Christmas Tidings - Living Room Edition

It's no secret that one of my favorite decorating themes during the holidays are poinsettias. Over the years, my grandmother and I collected so many silk floral poinsettias that hazarding a guess at how many I have would be like one of those "guess how many jelly beans are packed in this Subaru" type games. I like to stick the flowers all over the place during the holidays. It makes everything very streamlined. One way that I stretch what I have is I remove many of the poinsettia flowers from the floral stem and bushes that one can buy at any dollar store or craft store. They just pop right off. Then I can place just the flower anywhere. I always leave one or two per plant so that I have a nice, long, piece of greenery with a flower or two on the end. This makes decorating with the flower a lot easier, and the stem can be placed easily into places that might otherwise be a challenge.

For example, the poinsettias in the garland above the window are still attached to a  long stem. Just placing a flower in that garland and making it stay securely is difficult. Difficult is not a good word when you're decorating anything that requires standing on a chair. Weaving a long stem with a flower at the end into the greenery is super easy and takes just a second. The garland then echoes the same look as the main tree.

My little fiber optic tree in the corner of the living room has some very old plastic poinsettias around the base. They are very heavy and have a lot of presence, and I don't have very many of them. Still, when put together, they go very well with all the other poinsettias in the room.

The little tree itself has a theme. Purple beaded garland, a set of matching gold ornaments, and a bunch of beaded bells that my grandparents and I made, and a glass star on top.

Hi, Pandora.

There are also shelves over the front door now, and I decorated those with small trees. I ran a poinsettia garland across the front for more continuity.

There is a smaller tree on each side. They are both really old.

They are full of very old little present ornaments and gold and white ornaments.

I also love the tiny pipe cleaner candy canes, which are attached to the tree.

The tree in the middle is a little insane but it's pretty from afar. It didn't have a basket and is not as old as the other two, so I put small picks of little red flower clusters around the plastic leg bottom. I bent them one one side and at an angle so they wouldn't fall off of the small shelves. Even from the side, as you can see, they look pretty good.

Mav says, "Is it Christmas yet? I'm bored."

The blankets and throws upstairs are all in greens and cranberry colors.

The main thing in the living room is of course the big tree. How do you make a very, very cheap tree look full and festive year after year? The answer is to fill in any spaces with pieces of old Christmas trees and stuff that sucker full of fake poinsettia flowers and ornaments of various shapes and sizes.

Like so.

This year, I had a Sears gift card from the fridge we bought so many months ago. Add to that an excellent coupon + a great sale, and I bought one large +100 piece ornament set for less than 15 bucks. I thought it would be a nice edition to the main tree and that the color scheme in the set would be lovely. Every piece was red and/or gold, and there were shatterproof ornaments along with little swirly hanger bits (technical terms) and glitter snowflakes. There were not only multiples of everything but the same basic pieces in lots of different sizes. This allowed the tree some continuity and really made everything flow a little better.

I'm thinking that was an excellent purchase.

Sparkles, the edition only someone with an excellent sweeper could love.

The kitties love sleeping in beds under the trees.

Merry Christmas, Atlas.

There are no presents under the tree this year. We didn't really buy presents for ourselves, and I spent so much time and energy wrapping the presents for my family that I couldn't bring myself to put them out. I want them to stay beautiful. The bows and ribbons to stay tied on and perfectly placed. Presents that are out under the tree every year do not escape unscathed. So most everything wrapped is in the broken shower in the tiny second bathroom we have that we never use. Not finding ribbons and bows all over the house? A special holiday gift to myself!

"Wait! Seriously? Maybe we can talk about this?

What if I promise no hairballs?

Then you bring out the shiny and stringys for me?

Don't walk away! Noooooooooo!"

No deals, Atlas. Sorry, Bud.

You're a cat, how do I know what you're thinking anyway?

Maybe you're all, "High fives?"

"Stop in the name of love?"

"Talk to the hand?"

"Live long and prosper?"

I changed my mind. It's definitely the last one.

Because I love that idea the most.

My kitties, dreaming of Star Trek in their

beds under the tree.

Or right next to their beds.

They do stuff like this just to mess with me.

At least Hermes is happy. Even if she is possibly just doing this in order to give me the proverbial finger. Hipster Hermes says, "Kitty beds are too mainstream. I only sleeps on the floor." 

I think I'll give her an empty box for Christmas. We'll see if she'll keep on her little hoodie and sunglasses and be all "Boxes are so bourgeois." I'm betting I'll break her. Oh yeah. It's on, Hermes. It's on. 

Christmas Tidings - Dining Room Edition

Don't forget more is more. It wasn't just the theme for the kitchen. I wanted CHRISTMAS FESTIVE FESTIVE HI FESTIVE to just jump out and scream at you in the dining room, too.

You know what's fun? Unfolding a brand new tablecloth straight out of the package and thinking, "How pretty!"

Because you don't focus on the wrinkles. Follow that up by ironing a tablecloth. To no avail. So then, decide to wash a tablecloth and throw it in the dryer for 5 minutes. Then 10. Then give up and put a wrinkly tablecloth on your dining room table.

I digress. Easy peasy solution, though. Placemats and dinnerware. So much dinnerware. Better Homes and Gardens, I heart you. Dishwasher and microwave safe? 4 place settings in the box? Done. Get in my cart and I am taking you home.

I used some of my bulkier Hallmark ornaments around the center of the table. Snoopy there dances along with a little song, and Rudolph lights up and sings. Godzilla and Indiana Jones may or may not be on the other side just out of view. Don't judge the awesome.

The rest of my Hallmark and Hallmark-type ornaments went on the garland and lights framing my grandmother's painting. Nothing goes better with the serene front-yard-of-my-mother's-childhood treescape like a KISS ornament that plays very loud KISS music. Me-ow, Fellas. I like my holidays with a bit of rocker chic.

