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To see what Bestest Friend wrote about the theme of the day, check out her blog, Too Legit to Quit.
Showing posts with label roommates. Show all posts
Showing posts with label roommates. Show all posts
Sunday, August 03, 2014
3.3 Think - Mindful Work
Bestest Friend and I are in the middle of a blog project. Each day of
the month we will post a picture on a pre-determined theme and write a
little something about it. The theme for the third day of each month is "Think."
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I wonder what the cat thinks when she sees my sewing
machine set up. I have only pulled it out a handful of times in places where
she can see it. I can’t imagine she
thinks humans are anything but ridiculous with the fabric they use to hide their
hairless bodies.
For the last two months, it seems like there has just been a series of unfortunate events within relationships of people I know. The breakups, in particular, have made me reevaluate my own relationship with my husband. Part of why we work is that we don’t do everything together. I sometimes travel on my own or with friends without him. We don’t exercise together. This afternoon he went into the office, shut the door, and played his guitar, and I played with my sewing machine.
But will that distance mean that at some point I will wake up and he will tell me that he wants to leave? Will I someday realize I have let him down? Or he has let me down? I hope not. I hope that instead our separate hobbies, friends, and interests will give us more to talk about when we are together. I hope it allows us to develop as independent people. I hope it allows us to be stronger in the end.
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Monday, February 25, 2013
Neighborhood Norms and Rants
The key here is that when you exit from the parking garage, you run into a one-way. If you're coming out of the garage, you MUST TURN LEFT. Only, people don't like to turn left because then they have to go an extra quarter of a mile on Lake Street to get to the easiest exit out of the neighborhood. These people, we will call them The Assholes, they turn right.
That was okay until this happened.
(I know I am lucky. I have never had a garage before we lived here, let alone a heated underground garage and I thank my lucky stars every day that I don't have to scrape off my car or dig it out, but this seriously ticks me off. And I deal with it every freaking day.)
So it's just a cultural norm, I guess. The Assholes go the wrong way and they never get in trouble with it.
But let's look at another cultural norm I do not like in our neighborhood. People do not pick up their dog shit. There is crap everywhere. There are a lot of dogs here and I really like that aspect of living here. It is a rare day that I don't get to pet a dog or have a dog come up to me and sniff me. But I don't like that I have to be constantly vigilant with my every footfall (sidewalk or not) so that I don't have to come home and clean the bottom of my shoes with a level of bleach that is unhealthy.
That's all. I've been sitting on this for a long time and my husband thinks I get irrationally upset about it, so I had to vent somewhere.
Friday, June 08, 2012
C is for Cactus
Timeline for Mr. Cactus' Tale of Woe:
Christmas 2010 - Plant given to us by my dear mother-in-law. It was one of five itty bitty tiny cacti that had been part of a centerpiece sent to my in-laws over the holidays.
January 2011 - I freak out because, damn it, I don't know anything about raisin' no cactus. I repot him into a permanent pot, but he always looks sad.
February 2011 - August 2011 - Mr. Cactus stays alive through sheer willpower on his part.
August 2011 - Two things simultaneously happen in this month. One, we obtain a certain four-legged fuzzy creature who is attracted to all things green. Attracted to = longs to eat and destroy. Two, we move to an apartment that gets no sun.
September 2011 - We notice the first puncture hole in Mr. Cactus' leaves. (If you look closely in the picture, you can see one of these holes.) Hm. Mr. Cactus is banished (banished!) to the bedroom where it gets even less than no sun, but will never see the cat. Also, we find out my MIL's cancer is back and I become irrationally terrified that if anything happens to the cactus, she will find out and never recover.
November 2011 - Mr. Cactus sprouts flowers!
May 2012 - I finally repot Mr. Cactus and he begins growing immediately. I also get the brilliant idea to put him outside on the balcony so he can get a bit more than no sun.
So sad, Mr. Cactus. Your life is full of hardships and challenges. Just wait until we move again later this month!
Thursday, May 03, 2012
What Would You Do?
The setting: Our apartment, Saturday night around 9:30ish
The characters: NGS, Dr. BB, and Brandon the upstairs neighbor guy who can't control his fish tank water
The story: As the scene begins, our protagonists, the lovely NGS and brilliant Dr. BB are spending a quiet evening at home reading (for the record, NGS is reading The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay and Dr. BB is reading Social Teachings of the Christian Churches, Volume I). You may call them nerds, but there's no need for name calling. Crazy MeowFace is curled up, sleeping, on the floor right between the couch and the recliner, so as to not play favorites with her humans.
From above, there is a wailing. Now, Brandon, the upstairs neighbor guy who can't control his fish tank water, is kind of a wailer. He wails during football games (who doesn't?), during sex (who doesn't?), and during random Saturday nights. Frequently his wailing is brief, but intense. It involves lots of shouting of random syllables, including "yes," "no," and "god." The difference on this Saturday night is that the wailing is extended.
There is lots of screaming "god no," and this goes on for well over half an hour, approaching forty-five minutes.
The dilemma: If it had been a woman who was wailing like that for so long, I would have, at the very least, knocked on the door to make sure everything was okay. If there had been no answer at the door, I would have called the police. Almost a week later, I'm still feeling a little bit guilty over this situation and the double standard that I invoked here.
The questions: What would you have done in this situation, knowing that Brandon the upstairs neighbor guy who can't control his fish tank water is a bit of a wailer in general? Should I feel badly for the actions I took here?
The characters: NGS, Dr. BB, and Brandon the upstairs neighbor guy who can't control his fish tank water
The story: As the scene begins, our protagonists, the lovely NGS and brilliant Dr. BB are spending a quiet evening at home reading (for the record, NGS is reading The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay and Dr. BB is reading Social Teachings of the Christian Churches, Volume I). You may call them nerds, but there's no need for name calling. Crazy MeowFace is curled up, sleeping, on the floor right between the couch and the recliner, so as to not play favorites with her humans.
From above, there is a wailing. Now, Brandon, the upstairs neighbor guy who can't control his fish tank water, is kind of a wailer. He wails during football games (who doesn't?), during sex (who doesn't?), and during random Saturday nights. Frequently his wailing is brief, but intense. It involves lots of shouting of random syllables, including "yes," "no," and "god." The difference on this Saturday night is that the wailing is extended.
There is lots of screaming "god no," and this goes on for well over half an hour, approaching forty-five minutes.
The dilemma: If it had been a woman who was wailing like that for so long, I would have, at the very least, knocked on the door to make sure everything was okay. If there had been no answer at the door, I would have called the police. Almost a week later, I'm still feeling a little bit guilty over this situation and the double standard that I invoked here.
The questions: What would you have done in this situation, knowing that Brandon the upstairs neighbor guy who can't control his fish tank water is a bit of a wailer in general? Should I feel badly for the actions I took here?
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
Middle of the Night Emergency (Spoiler: Everything's Fine)
A while ago, some blogger got a lot of flak for live tweeting as her house went up in flames. As I sat in our car in at 3:30 in the morning this morning with firemen (no women as far as I could see) buzzing around our complex and red lights swirling all around me, I realized that I would be posting on Facebook, too, if only I had thought to grab my phone as we left our apartment. Dumb ass. (Me, I'm the dumb ass, not the fire people.)
