldn't handle sharing the grief with anyone. Then the cycle repeated and I honestly thought I might die of heartbreak. If you're a IRL friend reading this and am hurt I didn't tell you, know that this is <i>so</i> not about you; I didn't tell you because I needed to have you, my daily lifeline, be normal so that I could breathe.<br />
<br />
But I'm still here, still standing, and I have so much to tell you. Starting with, hello.Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08335929904590051436noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5246491467517663187.post-16456782258727660412012-07-13T12:34:00.001-07:002012-07-13T12:34:08.384-07:00Puppy CamY'all, my day is over. <a href="http://explore.org/#!/live-cams/player/service-puppy-cam" target="_blank">Puppy cam</a> is here. These six pups are being raised to help veterans returning from combat. Swoon.Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08335929904590051436noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5246491467517663187.post-33644310117251262772012-07-12T14:27:00.002-07:002012-07-12T14:27:40.006-07:00Conversation of the Day<span class="kn" style="color: #222222; cursor: default; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: bold; margin-left: -1em; zoom: 1;" title="akappel05@gmail.com">me: </span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"> </span><span dir="ltr" id=":4op" style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">This makes me unreasonably happy:</span>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaYauBmrlG41JsI9Wl_LOHO-_OxSQgRXjHPo8hc58RPbdENTfiFXCqO_FbmmSFGDybSj1ju7_tg2r8rcIXovjgGZLXEz7eR-a-Cl7YL7RyLkRseb4IbpUnV_ON16ibaVlsblknmxKCRrk/s1600/epic-fail-fail-nation-snake-fail.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="310" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaYauBmrlG41JsI9Wl_LOHO-_OxSQgRXjHPo8hc58RPbdENTfiFXCqO_FbmmSFGDybSj1ju7_tg2r8rcIXovjgGZLXEz7eR-a-Cl7YL7RyLkRseb4IbpUnV_ON16ibaVlsblknmxKCRrk/s320/epic-fail-fail-nation-snake-fail.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span dir="ltr" style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"></span><br />
<div class="kk" style="margin-bottom: 0.2em;">
<span class="kn" style="cursor: default; font-weight: bold; margin-left: -1em; zoom: 1;" title="bkappel@gmail.com">B: </span> <span dir="ltr" id=":4sj">haha</span></div>
<div class="kl" dir="ltr" id=":4rl" style="margin-bottom: 0.2em; text-align: left;">
you would revel in that snake's misery</div>
<div class="kl" dir="ltr" id=":4rl" style="margin-bottom: 0.2em; text-align: left;">
<div class="kk" style="margin-bottom: 0.2em; text-align: -webkit-auto;">
<span class="kn" style="cursor: default; font-weight: bold; margin-left: -1em; zoom: 1;" title="akappel05@gmail.com">me: </span> <span dir="ltr" id=":4ri"><img alt=":)" createtime="1342124131537" framecount="40" height="12" iconset="classic" pattern="smile" src="https://mail.google.com/mail/u/0/images/cleardot.gif" style="background-image: url(https://mail.google.com/mail/u/0/im/emotisprites/smile0.png); background-position: 0px -132px;" width="13" /></span></div>
<div class="kl" dir="ltr" id=":4sn" style="margin-bottom: 0.2em;">
plus, I could attach the sticky paper to the can & the snake, and the bitey end would be covered</div>
<div class="kl" dir="ltr" id=":4sn" style="margin-bottom: 0.2em;">
<span style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"> </span><span class="kn" style="cursor: default; font-weight: bold; margin-left: -1em; text-align: -webkit-auto; zoom: 1;" title="bkappel@gmail.com">B: </span><span style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"> </span><span dir="ltr" id=":4st" style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">you be so weird about snakes</span>
</div>
<div class="kl" dir="ltr" id=":4sn" style="margin-bottom: 0.2em;">
<span dir="ltr" style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><div class="kk" style="margin-bottom: 0.2em;">
<span class="kn" style="cursor: default; font-weight: bold; margin-left: -1em; zoom: 1;" title="akappel05@gmail.com">me: </span> <span dir="ltr" id=":4rq">hate. hate hate hate.</span></div>
<div class="kl" dir="ltr" id=":4rp" style="margin-bottom: 0.2em; text-align: left;">
my coworker says she thinks some things (namely ticks) are simply evil. I think snakes proved that in the Bible. Of course, they do nice things, like eat other snakes...</div>
<div class="kl" dir="ltr" id=":4rp" style="margin-bottom: 0.2em; text-align: left;">
<div aria-live="assertive" chat-dir="t" class="km" role="chatMessage" style="margin-left: 1em; text-align: -webkit-auto;">
<div class="kk" style="margin-bottom: 0.2em;">
<span class="kn" style="cursor: default; font-weight: bold; margin-left: -1em; zoom: 1;" title="bkappel@gmail.com">B: </span> <span dir="ltr" id=":4uc">and rats</span></div>
<div class="kl" dir="ltr" id=":4tl" style="margin-bottom: 0.2em; text-align: left;">
how do you feel about rats?</div>
</div>