Also, can you spy the Simpsons riding reindeer in a little candy cane mug overflowing with evergreen picks and tiny glittery round ornaments?

The light fixture is a little different this year. I still put some of my favorite hand-made ornaments on there. I decided to cascade them from the ceiling down this year instead of just putting them all around the actual glass hanging around the light bulbs. Since the dining room's decorations bring the eye up anyway, I thought it was a nice touch.

Really, though, you have to take a wider view of the whole room to truly appreciate it.

The fiber optic opera house is back again. I bought that for my grandmother the year I got us season tickets to the Lyric Opera of Chicago. At the time, it was the most expensive thing my just-graduated-from-college, just-started-my-first-real-job self had ever purchased. That was one of the things she had told me in passing that she had wanted to do in her life that she never had. See an opera. We didn't just see an opera together; we saw a frickin' season of 'em. One year of shopping for fancy outfits,one year of me reading her the translations of each show before seeing them, one year of road trips to the Windy City. I have so many great memories from that. One of the best things I ever did, buy us those season tickets. 

Also, I never need to see another opera. Ever. Please. Never again.

When I saw this little opera house in Walmart that Christmas, I just couldn't resist. It was too perfect. All these years later, she still lights up as brightly as that first year. On the same shelf that it sat on in my grandmother's house, only now in mine. As close to the opera as I need be, thank you.

That shelf also houses a little Santa lamp my mother bought me, a very old family ornament of a fuzzy reindeer I always loved, and a sweet scene from the movie Bambi, along with many other things.

I really love the china cupboard this year. The top has some greenery with my grandma's giant old light up Christmas tree. I flocked it by putting a shatterproof QVC ornament wreath on each side. I love how rich the colors are on those ornaments.

The inside of the cabinet holds what really is closest to my heart, though. I put my gram's old placemats in there as the background and really went to town with pieces of an old fake tree for some of what would be dead space. I put the festive breakables I love too much to keep hidden away inside the cabinet, away from prying kitty paws.

The first Christmas decoration my grandpa bought my grandma. Loving it does not mean I am under the illusion that it's lovely. It's not. My grandma and I used to laugh at that little couple and how creepy looking the whole little scene was. It's so ugly that it's beautiful. My favorite kind of beauty. Also, the giant bright pink ornate beaded ornament behind them? Used to be the centerpiece to my grandmother's Christmas living room. Her living room was decorated in pinks and mint greens, and during Christmas, she decorated it with that same color scheme.

Hooray for living rooms! The more uppity sibling of the family room! The room you walk through to get to the rooms in the house where you actually live your life! The living room, that thing your grandparents used to have where you couldn't sit on any of the furniture or walk on the rug. RIP living rooms, circa 1972.

Onto more cherished memories of the past!

Little collection of very old angels. The largest one is holding a light in each hand. She used to sit on top of our tree. With her little white lights. Notice how dark they are now. She may or may not have started smoking on top of the Christmas tree one year. The insides of those little lights may or may not have sort of caught on fire. We just moved her off the top of the tree, never to be plugged in again. Grandma smoked most of her life. A little smoking, a flame here or there, not deal breakers in our home.

You may also be able to spy a little snowman detective in there. I picked that up two years ago and just loved it. I also got a little "German Bear" at the same place that was wearing lederhosen, holding a cuckoo clock in one hand, and holding a beer in the other hand. He broke unfortunately. Why I loved those two ornaments, I don't really know. They just cracked me up. The only criteria to make it into the cupboard is that it has to be A) breakable and B) loved. Antique or not, if there is some emotion or memory attached to it, it's probably in there.

I'll leave you with one of the very few things I still have of my grandfather's. It just happens to be a Christmas decoration. I laugh whenever I unpack it every year.

It's a cartridge! IN A BARE TREE!

Right? RIGHT?!

Am I the only one that finds this funny? Ah, who cares. I know where I get my sense of humor from. Thanks, Grandpa.

Christmas Tidings - Kitchen Edition

Buckle up because Christmas is again almost here. We're very excited in this household. Possibly too excited.

My husband came home from work for 2 weeks straight and told me, "The house looks great!"

That is because every day I would say, "Thank you. I'm not done yet."

Smart man, though. Smart man.

There has been a definite lack of dating recently, which I am hoping will change with the new year. *Big anime eyes inserted here*

The holidays are going to be lovely for us simply because the husband has a couple days off and we will actually be able to be together. Share a meal. Free up some of the DVR. You know, romance... Glamour... Naps... All the good stuff.

I cannot complain too much since the lack of dating is due to the husband having a job. A husband who I still adore is putting a roof over my head and the heads of all our 4 legged kids. Gee, heaven help me.

So, to comfort myself, I will shower you with how much of a Christmas genius I am. We'll start slow, since this year, I did not stop decorating when I was finished. I stopped when I ran out of stuff. I also decorated in a record number of rooms in our house.

Let's start with the kitchen. Decorated it last year in a similar fashion.

I went, as I have in the past couple years, for a lot of height. Not decorating isn't in the cards for me. What can I do if I shouldn't really decorate like a normal person? If certain members of the household require a certain level of, um, sanity? Decorate up high, of course. For protection.

From this.

Mary Lou is euphoric in this photo. I know because I was there.

What I didn't realize until later

was how much she was channeling

Brain from Pinky and The Brain.

What do you want to do tonight, Mary Lou?

TRY TO TAKE OVER THE WORLD, MAMA!

*Cackling cat laugh inserted here*

Sigh. My point is, ornaments I loved from childhood? Let's stick them someplace out of the way.

Like over the kitchen window.

Wow. My counters are nice and clean, right? I must have been so streamlined this year...