It all started when Dr. BB woke up because "he smelled something funny." Now, since the fish tank people regularly allow water to leak all over our apartment, this isn't an exceptional occurrence. But when he asked me to come out of the bedroom and check things out, I knew it was going to be a SITUATION. It smelled like burned meat and there was a haze in the air. The smell was everywhere in our apartment. The hallway outside our apartment was fine, but when we went downstairs in our building, the acrid smell was multiplied tenfold.
After some dilly dallying about who we should call, calls were made. The boy and I looked at each other and he said, in a slow way, as if considering his words really carefully, "I think we should leave...this doesn't seem health...some." He said healthsome. Ha! Like it is a word. When I asked if we should bring the quadruped who resides in our apartment with us along and he agreed, I knew he thought it was serious.
I put on pants and a sweatshirt since shorts and a tank top weren't going to cut in March in Minnesota, even an unseasonably warm March as he coaxed the kitten into her carrier. We each grabbed a blanket and went to the car. Which brings me to the beginning of this story where I'm sitting in the car with nothing but a meowing cat and a blanket that smells like burning.
The boy left me in the car with MeowCrazyface and went to have what I can only imagine were manly conversations with the emergency personnel who were called in to deal with whatever was going on in that building. When the boy returned to the car, he said someone downstairs had burned a pan really badly and had not taken it out of their apartment, but rather just sat it down in the sink. And the whole building reeked.
Once we returned inside, we opened the windows and the slider (forty degrees be damned) and hoped the place would air out. It's been roughly ten hours now and I can assure you that it has not made the smell decrease. We've got an upstairs neighbor who can't be trusted to deal with water in a responsible manner, a downstairs neighbor who can't be trusted with fire, and I'm hoping that the neighbors on our floor can handle their earth and air because I'm not sure if I can handle any more middle of the night shenanigans.
It all started when Dr. BB woke up because "he smelled something funny." Now, since the fish tank people regularly allow water to leak all over our apartment, this isn't an exceptional occurrence. But when he asked me to come out of the bedroom and check things out, I knew it was going to be a SITUATION. It smelled like burned meat and there was a haze in the air. The smell was everywhere in our apartment. The hallway outside our apartment was fine, but when we went downstairs in our building, the acrid smell was multiplied tenfold.
After some dilly dallying about who we should call, calls were made. The boy and I looked at each other and he said, in a slow way, as if considering his words really carefully, "I think we should leave...this doesn't seem health...some." He said healthsome. Ha! Like it is a word. When I asked if we should bring the quadruped who resides in our apartment with us along and he agreed, I knew he thought it was serious.
I put on pants and a sweatshirt since shorts and a tank top weren't going to cut in March in Minnesota, even an unseasonably warm March as he coaxed the kitten into her carrier. We each grabbed a blanket and went to the car. Which brings me to the beginning of this story where I'm sitting in the car with nothing but a meowing cat and a blanket that smells like burning.
The boy left me in the car with MeowCrazyface and went to have what I can only imagine were manly conversations with the emergency personnel who were called in to deal with whatever was going on in that building. When the boy returned to the car, he said someone downstairs had burned a pan really badly and had not taken it out of their apartment, but rather just sat it down in the sink. And the whole building reeked.
Once we returned inside, we opened the windows and the slider (forty degrees be damned) and hoped the place would air out. It's been roughly ten hours now and I can assure you that it has not made the smell decrease. We've got an upstairs neighbor who can't be trusted to deal with water in a responsible manner, a downstairs neighbor who can't be trusted with fire, and I'm hoping that the neighbors on our floor can handle their earth and air because I'm not sure if I can handle any more middle of the night shenanigans.
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| The quadruped who had a big night last night and now refuses to do anything except sleep and be Crazyface. |
Thursday, November 10, 2011
Green!
Even though it is grey and cloudy outside, inside our apartment, life is thriving. Our kitten weighs in at over six pounds, our spider plant is out of control, the herbs haven't succumbed to winter's doldrums yet, and our Christmas cactus has decided it needs to bloom in November. Isn't it pretty?
I worry about this plant. My mother-in-law gave it to us when it was just a little bitty thing last year, one of five plants from a bouquet her sister had sent the family. I tried to beg off, using that old "we don't have green thumbs" excuse, but as we were leaving, she shoved it in my arms. I just couldn't say no. She's doing chemotherapy now, my mother-in-law, that is, not the plant. And honestly, even though it doesn't make any sense, I keep thinking that if I can somehow keep this plant alive, she'll thrive just like it does. So I worry. I want it to do well. But I worry that the petals will start to fall, the blooms won't come, and I'll have failed.
Instead, it brings light to us on this dark November day. We jokingly place bets on when that bud is finally going to pop open and show us everything it has to offer. We wonder when the kitty will finally eat it. We test the soil semi-regularly, but since we don't know what we're looking for in the soil,we're on a fool's errand and we know it. We put it in a place of honor, letting it represent family and love, and care for it as best we know how, pushing the worry into some other realm, some other universe, some other day.
(I tried to get pictures of Zelda the Kitten but she's a horrible picture taker. I'm going to enlist the help of a better photographer, aka Dr. BB, and get some adorable Zelda pictures up here soon enough. She's darling and adorable, but just not a cooperative model.)
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| What? I'm not supposed to bloom until Christmas? Whatever. |
I worry about this plant. My mother-in-law gave it to us when it was just a little bitty thing last year, one of five plants from a bouquet her sister had sent the family. I tried to beg off, using that old "we don't have green thumbs" excuse, but as we were leaving, she shoved it in my arms. I just couldn't say no. She's doing chemotherapy now, my mother-in-law, that is, not the plant. And honestly, even though it doesn't make any sense, I keep thinking that if I can somehow keep this plant alive, she'll thrive just like it does. So I worry. I want it to do well. But I worry that the petals will start to fall, the blooms won't come, and I'll have failed.
Instead, it brings light to us on this dark November day. We jokingly place bets on when that bud is finally going to pop open and show us everything it has to offer. We wonder when the kitty will finally eat it. We test the soil semi-regularly, but since we don't know what we're looking for in the soil,we're on a fool's errand and we know it. We put it in a place of honor, letting it represent family and love, and care for it as best we know how, pushing the worry into some other realm, some other universe, some other day.
(I tried to get pictures of Zelda the Kitten but she's a horrible picture taker. I'm going to enlist the help of a better photographer, aka Dr. BB, and get some adorable Zelda pictures up here soon enough. She's darling and adorable, but just not a cooperative model.)
Thursday, November 03, 2011
The Incident
It started innocently enough. After I finished a workout, a workout that included much panting and sweating and dreaming of killing my cartoon trainer every time she gave the impossible order of giving it 110%, I went into the bedroom to strip off my clothes before my shower. As I sat down on the bed to take off my shoes and socks, I realized that the mattress I was sitting on was wet. Also wet - the pillows, the sheets, and the box spring. Water was dripping down the inside of the window above our bed. There was no explanation for the water since it wasn't raining.
Long story short, there was much cursing, moving of furniture, drying of same furniture, fans going nonstop, towels used to collect water, and a call to the management company where I was told "they'd get to it sometime this week" while water continued to stream into our bedroom. At this point, I realize that the water smells bad and I am gagging as I am trying to clean the mess up.
When Dr. BB gets home, we wander downstairs to consult with our downstairs neighbor. It goes something like this:
Us: Uh, is there water leaking out any of your windows facing X Road?
Him: Uh, no?
Us: Well, our window is leaking water, but it's not raining...
Him: Uh, well, I'll let you know if I see any water.
