Thursday, November 4, 2010

Why Does My Iced Tea Smell Like Bad Feet? . . .and more

It is incredibly difficult living in a family where you are the only one who can smell properly.  I did not know this about Joel, or I may have considered a unique legal requirement before our wedding.  This is a huge responsibility.

Think about it -- I am the only one who can smell dog pee or dog poo (remember, we have 4 dogs); I am the only one who can smell something burning; I am uniquely responsible for knowing if we are about to perish in a natural gas bomb; and I have the stress of smelling my ultimate worst odor . . . mildew.

Eeeuw.  I hate it.  And Joel loves his slowly-rotting bath towels and running shorts.  He loves to take his work clothes out of the dryer too early and leave the dishtowels in the kitchen soaking wet.  He loves it when the rain pours on the patio furniture cushions.  Do you know why??!  BECAUSE THEY ALL MILDEW!!

My life is full of running around determining pet smells, and gas smells, and re-washing mildewed clothes.  I am constantly lighting candles and vacuuming.


Oh Lord, why, why, why am I left to be the only one fighting the battle of stench?

Heaven will be a place full of the smell of fresh laundry, newly-cut grass, limes, and bleach.  :)

How on earth did I end up in an 80-year-old house, a stink-prone-husband, 4 dogs, and mildew??

Mildewing laundry

Washing machine where mildewing laundry is (hopefully) de-stinked

Wednesday, August 25, 2010

My Sweet Pea

I love my daughter.  This is one of my favorite pictures of her.  Describes her personality perfectly:


I love watching her grow into a wonderful adult woman -- watching her make hard decisions, celebrate success, and learn from her mistakes.  She's a good kid.  She makes me proud daily.

My Sweet Pea is engaged and we are having a ton of fun planning her wedding:





But no matter how old she is, or what she accomplishes, she'll always be my little Sweet Pea:

Tuesday, August 24, 2010

The Heat. . .The Horrible, Unbearable Heat!



I love my Texas (even though I was born in Detroit and raised in Arkansas. . . don't say it. I know.)

Texas is my home of 25 years.  I adore Dallas, and this great state, as much as any 1800s pioneer.  Texas is big sky, flat land, hot summers (which I cannot bear), incredible shopping, great food, wonderful culture, lifelong friends, and soothing, comforting, southern life -- a lovely life both personal and professional.

Texas is incomparable.  It is difficult to explain it to those who haven't lived here. They wonder why we're so proud.  Texas is honorable.  It is reliable.  And sturdy.  Texas is unique and distinct. Texas is a whole lot of dichotomies rolled into a big, happy family.  But I've got to tell ya, the summer heat is truly horrible.  I think the only reason people live through it is because of all of the other great things.

Seriously, I don't know how the 1800s pioneers did it.  I would have curled up in the fetal position and told them to leave me on the side of the trail.  It gets too dang hot for livin'!

I have to tell you -- when the hot weather breaks I immediately become a new woman. Life is good again. Life is bearable!  All of a sudden, without any kind of encouragement,  I am running around getting all kinds of productive things done, and I'm ready for more!  I can't call it "Fall," but I can call it a "relief!"

This late summer weather is such a wonderful relief!  Thank You Texas!!

Thursday, August 12, 2010

Reggie & Reuben (very bad boys)

I know it's been a while, and I'm sorry.  I'm not quite disciplined enough to do this blogger thing consistently, but I promise to do better.

The last time I wrote I promised to introduce you to my boys, Reggie and Reuben.  Here's the story:

My daughter and I lived in a house that was in a prominent location.  The house was broken in to a couple of times -- interestingly enough, it was always at the beginning of a school year, and we just happened to live a couple of blocks away from a junior high and high school.  Dang kids.

At that time I was working 45 minutes away, so imagine the freakoutedness in getting a call from your 13-year-old daughter, who is sobbing and scared, telling you that she just got home from school and someone has broken into the house.  Words cannot describe.

After this happened for the second year in a row, I finally listened to the friends who suggested that one of the best deterrents to break-ins is a barking dog.  So one Saturday morning, my Sweet Pea daughter and I drove to the SPCA to find a dog.

It's important to know that we had strict requirements for this war against crime:
  • It must be a female dog.  Male dogs pee too much in too many places.
  • It must be a trained adult dog.  We don't know what we're doing, so let's get a pre-'made' dog.
  • Obviously, it must be a dog that barks.  Duh.
The SPCA staff was great.  Once they learned what we were looking for, they helped us look for female, adult dogs.  They suggested that we put the selected prospect in one of their offices and close the door.  Then we should approach the door and knock.

This way we would know if the dog was a barker.  Genius, right?!

Problem was, none of the dogs barked.

So we gave up and decided to head home, because Sweet Pea had a Choir Retreat to get to by a specific time.