Oh, wait. I wasn't.

Because less isn't more. More is more.

Boom goes the dynamite!

Here's another view.

Even the light fixture couldn't escape my wrath festive joy this year.

Last year, my white tree had a penguin theme.

This year, it was more simple, concentrating on 

just white and silver colors.

See how this year I went classy with the plate rack?

Versus looking like Christmas had thrown up on it?

I also bought a ridiculous number of mugs this year.

Because I still have the Sam's Club ciders and hot chocolates

in bulk, at the ready, anytime, anywhere.

I'm gonna go and have some cider right now actually.

We'll move to the next room soon.

And not 2 months from now soon.

I promise.

For reals.

October Is Here!

Hooray! October is here! In a few hours!

I may or may not have the house all decorated for fall as if fall is the new Christmas.

Come on, who doesn't have an autumn themed dining room table?

That's not weird at all.

Okay, so the kitchen might be pushing it.

Still, they aren't Christmas lights if they're orange, purple, and white.

Fine. Pandora on the fireplace downstairs.

So, several rooms are festive! 

The first step is admitting you have a problem.

Which I do not have.

Shut it.

In non-fall-decorating news, Mav-the-dog's surgery happened a little over a month ago. It kept being postponed due to a variety of other issues that she had - her hips are just a mess with her arthritis now and there were issues with her pain medication and then her allergies flared up...

We finally were able to do it, and by that point, I was so ready for it to be done. The waiting was just awful. I think she handled the whole thing better than I did, although the vet did call 6 hours early to ask if I could come and pick her up right now. "She doesn't want to be here anymore," he said. Usually he likes to keep his surgical patients for the rest of the day so that he can monitor them, but in our case, he was more than happy to send her home. I could hear her from the sidewalk outside of the Subway next door.

I hadn't even had time to run to the store to get her a couple of her favorite toys before I was back picking her up. She likes to do this thing to a certain kind of toy, pardon how gross and abnormal this is, but she likes to nurse them or whatever you want to call it. They make her so happy. She gets them, puts them in her mouth, brings them to your lap, and then she proceeds to knead her feet like crazy while sucking on the toy. Like she's a puppy nursing. A stuffed animal. I remember back in the day, my grandma would coo at her, "Oh, Mav, you should be ashamed! Ashamed! You are too old to do that!" over and over. Mav couldn't care less then and doesn't give a crap now either. She just stretches out next to me or the hubby and just sort of collapses into a fit of restful, restful joy. Which is exactly what one would need after surgery.

She looks terrifying but seriously, she is relaxed and thrilled.

The hubby on one side of her, me on the other.

Nursing a toy as I can almost hear Gram's "For shame!"

This is Mav's nirvana.

 The hubby stopped on his way home from work and got her toys. He was actually home quite a bit during her first week post-op. He had several days off due to all the overtime he'd been working, so that ended up being perfect. We were both able to keep an eye on her, and it was just very comforting for me to know he was with us. We may not have been out on dates, but we did manage to spend a lot of time together. We discovered a new tv show we loved (Raising Hope). We finally saw Machete. We ate meals I had prepared earlier and frozen back when I knew I would be focusing all my energy on Mav. It was actually really nice.

Mav's recovery so far has been uneventful. My favorite kind of recovery! Her hair is even growing back in now. The whole back half of her was shaved, and her one incision took up half of the length of her back. Her other incision, the back of one leg. In the pic below, you can kind of see the difference in her coat and if you squint, you can see her scar.

I'm at the point where I can exhale and

just see my sweet, good girl.

And my awesome Better Homes and Gardens quilt.

Have I mentioned it's fall and I'm happy about that?

I am also making caramel corn as I type this. It's in the oven. I have to take it and stir every 15 minutes for the next hour. So easy and so tasty. For once, my husband had several requests when I asked him what he wanted to eat. Usually, when I'm getting ready to go to the store and/or meal plan, I get either A) "I don't know of anything specific that I want!" or B) "I would like some grapes."

Cue Happy Wife banging her head against the kitchen counters. Every week, for five years of wedded bliss. It does not help that this is a man who won't eat soup and who doesn't like tv dinners. Not one brand, not one single solitary kind of tv dinner.

*Rubs temples, usually contemplates only feeding him sandwiches from now on until we're both dead*

This week, my husband was all "Taco Salads!" Pause. "Caramel corn!" Pause. "Those little hot dogs you make with the chipotle ketchup!"

I about passed out. Then, after one more pause, he said, "Maybe some grapes!" Ah. There's the man I know and love.

Speaking of love (*raises hand for high five on that stunning segue, waits a few long seconds, then continues with hand up*), Sam's Club is now selling massive variety packs of different kinds of cocoa AND different kinds of cider.

I did indeed come home with both giant variety packs and had to defend my purchase. I told the husband that I do in fact plan to drink a thousand cups of hot beverages before they expire. So there.

I was not amused by his "We'll see, Honey" grin. Because that's the girl he knows and loves.

I may be nuts but at least I'll be hydrated?

All I know is I'm glad it's Friday, practically October, and the hubby will be home soon. Then there will be, let's see...

*Counts on fingers with each following word*

Baseball.

Baseball.

Soccer.

Baseball.

I do need to clean the basement.

And I do have some Halloween costumes for the cats to try on...

Oh, I Didn't Mean Naan, He Says

Well, I actually made a Pakistani spicy chickpea dish for the hubby. He loved it and asked me to make it again. Immediately, when all the leftovers were finished. *Runs victory lap*

Then, I decided to push my luck and make some Naan. Which I know my husband had asked for because I remember having him spell it for me.

I bought yeast. I kneaded dough. Then let it rise. Then did it again. Hours of fun. I worked over a hot grill pan for over 2 hours, making them 2 at a time. They cook up so fast, but that is little consolation when the recipe ends up making four thousand of them.