<div aria-live="assertive" chat-dir="f" class="km" role="chatMessage" style="margin-left: 1em; text-align: -webkit-auto;">
<div class="kk" style="margin-bottom: 0.2em;">
<span class="kn" style="cursor: default; font-weight: bold; margin-left: -1em; zoom: 1;" title="akappel05@gmail.com">me: </span> <span dir="ltr" id=":4oo">dislike. opossums>rats</span></div>
<div class="kl" dir="ltr" id=":4on" style="margin-bottom: 0.2em; text-align: left;">
bunnies>opossum<wbr></wbr>s</div>
<div class="kl" dir="ltr" id=":4qe" style="margin-bottom: 0.2em; text-align: left;">
puppies>bunnies</div>
<div class="kl" dir="ltr" id=":4tr" style="margin-bottom: 0.2em; text-align: left;">
Colby>puppies</div>
<div class="kl" dir="ltr" id=":4tr" style="margin-bottom: 0.2em; text-align: left;">
<div class="kk" style="margin-bottom: 0.2em; text-align: -webkit-auto;">
<span class="kn" style="cursor: default; font-weight: bold; margin-left: -1em; zoom: 1;" title="bkappel@gmail.com">B: </span> <span dir="ltr" id=":4u2">bacon>colby?</span></div>
<div class="kl" dir="ltr" id=":4tv" style="margin-bottom: 0.2em;">
brian>bacon?</div>
<div class="kl" dir="ltr" id=":4tv" style="margin-bottom: 0.2em;">
<div class="kk" style="margin-bottom: 0.2em; text-align: -webkit-auto;">
<span class="kn" style="cursor: default; font-weight: bold; margin-left: -1em; zoom: 1;" title="akappel05@gmail.com">me: </span> <span dir="ltr" id=":4se">I was trying to figure out where baseball fits in.</span></div>
<div class="kl" dir="ltr" id=":4sg" style="margin-bottom: 0.2em;">
bacon=puppies</div>
<div class="kl" dir="ltr" id=":4sh" style="margin-bottom: 0.2em;">
Colby>bacon</div>
<div class="kl" dir="ltr" id=":4t6" style="margin-bottom: 0.2em;">
You>Colby</div>
<div class="kl" dir="ltr" id=":4t6" style="margin-bottom: 0.2em;">
<span class="kn" style="cursor: default; font-weight: bold; margin-left: -1em; text-align: -webkit-auto; zoom: 1;" title="bkappel@gmail.com">B: </span><span style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"> </span><span dir="ltr" id=":4t7" style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">ok, so fill in the blank: snakes <i>_</i> rats</span>
</div>
<div class="kl" dir="ltr" id=":4t6" style="margin-bottom: 0.2em;">
<span dir="ltr" style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><div class="kk" style="margin-bottom: 0.2em;">
<span class="kn" style="cursor: default; font-weight: bold; margin-left: -1em; zoom: 1;" title="akappel05@gmail.com">me: </span> <span dir="ltr" id=":4t8">rats>snakes</span></div>
<div class="kl" dir="ltr" id=":4t2" style="margin-bottom: 0.2em; text-align: left;">
If I saw a rat in our basement, I would be mad and try to trap it.</div>
<div class="kl" dir="ltr" id=":4s5" style="margin-bottom: 0.2em; text-align: left;">
If I saw a snake, I would get the cold leg sweats and stand very still so I could watch it until you got home.</div>
<div class="kl" dir="ltr" id=":4s5" style="margin-bottom: 0.2em; text-align: left;">
<div class="kl" dir="ltr" id=":4qf" style="margin-bottom: 0.2em;">
rats>roaches (as long as we're talking basement/theory<wbr></wbr>).</div>
<div class="kl" dir="ltr" id=":4qg" style="margin-bottom: 0.2em;">
In my house, my actual house, I guess I'd take a roach because I could squish it.</div>
<div class="kl" dir="ltr" id=":4qh" style="margin-bottom: 0.2em;">
A rat in my closet would be rodent nongrata.</div>
<div class="kl" dir="ltr" id=":4qh" style="margin-bottom: 0.2em;">
<span style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"> </span><span class="kn" style="cursor: default; font-weight: bold; margin-left: -1em; text-align: -webkit-auto; zoom: 1;" title="bkappel@gmail.com">B: </span><span style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"> </span><span dir="ltr" id=":21w" style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">that made me laugh in my office</span>
</div>
<div class="kl" dir="ltr" id=":4qh" style="margin-bottom: 0.2em;">
<span dir="ltr" style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"> <span class="kn" style="cursor: default; font-weight: bold; margin-left: -1em; zoom: 1;" title="akappel05@gmail.com">me: </span> <span dir="ltr" id=":268">New holiday for us to celebrate: July 19 is Flitch Day. Here’s the explanation: An old custom from yesteryear developed into the holiday of Flitch Day. Bacon was given to any married couple who could prove they had lived in harmony and fidelity for one year. Very few "took home the bacon".</span>
</span></div>
<div class="kl" dir="ltr" id=":4qh" style="margin-bottom: 0.2em;">
<span dir="ltr" style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span dir="ltr">..how do you think they "proved" fidelity and harmony? #interesting.</span></span></div>
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Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08335929904590051436noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5246491467517663187.post-52576016156273935682012-05-30T14:33:00.001-07:002012-05-30T14:33:52.752-07:00Oh, Hi!I'm sorry, were you trying to get something done?<br />
