Lazy much?

Here it is 5:30 on a Saturday afternoon and Nick and I have gotten little to nothing accomplished. We had a huge list of "stuff" to do on Nick's three day and we only got 4 things done on our list. Do I feel bad? Maybe a little bit. But Nick hasn't had a three day in a month because of all the overtime he's been working, so it seemed more than fair that we spend some time just vegging.

Oddly enough, the only thing I regret that we didn't get done is the partial remodel of our downstairs bath. We needed to remove the wallpaper and putty up the holes, decide on a paint color, paint, and change out the mirror, toilet paper holder, towel rack, and storage cabinet. What did we get done? Well, we bought the stuff to remove the wallpaper. That's it. And I really feel guilty about it because I posted on facebook that we were going to complete that stage of the remodel yesterday. I hate it when I say I'm going to do something and I don't get it done. It makes me feel very unaccomplished. Bleh.

The best thing about this weekend? I got to spend time with Nick! And we finished setting up our master bedroom, which turned out beautifully. It feels like the room we stayed in on the first night of our honeymoon at the Salish Lodge, sans fireplace. That means it's super romantic and soothing. I love the colors and the lighting, and just being in the room makes me relax. The other best thing about this weekend? I booked our extra nights at the Hotel Castex in Paris before and after our European trip. We start and end in Paris, and the Rick Steves tour site recommends coming in a day early because of jet lag, so we added an extra day to the beginning of our trip. This means that we will be traveling on our 1-year wedding anniversary, September 26th. It's not the optimal way to spend that day, but big picture: we're going to be in France for 2 weeks right after that, so who cares if we spend that one day flying? We are also adding two days to the end of the tour because we want to spend some extra time in Paris to see Versailles, which isn't on our tour itinerary. All in all, I'm very excited! Looking at flights, it seems like the best deal we're going to get is to fly through Iceland. Of course, Nick and I are very excited about this too, in typical weird Nick-Stephanie fashion. Who wants to go to Iceland? I guess we do!

Overall, life is stressful, but we're handling it okay and we have lots to look forward to in our upcoming vacation. After that, it's all about the babies. Scary . . .

Gripes

I have a few gripes I would like to put out there, so bear with me.

#1: Attention whores. Definition: any person who does anything specifically designed to gain attention, whether that attention is good or bad. To clarify: this person has an agenda in everything they do and his/her life revolves around any kind of attention he/she can get. My feelings about this: the world doesn't revolve around you and I don't care about your issues/ridiculousness. Period.

#2: Today's parenting techniques. My mom teaches preschool and has told me that kids never say please, thank you, yes ma'am, etc. anymore. Having taught high school, I know it gets even worse as they get older. My mom's generation was taught to be polite, as was mine. So why has my generation turned around and chosen to be "friends" with their kids instead of parents? It's called discipline and yes, it's harder than giving your children whatever they want and it takes more work (gasp!), but we're responsible for molding the future leaders of this world and quite frankly, I'm terrified for our future because of this.

#3: People who don't take responsibility for their actions. Nick sees this all the time as a cop and I saw it all the time as a teacher. You must put in the hard work in order to reap the reward. If you screw up, there are consequences for your actions. I may feel sorry for you because of those consequences, but you still deserve them. And NO, you do NOT deserve a reality TV show because of your stupidity.

#4: Media-influenced culture. The reason for crummy parenting, people who don't take responsibility for their actions, and attention whores (besides laziness and stupidity): the media. We are bombarded by images of celebrities acting like idiots and getting away with it. We see them get married and divorced over and over again. We see them drink and drive and get away with it. We see them doing little to nothing and getting paid millions of dollars for it. The media has turned our society into lazy, helpless, self-serving, I deserve everything just because I do jackasses. You don't have the right to wealth, happiness, and a do-nothing lifestyle just because you live in the US. You have the right to work. You have the right to vote (and how about we do a better job of that next time, huh? YES WE CAN . . . drive the country into the ground). You do not have the right to commit a crime and get away with it. You do not have the right to hurt other people or lie without garnering consequences. You should not have the right to treat cops the way many people do (Did you all freaking forget the number we've lost this year? Because you're all acting like you have. RESPECT MY HUSBAND AND THE OTHER MEN & WOMEN OUT THERE PROTECTING YOUR SORRY ASSES!). You should not have the right to treat marriage like a joke and divorce like it's no big deal. In my opinion, the law has become too liberal/lenient and that is another reason why no one is held accountable for their actions. When a certain state passes a law that says no cop can search a vehicle without a search warrant EVEN IF THERE ARE DRUGS IN PLAIN SIGHT, there is something wrong. When a certain state is unable to seek the death penalty for one of the most prolific serial killers of all time, there is something wrong.

