All the Best Intentions

Why do the holidays always seem to fly by on a plane fueled with stress and loaded with unfulfilled plans?

It starts with Halloween. This year I was actually prepared. Ok, I'll admit I was only prepared because my mom gave Little Dude a Civil War costume for his birthday. But it worked. He made a handsome Union soldier. Even won the costume contest at our church's Fall festival. Little Dude was the North (the winning side, of course) and his cousin was the South (he can do a great rebel yell).

North vs. South

But when it came time to wear his costume to school, he opted for a ninja getup as he reasoned, "I don't want to get my costume dirty." And yet again I was (surprisingly) prepared.

I think he looks more like a mini Chuck Norris!

I had also planned to have the house decorated, the candy purchased and the pumpkins carved by Halloween night. Well, at least we had the candy purchased. My hubby ended up carving the pumpkins at the last minute because we were busy with Little Dude's soccer games and fixing my car after a truck slightly rearranged my trunk.

But it all worked out.

Trick or Treating happened. Candy was pillaged. And we got to meet a few more of our new neighbors.

Big Dude's handiwork.

Even Furry Dude gets in on the action!

Thanksgiving was next. A little different this time around as Big Dude's mom and my parents all left town for the holiday. Given my aversion to turkey, I tried to convince my hubby that the pilgrims could have eaten chicken tacos.

He didn't quite hold to the same creative historical interpretation, so turkey stayed on the menu. The only time in my life I've ever cooked the turkey was 7 years ago when I was cooking a little bird of my own. The morning sickness meant I spent more time leaning over the commode than the stove. So I wasn't prepared to cook the bird this year.

But it all worked out.

Luckily my sister-in-law offered to cook the turkey. My niece made the pumpkin pie. Hubby made he mashed potatoes. He asked his mom to make her awesome stuffing before she left town. I made the sweet potatoes and corn. And Little Dude set the table.

Then the race to Christmas began.

Why do I always feel like I lose the race?

I had the best intentions -- get Christmas cards out early so people would have our new address (I actually ordered the cards in October!), make family gifts, make Christmas cookies, decorate the house, put up Christmas lights, get all the presents wrapped right away and stowed under the tree, have a snow day, take Little Dude to see Santa, solve world hunger and give peace a chance. Um, well, you see...

Yeah, only a few of those things happened.

But it all worked out.

Little Dude did get to see Santa and play in the snow. It was the most magical Santa-filled weekend ever! And it snowed during our visit to the "North Pole" so he got to go sledding and have a snowball fight.

Top Row: L) Snowball fight! R) Holding his silver bell from Santa on the Polar Express!
Bottom Row: L) He helped the elves make the toys and then he tested the toys! R) One-on-one time with Santa. 

Other than decorate our tree, we didn't decorate much. And the Christmas cookies I planned became New Year cookies and then sometime-in-January cookies. I hurried up and wrapped all the gifts just a few days before Christmas. And we (Big Dude, Little Dude and me) all worked together to create at least one sentimental homemade gift.

But on the plus side the whole family worked together on the Children's Christmas program at church (Big Dude did sound, I helped direct the choir, Little Dude had a little solo, and even our niece helped with the choreography).

And although we had the best intentions, and our plans either didn't happen or were just seriously delayed (I blame the virus we kept sharing with each other), we still had a wonderful Christmas. We still kept an eye on what was important. And plans didn't get in the way of having some fun family time together.

Hope you had wonderful holidays and wishing you a wonderful 2014!

Strangers in a Foreign Land

Day 27: We have been stranded in this foreign land far too long. We are completely and utterly surrounded by desolate land, wild creatures and restless natives, and are unsure of how long they will continue to accept our presence. We pray that our rescue will come soon.

We are totally going bonkers at this point waiting for our new house to close while living in a retirement community. At first, it sounded like a great idea. We thought we'd enjoy the laid back pace, visit the multiple rec centers, and make friends with some eccentric lonely person with a vast fortune and no heirs.