<div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLgM0oy7Po2ksBw_E4O420kJJ_EYV64YCSEtpDWttVR-bLJWVWZJmaoPC3FwhNSK0MYxRZpE9LU9aPX9aD2lH_umnU61DKO5BMKrVxCb9a1tJXl3Tlo8hO0MOgMrsb7iL7-7rQPEdtR34/s640/blogger-image-1680415112.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLgM0oy7Po2ksBw_E4O420kJJ_EYV64YCSEtpDWttVR-bLJWVWZJmaoPC3FwhNSK0MYxRZpE9LU9aPX9aD2lH_umnU61DKO5BMKrVxCb9a1tJXl3Tlo8hO0MOgMrsb7iL7-7rQPEdtR34/s640/blogger-image-1680415112.jpg" /></a></div>Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08335929904590051436noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5246491467517663187.post-77795609069978770122012-05-29T15:57:00.001-07:002012-05-29T15:57:13.060-07:00A Dog's LifeWhen at sea, let your ears flow freely. <div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGzV8BaL7Mffi1tfK3nqAT5E9Trr7xUqPJ3_CRGA-YEKoaW_jL4Daiel5lmHxJKnF6P2OQVesh51sTjhWV3VOpxkz6PE-IuUeOihVrv9bG1CR_URSln3ECbW4HrPagA2k33_aAZRpvrlg/s640/blogger-image--979353426.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGzV8BaL7Mffi1tfK3nqAT5E9Trr7xUqPJ3_CRGA-YEKoaW_jL4Daiel5lmHxJKnF6P2OQVesh51sTjhWV3VOpxkz6PE-IuUeOihVrv9bG1CR_URSln3ECbW4HrPagA2k33_aAZRpvrlg/s640/blogger-image--979353426.jpg" /></a></div>Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08335929904590051436noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5246491467517663187.post-88744296401783351032012-05-29T09:27:00.001-07:002012-05-29T09:27:26.748-07:00Visit to FlorenceMore to come, but a quick shot or two. After the wedding, B & I ran by the house to let Colby out before the reception. Where did we find him? Nana's couch. Of course.<br />
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But at least we got a little walk in before it got too late...<br />
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Me: B... B... B...<br />
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B: What?<br />
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Me: Are my eyes playing tricks on me?<br />
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B: Why?<br />
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Me: Are there crawly things on the ceiling?<br />
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B: What?<br />
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Me: Are. There. Crawly. Things. On. The. Ceiling. <br />
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B: Do you want me to turn the lights on to check?<br />
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Me: No. No....Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08335929904590051436noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5246491467517663187.post-36816332290238194662012-05-26T07:17:00.001-07:002012-05-26T07:17:57.611-07:00Dear Dippin DotsCan we all just agree that the future is now?Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08335929904590051436noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5246491467517663187.post-91618317095828852012-05-26T05:44:00.001-07:002012-05-26T05:44:42.034-07:00Nana's HouseThis weekend is the first visit by the granddog to Nana's house. I never realized how many reflective serf aces there are in mom's house, which for Colby means that the house is FULL of dogs who must be alerted to his presence. Windows, mirrors, and, yes, the old TV last night. At 2am. <br />
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And B's dad will be thrilled to know that 'granddog' was autocorrected to 'granddaddog'. Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08335929904590051436noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5246491467517663187.post-87078258287190376882012-05-25T08:45:00.001-07:002012-05-25T08:45:04.885-07:00Small TownMom: We're getting a Panera!<br />
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Me: What? Where?<br />
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Mom: Next to the Publix. <br />
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Me: We have a Publix??Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08335929904590051436noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5246491467517663187.post-75343936022863745362012-05-24T22:35:00.001-07:002012-05-24T22:35:13.222-07:00Wife of the YearGuess who just drove off with the keys her husband will need to drive their pup on a two-plus hour solo mission? Vote me wife of the year!<br />
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On the upside, Colby will now be able to test his motion sickness in a sportscar. And I bet he'll love a cooled seat! <br />
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Won't it be fun when he finds out by reading this post? Also, what a fun way to test if he's reading this post!<br />
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Me. WOTY. I've got it locked up (but someone else has the keys). Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08335929904590051436noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5246491467517663187.post-18714902159171778872012-05-23T14:24:00.003-07:002012-05-23T14:24:48.817-07:00A Day in the Park<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Just another day at the park...</div>