So what does all this add up to? Even with my usually optimistic outlook for the state of our country, I'm appalled by the deterioration of our culture. What are we barreling toward?

REVOLUTION.

So, enjoy the irresponsible, lazy, and ridiculous nature of life for now. I will enjoy the after-effects of the total upheaval of our culture and pray every day for a return to a more polite, community-focused culture that values intelligence and hard work instead of get-rich-quick schemes, sluttiness, and lies.

Anniversaries galore

Yesterday, the 23rd was Nick's and my 3-year anniversary of the day we met. We both agree that some days it feels like we've known each other forever and other days it doesn't seem like it could possibly be that long since the fateful night. I suppose most people feel that way. Time flies some days and drags others and that's universal.

On the 26th it will be our 5-month wedding anniversary. That's crazy too. It usually seems like we've been married forever and the two weddings were a lifetime ago. Stress will do that to you, I guess. Time is apparently manipulated by the amount of stress associated with it. Makes sense, right?

And finally, the sad anniversary. On the 27th it will be two years since we lost my Nana. That one is the hardest and will remain difficult for many years I'm sure. Most days it feels like I could just pick up the phone and call her and she'd answer. I wish that were true. I just want to talk to her one more time. There is so much I need to tell her! It's funny though, just when I've been thinking about her and missing her so much, she'll let me know she's still here. Sometimes it's a penny. Last night it was a song. It's called "One More Day" by Diamond Rio and it seems to come on at the most interesting times. God, I miss her.

On a lighter note (don't we all need a lighter note at times?), Nick and I got our first time homebuyers refund check. $8000! Yay! Now, to decide what to do with all that money . . . Originally the plan was to spend it on the house. However, Nick and I didn't get a big honeymoon and we're getting ready to start a family, so our time-for just the two of us-is getting shorter. We've decided that it's time to fulfill one of our travel dreams: we're going to Paris. We are most likely going to do the Rick Steve's tour that includes Paris and the Loire River Valley. It's going to be expensive and completely amazing. It will include the usual tours of Paris and trips to Chenonceaux, Chambord, Brittany, Mont St. Michel, and the D-Day beaches at Normandy. The tour has the perfect amount of culture and history to appeal to both Nick and me and it's something we both have been wanting to do for a long time. Now, for me, England, Ireland, and Scotland would be a first choice with France coming in a close second, but Nick has promised that we will do England/Wales at least before our 5-year wedding anniversary, so I'm content with our choice. It may not be the most practical way to spend this money, but I know for a fact that money spent on experiences is not regretted or wasted. So Europe in the fall: here we come!

Craziness

So it's been a rough week for Nick and me. It started last Thursday when Nick came home from work. His back hurt, but he didn't say too much, so I didn't think much of it. The next morning he was obviously in pain and *gasp* called in sick for work! I made him go to the doctor (no easy task getting him to make that appointment) and it turned out that he had a spasming lumbar muscle. Vicodin and a muscle relaxer plus bi-weekly massages for a month were the doctor's orders. Nick took Saturday and Sunday off and had Monday and Tuesday off already, so he had 5 days to heal. The pills made him sleep, but he had weird dreams (and was dead to the world) so he quit taking them within a few days. However, I ended up being very thankful for the vicodin.

So, here's the warning. If you don't like reading about girl issues or you get squeamish when someone is honest about bodily functions, stop reading now. You've been warned.

On Thursday night I started having severe abdominal pains. I've dealt with this before and had to go to the ER, only to be told that I might have had a ruptured ovarian cyst. How do they determine this lovely bit of information? An internal ultrasound. Meaning a stick with a condom-yeah, a condom-goes up there and they look for fluid. I had a little bit, but second opinions from other doctors ranged from kidney stones to gas. Yes, gas. Laugh if you will, but this was a pain like a constant, unending contraction (no, I haven't been in labor yet, but that is what I imagine it's probably like) and while in the ER I was given morphine intravenously, so I'm guessing this is a pretty good indication that the pain was pretty bad. But morphine is SO good!