I was so proud of myself! The hubby said they tasted authentic. They were impossible to shape into a circle. I essentially made polygon bread. I was assured that it is always like this. Professoinal Naan-ers make them funny shaped, too.

The husband was very happy with them. I think they sort of tasted like a tortilla and a pancake had a baby, but okay.

*Takes a moment to dream of fluffy artisan bread*

After all this (YEAST! KNEADING!), the husband says, "Oh, wait. I didn't mean Naan. I meant Roti."

Roti is a bread that does not involve kneading or yeast... Or hours of work, supposedly.

*Husband very quickly leaves room after saying this, laughing at the look on my face all the way across the house*

Happy Ramadan!

Ramadan is here and I have the fridge full of hearty meals like steak and mashed potatoes (Boursin cheese should be illegal, it's so good!) and spicy ground beef over rice. I already worry whether the husband is eating enough and how he's feeling and what else I can get him so he makes it through the day okay.

I feel pretty guilty since I 'm not even trying this year. We agreed that if I did, I'd end up in the hospital. Technically, if one has the problems I've had since my surgery, I'm not supposed to be doing it anyway. *Gives thumbs up to the sky, has some lunch*

I have to figure out what lentils are and where I can find them in the store. The normal store. I can't go to the special store. Although I'm sure everyone would be lovely, there will always be a part of me that thinks they're looking at me the way my in-laws do. I'd open the door and there would be audible gasps and whispering. I would prefer not to be presented with a better wife option for my husband while shopping for food to make experimental meals full of things that A) I've never heard of and B) that are too spicy for me to eat. That would sound like a crazy exaggeration if that had not actually happened when my husband brought me to meet his family, after we were engaged. Surprise, Happy Wife and Husband, here's the lady he's supposed to marry!

Of course, maybe I deserve it since we've been together 7 years now and garam marsala is a new word to me today. Doesn't marsala mean wine? Kill me now, please. I'm no expert, but I have the "no alcohol" part down. I may, however, start drinking at some point in the near future.

*Update* I have since discovered that I am even more of a moron than previously thought. Masala, without any r, is the word I wanted there. After searching the shelves of spices, and there are a lot of spices on those shelves, I came home to discover one can make their own by combining a bunch of spices at home. There are lots of different versions of garam masala that one can make at home. I'm using the one where I either have the spices already or where I have at least heard of most of the spices in the recipe.

Don't even ask me about ghee. Ghee is the sound my laugh makes when I have a cold, right? There are a zillion Muslims in the world but only 3 dahl recipes on allrecipes.com. And all 3 are Indian, which may explain the marsala. I just typed Indiana instead of Indian there - ha ha ha. Someone's roots are too deep, I guess. Like the 79,123 people who have saved the ginger cookie recipe on the site, I just want to make cookies. Watch some Hoosiers. And put up my Christmas tree.

That last part is a lie. The idea of getting my Christmas stuff out right now is exhausting. There will have to be extensive cleaning and then the hauling of all the decorations from the basement, and well, I'm tired just thinking about all that is going to go into that.

And don't get me started on Naan. My non-cooking husband has been saying he's going to make Naan. He's said this for about 6 months. Since this is a man who doesn't make toast, the fact that he thinks he knows how to make Naan is sort of hilarious. He says it is made with flour and water. He says he has no idea how much flour or how much water. Oh, but he's gonna make it. The end.

Someone may have sarcastically said "Oooo, yummy" to that. I plead the 5th.

Again, I see why my in-laws would want to take away my wife card.

I just looked up Naan recipes and the one with the highest rating has 11 ingredients, including flour and water. There ya go, Husband. And... Another one of those ingredients is yeast. Which I have always been too afraid to use and have never, ever, ever bought. Awesome. Ramadan is gonna be entertaining this year in the Happy Wife household. Hope I get to keep my eyebrows.

We Both Left The House This Weekend... Separately On Saturday.

The hubby had to work Saturday. He came home at 8 pm or later most of last week. Friday, he got home at 5:30 pm. Which sounds reasonable until I remember that gets to work before 7 am.

I understand that he is busy, but sometimes that doesn't make me feel any better. I put on clothing clothing Saturday morning - not my pajama shorts and comfy layered tees. I had a reason to actually leave the house as well, in a way that felt like work - a hair appointment. It's only been how long since my last haircut? Oh, that's right. It was the Christmas before last Christmas.

*Crickets chirping*

I know it's been time for a while. At some point about a month ago, my hair managed to fall over the sink just as I was finished brushing my teeth. I literally spit all my toothpaste out on my hair. Every drop of it landed in my long locks.

Pretty. Lady. Meow.

Still, it took my hair getting stuck under my own armpit last week for me to make an appointment. I was doing something normal like folding laundry or putting clean dishes away. Something not memorable. However, at one point I reached up and when my arm came back down, it somehow came down on my hair, trapping it and pulling my head. It was like I was attacking myself with my own armpit. Not only was that memorable, it was horrifying. Smooth moves, Sophisticated Woman. Purr. Sassy, sassy.

With a heat index of over 110 degrees on what feels like every day since forever, everything has been all sleeveless shirts and my stinky and/or deodorant-y armpit is not a place for my hair to get stuck. No thank you.

I have not been able to find a hair place that I like since moving here. That used to be less impressive since it was usually followed by "And I've lived here in St. Louis 6 whole months!" and now that I've been here 5 years, it isn't quirky or cute at all. It's bordering on psychotic. More than once, I've told my husband he has to cut my hair. Now.

Since he is a very smart man, he has always adamantly refused. When I have threatened to cut my own hair, during, say, a migraine, he has forbidden me and given me concern-y face. The kind that says "I will not let you anywhere near scissors" and that I'd better not even try.