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</div>Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08335929904590051436noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5246491467517663187.post-16015062390787057752012-05-23T10:16:00.001-07:002012-05-23T10:16:55.574-07:00How (Not) To Cut The GrassOur backyard has a sordid tale to tell. It's only been in existence for two years (since the previous owners landscaped) and we've owned it for less than a year; yet, there is drama.<br />
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When we first closed on the house, I insisted, nay <em>demanded </em>that B go directly to the store and buy a hose to water the lawn. To my credit, it was July 27 and we were about to leave the house until the end of August. Fare the well, Zoysia! It was nice knowing you before your heat stroke!<br />
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So in lieu of giving our grass a heat stroke, I gave one to B, who stood in that yard, watering away (with only a hose, mind you), front and back, for over an hour. He got soaked, of course, in the process, both from high-noon sweat and generally hose debauchery, then had to ride in his damp clothes all the way to Atlanta. Luckily, my clothes were damp too, because as soon as he wound up the hose, locked up the house, and picked me up, it started to pour.<br />
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The yard fared well. In fact, I'm not sure we mowed it until November of 2011, which has to be some sort of record or lunacy, one (perhaps a record <em>of</em> lunacy?). After that, we started listening out to see when our neighbors were mowing and watering, that is until we decided to just turn on HBO and forget that we had anything depending on us for survival.<br />
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In January, we adopted Colby, our lovable, much-documented golden boy who turned out to be part collie and part Derby winner in that he loved to run very fast and in well-defined circles. <br />
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Of course, it was winter. Our dormant grass didn't alert us to the fact that all the adorable running (prompted by our heartfelt chasing), was quite literally wearing thin on our grass. By spring, you could see Colby's favorite running route, and the exact spot along the stone wall in which I can pull on his rope toy with him without bending over. While the rest of the yard is, well, yard, these areas are... white. Or brown. Or yellow, depending on how scorched or depleted of grass seed they now truly are.<br />
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Our April showers extended into May this year, bringing lots of growth, particularly in our rose bushes (yea!), but not so much in our yard. We still haven't mowed the front yard... ever? And it's about thumbtack height, which suits me fine. The backyard, however, surprised us. While we were watching and watering that beloved path, the rest of the lawn sprung up overnight to approximately dachshund height. How do I know? Our neighbors have three, but it was hard to know that when they were wandering in the heights of our now sea grass-like backyard.<br />
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B's been working crazy hours doing all sorts of fun things including, of course, word, but also volunteering with youth baseball, playing church softball, and playing basketball with his firm. Needless to say, he's well worked out and home after dark but, since doggie school is over, I'm home earlier.<br />
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Monday, I decided to weed, partly because our playscape area needed it and partly because Colby ate so many weeds that he threw them up Monday morning before I left for work (I'll let you guess which was the stronger catalyst). So I sprayed and weeded and planted something and still had hours of daylight left. I thought to myself, "I bet I can mow this lawn."<br />
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This thought will both make my mother proud and horrified. Proud because she has maintained our huge yard for decades, mowing it, tending to it, and generally loving it from the seat on her riding lawn mower. It will terrify her because the one time she asked me to mow it, I drove the riding lawn mower into a tree. I'll let you guess whether that was due to poor driving or strategy; I will say that I was never asked to mow the lawn again. And also that I failed my driver's test on the first try (something B only found out about this year and might consider grounds for future divorce proceedings). <br />
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Our backyard is a sweet little oasis. It has a large deck, a curved driveway leading to the garage, and a decent expanse of yard filled with grass, trees, roses, bushes, and the aforementioned playscape. It is also elevated. Step One: Prop 2X4s onto the stone wall.<br />