But we haven't done any of those things because we have hour-long commutes and we're still playing the guess-which-box-holds-the-missing-_______ game. We wake up early and go to bed early. And while we may joke about the fact that it seems like every one here eats dinner at 4pm and all the stores and restaurants close by 8pm, the fact is, we're starting to acclimate. We are turning into one of them!

We're both cranky and tired. I've started taking daily vitamins. We think golf carts would be so much easier for trips to the store. We've both fallen asleep in front of the TV. I didn't even flinch the other day when I saw a Buick straddling the line and driving in both lanes. And I almost bought a pink flamingo for our new house!

It still feels really strange to be the only people younger than 55 everywhere we go. Last week, at the grocery store, it was quite surreal to wander the aisles and realize that the only child in the store was ours. I've never heard a grocery store so quiet. At first, we enjoyed the peace. But as we passed one quiet, elderly shopper after another, I started to get a little paranoid. It felt almost like a late sequel to Stepford Wives but with everyone turning into elderly people. Were they wondering why we were at this store? Did they feel like we were intruding in their private community?

I started to think that maybe I could carry around a jar of Olay and pretend that I just had blissfully youthful genes. But I didn't think that would fool them. Then I thought about making my husband pretend that we were shopping for a home-bound great aunt. But I realized that most elderly people probably don't buy Fruit Rollups and Hot & Spicy Cheez-Its for themselves.

As crazy as it sounds, I was afraid our youthful presence would offend them. They came to this community for a reason. And I didn't want to shatter their peaceful existence. We are simply visitors, and just like when camping, I'd like to leave the place without any trace that we had ever been there.

But to be honest, they don't seem to mind that we have turned a house on their block our summer home. They don't mind seeing us at the post office or gas station or grocery store. In fact, they seem to really enjoy having us here. The ladies at Dairy Queen absolutely love Little Dude and have made him special treats.

One of the neighbors across the street knocked on our door the other week. At first, Big Dude was worried that she was going to complain about us being there. But instead, she asked for his help. Her toilet was overflowing and she couldn't wait for the local handyman. So Hubby came to her rescue. He shut off the water, went to Ace Hardware for her, and replaced the broken part. I can guarantee there's at least one neighbor who's happy to have us around!

It shouldn't be too long now until we are able to move into our new house. And we are pretty thankful to have a place to stay in the meantime. We just have to make it through another week or two and then we can say farewell to this neighborhood... at least until we're ready to retire! ;-)

Feeling a Little Boxed In

We recently sold our house and are currently playing the waiting game while we wait for our new house to close. So a few weeks ago we loaded up a moving van with much more furniture and boxes than should ever have fit into our tiny little house (I seriously think we broke a few laws of physics there) and headed west... to a retirement community.

Retirement?

Yep. I look stinkin' good for my age!

Actually, my parents were gracious enough to let us stay at their house while they are working in another state. They warned told the neighbors we would be staying here, and, except for the occasional ambulance and firetruck, it's been pretty quiet.

A friend of mine asked if we were actually allowed to stay here since we're clearly not old enough and we're toting around a 5-year-old. I told her we absolutely were. But only for a limited time. We'll know we've overstayed our welcome when a blue-haired mob shows up in their golf carts with torches and pitch forks to slowly chase us out of town!

My mom always keeps a tidy house. Despite the fact that it had been empty for a few months, there was not a speck of dust to be anywhere when we moved in. Towels were neatly hung up ready for use. Crisp sheets were perfectly tucked on the beds. It was like moving into a vacation rental.

Luckily my mom is not here to see how we have filled her garage with our furniture and appliances. She's not here to see how we've moved our dressers and wardrobe boxes into her beautiful formal living room.

Dueling pianos! Just a little keyboard family reunion
before we moved in the dressers.

And she's not here to see how we redecorated her dining room.

Some people like to decorate their homes in a traditional, contemporary, country chic or even industrial style. We're going with a cardboard motif. Personally, I like how the chandelier and oil painting really bring balance to the whole room.