I don't know when exactly I threw in the towel (because "no haircuts ever!" was such a great answer) and then proceeded to get some sort of complex about the whole frickin' thing. Sure, one past haircut here made me look homeless while a cut at another place looked like I had not had a haircut at all. There was also one from a nearby Pennys that would have convinced me I was a lesbian had I not already been very sure that I wasn't, which I am not saying is a bad thing. Yay lesbians. In general. It just wasn't the look I wanted.

It doesn't help if whenever you look in the mirror, you inadvertently swear. Which I think is happening now haircut or no haircut, so I said let's just bite the bullet here, Self.

I started off Saturday morning like this:

Ignore the creepy eyes and zombie facial expression. I was not happy this morning. My husband came home for lunch before heading back to work, and he kept looking at me and randomly hugging me. At some point, he said, "You just really don't like change. It'll be okay."

Went to a new place. Got my lovely doctor appointment-type rash all over my body as I waited. Guess I was nervous. Super. Even my make-up didn't hide it, and it spread all over my neck and arms. When I finally got out of the waiting area and into the stylist's chair, even with my glasses off, I could see all the red blotchy goodness reflected back at me in the mirror. I guess now I have panic attacks but instead of hyperventilating, I get really warm and break out. Just. Great.

Sigh. My nerves were for nothing. Allyson with a y was wonderful. You have to be a good stylist to not take advantage of a client that sits down in your chair and says, "Do whatever you want. I do not care. Just don't shave my head." That is literally what I said when she asked, "What are we doing today?"

Hooray for a salon that I will visit more than once! Although I still hate new things. On my way out, a guy said MY FIRST NAME and then the following 6 words that almost made me throw up in my mouth, "I know you don't remember me-"

Is there anything worse than those words? Said out of a face I've never seen before? My throat let out some sounds that were like a hungry stomach met a YouTube dog-that-makes-funny-noises video and they had a baby.

Then he said sort of quiet and strangely, "I'm the one that called you yesterday and reminded you of this appointment." You know, the appointment I made the day before yesterday.

I did my "Of course!" Nice smiles! And then the run away. Oh, world. How you mess with me.

I may still curse my reflection whenever I see myself, but this is definitely better. *Holds hand up, waits for high five*

What could possibly make this better as I wait here for my high five to be returned?

*Goes and gets a cookie*

Ahhhhhhhhh. There it is.

Really, You Should Be Thanking Me

Essentially, my absence has spared you a lot of posts about how "this week we did nothing" and "my husband is a saint" and "I don't feel good" and so on. You should really be thanking me for not being on here.

I guess I could have had some sort of blog game show. First round would be called "Guess The Surprise Home Repair!" and that would be immediately followed by the speed round of "What Are The Odds Happy Wife Cooks Dinner Even Once This Week?" and maybe the person in the lead would get to virtually throw things at me. Possibly food items like tomatoes that I still wouldn't work into some kind of meal plan for my family.

The bonus lightening final round would be "How Many Days Has It Been Since Happy Wife Has Left The House" and those who actually guess in days and not weeks would be laughed off of the show. Of course, some would have an impressive advantage since anyone who knows me in real life is aware that I've had such a fun summer so far. I mean, I've done so much! Caught up on a bunch of tv shows, color coded all the clothes in my and my husband's closet, re-organized the kitchen cupboards... Life is so much better when all the cans on the shelf have their labels pointed in the same direction. You know, stuff and things. I also didn't not have surgery about 8 weeks ago.

Oh, my insides. *Gives self good natured punch in the gut*

I'm fine! Sure! Stop looking at me like that!

Look, I made chocolate chip cookies today!

Cookies: A Healthy Alternative To Vicodin

So obviously, everything is totally fine. All other arguments are therefore invalid.

Hey, guess what? Mav the dog is having surgery later this summer, too. Which I found out about today. Just after I was told her spider bite never fully healed and is infected again. Oh, good times.

My husband and I are eventually going to go out. Of the house. Together. Somewhere. And even though I've gained a thousand pounds and lost most if not all the common sense needed to be out and about socializing with people I am not married to, I will take a picture and we will call it a date and that's that. So stay tuned.

Tornadoes! Easter! 3-Legged Dogs!

Good Friday left quite a path of destruction in the St. Louis area. The hubby works dangerously close to the airport, which was, as most know by now, b*tch slapped to within an inch of its life. I was very glad he was home by the time the storm really started hitting.

It's been stormy and tornado-y all week. Nice lead up to Easter. Add to that the dog got bitten by a spider and her infected wound was impressive. I almost took pictures of it but for some reason couldn't bring myself to do that.

I think I thought taking photos of it getting worse would make her die faster... That makes sense, right?

Instead, I just took pictures of her when she started looking better!

This really was her version of improvement.

She even had what I called seizures of the head and mouth but no other part of her body. Her teeth crashing together was so loud you couldn't hear yourself as you lost your sh*t. Her eyes were with me the whole time, which was a new one for us. She's epileptic, so she's had seizures, but never like this. Where she was still mentally there and therefore she's even more freaked out than I was.

Not good. Those stopped after the second day, which was about the time her wound really kicked it up a notch. By wound, I mean gigantic growing hole in her body. There were vet visits and panic attacks and a husband who was helpful most of the time.

Although he did say things right before we'd go to bed like, "I hope she gets to keep her leg" which sort of crossed out all the times he was helpful. I mean, I didn't want to sleep that much anyway, so thank you, Honey.

We continue to be lucky. The meds did their job and the wound is healing well.

We didn't have any storm damage to the house or lose electric during the beginning and middle of the week during the storms.