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I rolled the lawn mower out of the basement and prayed it was the right one. We have two hand-me-down mowers, but I assumed that the one lying pitifully on its side was the one currently benched. <br />
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I roll it to the 2X4s, and after two tries (mowers are heavy! walls are high!), I get it up on the grass. Pride fills my heart until I look at the settings on the mower. There is a sliding lever which features two pictures: a tortoise and a hare. Does one make the mower go faster? It's not self-propelled. Call B. "Doesn't matter which you choose; that's broken." Fair enough. "Is it set to the right blade height?" I ask. B replies, "It should be just right for the back yard. Also, if you can put those lines in diagonally like we talked about, that would be awesome." Silence. "Don't get used to this," I replied. <br />
After priming the little bulb 10 times (and not calling my father-in-law... yet), I start to pull the start cord thing which, thankfully, does work, but not until I'm out of breath. The lawn mower whirrs to a start and I carve, quite literally, a path through the waving wheat that is our backyard. Don't believe me? Look:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7An-tt2RTKsBWGdIRSTPUgQJ3Q3gGtDZZUT_n-w9xoEAEzdAC7tkaDIY2bWEY7uhXZgfLkIfpMX8AWTS2xVA3Np3rd_SlJ7yMH7D61Oh6nOMUZ4sHXrMJN1dbCzXzB_we6SuuslrOp1c/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" qba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7An-tt2RTKsBWGdIRSTPUgQJ3Q3gGtDZZUT_n-w9xoEAEzdAC7tkaDIY2bWEY7uhXZgfLkIfpMX8AWTS2xVA3Np3rd_SlJ7yMH7D61Oh6nOMUZ4sHXrMJN1dbCzXzB_we6SuuslrOp1c/s400/photo.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
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<em>Hello, path!</em></div>
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The difference is so drastic that I immediately let go of the throttle and let the engine grind to a halt. Reaching down, I try to tell if I've scalped the yard, but, in reality, it's still really long, like several inches long, it's just that this part of it hasn't seen the light of day since... ever.</div>
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I placate myself by saying that I can't leave it like this, it all has to match, so I may as well keep going. Several yank-starts later, I am in business, cutting the grass by dragging the mower back and forth (apparently not a traditional means of cutting, which typically involved moving <em>forward</em> at all times) as I attempt to make the parallel lines.</div>
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Even though the mower isn't self-propelled, I feel like it's in a hurry, so I go quickly, doing the backyard (minus the random mohawk-like tufts and the edges) in about fifteen minutes, which is when the mower decides to die, because apparently it needs more gas. Pushy thing, that mower.</div>
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I'm so darned pleased with myself by this point that I take a picture, making sure to display my (almost) perfect diagonal lines and even those little happy tufts in between them. We're buying an edger today; can you guess why?</div>
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<em>Hello, lines!</em></div>
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Of course, the irony of all this is that the part in the middle that's bright green, the part that doesn't look scorched? That's Colby's path. The foreground and background are his other favorite parts of the yard, for reasons I'll leave unspoken, so we may need to do a little more watering work there. If you look closely, you can see back there by the last tree a particularly green area, the part I missed before the mower died. Take a look in case you thought I was exaggerating about the height of the yard.</div>
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The good news is that I didn't run into any trees this time; the bad news is that our trees are babies, so if I do run into them, I'll likely run over them, which probably wouldn't be good for the mower or the trees. </div>
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Stay tuned for adventures in edging...</div>Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08335929904590051436noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5246491467517663187.post-66701758029923427412012-05-22T10:06:00.000-07:002012-05-22T10:06:02.474-07:00Love Is...Entering the name of your husband's first girlfriend every time you log in to online banking. Sure, I could use my own log in information, but I have no clue what it is and if we're ever hit for insider trading, or the like, I can honestly say in court that I never even logged into our bank account with my own name.Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08335929904590051436noreply@blogger.com3