Tornado Warnings and Increased Donut Consumption Correlation Theory

Does anyone else (specifically from Central PA) notice a sharp increase in tornadic activity this year?  It is like a bi-weekly occurrence now that the local news anchors tell us to abandon cars and mobile homes and take cover in a low-level interior room, surrounding ourselves with pillows, blankets, and other buffering materials.

This did not used to happen here.  Did it?

I had previously figured the tornadoes were due to the Murphy's Law effect, since we were trying to sell the house and keep the yard pristine this spring--but now the house is under contract....so I guess it wasn't just me after all.  Since my dentist appointment this past Monday, I'm beginning to peg this severe weather on my hygienist, Misty.  She just moved here from Tornado Alley in the Midwest.  She hates storms--even thunderstorms make her break out in a cold sweat--so she and her husband decided to make the move to PA when the opportunity presented itself.  She was thrilled to be moving somewhere more climatically stable.

Thanks a lot, Misty.  Clearly it was YOU who brought these tornadoes.  (And here I was blaming myself all this time!)

All I have to say about this stressful weather is that it FORCES me to stop for my "forbidden donut" at the Giant bakery a lot more regularly.  Fear=Fat, people.  Fear=Fat.

Excessively Gay: Like, We Weren't Prepared for It

This is a short version (more to follow--need the to talk it out):

We were invited to a gay friend's birthday party at a gay club.

We were prepared for it to be pretty gay.

Nothing could have prepared us for the utter gayness of that gay club.

Thankfully, those guys really love them some Katy Perry, so that was good.  Greg and I danced the night away.  Literally, we were there until after 2AM.  Then, it took us a while to decompress from the sensory overload of the light show, the lasers, the booming club music, the smoke, the mist, the crowdedness, the alcohol...the overwhelming gayness.

We don't get out much (read: EVER!!!), and then we went out to the most extreme of extreme places (in York, at least).  We should have paced ourselves.  We should have started out at a pub for dinner, then maybe A DRINK at A BAR, and then maybe an evening of dancing at a straight club, and THEN AND ONLY THEN attempted the gay club.

Lesson learned.

Still exhausted.  (We probably fell asleep after 3AM, and we were up at 8AM to pick up Brooke and go to church.  Yep--it was Brooke's first overnight away from us in her almost 13 months.  ...I told you we don't get out much!!)

Life Update!

I'm so discombobulated that I'm not even sure if I mentioned that the house is under contract...and it passed its inspection...and it was appraised.  Things are looking good for us to settle and move out in mid-July.  All except for one little thing:

THEY DIDN'T EVEN START OUR NEW HOUSE YET!  As in, they have yet to break ground.  Further, they have yet to secure a permit to break ground.

This means that we will be moving our family of four humans and two canines into my parents house until the new house is finished.  My poor parents are (very wisely) jumping ship and moving their family of two humans and three canines into their beach house.  If and when we are all present at their farm house simultaneously, there would be four adults, two children, five canines, and two felines (...and just that ONE house).  Intense.  I coin this interim move: long-term temporary.

Thankfully, their farm (and house) are next door to the new house (which is, as reported, just weedy, rocky "lot #43" right now).  So, it will be a super-convenient place for us to monitor the goings-on....whenever the goings-on get going.

Still, we will have to move all of our belongings into a storage POD, since the 'rents home is already full of furniture...and, obviously, their belongings.  Sooooo--in preparation for this move-times-2, I have been purging the house of all things superfluous for a pre-move garage sale that I'm having this weekend.  This is super-easy and fun, of course, with all of Brooke's "help" all day long.

In addition, I have been fighting the good fight against the tall grass and weeds that pervade the horse pastures now that the horses have been put on grass-restricted diets by the veterinarian who deemed them all obese.  The fatties are now in small, mostly grassless paddocks, AKA diet paddocks, which occupy maybe 1/5 of all of the pasture land.  Now, the remainder is a veritable jungle with all of the rain we've been having.  So, between bouts of precipitation, I mow and mow and mow.

In my "free time" (whenever Brooke and Alyssa--and Greg--are asleep, that is) I do everyday housework and my actual work--editing and typing. 