We took two days to move everything out of our old house. During one trip, my dear hubby saw a wild coyote strolling the retirement neighborhood. He was probably looking for the local Luby's. During the final trip, my same sweet hubby asked me to help him move the refrigerator by tipping it over on him. After making sure his life insurance was up-to-date I obliged by giving the giant appliance a shove toward him and listening for any screams that may have been muffled by the large metal box. Luckily, it somehow made it's way onto the dolly and down the ramp without claiming any victims.

We then spent the following two days starting all our conversations with "Have you seen my..." or "Do you know where we put the..." For the sake of our sanity, we cut through the five layers of tape that created an air-tight seal on each box and relabeled the boxes. We only unpacked what was necessary -- like food, toothbrushes and anxiety medicine. And now we are living out of boxes one day at a time.

We're exhausted. We're confused. And sometimes we're just plain cranky. You know... I guess we do fit into the neighborhood after all! ;-)

Leaving Home

Yes, I've been delinquent (again), but I've had a good reason... we are moving!!! Actually, it's not quite that simple, because, really, when is it ever?

So we spent two weekends clearing out clutter, packing up boxes, and cleaning. Granted, we only cleaned out half the house because we still had to live here! But it was worth it because we sold it in two weeks!

After that, we started spending quality time with our agent looking at houses over here. Looking at houses over there. Looking at houses everywhere!!! Weekends. Evenings. Afternoons. We crammed in as many houses as possible and put several bids down. And just this week, we finally had an offer accepted. Whoo-hoo!!! However, it doesn't close until the end of next month, so in the meantime, we'll be living at my parent's home... in a retirement community... with a five-year-old! Watch out, retirees! We are moving in next door!!!

Tomorrow, we pick up the moving van. Pack up the rest of our stuff. And move across town.

Tonight is the last night in the house that has been my home for over a decade. I bought this place while I was still single, and didn't have plans at that time to marry and have a kid. Come to think of it... we've tripled the occupancy since living here!

The first home improvement project I did was in the guest bath. It was the first time I battled full-scale hives, and I had to keep my hands busy so they wouldn't scratch. So I spent the week sponge painting and slapping down some tile.

Almost a year after I bought the house, I met my husband. We got to know each other when he installed a doggy door for me. A few months later, we had our first kiss here. And he asked me to marry him here...

After we got married, he thought I deserved to have roses all the time, so he added a rose garden...

Several years later, I found out I was pregnant here...

We brought our baby home and watched him grow up here...

We taught Little Dude to hit a slow pitch here in the back yard, and we used to enjoy watching our dogs race around playing tag in the evenings.

And, of course, my beautiful lemon tree lives back there, along with my vines that grow on the back fence.

My husband made his own contributions (other than the doggy door) by replacing all the faucets, a toilet, the stove, the shower doors, and the flooring. He created custom built-ins for the master closet, which I love, and installed a little air conditioner in the separated laundry room so I wouldn't get hot while doing laundry in the summer.

I'll miss the sound the rain makes on the patio roof. The scent of the citrus blossoming in the neighborhood. The neighbors who walk their dogs past us every morning while we leave for school and work.

We have been totally blessed with some really awesome neighbors. Some have already let us know that they're going to miss us, too. Everyone looks out for each other here. When the weather's nice, people enjoy walking and jogging and waving hello to each other. Holidays are always magical in our neighborhood -- hundreds of people walk up and down our street on Halloween, everyone enjoys showing off their Christmas decorations each year, flags fly for patriotic holidays, and several neighbors even decorate for Thanksgiving and Easter.

We are leaving with some wonderful memories, but we're looking forward to making some new memories in our new house.

Good-bye, kind old house.

The Case of the Kamikazee Squirrel

Yesterday I ran over a squirrel.

Poor little squirrel.

I felt queasy and light-headed as soon as it happened.

I'm sure the squirrel felt worse.

I was driving back to work from lunch when out of the corner of my eye I saw a blur of fur running towards my vehicle. It's choice to cross six lanes of traffic was not a wise one. And soon I heard/felt the familiar thump-thump of doom.

As I drove on, I think I saw the squirrel bounding back the way it came... slower and possibly without a tail. If it survives, it will not make that mistake again!

Of course, I had to immediately call my sister and tell her what happened. "Dad would be so proud of you," she said. So I told my dad what happened. Indeed, he was proud of me... for not swerving or braking.