We knocked on the upstairs neighbor's door, only to find no one home. Dr. BB wrote a very kind note requesting information from them and slipped it under their door. Half an hour later, a note is slipped under our door. I would take a picture of it and post it here, but I'm just too lazy to hunt down the camera. Turns out that Brandon and Tiffany* from upstairs had a "problem with a filter," but they fixed it and the water is no longer leaking.
We know that Brandon and Tiffany have a HUGE fish tank in their main room because we can see it through a window. Turns out they must have another one in their bedroom because now our bedroom SMELLS LIKE A FUCKING FISH TANK.
Water continued to seep through the window for the next two days and have I mentioned that IT SMELLS LIKE A FISH TANK in our bedroom?
Today I finally went to Target and shelled out $4 for some Febreze. Now our bedroom smells like SPRING AND INSPIRE FEBREZE. I am quite upset about this situation.
Oh, and in case you're wondering, the maintenance man has not yet showed up.
*Names are unchanged because I don't give a shit about protecting the innocent.
Long story short, there was much cursing, moving of furniture, drying of same furniture, fans going nonstop, towels used to collect water, and a call to the management company where I was told "they'd get to it sometime this week" while water continued to stream into our bedroom. At this point, I realize that the water smells bad and I am gagging as I am trying to clean the mess up.
When Dr. BB gets home, we wander downstairs to consult with our downstairs neighbor. It goes something like this:
Us: Uh, is there water leaking out any of your windows facing X Road?
Him: Uh, no?
Us: Well, our window is leaking water, but it's not raining...
Him: Uh, well, I'll let you know if I see any water.
We knocked on the upstairs neighbor's door, only to find no one home. Dr. BB wrote a very kind note requesting information from them and slipped it under their door. Half an hour later, a note is slipped under our door. I would take a picture of it and post it here, but I'm just too lazy to hunt down the camera. Turns out that Brandon and Tiffany* from upstairs had a "problem with a filter," but they fixed it and the water is no longer leaking.
We know that Brandon and Tiffany have a HUGE fish tank in their main room because we can see it through a window. Turns out they must have another one in their bedroom because now our bedroom SMELLS LIKE A FUCKING FISH TANK.
Water continued to seep through the window for the next two days and have I mentioned that IT SMELLS LIKE A FISH TANK in our bedroom?
Today I finally went to Target and shelled out $4 for some Febreze. Now our bedroom smells like SPRING AND INSPIRE FEBREZE. I am quite upset about this situation.
Oh, and in case you're wondering, the maintenance man has not yet showed up.
*Names are unchanged because I don't give a shit about protecting the innocent.
Monday, October 17, 2011
Coup d'kitten
As far as I can tell, my life is very difficult. All the time, those people stuff me in a carrier and take me to this office with other animals and then these people in blue outfits poke things in me! Also, they don't let me climb on the table, the entertainment center, or even go into the bedroom at all! What's a kitty to do? I'm plotting an overthrow of the apartment so I can do whatever I want to do. And that girl person is always cleaning my ears, touching my feet, and brushing me. I find myself appalled at her audacity in touching me like that. Someday I'm going to stuff my paws in her ears when she isn't paying attention.
I sleep a lot, but when I'm not sleeping, I'm totally looking for trouble. I try to eat the houseplants, climb up everything, and bite things. I'm teething right now, so I like to bite. I like biting my people best of all, but I'll bite just about anything - paper, plastic, wood, you know, whatever someone leaves handily about for me to bite. I also like to dash out of our apartment and watch my people drop whatever they have in their hands to come chase me down the hall. It's so funny to watch people run - run for their lives.
My favorite sleeping place is on the female person. The boy person is too sharp for me. How come he doesn't have nice padding like the girl? I will, of course, accept sleeping on the couch as a second place substitute, but I really like to be the only one on the couch at the time. Sometimes I like to keep my people on their toes by sleeping in really weird places like the bathtub, but most of the time, I like to be sleeping on something soft. Up next I'm devising plot to force them to allow me into the bedroom where there's a thing that looks really big and soft to sleep on.
I'm five pounds right now and I seem to be getting a little bit longer every day. I have really short legs and so I miss a lot of jumps which makes my people laugh like crazy and I think it's mean that they laugh at me, but I am getting longer and longer and pretty soon I'm going to be so big I take over and show those humans that Zelda is the one in charge in this house. They'll learn, mark my words. I won't be a little kitten forever.
Monday, September 19, 2011
Mission Possible
She didn't know she was my mission today. She was innocently doing her job. But she was IT. She was my reason.
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"What's on your agenda today?"
"I'm going to send out a few resumes and hang out with the cat." I think a little harder before adding, perhaps a bit too exuberantly, "oh, and it's a vacuum day!" Crap. I have clearly overplayed my excitement about what to do today.
"I have a mission for you," he says as he slides on his shoes, "should you choose to accept it."
I sit up. Ooooohhhh, a mission.
"I want you to leave the apartment and go talk to a person," he says. Suddenly I am slouched back down again. "An adult person," he clarifies, knowing I am likely to just wander across the street to talk to the little kids playing in the playground."Not the cat," he clarifies further, as if I am suddenly mindless and unaware of the difference between a feline and a person. "I worry about you being home alone all the time with just the cat."
It's not that I don't want to talk to an adult person. It's that I have no idea who I should talk to. I decide that it counts if I talk to a cashier, if I am friendly, if I am polite, if I ask relevant questions that demand more than two word answers.
As soon as he shuts the door behind him, I tuck the blanket up around my neck, recline back on the couch, shut my eyes, curl my fingers around the cat's belly as she jumps up on my chest, and begin to cry.
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But I shall not accept defeat. I work out, I vacuum, I scoop the litter, I clean the stove top, the fridge, and consider making the bed, only to realize I don't want to make the bed. I try desperately not to talk to the cat like she's a person, but damn it, she's all I have.
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When the vet calls to say the medication we ordered is in, I hurriedly get dressed and run over there. The woman working the register doesn't know she's my mission, but after a few questions about the medication and scheduling yet another appointment, I have fulfilled my mission.
Mission complete.
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"What's on your agenda today?"
"I'm going to send out a few resumes and hang out with the cat." I think a little harder before adding, perhaps a bit too exuberantly, "oh, and it's a vacuum day!" Crap. I have clearly overplayed my excitement about what to do today.
"I have a mission for you," he says as he slides on his shoes, "should you choose to accept it."
I sit up. Ooooohhhh, a mission.
"I want you to leave the apartment and go talk to a person," he says. Suddenly I am slouched back down again. "An adult person," he clarifies, knowing I am likely to just wander across the street to talk to the little kids playing in the playground."Not the cat," he clarifies further, as if I am suddenly mindless and unaware of the difference between a feline and a person. "I worry about you being home alone all the time with just the cat."
It's not that I don't want to talk to an adult person. It's that I have no idea who I should talk to. I decide that it counts if I talk to a cashier, if I am friendly, if I am polite, if I ask relevant questions that demand more than two word answers.
As soon as he shuts the door behind him, I tuck the blanket up around my neck, recline back on the couch, shut my eyes, curl my fingers around the cat's belly as she jumps up on my chest, and begin to cry.
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But I shall not accept defeat. I work out, I vacuum, I scoop the litter, I clean the stove top, the fridge, and consider making the bed, only to realize I don't want to make the bed. I try desperately not to talk to the cat like she's a person, but damn it, she's all I have.