Friday, when most of the tornado damage happened around town, the eye of 2 storms coming into the area at the same time were just north of us and just south of us. We were in this tiny pocket where it wasn't too bad. Of course, we didn't really know how bad it was everywhere else. If I had known, we'd probably have taken cover Friday night just for the hell of it. I don't seriously consider that very often since throwing 9 cats into a cage in the basement under the stairs, grabbing the 80 pound gimpy dog, and commandeering my husband is something that I guess I'll only do if I actually hear on channel 5 that there is a tornado coming down our street.

I am sure I kept the weather at bay by screaming "NO!" every time the lights flickered. Which was a lot.

In other words, the hubby's plans to go in and work during the holiday weekend because "no one will be there to bother me!" was shot down by this happy wife. Give them time to at least start the clean up, please, Dear.

This meant the hubby had the good television for his Easter gaming. Clutching my recently delivered Justified season 1 blu-ray disks, I only let myself be devastated for several long seconds before retreating to a book and a marathon of the new Game Show Network's Drew Carey improv show.

We watched 2 movies together downstairs between all the video gaming and soccer.  The King's Speech. Which was *THUD* oh, sorry, I just had another bout of narcolepsy there.

Helena Bonham Carter was as normal as I've ever seen her!

*Sits up straighter, proud of glowing review*

We then immediately watched Ninja Assassin. Like, we didn't even get up and break for snacks. That was sort of a weird transition.

I have to say the gore was magnificent in that movie. I am also pretty sure the main character was shirtless for most of the movie, but I can't be sure since I was so focused on his beautiful, beautiful hair. What this movie lacked in story and dialog, it made up for in blood and guts and pieces of people flying everywhere. It was awesome.

I made the traditional Easter meal of steaks and baked potatoes. My husband says I cannot get steaks well-done enough for him, so last time, when I say I cooked, I really mean I cooked those steaks. Like a boss.

I did the same this time. Set off all the smoke alarms but those suckers didn't have any pink in them. I sort of feel like the "You can't get them done enough for me" is a challenge, I guess. Challenge accepted!

I ate a Cadbury Cream Egg and he talked about how one of his coworkers really wanted him to go on an Easter egg hunt. He was very enthusiastic about it. We're both sort of confused about that and neither one of us could figure out why my adult Islamic husband should either A) go to one or B) have one at home.

Although I did say if he wanted to buy more Easter candy and hide it around the kitchen for me, he was more than welcome. There is no such thing as too many Cadbury Cream Eggs.

Still Alive, Also Still Married (The St. Louis Symphony Orchestra Lord Of The Rings Date)

The hubby and I are still alive. Also, still married.

We went to the symphony and saw Lord of The Rings. I did not bring my camera and was upset that nothing in my closet made me feel anything resembling happy-confident-time. So much so that I wore jeans.

Now, of course, my husband also wore jeans. The difference is it took me 2 more hours and a bedroom that ended up looking like our closet had vomited all over it before I resorted to the same choice.

I guess I can't actually say we saw LOTR. What we saw was the first two and a half hours.

Our awesome seats? Were positioned so that we had to sort of turtle our heads into our necks, crane backwards, and stare straight up if we wanted to watch the movie on the big screen.

The other option would have been to watch the orchestra and the 2 choirs, but since the stage at the symphony is above the level of the seating unless you're in the balcony, they were also way above our eye lines. As expected with my mood, this severely pissed me off. Who builds a high stage that towers above several hundred seats at the venue that belongs exclusively to the symphony orchestra? It was almost like the symphony was taunting me.

We did get to stare at the back calves of the conductor and the shoes of several people playing instruments in parts of the first row. So there's that. Score.

After the first, oh, 150 minutes, the first intermission was given. Granted, the first half of the first LOTR movie is movie-length. It did not help that the symphony needed excessive applause before starting. For the orchestra (yay!). Then, the conductor (woo-who!). Who grabs the first violinist and makes her stand and take a bow (double time clapping!). The choirs (*whistles*). The president of the symphony appears (more clapping!) and then speaks (should we do the wave after? Nah. More clapping is so much more refined). Who then does more re-introducing (at this point, I am golf clapping and very determined to keep looking ahead with my big mouth shut). It went on and on. I wasn't sure at any point if we were actually going to see any performances until the movie actually started.

The music was beautiful. The choirs were great.

Still, once the lights went up on that first intermission, I will not pretend that I was over the moon about it. Maybe I'm just not fancy anymore? I don't like refined events? Or do I just hate leaving the house now? I don't know.

What I do know? The husband had a headache, and after he told me that about 5 minutes into intermission, I immediately took to convincing him we should go. He had a headache. Very appropriate reason for us to leave early.

I was also throwing fist fulls of cupcake mints in my mouth trying not to comment on the overpowering smell of the people around us (perfume and body odor, not in that order). Not to mention trying not to comment on the stage being 2 feet higher than we were and the giant screen's placement just out of our comfort zone. I made it all the way to the car before I went off on the highlighted soloist-fancy-pants-soprano lady in the ballgown. Who was one of the few people I could actually see and the bulk of the playbill. I waited 2 and a half hours for her to stand and sing something. Since she received the longest and loudest ovation prior to the performance. For just arriving on stage. Did I mention, I could actually see her?

She sang about 2 lines in the first half of the show. 2 lines that were with the choirs, and that the choirs did just fine. At the same volume as her singing. There was no need for a soloist, since there didn't seem to be a solo part.

Maybe in the second half she gets to go all Whitney Houston, but I was totally fine not personally witnessing that.

We came home. Which is where we've been since, other than the hubby being at work. I went to the grocery once, too, I think. There's been spring cleaning, various home repairs, and a obsessive amount of time spent on creating the World's Most Awesome Care Package for a friend having surgery. Red Dead Redemption phase is over at home and a new video game for the husband has given me loads of time to read a stack of books and clean the flower beds.