Growing up, one of our first lessons of the road was to never swerve or brake when you find yourself about to create a fresh batch of road kill (deers, elk and larger animals were the exception to the rule). His reason for the rule was that by swerving or suddenly braking, you could cause an accident or otherwise put yourself in peril. Therefore, it was better to send the small, woodland creature to the great free range in the sky.

The squirrel isn't my first road kill. And some people would be very happy to hear that I single-handedly took another offensive rodent off the streets. (My mom offered to get me a squirrel sticker for the door of my car.) My driving history is peppered with the deaths of a few other small furry and feathered creatures. I always found it gruesome.

But none of my stories are as gruesome as my father's famous dog-meets-trailer incident.

It happened sometime in the 1980s. My father, whom I should mention is a dog lover, was driving his truck and towing a large horse trailer through town. As he came upon a bus stop, a small dog unfortunately jumped into the path of his tires.

Unable to swerve or brake without causing harm to the horses in the trailer, my dad took a deep breath and...

thump-thump...

thump-thump.

Every tire on the passenger side of the truck and trailer (which had two axles) introduced itself to the poor little doggy.

My dad looked back in his mirror to see the dog's owner staring at the puddle of fur at the end of her leash.

Yes, folks. That's right. The dog was on a leash.

So hopefully this is a lesson to all. If your dog likes to bark at cars, make sure he's not barking at the front end of a truck towing a trailer. Otherwise, he might end up as the punchline of a story retold by a distinguished blonde-haired man with a twinkle in his eye.

All in a Day's Work

This year I've been sick quite often - as in full-fledged-sinus-infection-stay-out-of-my-way-because-my-head -is-about-to-explode-with-hot-green-snot sick. So I finally started setting up some doctors appointments to find out the cause of my malady.

Well, being the brilliant strategist that I am, I deftly scheduled all my appointments on one day. One day! I was brimming with pride when I told my loving hubby that I was taking the day off work to make the medical rounds and get a few errands done in between. He asked, "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

Of course, it was!

So here's pretty much how the day went:

7:00am - Drop Little Dude off at auntie's house so she can take him to school while I start my medical odyssey.

7:20am - Arrive at my internist's office for my yearly physical and filled out the same exact paperwork I filled out a few weeks ago when I was there for another sinus infection.

7:45am - Weighed and measured like a prize-winning cow at the state fair.

8:00am - Interrogation by doctor, uh, I mean routine physical complete. Follow medical assistant to lab so that I can joyfully pee into a cup and bleed into several vials.

8:20am - Discover that the lab tech taking my blood today is an old friend. After chatting and catching up, I realize that he will get to see my cup of pee. Oh, goodie! At least my urine looked better than the other samples sitting on the counter. (Yes, I'm competitive in all areas!)

8:30am - Run to sister's house to pick up a few items. Hang out with her and my nephew for a little bit.

9:15am - Since I have a few minutes to spare, I stop at home (on my way) and let Furry Dude out. Who knows when I'll be back!

9:45am - Arrive for my CT scan. Hand them the set of paperwork I filled out ahead of time. Receive another set of paperwork to fill out. Listen to a very chatty nun complain about the chalky drink she is downing for her test. She is clearly trying to get the receptionist to change the flavor of chalky drinks everywhere for the better of mankind.

10:30am - Get a 3-minute CT scan and go back to the waiting room to wait for the films (per request of my ENT). Get a phone call from my wonderful hubby asking me if I can call ahead to our weekend destination to find out a few details. Just as I start discussing the details of my wonderful vacation over my cell phone, people with missing limbs, wheelchairs, and assistance animals begin filling every nook and cranny of the waiting room. I pretty much feel like a schmuck.

11:30am - Finally get my films and head to the car. Drive over to service station to get my oil changed.

12:00pm - While sitting in service station waiting room, get a panicked call from work.  Begin discussing details of work project over my cell phone while surrounded by strangers waiting for their cars. Again, feel like a schmuck.

12:30pm - Oil change complete. Decide to drop my films off at home so they don't have to sit in the hot car.