All I have to say is THANK GOODNESS that I haven't had to do any crazy house cleaning/staging/prep the past few days.  Since the appraisal on Friday, I have finally been able to let things slide a little bit on that front.  If I was still keeping up with that rigamarole, I would definitely be losing it by now.

It is almost 11 PM, and I have just finished the most pressing house chores, the last of my work accounts, and this teensie little post.  I am dog tired.  And, speaking of dogs, they are calling for more thunderstorms in the wee hours of this morning (3AM-ish), so that means that I will be getting a Ringo wake-up call in 4 hours and counting.  I had better get to sleep NOW!

Well-Behaved Women Rarely Make History--and, Boy, Do I Know Why!!

It's because they are too stinking busy keeping their houses clean!

I have always spent inordinate amounts of time cleaning and straightening my house--I can't focus on other things until the house is in order.  But, since it has been on the market, it feels as though I do nothing BUT clean.

I clean up for showings.  I clean up for appointments.  I clean up for inspections.  I clean up after all of these intrusions.  I also have to do normal daily-living cleaning on top of all of that.  It is an intense schedule, I tell you.

So forgive me for not doing anything particularly outstanding with the blog lately, please.  I'm so deep in the minutae that I need a flippin' snorkel.  I'm boring my own self to tears.  But, readers, it is my job to present that house to its best advantage...and it's on like donkey kong, people.

But, anyway, that is my long-winded excuse for my utter mediocrity right now.  Trust me: I would be making history if I wasn't so darned busy making my house sparkling clean.  ;-)

It's A Torrential Downpour Resulting in Local Flooding (...and also, naturally, my home inspection day)

It has been raining for days, but nothing like it has in the past few hours.  It has been pouring torrents of rain since I left my house for its 2-hour inspection.

Why, oh, why, does selling my house equal massive quantities of rainfall?  Every appointment, showing, open house--RAIN.  Gushing rain.  Blowing rain. Pouring buckets of rain.

I did a drive-by, hoping against hope that it wasn't pouring on top of my house while an inspector was on its roof.  It was.   

Weather has always caused me stress, but this streak or real estate-related record rainfall has been worse luck than rain on your wedding day.  (Alanis Morisette.)

Snot, Or Something Much More Sinister?

Brooke has been snotty for the past several weeks.  She is teething, she has seasonal allergic rhinitis, and she has gotten her shots:  It is the snot trifecta.

I wipe her nose practically every second that she is awake, and she still usually has a trail of boogs from her nostrils to her lips.  It is really gross, and we both detest all of the nose wiping.

This morning, in between bouts with the snot rag, I was trying to smooth down her wayward hair, and I put my hand directly into a very wet and slimy spot on her scalp.  I wondered: snot or something much more sinister?  (After all, she had been playing on the floor with the dogs...)

Now, really?!  It is a crazy thing to hit a phase where snot becomes the least disgusting option for random icky things that you might encounter on your baby(apostrophe)s head, isn(apostrophe)t it?

Today Was Such a Monday

Last week, I was all, "top of the Monday" chipper.

This week, I'm feeling very lucky to have survived the majority of this Monday.

The day started out early with laundry and thank-you cards.  Snack packing and dishwasher loading.  Laundry folding and diaper changing.

On the way to school, there was breakfast eating and breakfast feeding.  Then, post-drop, it was as if every other car on the road was magnetically drawn to mine.  In one intersection, I was nearly hit two times!

After surviving the drive to the farm, there was gift delivering, more diaper changing, and horse feeding.  Fence mending, wound treating, and watering.

Then, we began errand running: printer ink picking, bathing suit trying, and purchasing.  (But not of any bathing suits!)

Next, there was more feeding, nursing, and nap facilitating.

Anon, there was crying and crying-shushing and rocking and shh-ing.

(There was no sleeping.  There was unabated crying.)

Alas, there was typing and printing and texting and appointment-making.

There was new employment form writing and educational trip form writing.

(There was still no sleeping.  There was still crying.)

There was sighing.  There was diaper changing.  There was undressing.  There was showering.  There was diapering.  There was lotion rubbing.  There was dressing.  There was blow drying.