But the way home led us directly by the puppy cages.

Side note:  Sweet Pea and I had been loyal Scottie owners for years.  We LOVE that Scottie look-short legs, black fur, long nose, intelligent eyes-and that overall terrier look.  I also love those unkempt-looking Jack Russell terriers.  I read Henry & Ribsy, by Beverly Cleary as a child and loved it, so any dog that is white, spotted, and scraggly is the perfect All American Dog to me.

So anyway, these puppies were precious, terrier-looking, 6-weeks-old, and begging to be loved.

Immediately, no discussing or debating, Sweet Pea and I each had our hands on our favorite puppy -- she had a cuddly, black Scottie-looking thing and I had my perfect "Ribsy."

After very little consideration (take them in a 'visitation room' and see how they behave, blah blah blah) we were buying those suckers like there was no tomorrow.

We loved them desperately on our way home (actually, speeding to the parent drop-off for the kids going to the Choir Retreat).

After dropping Sweet Pea off with the lone parent who was willing to wait for the delinquent student, I headed for home.  And the 'Ribsy' dog proceeded to poop and vomit all over my car--he made sure to hit all the seams and cracks that are hardest to clean.  And he did it with gusto, my new little man.

How on earth did we go to the pound with such stringent requirements, and end up with the EXACT OPPOSITE of what we required??

And there is a good reason why we wanted a pre-trained dog. . .we SUCK as dog disciplinarians.

Therefore, we own lovable brothers, named Reuben (black one) and Reggie (white with spots) who are overall good boys, but who know absolutely no commands.  They follow my directions because I've trained them with treats, but these poor souls are pretty undisciplined.


 Reggie



 Reuben

They've also got some major dominance issues with each other.  Reuben has short-man syndrome and is always bullying his brother, who will only take it for so long.  Because of this, they spend most of their day outside and then everyone comes inside to their comfy dog beds at night.  You should see us, 2 adults and 4 dogs, all on our beds.

And do you know what?. . .We've had no more break-ins!  GOOD BOYS!

More fun dog photos:


Lovely Peaches



Good old Angel
Nap in the hallway
Oh my!


Tuesday, May 25, 2010

Girls

We love our 4 dogs!  Joel (my incredibly fit and intense husband) enjoys telling them they're fleabitten, good-for-nothing mongrels -- but we know better.  We love them like children, now that my daughter is 23 and engaged.

As much as it pains my neurotic tendencies to say it, Peaches and Angel are our "inside" dogs. 

Peaches:

 













And Angel:


Angel is 65 lbs. and an AKC-licensed Golden Retriever (we call her the blue-blood) and Peaches is 35 lbs. and some combination of Mutt, Golden Retriever, and get this--Great Pyrenees (which are huge sled dogs...I think).


I won't get into ALL the details, but Joel got Peaches from the SPCA right after his divorce from his first wife.  He was bruised and battered, went to the dog pound to find a new best friend and saw her "goofy smile."  He was overwhelmed with love and brought her home.  Within a couple of days she was diagnosed with a possibly-terminal illness and he had to hand-feed her baby food at the vet for a few weeks before she was healthy again.  Thus formed a permanent bond between ornery man and lovely dog.


Right before we were engaged I adopted 2 puppies, but this is a story of my stupidity for another time.


A few years ago my ex-husband got a pure-bred Golden Retriever from a breeder.  She was a wonderful dog who loved (to the point of neediness) people and had talents that endeared her to all who met her: she loves retrieving balls, can go for a walk without a leash, obeys all basic commands, shakes hands, sits up, will 'stay,' and who knows what else she knows!


His family loved her (Angel) and she is the perfect family dog. . .except for one thing. . .if you have a problem with dog hair all over the place.  Because, as we all know, most dogs shed.  And if you love a clean house, a shedding dog ruins all of your best-laid plans.


So Angel was spending most of her time outside.  And they had bought a non-shedding Meesh-a-poodle, or Pom-a-poodle, or whatever who was inside all of the time.  Poor Angel ran from window to door begging to be let in so she could love her family while she saw that other dog inside all of the time.  I was heartbroken.


During Thanksgiving a couple of years ago I offered to babysit Angel while my ex-husband's family was out of town.  It was love at first nuzzle.  Angel became my companion and confidant during my days working-at-home and home-working.  Her sweet disposition and love won me over within hours. And I didn't mind lots of dog hair.  (Remember, I also had Peaches, who is a prolific shedder.  My rugs and furniture and black clothing are covered in blonde dog hair.  We carry lint-rollers everywhere, because we are always covered in blonde hair (including my own)).


So I offered to adopt Angel. . .and my ex-husband's family was thrilled to give her a new home. 