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When the vet calls to say the medication we ordered is in, I hurriedly get dressed and run over there. The woman working the register doesn't know she's my mission, but after a few questions about the medication and scheduling yet another appointment, I have fulfilled my mission.
Mission complete.
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Parsley, Sage, Rosemary, and Thyme (Literally)
When we moved in together, one of our friends gave us this teensy little spider plant. We begged off using the time honored "we're not plant people" excuse, but somehow this little tiny creature was left in our apartment and we had to deal with it. We ignored the poor thing, didn't water it for ages, and still! Still it managed to thrive and grow. It grew out of one pot and then another and then I was forced to split it into three different plants. Then I gave two of them away. Then it grew again and I was forced to split it into three different plants. I gave two of them away. And then it grew again. And I split it into three plants. Are you noticing a trend here? I'm going to give two of them away this weekend.
Last year I tried to grow herbs inside for the first time in my life. It didn't work great, but we used some basil, we used some rosemary, and we killed the thyme like it didn't matter. I also had a begonia that did quite well last year.
So this is a long introduction to say that we have become "not plant people" to people who have this in their itty bitty apartment:
Below you will see the original spider plant that has caused all of the splitting and repotting (it's the big one on the right). I don't think it's possible to kill a spider plant, although when we were catsitting for a few months, we had to keep the plant in the bedroom away from a direct source of light and it didn't do well, but it still survived. Also pictured is a Christmas cactus we received around Christmastime from my inlaws (back left), the not sure how to keep it alive thyme (front left), and the little ones are chives and basil I'm starting from seed (no idea if that's going to work at all).
Below you will see the two offshoots of the spider plant we will be giving to our inlaws when we go to Iowa this weekend. On the left we have two Italian parsley plants and on the right we have a sage plant and a rosemary plant. The whole herb thing started last year when I wanted to grow Italian parsley. We use a ton of it in just about every recipe we use and it was starting to irk me that I was paying $3 every week for it when I could buy a plant for that price and have it keep going. Anyway, we never found Italian parsley last year because once it began to irk me, no one was selling herbs anymore. But this year we found it!
You will also see a bike and a guitar in this picture. My husband is to blame for both.
Last year I tried to grow herbs inside for the first time in my life. It didn't work great, but we used some basil, we used some rosemary, and we killed the thyme like it didn't matter. I also had a begonia that did quite well last year.
So this is a long introduction to say that we have become "not plant people" to people who have this in their itty bitty apartment:
Below you will see the original spider plant that has caused all of the splitting and repotting (it's the big one on the right). I don't think it's possible to kill a spider plant, although when we were catsitting for a few months, we had to keep the plant in the bedroom away from a direct source of light and it didn't do well, but it still survived. Also pictured is a Christmas cactus we received around Christmastime from my inlaws (back left), the not sure how to keep it alive thyme (front left), and the little ones are chives and basil I'm starting from seed (no idea if that's going to work at all).
Below you will see the two offshoots of the spider plant we will be giving to our inlaws when we go to Iowa this weekend. On the left we have two Italian parsley plants and on the right we have a sage plant and a rosemary plant. The whole herb thing started last year when I wanted to grow Italian parsley. We use a ton of it in just about every recipe we use and it was starting to irk me that I was paying $3 every week for it when I could buy a plant for that price and have it keep going. Anyway, we never found Italian parsley last year because once it began to irk me, no one was selling herbs anymore. But this year we found it!
You will also see a bike and a guitar in this picture. My husband is to blame for both.
Monday, March 22, 2010
Home
I lived there from the time I was seven until I left for college. It was a falling down farmhouse with an unfinished basement, unfinished second floor, poor insulation, one vent that blew warm air during the cold months, and unscreened windows that let the mosquitoes in every summer night. The mess. The stuff everywhere. The sawhorses set up permanently in the upstairs hall, as if my father would someday begin to renovate. They did their best with it, my parents did, but it was a sad building and I can't think of it now without cringing a little.
Then it was college dorm room after college dorm with occasional summers spent in off campus apartments. Always temporary, always short term, but always so much fun, so much joy, so much music left on all night to soothe me to sleep. Buying just the right amount of food to fill up the tiny microfridge. My door, complete with pictures of koalas and the prerequisite white board. The blessed clean. Never did I let clothes fall on the floor or a week go by without a vacuum cleaning the carpet. I would always cry myself to sleep the day before a break would start, knowing I couldn't stay there, knowing that I had to go back. I proudly called BG my home.
Once I graduated I took a job in a small town in eastern Michigan and rented the top floor of a house. It was a wide open space and my puny number of pieces of furniture (bed on the floor, giant pappazan chair, television stand and 19 inch television, folding card table and four folding chairs, one bookcase) made it seem even bigger. I mopped, I vacuumed, borrowing the vacuum from the people downstairs, and I cleaned every week. I was so proud of those three rooms. At Christmas I put lights up around the picture window that faced the street. It was mine. All mine. I loved that place. No one sent me home for holidays. I was lonely at times, but soon enough I made friends and I made that apartment a hub of activity and social gathering. It was my home and when I started applying to grad school and (strangely) getting acceptance letters, I dreaded leaving. I sobbed as I pulled my little S-1o out of the driveway for the last time.
When I moved to Minneapolis, I shut down. I forced myself into social gatherings with people who just weren't like me. They were nice, very nice, but it turns out that I can't hang with the very smart people. I am smart, I think. But I am not one of the intelligentsia, as proof by the fact that I had to look up the spelling of that word. My apartment became a refuge where I hid and read and watched bad tv and hated the world and cried. A lot.
I tried living with a roommate. It didn't work out for a variety of reasons. I started to feel like whatever social circle I had was eroding as people were forced to pick sides between us. If you asked me, I would still say my home was that damn farmhouse, but by this point, the farmhouse had been condemned and torn down. My parents built a new house on the same lot and I had a room there, but I had never lived there and it wasn't my home.
Now this is home. Our apartment is home. I moved in here with my fiance, I got married to him while we lived here, and we've celebrated three Christmases here together. We had the cat here for four months. We've celebrated tiny victories together in this place. It is here that I realized I had to put my grad school dreams to bed forever. We have learned to become a united front here. We fought over popcorn and putting air in bike tires here. We've become an annoying couple who finish each other sentences here. This is my home. Home is where I am with my husband. Inevitably, we will leave this place. I will sob as we lock the door for the last time and climb down those stairs.
But the next place we live will also be home. Because home is where we are, me and BB. And I'm glad I'm in a place where I can so openly admit that I'm no longer stuck wondering where home is.
Then it was college dorm room after college dorm with occasional summers spent in off campus apartments. Always temporary, always short term, but always so much fun, so much joy, so much music left on all night to soothe me to sleep. Buying just the right amount of food to fill up the tiny microfridge. My door, complete with pictures of koalas and the prerequisite white board. The blessed clean. Never did I let clothes fall on the floor or a week go by without a vacuum cleaning the carpet. I would always cry myself to sleep the day before a break would start, knowing I couldn't stay there, knowing that I had to go back. I proudly called BG my home.