Anyway, back to my lovely experience on Thursday. The pain started around midnight and sent me straight to the bathroom in the fear that I would throw up or . . . other things. I was in there for 2 hours and most of that time was spent panicking and praying I didn't black out (which I almost did quite a few times). I didn't want to call my parents or Nick (I can't remember why now) and my phone doesn't call the local 911. Plus, since Nick worked ambulance, I've heard stories and didn't want to call for one if I didn't need it. I don't want to be that girl. Around 1:30 I took a vicodin, which began to knock me out. I was curled up on the floor in our downstairs bath praying for Nick to come home on time when he called for me to open the garage. He took one look at me and knew it was serious. But somehow, just him being home made it better. I convinced him that I was fine (it was just the cyst/stones/gas again) and I slept on the couch. He took Gus upstairs (poor dog had spent the majority of the night lying on the floor in the bathroom with me) and went to bed.

Next morning. Blood. Coming from an unfortunate place. No bowel movements, just blood. I spent the morning panicking and looking this up on the internet, which just served to freak me out even more. I called my mom multiple times. Her advice was to call the doctor and make an appointment. She was worried too. I kept finding a new excuse for not calling the doctor. I hate going to any doctor and I fully believe in the mantra: If I don't know about it, it doesn't exist. I was terrified that I would have to go back to the ER. Finally after cramping and bleeding all morning, I made an appointment. They couldn't get me in until the next morning. I went upstairs to wake Nick and let him know. At that point I went to the bathroom. It was just blood again. I finally showed Nick. The blood drained out of his face and he insisted that we go to the walk-in clinic by our house that minute. Now I was really freaking out. Nick is the sane one, the one who doesn't panic until there is really something to panic about. So I know it's bad.

We go to the clinic. They get me in almost right away. The guy who sees me is attractive and young. Fun. Let's talk about my rear! After asking a lot of questions (and me sitting in the chair in the room next to Nick cramping and on the verge of tears), he says that he needs to excuse himself because it looks like I need a scope and he needs to get a nurse in the room. Seriously? I make Nick leave the room. The nurses come in to get everything ready and I have to strip to the waist. At this point the tears have stopped. The irony of the situation makes it hard to cry. I've been here before. Utter humiliation and pain. Kind of like when I had those abnormal cells in my cervix (ie the precursor to cervical cancer) and I had to have a colposcopy. Remembering that procedure and the pain that followed made this seem like a cake-walk. So anyway, the doctor comes back in, I turn on my side and stare at the wall while contemplating the ridiculousness of this situation. On my mom's side of the family there have been a lot of issues with digestion and the organs involved in that particular process, but I didn't expect to have to deal with it (in this manner at least) until I was much older. Oh well.

Final prognosis (after being prodded-pun intended-by the cute doctor guy with two-yes, two-nurses as witnesses; one was a trainee-yes, I really want to watch this procedure!): I had a fissure (fancy word for tear) in my colon. Haha, funny right? No. A prolapsed colon, which can result from a tear, is BAD news. Means surgery, a big scar, and a lengthy recuperation. So now I'm only supposed to eat "easily digestible" foods, meaning mushy shit, pardon the language. I hate bananas! And soup sans grilled cheese? YUCK! And I have to take Benefiber three times a day to keep things flowing like they are supposed to. I feel better, but I'm still bleeding a little bit. If I don't see a marked improvement, meaning no blood, by Monday/Tuesday, I'm going to have to go back in for a more involved procedure. Blood, blood, go away.

So, to make a very long (and disgusting and humiliating) story short, Nick hurts his back and gets pain pills and a bunch of massages. And I end up with a torn colon and fridge full of nasty yogurt. Life is so not fair.

My House To-Do List

This is mainly for my own organizational sanity, but this is the list of "stuff" I want to do to the house over the course of the time we live here. If I had a ton of money right now, I would do it all now, but this list will take many years to accomplish, I'm sure. It's in no particular order, but here it is:

*Hardwood or laminate cherry wood floors throughout the entire carpeted portion of the downstairs

*Tile in all three bathrooms, the utility room, and kitchen

*Rugs for the dining room, family room, and office

*Paint: All walls a suede brown with a cranberry accent wall in the family room (the fireplace wall) and the same color in the downstairs bath. The upstairs spare bedrooms will be painted a sage green (as of right now) and the guest bath will be a similar color or a slate grey/blue. Maybe a light blue/grey in the master bedroom.