There was lunching.  There was more driving.  There was grocery shopping.

There was the chopping, measuring, mixing, and sampling of chicken salad.

There was still no napping.  Lots of trying.

Then, when finally there was sleeping.  There was waking.  Crying.  Carseat buckling.  Driving.  Waiting.  Alyssa up-picking.  Driving.

Mail grabbing.  Bookbag unpacking.  Tomorrow's lunch packing.  Folder paper recycling.  Playing.  Coloring.  Snacking.

Now, more laundry doing.  Dinner-making.  Typing.

Later, soap-making, horse feeding,  (horse riding??), grass mowing, and more typing.

Finally, out-passing!

Murphy's Law Strikes Again: Guess What Time SUNDAY'S Open House is Scheduled?

Last week, on Tuesday, I got word of a showing at 5PM:  exactly when strong storms were supposed to strike our area.  The only ones predicted all week.

Today, I got word of a showing for tomorrow, Mother(apostrophe)s Day.  We are having Brooke(apostrophe)s first birthday party-slash-Mother(apostrophe)s Day here at 5PM for 20 people. 

Lo and behold, the showing is also at 5PM. 

We have not had a party here since Alyssa(apostrophe)s birthday last November. 

Isn(apostrophe)t it strange how things always converge in such a way as to make things as difficult as possible? 

I Just "Sexted" My Mom

Oh, yes, I did.

I sent my first "sext" (a sexually-explicit text message).  To my mom.

You, see, since I have been winding down breastfeeding Brooke, I have begun to notice some frightening changes to my breasts.  Namely, one is about two cup sizes larger than the other one (at all times, with no regard to engorgement!). 

I realize that it is totally normal for one breast to be larger than the other.  This is a different animal--a significant difference.  I'm going to go so far as to call it a freakish difference.

Since Brooke was born...one year and 3 days ago...I have been living pretty much constantly in my 2 sports bras and 3 nursing tanktops with built-in bras--brown, black, and grey.  The girls have been supported, but in a very utilitarian and most un-glamorous fashion.  (They are workin' boobs now, after all.)

Well, upon Brooke's first birthday, I thought it was high time to return to normal bra usage, as in my pre-pregnancy bras.  These are 34B, which is, I assume, a glorified A.

Sidenote: While I was pregnant, I was a 34DD, which was AWESOME!  I guess I can kiss those bras goodbye...(along with their accompanying Pam Anderson-esque filling).

Anyway, I put on one of my pre-p bras yesterday, and became even more aware of my ghastly unevenness.  My "B" cup bra is waaay too roomy for breast #1, but waaay too small for breast #2.  Serious problems unsued, as I'm sure you can imagine.

As breast #2 spilled over the cup, it pulled the whole bra its direction.  Poor breast #1 was unable to keep the underwire under, so it got mangled and smashed in the process.  The cup for breast #1 ended up mostly above the scoop of my shirt (ie., visible to the world).  Breast #1 didn't stand a chance against breast #2, which has a significant weight advantage...and the bra was completely useless to keep the girls under control and, more importantly, under the cover of my clothing!!

I did what any girl who loves her mama would do in this situation:  I texted her a picture of my lopsided chest wrestling with the useless, ineffectual 2-cups-the-same-size bra!

P.S. Feliz el Cinco de Mayo!

May your tacos be soft or cripsy, your guacamole smooth and green, and your Corona cerveza cold and refreshing!

...taco, guacamole, verde, cerveza muy frio y resfresco...

(I took 8 years of Spanish.  Is my Spanglish not impressive?)

I Wish I Was "Ridin' Solo!"

Last night, Alyssa and Brooke and I went to the farm to care for the horses and to ride, as per usual.

Bumpy and Beeba were home and kindly agreed to watch Brooke, so even I was able to ride!  Oftentimes, now, with child #2, I have to tend to Brooke while Alyssa rides.  Not that I am jealous.  Or bitter.

(Let me just tell you how fun it is to try to tack up a pony one-handed with a screaming baby trying to escape from her perch on your hip...  It is a whole blog post in itself!)