Thus began our lives as owners of 4 dogs.  But lest you misunderstand. . . we are not huge dog lovers.  We own 4 dogs because of my stupidity and weak heart.  I can't say no to a dog in need.  Thank goodness no one else has asked us to watch their dog, or the only thing keeping me from being the "crazy dog woman" would be the city ordinance against owning a gazillion pets!


Next time -- why I own 2 unruly brother dogs, aka "the outsiders."










Tuesday, May 18, 2010

The Elusive Yellow Shoes

Why do I get myself into these predicaments? I obsess, and plan, and waste time over completely idiotic things I think I must have, or must do, or must eat. And I can't let go. Even when I'm told "no." I can't reason that it's too expensive, or not good for me, or not available. Oh my goodness no. This just ramps me up into more of a frenzy to figure out how I get what I want.

My levelheaded friends like Ellen and Susan, would think I'm crazy. So you know what? I don't tell them about my hare-brained schemes. I tell the people who I think I might be able to entice into my way of thinking. And when it comes to cheap, yellow shoes I found my perfect partner in crime. Toby.  



This all started 2 months ago when I started seeing comments from those "people in the know" in the fashion section of the Dallas Morning News (boy, I wish I was friends with one of these "people in the know"! Then I wouldn't have to scheme so much!) about these $29.99 shoes that were coming to Target in April. They included pictures of some nice-looking brown wedges. I thought, "Great-looking shoes. Maybe I'll pick up a pair the next time I'm at Target." No big deal.

But then the next week's paper mentioned that the YELLOW version of these shoes were now all the rage amongst the fashionistas and included a picture of these divine pieces of heaven.



And something clicked inside of me. The FASHIONISTAS want them?! Then I've GOT TO HAVE THEM! I immediately ran down to my local Target. No shoes. I just missed the last pair. But the SuperTarget a mile away was supposed to have a few left. So I parked in the largest parking lot in Dallas at the SuperTarget and hiked into the store. I was devastated to learn that they didn't have any of the yellow shoes...and they never did! My last immediate local option was to drive to the scary Target, which can convince the staunchest anti-gun activist to carry a concealed weapon when you walk through the parking lot. Oh the sorrow! They hadn't received any of the coveted yellow shoes either. (But they had a fantastic accessories department.)

View Larger Map
I had run around and wasted 1/2 a day on these $29.99 shoes. Now I needed to get strategic. Because of my frequent visits to Arkansas, and the lack of . . . style . . . in some of the smaller towns, surely I could find a Target that had plenty of yellow shoes!

So began my phone-calling campaign. Calling a Target in a place like Conway, Arkansas, waiting through the initial voice mail message about hours of operation, locations, etc, pressing "0" and then asking the operator for someone who could help me with shoes. I started noticing that every operator I asked about "Cynthia Vincent for Target Yellow Wedges" would sigh and say, "We had some, but they sold pretty quickly" or they'd cut me off in mid-question and say, "The Cynthia Vincent's? We have only a size 11 left." It was pretty clear that they were getting phone calls from people just like me......and no Targets within an hour of my hometown had the shoes.

The next morning Toby called and I laughingly told her about my saga. Now Toby, she loves her fashion. She's a super-tiny beauty who always looks fabulous. She empathized with me, saying, "Cynthia Vincent? Only $29.99? Fashionistas!"

And she was hooked.

The rest of that day she texted reports of her attempts to find the shoes in Pennsylvania and New Jersey. We're both size 6-1/2, so whoever found the shoes was going to buy two pair in any size close to 6-1/2. No luck. Poor Toby must have called nine stores in her area and they were all sold out. Those Damn Fashionistas!!

The next morning we were commiserating and Toby had a brainstorm. We should go straight to the source and call the corporate offices of Target! They'd give us the answers we were seeking and surely tell us exactly which stores still had the shoes.

I immediately googled Target and got a number for their home office in Minnesota. What a goldmine! Their answering message even had options regarding items you were looking for. I punched the number for "shoes" and got an extremely nice customer service rep named Nancy. I explained my situation with tears in my voice so she would understand the seriousness of my plight. She told me she would do everything she could to help me, just to give her a few minutes to get more information. 



While I was on hold I envisioned the glee of hearing that there were still hundreds of size 6-1/2s in Dayton, Ohio and they would be happy to ship them to me right away. Or that Cynthia Vincent (is she a real person?) was so overwhelmed by the response that she was creating more shoes, which would be in stores immediately.

Nancy got back on the line and told me that Target had posted updated information on the shoes in their customer service scripts. She read something like, "More Cynthia Vincent shoes will be available on May 16 in new styles and colors." I asked her if it indicated that yellow wedges would be part of this. She didn't know. I asked if there were any yellow wedges anywhere. She didn't know. I asked her what I should do. She said to start calling stores again on May 16. The devastation hit me then.