Once I graduated I took a job in a small town in eastern Michigan and rented the top floor of a house. It was a wide open space and my puny number of pieces of furniture (bed on the floor, giant pappazan chair, television stand and 19 inch television, folding card table and four folding chairs, one bookcase) made it seem even bigger. I mopped, I vacuumed, borrowing the vacuum from the people downstairs, and I cleaned every week. I was so proud of those three rooms. At Christmas I put lights up around the picture window that faced the street. It was mine. All mine. I loved that place. No one sent me home for holidays. I was lonely at times, but soon enough I made friends and I made that apartment a hub of activity and social gathering. It was my home and when I started applying to grad school and (strangely) getting acceptance letters, I dreaded leaving. I sobbed as I pulled my little S-1o out of the driveway for the last time.
When I moved to Minneapolis, I shut down. I forced myself into social gatherings with people who just weren't like me. They were nice, very nice, but it turns out that I can't hang with the very smart people. I am smart, I think. But I am not one of the intelligentsia, as proof by the fact that I had to look up the spelling of that word. My apartment became a refuge where I hid and read and watched bad tv and hated the world and cried. A lot.
I tried living with a roommate. It didn't work out for a variety of reasons. I started to feel like whatever social circle I had was eroding as people were forced to pick sides between us. If you asked me, I would still say my home was that damn farmhouse, but by this point, the farmhouse had been condemned and torn down. My parents built a new house on the same lot and I had a room there, but I had never lived there and it wasn't my home.
Now this is home. Our apartment is home. I moved in here with my fiance, I got married to him while we lived here, and we've celebrated three Christmases here together. We had the cat here for four months. We've celebrated tiny victories together in this place. It is here that I realized I had to put my grad school dreams to bed forever. We have learned to become a united front here. We fought over popcorn and putting air in bike tires here. We've become an annoying couple who finish each other sentences here. This is my home. Home is where I am with my husband. Inevitably, we will leave this place. I will sob as we lock the door for the last time and climb down those stairs.
But the next place we live will also be home. Because home is where we are, me and BB. And I'm glad I'm in a place where I can so openly admit that I'm no longer stuck wondering where home is.
Friday, March 19, 2010
The Exterminator Files
Location: NGS and BB's apartment
Time: Late morning/early afternoon March 19, 2010
Present: Me, BB, some annoyingly friendly lady from the management company that owns the building
Result: Man, these people have a clean house! Sure, you'll see an occasional dust bunny here and there, but they did everything we asked them to. They pulled out all the furniture, emptied all their cupboards, and generally made their house look like a special episode of "Hoarders: The Roach Man Cometh." And it was clean. No food particles, no piles of stuff, except for the stuff clearly emptied out of their closets, no nothing that would lead me to believe these folks would have bugs.
I told that lady from the management company that these people have a clean house. I said it about a million times. I asked the guy who lives here to describe the bugs he's seen and it sure sounds like he's seen some German cockroaches. He's only seen a few, though, and I went through that apartment thoroughly and there ain't no nests in that apartment. I tried to convince the chipper lady from the management company that I should check every apartment in the building because if these nice folks in this clean apartment are seeing bugs, I guarantee you that there are bugs elsewhere in this building, but she wasn't having any of that. I guess I should have tried to sway her by tell her that the folks most likely to originate the problem probably aren't likely to be the first ones to report it, but, really, I wanted to get to lunch, so I didn't do too much swaying.
Anyway, carrying all my equipment up all those stairs should get me some extra compensation, right? You readin' this report, boss? The apartment is clean, but I bet there's something super nasty somewhere else in that building. But these people? These people run a tight ship.
Time: Late morning/early afternoon March 19, 2010
Present: Me, BB, some annoyingly friendly lady from the management company that owns the building
Result: Man, these people have a clean house! Sure, you'll see an occasional dust bunny here and there, but they did everything we asked them to. They pulled out all the furniture, emptied all their cupboards, and generally made their house look like a special episode of "Hoarders: The Roach Man Cometh." And it was clean. No food particles, no piles of stuff, except for the stuff clearly emptied out of their closets, no nothing that would lead me to believe these folks would have bugs.
I told that lady from the management company that these people have a clean house. I said it about a million times. I asked the guy who lives here to describe the bugs he's seen and it sure sounds like he's seen some German cockroaches. He's only seen a few, though, and I went through that apartment thoroughly and there ain't no nests in that apartment. I tried to convince the chipper lady from the management company that I should check every apartment in the building because if these nice folks in this clean apartment are seeing bugs, I guarantee you that there are bugs elsewhere in this building, but she wasn't having any of that. I guess I should have tried to sway her by tell her that the folks most likely to originate the problem probably aren't likely to be the first ones to report it, but, really, I wanted to get to lunch, so I didn't do too much swaying.
Anyway, carrying all my equipment up all those stairs should get me some extra compensation, right? You readin' this report, boss? The apartment is clean, but I bet there's something super nasty somewhere else in that building. But these people? These people run a tight ship.
Saturday, March 13, 2010
The Incident with the Bug
So we're making dinner, you know? Well, we're steaming broccoli and reheating leftover meatloaf in the microwave, so it's not like we're reinventing the wheel or getting a lot of dishes dirty or anything, but we're both in the kitchen. My jobs: stay out of the boy's way and set the table (one fork and one glass of water for each of us). As I am closing the door to the fridge, a small black bug crawls underneath the fridge.
I promptly shriek like someone has taken a hatchet to one of my legs.
"Bug!! Big, black!!" Clearly I am lying. It was not big. It was small. Mediumish. Not big.
But my gallant husband fetches a flashlight and flushes the bug out. Then I hand him a paper towel, standing as far away as possible like the sissy girl I am, and he smashes it. Afterward he spends a good deal of time examining the insect carcass, going so far as to take it into our office to compare pictures of the dead bug to pictures of dead bugs on the internet.
Meanwhile, the timer for the broccoli is going off and it's time for dinner!
He comes back to the table, convinced that it is a cockroach. And he's seen two of them before this (and he has mentioned to me his concern about these little buggers before, but because I hadn't seen them, I didn't think it was important). So. Yeah.
I mean, we're not super neurotic clean freaks, but we are ordinarily not filthy and we did do a fairly big cleaning last weekend for in the in laws and we had dinner guests last night and I tidied up and swept before they got here, so I feel safe in saying our apartment is not gross. This called for the big guns.
If you want to know what I did with my Saturday night it involved moving major appliances like fridges and stoves and cleaning underneath them like a maniac. Sexy, huh? And there was nothing underneath either of those appliances except a lot of dust, one red Skittle, and an old Centrum vitamin. No cockroach nests. No cockroach remains. No signs of bugs.
We're a big stumped as to the cause of the bugs and I think we'll call our management company on Monday just to make sure they know it might be a problem and maybe spray...
Until then, I promise to not squeal again if I see a GIANT BLACK BUG in our kitchen.
I promptly shriek like someone has taken a hatchet to one of my legs.
"Bug!! Big, black!!" Clearly I am lying. It was not big. It was small. Mediumish. Not big.
But my gallant husband fetches a flashlight and flushes the bug out. Then I hand him a paper towel, standing as far away as possible like the sissy girl I am, and he smashes it. Afterward he spends a good deal of time examining the insect carcass, going so far as to take it into our office to compare pictures of the dead bug to pictures of dead bugs on the internet.
Meanwhile, the timer for the broccoli is going off and it's time for dinner!
He comes back to the table, convinced that it is a cockroach. And he's seen two of them before this (and he has mentioned to me his concern about these little buggers before, but because I hadn't seen them, I didn't think it was important). So. Yeah.