Of course, in case you are wondering about the PS3 game, I would lovingly explain it as something something vault, something something radroaches, something something pew pew pew guns and something something apocalypse. Or something.

We haven't given up on dating. In fact, at my insistence (because I never learn?), I bought us tickets to a comedian we like that is coming in the fall. At the Fox Theater, which we enjoy as a venue and have been to many times. The tickets went on sale at 10 am Saturday. Which was helpful since I found out the comedian was coming to town, going to be at the Fox, and that we wanted to go around 9:55 am on that day. By 10:08, we had decent seats and confirmed tickets. I did not get crazy excited. Nice and calm sort of nodding occurred.

I didn't even start sing-songing the words "Hot Pockets" until just now, honestly.

*Takes five minutes to sing "Hot Pockets" in head over and over*

...

For now, we have eye appointments together next week. That's... Sort of... Date-y... Right?

One Date To Rule Them All!

It is coming.

Summer ended. Fall came and went. Christmas. New Year's. Valentine's and St. Patrick's Day. All leading up to what spring meant to us. A date, planned well in advance!

Next weekend, the hubby and I will be putting on our snazzy clothes and going to the St. Louis Symphony Orchestra.

Classical? No.

Incredible? Hopefully yes.

Lord. Of. The. Rings.

Too long to wait after purchasing tickets in August? Maybe.

Was I bordering on clinically insane after getting these tickets? You tell me.

I'm a little scared. Will we be the oldest people there? And what should I wear? Because it's the symphony. But it is also LOTR. Is there a happy medium? If so, I am pretty sure I do not own it and haven't since the Renaissance Fair of 1999.

Am I Dreaming? Am I Dead?

I started this post March 1st.

I wrote this:

"The month of the hubby's birthday and when spring kicks winter to the curb (just let me have my dream there, okay?). Although how much of a dream is it really when I have photographic proof from Mother Nature.

Don't dare say Nature is a moron either. She knows sh*t. She is never wrong! All powerful Nature!

Stupid flowers."

I was going to then show you a photo of my daffodils and crocuses. To be shot in the sunshine during one of the 70 degree days. They were all green shoots, four or more inches above ground, MARCH 1ST.

Which they still are, technically on this March 14th. Only taller.

Daffodils around the mailbox.

Daffodils in the front of the house.

And for the finale, crocuses.

I think I just threw up a little in my mouth.

I took Mav for a walk yesterday in Fitflops and a Rams tee shirt. For the record, also pants. Just wanted to make sure that was clear. Anyway, one person had full blown blooming yellow daffodils right down the street. Three streets over, a yard full of purple flowering crocuses.

Today, I woke up to heavy, wet snow.

I wondered if I was dreaming

Or dead.

Heaven or hell looks a lot like my life had looked.

Only with majorly messed up weather.

What a March. I mean, really. I'm not complaining. Just amazed by it all. I have nothing to complain about. All the tragedies weather-wise are across the globe. So none of this is complaining. Just statement of facts. I have nothing to complain about. No earthquake here. No wave of water taking away everything. I just feel like Artie. I want to stay in my heated bed with the clicker.

Artemis the Hunter, hunting down good decisions.

The hubby and I haven't had any dating. We're really rocking this 2011.

Sigh.

Thank God for Red Dead Redemption and (yawn) European soccer. Saving my butt. Keeping the husband occupied and providing him with much needed stress relief since I'm still recuperating from my stupid biopsy. Yesterday was the first day I went out. I went to the grocery store. It was less than thrilling. Easter candy was out, so it was worth it, but still.

Why does my body hate me? It's always all "I kill you!" even though I give it all the Dilly Bars it wants and let it sleep in until noon on a consistent basis.

It wants to watch a Pawn Stars marathon and eat 12 sugar free popsicles? Done!

It wants to do as little laundry as is humanely possible and take 4 baths a day? Done!

It wants to make shrimp dip, then eat all the shrimp dip, then throw up all the shrimp dip and watch my entire body turn purple, all while watching a Jennifer Aniston and Gerard Butler movie that is more painful to live through than all the vomiting and color changing. DONE AND DONE!

You know how sometimes you have something medical done and then you're all, "That was no big deal!" and "That incision is way smaller than I thought it would be!" and "Wow, that is healing so much faster than I thought it would!"...

Yes? So, none of that is happening here.

My gold medal sentiment is "It hurts me when I sit still!" with "WOW! It's like someone put a cigar out on me! I wish I was into that sort of thing, that would make this way more tolerable!" coming in a close second.

Rounding out in third place, "There was a gaping wound in my body yesterday, perhaps today it will be a smaller, less gaping wound!"

Checks on it...

"Son of a *****!"

What the hell kind of date could I possibly plan at this point? One where the husband is downstairs pretending he is scruffy western guy for hours on end and I'm upstairs taking a 14 hour long nap. Mix in some 6 hour agony from a migraine that refuses to acknowledge a variety of pain medicine, and you have what I guess is our next date. Thursday he's taking off of work and taking me to the medical professionals. Where he'll make sure I "don't lie to the doctor."

I DON'T LIE.

I OMIT.

THERE IS A DIFFERENCE.

Thursday cannot come and go too quickly for me.

The 12 Days of HOLY SH*TMAS: Final Post #12

I can't believe I made it to the final Christmas post! Before March! I consider this a victory.

The last thing on our list is something we use everyday, that has opened up our house to us, that has made my husband giddy.

Yes, I said giddy.

He's a software engineer. I didn't know they could get giddy.

My folks got us an upgrade to an HD receiver for the television we have in our downstairs family room. A room we barely ever visited. We just always watched tv upstairs on our old tv. The DVR was up there. As was the kitchen and bathroom. We just hardly ever spent time downstairs. HD seemed fancy and pointless to me.