After I dragged myself out of the depths of despair, I went online and googled Cynthia Vincent for Target Wedges Yellow and realized there were BLOGS by women who were just as desperately trying to get their hands on these shoes as I was! And a bunch of jerks had bought up the shoes and were selling them on ebay for $80 and more.

Now Toby and I have re-started our call campaign to find out if the yellow wedges have made it back into stores. . .no luck so far, but I may resort to ebay to get my yellow wedges! If I end up with them I'll send scads of pictures of them on my lucky little tootsies!











Going back to Arkansas.....


Tomorrow I leave my husband and 4 dogs to return to my hometown in Arkansas for a few days. In March I moved my parents to a retirement center in Dallas, because my mom's Alzheimer's is progressing and my dad is in enough denial about the whole situation that he wasn't taking care of things. Actually, since they've been here and I see them every other day, I'm starting to wonder if he's got some dementia.

Anyway, they are in an independent living apartment at the Christian Care Center, a terrific facility that also provides assisted living, Alzheimer care, and on-site medical care as the person's health deteriorates. I think they call them Continuing Care programs. Now they are only 20 minutes away and I have seen them more in the past few weeks than I did for years when they lived in Arkansas!

It's added a lot to my responsibilities and stress because I'm an only child and I'm taking care of all of their finances, doctor appointments, bills, etc. But now we know all of this is getting done and my husband has been wonderful about how much time this has taken me. (He's also my boss, so more on this later :).)

So I'm going back to Arkansas to inventory the things they did not bring with them to the retirement center. Or to be more clear, the things I chose not to bring to the retirement center. As their daughter, I'm horribly worried that there is some small item that has huge sentimental value to my parents that will be auctioned off to who knows where, and I'll always have it on my neurotic conscious! And as I just mentioned, we're going to auction what's left on Friday.

I can't stay for the actual auction because my daughter, aka "Sweet Pea", is coming to visit and we're going to immerse ourselves in wedding planning (hers) and visiting friends with babies (mine). And it's probably a good thing that I won't be watching my childhood memories being sold, one-by-one, to utter strangers.

But I need to look over everything one more time to make sure there's not that one item that I think mom or dad will long for in the future. I'm setting myself up for failure, aren't I?

The highlight of this quick, turnaround trip will be if I can convince ANYONE to eat catfish with me. My white-trash, Arkansas roots demand that I eat catfish as often as possible, and definitely when I'm in the state! And of course, I must find an excuse to go to Walmart. I love people-watching at Walmart with a passion and dreamed of creating a coffee-table book filled with the strangers and their half-witted offspring that I can gaze upon each time I visit my hometown....but the geniuses at peopleofwalmart.com beat me to it. And I haven't been able to figure out how to take a picture without the person knowing. Because even though I'm laughing like a hyena on the inside, I wouldn't dare be rude on the outside! Sheesh.

Six hour drive tomorrow, then six hours back on Thursday or Friday. Then let the girls weekend begin!!

Thursday, May 13, 2010

Am I Crazy, Or What?



I'm sitting in bed, next to my sleeping husband, at 9:17 on a Thursday night. I got in bed at 7:00 before he got home from work. I've pondered why my urge to get in bed at a ridiculously early hour overwhelms me night after night. Is it because we have a television the size of a movie theater screen in our bedroom, while the tv in the living room is circa 1982? But I don't watch television at night until my husband comes home (I dvr my shows and watch them in mammoth, marathon watching sessions when I'm being lazy on Saturday mornings). When he comes to bed he turns on Pawn Stars, How It's Made, Build It Bigger, The-Sergeant-Guy-From-That-Vietnam-Movie-Who-Now-Blows-Up-Watermelons-And-Yells-At-Us-To-Not-Change-The-Channel, or some other guy show, and promptly falls asleep--waking only when I surreptitiously take the remote off his chest and attempt to turn down the volume or change the channel--whereupon he will awaken, start tossing and turning and not be able to go back to sleep without me turning back to one of these "guy shows" blaring at ear-splitting levels.

Which, by the way, I will commence to watch until the very end. Because he's slept through the last 75% of the show, he'll choose the very same show to watch the next night. . .and the whole cycle begins again. I can't tell you how many times I've watched "the deepest mine in the world" being drilled and "how baseball gloves are made."

Anyway, as I was saying, I'm trying to figure out why my 46-year-old psyche prefers our dark and cluttered bedroom at a time when I should be running one last errand, emptying the dishwasher, or meeting friends for dinner. Am I bored? Am I depressed? Maybe. I just know that it's nice to get out of the area where I spend most of my day as a work-from-home employee.

Hopefully, that's all it is -- that's the only reason -- because I hate to think I'm bored or depressed with my life.

I have a great life with my husband, 4 dogs, daughter-who's-getting-married, and demented parents!

More on that later.