I mean, we're not super neurotic clean freaks, but we are ordinarily not filthy and we did do a fairly big cleaning last weekend for in the in laws and we had dinner guests last night and I tidied up and swept before they got here, so I feel safe in saying our apartment is not gross. This called for the big guns.
If you want to know what I did with my Saturday night it involved moving major appliances like fridges and stoves and cleaning underneath them like a maniac. Sexy, huh? And there was nothing underneath either of those appliances except a lot of dust, one red Skittle, and an old Centrum vitamin. No cockroach nests. No cockroach remains. No signs of bugs.
We're a big stumped as to the cause of the bugs and I think we'll call our management company on Monday just to make sure they know it might be a problem and maybe spray...
Until then, I promise to not squeal again if I see a GIANT BLACK BUG in our kitchen.
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
The Truth of Cat Ownership
Next week the cat is leaving us. Our friends N and M are coming back to take her home. While we are totally excited to have friends back in the Twin Cities, we are very sad to see her little fluffy face leave our home. She has been an incredibly vital member of our household these last five months, but we know that her "real" parents are indeed her "real" parents.
So, lest I get too depressed that the only pet I'll probably ever have is going away, I made up a list of pros and cons about our pet "ownership" with Dae.
Pro: Fluffy, orange kitty on laps when it is really cold outside!
Con: Fluffy, orange kitty fur all over our house and clothing!
Pro: Fuzzy, orange fluff ball greeting you with a rousing and welcoming meow when you come home from work.
Con: Fuzzy, orange fluff ball yowling at night because you have closed the bedroom door and she really wants attention/to be in your nice, warm bed with you.
Pro: You're never alone in the apartment. Company is always available when needed.
Con: Tripping over cat first thing in the morning when you're trying to get to the bathroom can lead to upsetting falls/hurt paws/hysteria.
Pro: Cat not "making it" when jumping on to chair/table/lap is hysterically funny.
Con: Cleaning out the litter box is totally not funny.
Pro: Conversations had in the cat's voice lead to insightful views on your spouse's innermost thoughts and feelings on the most mundane of activities.
Con: Even though we stopped letting her drink out of the bathroom faucet months ago, she still insists on climbing onto the bathroom counter and barking at us whenever we're in the bathroom.
Pro: The revving motorboat of the cat's purr always makes you smile.
Con: Sometimes it is more fun to play with the cat than to do work, making productivity at home somewhat low.
Pro: Always something to talk about with your spouse.
Con: Always talk about the cat with your spouse so that important things don't get discussed.
Pro: Cat is always cute and photogenic.
Con: Cat doesn't like to be brushed and her fur requires brushing every day. Scratches may result.
Pro: Who needs a hot pad? I've got a vibrating cat!
Con: Cat declares need for fresh water half a dozen times a day. (In her defense, I like my water to be really cold, too, so I am guilty of giving into her on this one.)
Pro: Cat jumping really high to chase Da Bird is amazing to watch. The athleticism in a cat, even one as old and clumsy as Dae, is awesome.
Con: When cat gets sick and stops eating, it is very scary. (She totally eats now. I am almost embarrassed to show her to N and M when they get back. She is. . . a bit chunkier than we N dropped her off.)
Pro: Cat on husband's lap is the most adorable thing to see when you get home.
Con: Hairballs. Nuff said.
Pro: Enjoying a variety of options for the dialect of the cat. I prefer bitchy southern belle, the boy prefers air headed blond.
Con: Cat still jumps on the table. Still.
Pro: Hairstyles of the cat. Mohawk down the back is the best!
Con: Pointy parts of cat may be used when hairstyles are attempted.
Pro: An excuse to go into pet stores. Must buy toys! Litter! Food!!
Con: Must come up with solution for someone to check on kitty when we go out of town.
Pro: Unconditional love from the cat.
Con: Must give cat back!! Sob!!
So, lest I get too depressed that the only pet I'll probably ever have is going away, I made up a list of pros and cons about our pet "ownership" with Dae.
Pro: Fluffy, orange kitty on laps when it is really cold outside!
Con: Fluffy, orange kitty fur all over our house and clothing!
Pro: Fuzzy, orange fluff ball greeting you with a rousing and welcoming meow when you come home from work.
Con: Fuzzy, orange fluff ball yowling at night because you have closed the bedroom door and she really wants attention/to be in your nice, warm bed with you.
Pro: You're never alone in the apartment. Company is always available when needed.
Con: Tripping over cat first thing in the morning when you're trying to get to the bathroom can lead to upsetting falls/hurt paws/hysteria.
Pro: Cat not "making it" when jumping on to chair/table/lap is hysterically funny.
Con: Cleaning out the litter box is totally not funny.
Pro: Conversations had in the cat's voice lead to insightful views on your spouse's innermost thoughts and feelings on the most mundane of activities.
Con: Even though we stopped letting her drink out of the bathroom faucet months ago, she still insists on climbing onto the bathroom counter and barking at us whenever we're in the bathroom.
Pro: The revving motorboat of the cat's purr always makes you smile.
Con: Sometimes it is more fun to play with the cat than to do work, making productivity at home somewhat low.
Pro: Always something to talk about with your spouse.
Con: Always talk about the cat with your spouse so that important things don't get discussed.
Pro: Cat is always cute and photogenic.
Con: Cat doesn't like to be brushed and her fur requires brushing every day. Scratches may result.
Pro: Who needs a hot pad? I've got a vibrating cat!
Con: Cat declares need for fresh water half a dozen times a day. (In her defense, I like my water to be really cold, too, so I am guilty of giving into her on this one.)
Pro: Cat jumping really high to chase Da Bird is amazing to watch. The athleticism in a cat, even one as old and clumsy as Dae, is awesome.
Con: When cat gets sick and stops eating, it is very scary. (She totally eats now. I am almost embarrassed to show her to N and M when they get back. She is. . . a bit chunkier than we N dropped her off.)
Pro: Cat on husband's lap is the most adorable thing to see when you get home.
Con: Hairballs. Nuff said.
Pro: Enjoying a variety of options for the dialect of the cat. I prefer bitchy southern belle, the boy prefers air headed blond.
Con: Cat still jumps on the table. Still.
Pro: Hairstyles of the cat. Mohawk down the back is the best!
Con: Pointy parts of cat may be used when hairstyles are attempted.
Pro: An excuse to go into pet stores. Must buy toys! Litter! Food!!
Con: Must come up with solution for someone to check on kitty when we go out of town.
Pro: Unconditional love from the cat.
Con: Must give cat back!! Sob!!
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Happy Pumpkin Day!
I am pumpkin. Hear me roar. Clearly I have too much time on my hands and Dae has too much tolerance for stupid people tricks. Happy Halloween!
Friday, October 02, 2009
Making My Heart Melt
The chores have cut down gendered lines. He feeds her, waters her. I clean her poop, clean her vomit, and vacuum everything. Their love, it is boundless. Her disdain for me? Clear everytime she ignores my lap to go straight to his.
She hates the sound of the vacuum and runs into the office when I switch it on. I smile when I hear the ringing of the bell on her collar pause for just the briefest second and then the sound starts again, a quick jingle jingle. I hear the click of the keyboard hesitate as he says, "hey there, Dae." She has jumped on his lap and I can see it, although I am in the other room, as he pets her with his long fingers. "I know, I know, you don't like the loud vacuum cleaner." It is their little game. She acts frightened, he comforts her.