*New fireplace insert with a blower (by next winter)

*Air conditioning (by summertime)

*New hot water heater (this will happen in the next month)

*New deck in the back with an overhang

*Patio furniture and gas BBQ

*Shelving in the laundry room

*Downstairs bath (besides paint and flooring): new vanity, new mirror, white storage accessories

*Kitchen (besides paint and flooring): countertops (granite or the concrete composite that looks like granite), new table, baker's rack, new light fixture

*New lighting: kitchen, all three bathrooms, dining room, entry

*Living room: brown leather chair, stain bookcase, game table

*Doors: change knobs to silver or brushed nickel handles

*Master bedroom: new fan, bedside tables (these should be in by February), door to bathroom

*Office/library: Nick's grandfather's desk

*Upstairs bathrooms: paint, countertops, tile floors, sinks, lights (guest bath: shower curtain and accessories)

*General decorating: paintings, pictures, window treatments

Yeah, it's a lot and I know it's all going to cost us an arm and a leg. I will also be doing a lot of research to make sure that anything we spend money on will add to the value of our house so that we can re-coup that money when we do sell. We got a great deal on our house and we know that, especially since two other houses in our neighborhood are for sale for $20,000 and $30,000 more than we spent on this place. I would like to see an appreciation of at least $60,000 when we sell in 10 years or so and upgrade to a newer house on property (hopefully!). I really, really love being a homeowner! HGTV is my new best friend and it's also standing in as the devil since it keeps giving me new ideas and inspirations . . .

Peanut butter and . . . sap?

So Nick and I invited a couple of friends over for dinner tomorrow, so I've been straightening up the house a little bit while Nick is at work tonight. I was doing dishes when Gus went to the door and sat down (his code for let me out or I'll pee on the carpet). I let him out and he ran into the yard. He didn't come back to the door right away, so I left him outside for a little while, figuring he had found something to entertain himself. Boy was I right.

When I called him to come in, Gus barreled through the door and ran to his bed where his toys are. As I went over to throw his toy I smelled the unmistakable smell of pine sap. Oh boy. Gus had created a bed of sticks in our backyard and then proceeded to lay in it. All fine and dandy until I looked at his tummy and saw massive clumps of sap ALL OVER HIS STOMACH! He had a huge mass of sap and pine needles in his little armpit as well. I'm sitting there looking at him and wondering how the hell I'm going to clean him up and he's looking at me with a dumb puppy grin on his face like, "What Mom? I smell goooood!"

At this point I have sap all over my hands. I went to the sink to wash it off and guess what? It doesn't come off with soap or dishwashing liquid. The one lovely chemical that did take it off was bleach water. Fun times! Now my fingers are cracked and smell like bleach and Gus is still running around covered in sap. I briefly contemplated dipping him in bleach (not really, I'm not stupid . . . or evil), but decided to try my good friend google instead. The apparent answer to my question? Peanut butter.

So I get my jar of peanut butter and a roll of paper towels and I plop Gus down on his bed in the family room on his back. A wadded up paper towel works pretty well for getting globs of peanut butter onto globs of sap. At first I thought I was crazy. I mean, here I am sitting in my family room in sweats with a paper towel and puppy covered in pine-scented peanut butter. And Gus is happy as a clam attacking my peanut butter-covered hand and licking his stomach as I'm smearing the paste all over him. Crazy got worse when I started laughing at the ludicrousness of the situation and couldn't stop. Turns out that laughter is an important component of the peanut butter and sap equation. I rubbed in enough of the stuff (probably about half a cup or more) to make the stickiness go away. Now the question: how do I get the peanut butter off? And a more important question: How I keep my house from getting covered in peanut butter as I try to get it off the dog?

Answer: A bath and carry puppy-peanut-butter mess so I'm the only thing covered in it besides him. I drag him up the stairs along with a large cup, dog shampoo (smells like coconut!), and towels. He's not happy at this point. I won't let him lick himself and he just got a bath, so he is adamant that he doesn't need another one. (His face said, "Mom, I'll just lick it off! Really!") I finally get the tub filled and shampoo him up. Turns out peanut butter and coconut don't smell very good when paired. However, dog shampoo does get peanut butter out of a dog's coat. One thing it doesn't do is help me to stop laughing, which I haven't been able to do since crazy set in. Gus's super sad no-more-yummy-tasty-goop-on-me face wasn't helping. I was actually crying at this point and my stomach hurt from laughing so much.