Back to last night: Alyssa and I were having a relatively peaceful, stress-free time tacking up the ponies sans Brooke.  Alyssa managed to saddle, girth, and even bridle Yankee all by herself, while I tacked up Gabhann (who was pawing furiously in impatience for the whole 7.25  minutes that he was tied).

We led the pony-boys to the arena without serious incident.  (Oftentimes they freak out and nearly maim us as they spook at the flock of birds, which likes to alight noisily from the trees just as we walk past them.)

We even managed to mount up smoothly.  (Oftentimes Yankee will step away while Alyssa is a quarter of the way on, and it will take her 137, give or take 43, attempts to get on by herself because she insists that he stand absolutely statue-like stock still throughout the entire, and as yet for her slow and graceless, maneuver.)

So, we were having quite a lovely time by all accounts!  The weather was nice.  The ponies were reasonably well-behaved.  We were Brooke-free.  Life was good.  We even did some tandem cantering, which is a new gait for Alyssa.  It was A-dorable, trust me.

Then, Alyssa got off to do something...I do not know, maybe to tie her boot or pick a dandelion...  Yankee assumed that he was finished and on his way to get his treat for having a "gold star" ride, I suppose.  So, you can imagine his surprise and chagrin when, seconds later, Alyssa got back onboard.

He was not a happy camper.  He began to toss his head dramatically and almost continuously.  I tried to give Alyssa solutions for this annoyance from the back of Gabhann (who was particularly angelic, thank God!).  Nothing was working.  Truth is, a horse is just a horse:  If he wants to throw is head, ain(apostrophe)t nothin(apostrophe) a 50 pound little rider is really going to do about it.

Alyssa began to get really mad at him, shouting things like, "Oh, you are SO not getting a treat now!"  (Oh, the horror!)

My peaceful evening of riding-with-just-one-child-in-tow turned sour very quickly.

Do not get me wrong:  I love watching Alyssa learn to ride.  I love how much she (usually) enjoys Yankee.  I love to spend time alone with her.

I love my children.  I really, truly, painfully love them.  But, oh, what I would give to be "ridin solo"* once again.  At least just every once in a while...

*Did you ever hear that song by Jason DeRulo?  "Ridin Solo?"  It is the official soundtrack of all of Alyssa(apostrophe)s and my less-than-ideal rides.

Murphy's Law: Guess What Time Today's Showing is Scheduled?

5 pm

Yes! At 5 pm.

The same time that the weather channel is predicting strong thunderstorms.

Hour-by-hour, there's nothing but sun until 5 to the P to the M.

What are the odds?

Guess what the forecast is for 6 pm: More Sun.

Seriously.  See for yourself: http://www.weather.com/weather/hourbyhour/graph/17402.
Am I being Punk'd?  Ashton, you can come out now... And, really, I have to give you credit for getting the National Weather Service/the Weather Channel to participate.  Very impressive.

"A Thing of Beauty"...Aww, That Reminds Me

I just typed that our lawn was "a thing of beauty."

And it sent me back...

Because "a thing of beauty" is an inside joke in our marriage.  (And at our hairdresser's.)

Here's why:

When Greg and I decided to get married at Grace church, we went for several months of marriage counseling beforehand.  Pastor Brown wasn't going to marry us unless he was pretty sure we were actually going to STAY married, I suppose.

One of the first things that we did at counseling was fill out a long questionnaire.  Probably like the ones you do at match.com, only this was for people who had already--hopefully--found their match.  It was a super-quick and efficient way for Pastor Brown to get to know us as individuals and as a couple.  And I guess it also gave some rating of our compatibility, which was probably laughable considering how opposite we are.

So, the responses on Greg's questionnaire were pretty straightforward...because he is a pretty typical, straightforward kind of guy.

Mine was more long and elaborate, because I'm a pretty complicated kind of girl.

One of the questions had to do with the first meeting--on first sight kind of thing.

Strangely, my memory about the night that I met Greg was kind of hazy.  I remember thinking that he was handsome.  I remember what hat he was wearing.  I remember thinking that, from across the room, he seemed really tall.  (He is not actually terribly tall.)  And, I remember that when Jamie introduced us, he was sitting at a table with his buddies eating a pile of shrimp...with a pile of shrimp shells beside him.