They will sit like that, long after the vacuum has been put into the closet, long after I have moved on to reading the new Sarah Dessen novel, long after her displeasure at That Sound has ebbed. She thinks he is bored, looking at that glowing box, not know that when she is sitting on his lap, he is writing his future. He is writing for our future. He is writing and writing some more.
They are one, cat and human. He types over her head as she purrs, content to be on a warm body. Every once in a while, she will meow up at him and he will distractedly pet her head or murmur an inconsequential, meaningless comfort word to her. Eventually I will start making dinner, another chore in a day filled with this pleasurable routine, and he will call out to ask if I need help.
No, no I don't need help. You stay there and hold the cat.
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Introducing the Cat
Meet Dae. She's orange and ferocious and looks grumpy but really, really, really loves to cuddle. With my husband. Not so much with me. (Please don't judge the state of our carpet. We don't own a vacuum. We borrow one from our resident manager every week, but sometimes that's just not enough. Hi! That's my bike tire. Do I know how to frame a shot or what?)
We swore we wouldn't let her drink out of the bathroom faucet, but we each independently let her do it on the sly without letting the other human know it because we, the humans, were trying to suck up to her, the cat. Now she insists someone give her water out of the faucet all the time. We are helpless. Must do what cute kitty tells us to do.
She loves to plop down on the windowsill. (See how I wrote that? I don't know if I should use lay or lie so I just rewrote the sentence to avoid it entirely. But now I fessed up my ignorance and it would have just taken less time to look it up.) Again, how could anyone stop themselves from going over there and giving her a quick pat?
The following is the reason my husband has been less than productive over the last couple of weeks. The cat thinks he is bored when he's at his computer. She must be more entertaining than the bright box. And, of course, she is correct.
Don't worry, N. and M. Your cat is in safe hands with us. We will be documenting her every yawn by film if these first couple of weeks are any indication!!
We swore we wouldn't let her drink out of the bathroom faucet, but we each independently let her do it on the sly without letting the other human know it because we, the humans, were trying to suck up to her, the cat. Now she insists someone give her water out of the faucet all the time. We are helpless. Must do what cute kitty tells us to do.
She loves to plop down on the windowsill. (See how I wrote that? I don't know if I should use lay or lie so I just rewrote the sentence to avoid it entirely. But now I fessed up my ignorance and it would have just taken less time to look it up.) Again, how could anyone stop themselves from going over there and giving her a quick pat?
The following is the reason my husband has been less than productive over the last couple of weeks. The cat thinks he is bored when he's at his computer. She must be more entertaining than the bright box. And, of course, she is correct.
Don't worry, N. and M. Your cat is in safe hands with us. We will be documenting her every yawn by film if these first couple of weeks are any indication!!
Monday, August 10, 2009
Two Unrelated Things
1) Our friends N. and M. are moving to Geneva. So this officially means that we have no friends left in the Twin Cities. If anyone reading this actually lives in the greater metro area, hey, let me know. We need friends. Or I need advice on how to meet people. Whatever.
Anyway, so they are moving. It's a move for an indefinite period of time, but what my dear friends do know is that they won't be back until late December.
Enter me begging them, pleading with them, getting down on my knees in front of them, for the chance to foster their fluffy orange cat named Dae.
Today Dae was dropped off!!!! We have a cat!! For FOUR months!!! To say I am ecstatic is to put it in an underwhelming way. The boy has a few rules for me (including to "don't get too attached" - WTF?) but we have a cat!! A cat, by the by, that adores my husband. She has yet to sit in my lap today, but nearly every time the boy goes to sit at his computer, the cat climbs up. It's pretty adorable. Yay for Dae!!
2) Speaking of adorable, let's talk babies, shall we?
My SIL had a baby a couple of weeks ago. (Both mama and baby are doing fab, thanks for asking.) This means that the number of nieces and nephews we have has grown by 400% in the last year. Awesome. (So what that we only had 1 before? Now we have 5!)
Twins: The news on the twins is mixed. They were transferred back to Iowa City from the hospital in their hometown after it was discovered they both had problems with their eyes. Baby O had a surgery to repair a couple of hernias this morning. Here he is, looking handsome as ever (taken a few days ago). ROAR.
Baby K is finally free of any tubes!! Here is the first picture we have of her with nothing taped to her face!! She's not getting regular oxygen and she's feeding completely from the bottle or breast now. Go Baby K!
They're both big babies now (over seven pounds each) and look like infants instead of alien life forms. Unfortunately, Baby O still needs to be on oxygen pretty regularly and Baby K is not digesting food as well as they'd like. They both still need regular workups to deal with their eye issues, and of course, they need to followup with Baby O after his surgery today.
HOWEVER, there is a light at the end of the tunnel. The babies were born on May 27 and have been in the hospital their entire lives. Their official due date STILL isn't for another week! But the doctors are cautiously optimistic that the twins will be able to go home soon. Maybe even by the end of this week!
Their parents are so happy and I am delighted that this weekend we will be visiting them (either in the hospital or at home) and I am going to read them the books I have all wrapped up for them. Go babies!! It really is amazing what they can do with the little babies in this day and age. Let's keep our fingers crossed that all continues to go well with them.
Anyway, so they are moving. It's a move for an indefinite period of time, but what my dear friends do know is that they won't be back until late December.
Enter me begging them, pleading with them, getting down on my knees in front of them, for the chance to foster their fluffy orange cat named Dae.
Today Dae was dropped off!!!! We have a cat!! For FOUR months!!! To say I am ecstatic is to put it in an underwhelming way. The boy has a few rules for me (including to "don't get too attached" - WTF?) but we have a cat!! A cat, by the by, that adores my husband. She has yet to sit in my lap today, but nearly every time the boy goes to sit at his computer, the cat climbs up. It's pretty adorable. Yay for Dae!!
2) Speaking of adorable, let's talk babies, shall we?
My SIL had a baby a couple of weeks ago. (Both mama and baby are doing fab, thanks for asking.) This means that the number of nieces and nephews we have has grown by 400% in the last year. Awesome. (So what that we only had 1 before? Now we have 5!)
Twins: The news on the twins is mixed. They were transferred back to Iowa City from the hospital in their hometown after it was discovered they both had problems with their eyes. Baby O had a surgery to repair a couple of hernias this morning. Here he is, looking handsome as ever (taken a few days ago). ROAR.
Baby K is finally free of any tubes!! Here is the first picture we have of her with nothing taped to her face!! She's not getting regular oxygen and she's feeding completely from the bottle or breast now. Go Baby K!
They're both big babies now (over seven pounds each) and look like infants instead of alien life forms. Unfortunately, Baby O still needs to be on oxygen pretty regularly and Baby K is not digesting food as well as they'd like. They both still need regular workups to deal with their eye issues, and of course, they need to followup with Baby O after his surgery today.
HOWEVER, there is a light at the end of the tunnel. The babies were born on May 27 and have been in the hospital their entire lives. Their official due date STILL isn't for another week! But the doctors are cautiously optimistic that the twins will be able to go home soon. Maybe even by the end of this week!