Now my upstairs guest bath is a mess and Gus is having his typical tweak attack after a bath and guess where he wants to go? Outside. To play in his sap nest. My answer:

HELL NO! (And I'm still laughing!)

. . . And who knew about the multiple uses of the magical thing called peanut butter? With Gus being, well Gus, I better keep a couple jars on hand . . .

Pennies from the litterbox?

I don't know how many of you have heard about the concept of pennies from heaven. The idea is that when you find a penny on the ground or in some other random place, it is a lost loved one making his or her presence known to you. My mom and I love this concept and are always finding pennies and attributing them to the people we love who have passed on, like my Grandpa Harvey and my Nana. It's like they are saying hi and it's comforting in some small way.

Now for the other, slightly unpleasant, part of my story. Our cat, Budda, is a pooper. Seriously. He loves to poop, but he doesn't poop in his designated space: the litterbox. Before Gus, it was only the occasional poo right outside the litterbox in the utility room, where there is linoleum and it wasn't a big deal to clean up. Unfortunately, the advent of Gus apparently ticked Budda off. One day it was poo in the dining room and then again a few days later. Then it was a poo in the office/library when my parents were over. Then a few days ago it was a pile in the hallway outside the upstairs guest bath. That was the last straw. I was so frustrated and was ready to send Budda packing back to my parents house. My fear was that Gus would find the poo before me and I'd have a brown-smeared grin from my little peanut and a stinky kiss from a poo-tongue. No thanks.

Mom and I have discussed options when it comes to Budda's poo issue. If it was medical (ie diabetes or something) that we could treat, we would. However, if it wasn't medical and it continued, there was little we felt we could do. Budda is 12 and we can't have him pooing around the house and he can't go outside because he's declawed. My frustration, anger, and hurt made the bathroom poo the final strike and I was putting all his stuff together to take him back to my parents when Nick convinced me to give him one more chance. We love Budda and he's a part of our family, so I decided not to give up yet. Nick had been suggesting we take the lid off the litterbox to see if that helped him with his poo issue. I had no faith that it would help anything, but I agreed that that was the very last thing we could try before Budda found himself back at Mom and Dad's. Off came the lid and to bed Nick and I went.

Morning. The smell of poo wafts through the house. I wake up angry and upset and run through the upstairs and then the downstairs searching for the telltale pile of poo while yelling at Budda that he is dead and telling him what horrible tortures I am going to apply to his raunchy inappropriate-pooing butt. Then I can't find the poo. And I have images of it being in some crazy place that I can't see or reach to clean up like on top of the fridge or something. I'm wondering if he's managed to squeeze his butt under the couch to poo there when I decide to check his *gasp* litterbox. And lo and behold, there it was! Poo in the litterbox! It wasn't covered, which explained the smell, but that was an easy fix. (I kicked the box to shift the litter over it. Hey, it was early and I wasn't in the mood to clean it yet. Question: is anyone ever in the mood to clean a litterbox? That's one to ponder.)

Now, I bet you're wondering what the heck do pennies from heaven and Budda's poo issue have to do with one another. And no, Budda didn't poo a penny from one of our dear departed loved ones into his box. That would have been a neat trick! However, when I left the utility room, there on the floor right by our couch in the family room was a penny. Nick and I had been up until almost 5am and no one had been there on the floor. I also cleaned up the family room right before we went to bed and there was no penny. It just appeared and I am firmly convinced that it was my Nana. She must have guided Budda to the litterbox because she didn't want us to give up on him. It sounds crazy, but I have no doubts that it was my Nana. (And P.S. Budda has since pooed in the box for a second time and we've had no accidents, knock on wood. Thanks for the help Nana!)

Don't judge. When you miss someone as much as we miss Nana, you tend to see that person where and when you need to. She makes her presence known and it's important to us to be open to it. This post was meant to be humorous, but the penny part made me and Mom cry. She was there and that makes me feel happy and comforted. Budda's poo issue resolved by a penny from heaven.