Now, we'd tried to have Direct TV come out (by we, I mean my husband) and give us HD in the downstairs in the past. It did not work. The guy refused to drill a hole in the wall and said he wasn't allowed to drill holes. He was not really your most helpful installation guy. My husband thought he just didn't feel like doing another job that day. The guy left as quickly as he'd shown up.

The hubby then went out to see if someone other than Direct TV could make this happen. He had an estimate written out by a local place called the Sound Room to drill the hole.

They wanted $6,000 dollars. Six. Thousand. To drill a hole.

It was the most ridiculous thing I had ever seen. It was so ridiculous that it was comical.

And it made me think I should get started in a new profession. I can make a hole in anyone's wall for 6 grand. Pass the ax, please.

We do not have an exciting or strange house. It's a regular, older house. The holes weren't going to be made anywhere questionable or difficult. In fact, there were plenty of holes that had been made for the Direct TV we already had and for the cable the guy who lived here before us had.

It had been about a year since the pointless Direct TV guy had come out. The hubby called Direct TV again after Christmas and set up an installation time. It was like they hadn't been out here before. Fine. Let's go with that.

I worked in our basement clearing out an entire corner so that the guy wouldn't have to move a thing. He had access to everything. There wasn't one box of Christmas decorations in the way, not one half full laundry hamper, not one 12 pack of pop on the counter down there.

My Empty Corner

The day before, the doorbell rang at 8 am. I had been cleaning the house for the Direct TV guy. I was luckily downstairs (not to mention awake). I was in my pjs and had to put on a winter coat to get the door. There was a lot of inappropriate comfort happening especially in the cleavage area.

I also, of course, had a pile of clean laundry on the couch directly behind me. I had folded everything except a large pile of fancy underwear. Those were spread all out, waiting to be folded. They could not have been more in view.

It was the exterminator at the door, who had never showed up before without calling me, emailing me, and snail mailing me appointment reminders for his visit every four months. Every appointment. All 3 reminders. This time, no notice. Sweet Jesus.

He did his job and thankfully made no comments about my unmentionables to horrify me even more. He left quickly and I spent the rest of the day finishing up cleaning. I had the house in great shape for the Direct TV guy.

The next day, I had shaken off my panty faux pas from the day before. Pretty much forgotten about it. Was a little more concerned about the Direct TV guy since it seemed like my husband was in the kind of mood where if the Direct TV guy came and said he couldn't do it, he might not be able to leave the house until he did.

My husband came home early from work to wait for the guy. He got here, nice and professional guy, took a look around. Gave us the green light with no drama. He said he might have to charge us an extra 50 bucks to drill one of the holes.

We were both fine with that. I thought.

I sat upstairs in the office with the dog. The husband stayed with the guy and checked in often with me. He kept sticking his head in the door whenever the repair guy was changing locations.

"He's putting the new dish on the roof!"

"He's drilling a hole from outside into the basement!"

"He's running the cable into the house!"

3 hours of this.

Then, my husband came up and said, "I made the hole from the basement into the family room and saved us the 50 bucks!"

I said something encouraging and didn't think about it. Notice he used the word "made" versus a word like "drilled".

About half an hour later, my husband came back up and said everything was finished. We had Direct TV! IN HD! Installation guy was gone. Time to see it all! He was so excited. It was pretty damn cute.

I went into the basement. The first thing I saw was the hole my husband had made for the cord.

Wow.

Just wow.

Did you guess the weapon of choice?

A saw, of course. Hand saw, non-powered.

God, I love this man.

He was so proud. Which was also pretty adorable. At the same time, I was scared the 3 foster kitties in the basement would escape into the wall. He hadn't thought of that.

So, I did my part. The hubby made the hole. Happy wife covered it up.

With appropriate labeling.

Why, yes, I did cut off a side of the box the receiver came in

and nailed it into the wall over the hole.

Then, I added the last element to complete the project.

Finally, it's good for something!

Stupid nursing degree.

From another state.

When I had another name.

Ah, memories.

As I completed this little do-it-yourself home improvement, I noticed the one thing that I had overlooked in the basement.

One thing I had left out. Well, one type of thing anyway.

The day before, I had washed all our clothes and hung them to dry. Gave myself plenty of time so that I could put them away long before the installation guy came. But one item that I washed takes longer to dry.

I didn't see them. I was blind to them. Hanging by the repair guy's head for the hours while he was in the basement. He probably hit his head on them. Repeatedly.

Oh God.

I yelled at my husband," DID YOU NOTICE THESE?"

"Yes," he said.

"DID YOU GUYS SAY ANYTHING ABOUT THEM?"

"No... I didn't know what to say and I don't think he did either so we didn't say anything. Like a code."

"WHY DIDN'T YOU TAKE THEM DOWN?"

He looked at me like I was crazy. Like he's not allowed to touch them when they're on hangers. Like he knew I would not have wanted him to remove them.

I was completely horrified. Do you see what I did not see for an entire day leading up to this? A day I spent straightening slipcovers, fluffing throw pillows, dusting picture frames?

  

Here's a wider view of the small corner where

the repair guy spent the afternoon working.

Right at forehead level. So the guys can hit their heads

on them repeatedly during this whole HD process.

A collection of giant lady bras.

I walked by those about a hundred times that day.

Who knew my underwear display from yesterday

was really just a preview of what was to come?

Please shoot me. I was perturbed at myself the rest of the evening, although watching tv in HD took some of the sting out of it.  I have to admit he was right. The world is better in HD. As is Hoarders, Hawaii 5-O, Top Chef, and all the other stuff I watch. Even now, we both remark on how clear everything looks on the HD.

The happiest husband means this was the best. Christmas. Ever.