There were no free seats around Greg, so he forcefully told the buddy sitting beside him to get lost and oh-so-chivalrously scraped the shrimp shrapnel away from the now-vacated spot.  And then he asked me to sit down.  And the rest is history.

Greg's answer to that same question (about his first sight of me) was so unlike any of his other extremely brief and to-the-point responses, that Pastor Brown stopped and laughed and laughed.  Greg had written:
"The first thing that attracted me to Aubrey was her amazing hair.  It was a thing of beauty."

So, there you have it.  My hair was so beautiful to Greg that he unkindly uprooted his buddy (and all of his ensuing shrimp piles) in order to get to know the girl under the hair.

Now whenever I go to the hairdresser's (the same one Greg uses and an old friend of his), I tell her to make my hair "a thing of beauty" since it is so important to the story of me and G.

Just when you think you know all there is to know about your husband, another layer is exposed, and you realize that you may never fully understand his dark and hidden and unplumbed depths.

Man "Cleaning" Scheme

So, as I just posted, Greg and I did make a very strong team in the home-slash-yard maintenance department this weekend.  We could totally have kicked butt on one of those Weekend Warrior shows that are on HGTV (which we no longer have since we bid adieu to cable a month or so ago). 

I am very thankful for all that Greg did around here this weekend. 

That being said, however, I have to bring up his totally abysmal performance in the house cleaning department.  Can you say lackluster?  The man striped out our whole front yard.  It was a total thing of beauty.  Then, he suddenly lacks the motivation necessary to dust, vacuum, or clean to a high standard of spic and span-ness?

For instance: 

I asked him to dust the baseboards and radiators.  He "dusts" them, and when I go to wipe them down, I find dog hair tumbleweeds, dry and crispy dead stink bugs, brown and crunchy dead leaves, and Cheerios galore.  He still claims, in spite of much physical evidence to the contrary, that he dusted them... 

Then, he "vacuums," and when I start to mop, I find fuzzies and more crispy bug critters and dog and people hairballs in the corners and along the edges.  He claims that our vacuum does not go in corners or along edges...

Then, he "cleans" the bathroom, and when I go in to hand him the vinegar for the mirrors, he shows me that he has already cleaned them.  With essential-oil based all purpose cleaner.  They look frosted.  He says they look fine.

It is almost as if he tries to do things half-butted, as if he knows that this will greatly decrease the likelihood that I will ask him to help me again...while still earning him the good boy gold stars for being mama(apostrophe)s little helper.  Hmm.  Will have to consider this more :-)

Top of the Monday to You!

So, reader, how was your weekend?

Mine was the kind of weekend that makes you long for the week to begin anew so that you can have some peace!

We spent the majority of Saturday working on the yard.  We spent the majority of Sunday working on the inside of the house.  Then, we had our first open house Sunday from 1PM until 4PM.  The relief that I felt at 12:45 as we were leaving the house was immense.  The place looked and smelled (and probably even tasted) great!  We did a wonderful job, if I do say so myself.

The pool was worm- and mostly leaf-free.  The pool yard was edged, mowed, swept, weeded, and staged with a logs ready to be set aflame in the flagstone fire pit and seat cushions on and umbrella up at the dining table.

The lawn was totally striped out (via the lawnmowing finesse of one, Greg Holler).  Nary a dandelion dared raise its distracting golden head amongst the perfect emerald spripeyness.  There were no sticks or weeds detracting from the scene, either, thanks to yours truly.

I swept and trimmed and pruned and pulled and picked up bunches of yard debris while Greg whacked and blew and vacuumed up the rest of the shrapnel.  We carried on with this elaborate yard-perfect dance until past dark.

On Sunday morning, we woke bright and way-to-early to continue the cleaning fest.  He dusted while I washed windows.  He sprayed down bathrooms while I did the kitchen.  He vacuumed while I steam mopped.  He lit cinnamon bun candles while I simmered vanilla and coconut extracts on the stove.  He straightened hand towels while I cut lilacs for a vase.  We were beastly. 

(For the most part.  Will write about that in a bit.)

Never have we wanted to move more desperately than after spending more than 10 hours of our precious weekend in the trenches of house and yard maintenance...