12:40pm - Arrive home and let Furry Dude out once again.

12:50pm - Lock myself out of house. Call hubby in a panic. He calmly instructs me how to open the lock with a credit card.

1:00pm - Still unable to open lock. Starting to wonder when someone will call the cops about the strange woman trying to break into a neighbor's house. Hubby says he is on his way.

1:10pm - Ignore my caring husband's advice and finally get the door open with one brilliant (and accidental) move. Question the security of my home. Call my husband, who is now only a few minutes away, to tell him his services are no longer necessary.

1:15pm - Leave house for next appointment and soon realize I did not eat lunch. Stop at fast food along way and quickly eat lunch in parking lot. Hoist my armpits directly in front of the air conditioning vents to stop the mass of sweat beading down my body due to standing outside in the sun while I attended Breaking & Entering 101.

1:40pm - Wipe excess shredded lettuce and crumbs from my shirt and lap, shove a pack of gum into my mouth to beautify my breath, and walk into allergist's office. Hand receptionist the small booklet of paperwork I filled out the night before. Receive another ream of paperwork to complete. Write down every detail of my life and my family medical history all the way back to Adam and Eve.

2:00pm - Weighed and measured like a stuffed pig ready for a luau.

2:15pm - Meet new allergist and proceed to answer detailed questions about my nose, my boogers, my itchy skin, my irritated eyes, etc., etc., etc. Doctor says she would like to see the results of my CT scan. Sure. Let me run home.

2:35pm - Prepare for allergy scratch test by replacing my tee and bra with the designer paper shirt given to me by the nurse. Upon removing my clothing, I realize the window blinds are halfway open with a view to the street. Stop caring about any modesty and convince myself that the windows must have reflective film on the outside or else they wouldn't leave the blinds open.

2:40pm - Nurse comes in and stabs, I mean, gently pokes me in the back 77 times. Try not to wince every time he hits my tickle spots. Realize that if I can endure the stabbing of an allergy test, I can probably endure the pain of a tattoo. Wonder if the nurse is actually tattooing a large dragon across my back.

2:45pm - Keep my hands from scratching my burning, itching back by answering work emails on my cell phone. Wondering if the earlier heat and stress are affecting the hives that are sure to be forming on my back.

2:55pm - Nurse knocks on door. Screaming ensues as he sees the ginormous hives on my back. He calls the Guinness Book of World Records to have me entered as the world's most-allergic person. (Yep, my grammar has flown out the window.)

2:57pm - Nurse calls in a second nurse to help him record the record-breaking hives on my back. Number of positive test results? 76. The one thing I am not allergic too? Pine trees.

3:05pm - Nurse claims to be out of anti-itch cream and sprays my entire back with some ice cold pink concoction. Leaves the room so I can get dressed. Bra and tee congeal to my back.

3:15pm - Nurse reappears to give me two tablets of Zyrtec and one prednisone. Apparently doctor is concerned that my body will spontaneously combust into full-body hives. Deep wrinkle appears on forehead.

3:30pm - Doctor reappears. Gives me a bunch of medical instructions and tells me to take two more Zyrtec before bed. Wants to see me again so that they can use my allergy-prone body for medical experiments that are sure to net fame and fortune.

4:00pm - Arrive home and change crusted tee for a fresh one. Hubby offers to drive to pick up Little Dude. Says something negative about women behind the wheel... or maybe that was medicated women behind the wheel. Keep myself from bludgeoning sensitive hubby with purse.

4:30pm - Pick up Little Dude and treat the family to a fast food dinner.

5:00pm - Go back to school for book fair and ice cream social.

5:30pm - Big Dude and Little Dude sit at table eating ice cream while I stand in line to buy books. Realize my sweat has turned pink thanks to the stuff sprayed on my back earlier. Hope that the woman behind me doesn't notice.

6:00pm - Return home and change shirts once again while Big Dude makes Little Dude take a shower. Read new books to Little Dude (he needs to win that read-a-thon!) and help him get ready for bed.

7:00pm - Tuck Little Dude into bed. Take two more Zyrtec and pass out. Day is done!