Their parents are so happy and I am delighted that this weekend we will be visiting them (either in the hospital or at home) and I am going to read them the books I have all wrapped up for them. Go babies!! It really is amazing what they can do with the little babies in this day and age. Let's keep our fingers crossed that all continues to go well with them.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
My apartment at night
The pop, pop, popping of the steam expanding the radiator; the hum of the refrigerator as it cycles on; the abrupt snap as the refrigerator cycles off; the Indian guy next door screaming into a phone in the room next to mine; the cracking of the window as the temperature outsides gets colder and colder; the shovel hitting the sidewalk across the street as the night maintenance man clears off the entrance of the senior citizens' home; the labored breath as he valiantly tries to breathe through a plugged nose; the whoosh, whoosh, whoosh of car tires on the snow-packed pavement; the soft groan of an airplane miles and miles above; the kid next door screaming because he doesn't want to go to bed; the slam of a car door; the thump , thump, thumping bass notes from a radio in a passing car; the laughter of the couple across the hall as they come in from a late night out; the blare of emergency sirens in the distance, growing ever closer, ever closer until they stop right outside our window at the senior citizens' home; the low rumble of voices as the firemen exit their truck; the beep of a car horn as someone locks their car for the night; the random cracking of the wood floor as the temperature in our apartment cools down for the night; the rustle of the covers as I pull them up, trying to cover my head, trying to drown out the noises; the sound of my own breath as I breathe deeply and count in my head, ever higher, ever higher; the swoswoooshhing of a toilet flushing somewhere in the building; the thumping as someone opens the front door to our building, causing air pressure to change and every apartment door in the building to move just a smidgen; the screech of a car alarm going off in the next block; the crunching of snow on a sidewalk - maybe a late night dog walker?; the click, click, clicking of a computer keyboard from the apartment downstairs; the beating of my own heart as I continue the count, higher, higher, until the sounds lull me into sweet, beautiful sleep.
Saturday, February 07, 2009
Cars and Monkeys
A few weeks ago, I got into an accident in my truck. So here are a few transportation and life related notes with no transitions in between because these are just random musings that I refuse to put into a coherent narrative.
1) I keep getting mail from chiropractors and massage therapists claiming that even though I feel fine right now, in a few months time I will get headaches and backaches and it will be the fault of the accident. Then it will be all my fault that I didn't receive acupuncture or a hot stone massage or whatever immediately after the accident when I am in agonizing pain (in two or three months). So. Since these "offers" of free massages and whatnot usually come in tacky orange envelopes with my name spelled hilariously wrong, I have a hard time taking them seriously.
Until I received well over a dozen of these mailers. Now I lie away at night wondering when the back pain is going to start.
2) While driving around the rental car for over two weeks, I learned a new fact. Cars are comfortable. You can lean the seats back and take a nap. You don't have to yell to have a conversation. You don't have to drive at 5 miles per hour when there is even the smallest hint of snow or ice on the ground. You can get more than three bags of groceries at a time because there is a trunk for the bags! Damn. Cars ARE convenient.
3) The rental had keyless operation, which has to be one of the greatest developments in car manufacturing in recent history. I had never heard of this feature, but grew to love it. Basically we were given a fob and told to keep it in our pockets. As long as the key was on our person, the car was operated by buttons. Push the button to start the car. Push the button on the handle to lock the car, open the car, and open the trunk. In the two weeks we had the rental, I never had to dig around in my purse or pocket for a key. I never needed the actual key!!
It raised lots of questions for us, of course. I have never had a vehicle with automatic anything. You guys, I still have to literally roll the windows down in my truck. So I know it's cheap to get my windows replaced and stuff, but what if this feature breaks? Does it cost a small fortune to fix? What if we accidentally left the fob in the car? Would we be able to get in the car again?
4) At some point, my sister-in-law and brother-in-law dropped their car off at our place and we drove them to the airport. They left us with about a quarter of a tank of gas in their car (let's call their car Gump). BB and I were under strict order to start the car every day that SIL and BIL were gone. At one point, Gump's gas light came on so we took him to the gas station and decided to put half a tank in. We thought we'd just put $20 in the tank and call it a day. At $19.60 the pump stopped. We had, inadvertently, filled the entire gas tank. Because putting $20 in Monster would be less than a quarter of a tank.
5) Our apartment complex, full of single folks and young married couples when we first moved in, has now morphed into an apartment complex full of small young families with squalling infants. The hallways smell like dirty diapers and there is always something screaming. It is the best form of birth control we have ever encountered.
6) The family next door must be a family of monkeys. The young child is forever screaming and the dad is forever yelling into the phone in a foreign language in the room directly next to our bedroom at 11:30 at night. I have actually had to sleep on the couch for two nights because he wouldn't shut the fuck up. I am so sick of the neighbors, I am tempted to kick them when I see them next.
7) When we first moved into this apartment, we swore we weren't going to move again within the city of Minneapolis. Recent developments in the state of our complex have made me seriously reconsider this attitude.
1) I keep getting mail from chiropractors and massage therapists claiming that even though I feel fine right now, in a few months time I will get headaches and backaches and it will be the fault of the accident. Then it will be all my fault that I didn't receive acupuncture or a hot stone massage or whatever immediately after the accident when I am in agonizing pain (in two or three months). So. Since these "offers" of free massages and whatnot usually come in tacky orange envelopes with my name spelled hilariously wrong, I have a hard time taking them seriously.
Until I received well over a dozen of these mailers. Now I lie away at night wondering when the back pain is going to start.
2) While driving around the rental car for over two weeks, I learned a new fact. Cars are comfortable. You can lean the seats back and take a nap. You don't have to yell to have a conversation. You don't have to drive at 5 miles per hour when there is even the smallest hint of snow or ice on the ground. You can get more than three bags of groceries at a time because there is a trunk for the bags! Damn. Cars ARE convenient.
3) The rental had keyless operation, which has to be one of the greatest developments in car manufacturing in recent history. I had never heard of this feature, but grew to love it. Basically we were given a fob and told to keep it in our pockets. As long as the key was on our person, the car was operated by buttons. Push the button to start the car. Push the button on the handle to lock the car, open the car, and open the trunk. In the two weeks we had the rental, I never had to dig around in my purse or pocket for a key. I never needed the actual key!!
It raised lots of questions for us, of course. I have never had a vehicle with automatic anything. You guys, I still have to literally roll the windows down in my truck. So I know it's cheap to get my windows replaced and stuff, but what if this feature breaks? Does it cost a small fortune to fix? What if we accidentally left the fob in the car? Would we be able to get in the car again?
4) At some point, my sister-in-law and brother-in-law dropped their car off at our place and we drove them to the airport. They left us with about a quarter of a tank of gas in their car (let's call their car Gump). BB and I were under strict order to start the car every day that SIL and BIL were gone. At one point, Gump's gas light came on so we took him to the gas station and decided to put half a tank in. We thought we'd just put $20 in the tank and call it a day. At $19.60 the pump stopped. We had, inadvertently, filled the entire gas tank. Because putting $20 in Monster would be less than a quarter of a tank.
5) Our apartment complex, full of single folks and young married couples when we first moved in, has now morphed into an apartment complex full of small young families with squalling infants. The hallways smell like dirty diapers and there is always something screaming. It is the best form of birth control we have ever encountered.
6) The family next door must be a family of monkeys. The young child is forever screaming and the dad is forever yelling into the phone in a foreign language in the room directly next to our bedroom at 11:30 at night. I have actually had to sleep on the couch for two nights because he wouldn't shut the fuck up. I am so sick of the neighbors, I am tempted to kick them when I see them next.
7) When we first moved into this apartment, we swore we weren't going to move again within the city of Minneapolis. Recent developments in the state of our complex have made me seriously reconsider this attitude.
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