It Got Worse

So... remember that hole that was just dripping water and being annoying? It got worse. MUCH worse. In the middle of the night. ON MY HEAD despite moving my bed away from there. The weirdest part was hearing it instead of feeling it. The pain came later, but still.... strange. I haven't posted on the blog because I was pretty sure God was mad at me. I think He still is because the fun just hasn't stopped, but we're working on it. I hate that I'm constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop, but that's been my life the last three weeks. First up, pictures of the damage:





The roof is now fixed, but the ceiling is still dropping chunks here and there while I wait for unreliable contractors. Hopefully by the end of next week things will return to normal. As if all that stress wasn't bad enough, Ben's car (the only one we own with AC) decided to give me a fatal error and go all psychotic on me. That was a fun conversation. "Hey babe, I broke your car... you know the one you almost have all paid off and whose warranty just expired." Not taking that one to the shop just yet. I don't want to know how much that's going to cost.

The kicker though, was my vacation to California this week that I needed so badly and was making me deliriously happy. I felt like things were finally looking up until I got a phone call from Victoria that Hank had run off the porch and bitten a mentally disabled old man and the city was taking action. Of course I feel awful, but at the same time I can't help but feel like he acted out because of all the stress at home. Ben deployed 3 months ago, workers have been constantly in and out of the house, I've been extremely busy with school and stressed, the bedroom we sleep in is a disaster and we are constantly woken up by loud crashes from the ceiling. Then I up and left town and I think he felt the need to protect the only thing he has left: our property. Poor sweet Monkey. He bit the guy on the hand as he walked by our front lawn and then ran back to Victoria all proud of himself. "I got him!" What a jerk. Totally took advantage of having a babysitter - he knows better around me.

The city could have done a lot of things, the scariest of which was to take him away for quarantine, label him a dangerous animal, and put him down the next time it happened. I'm well connected though, and got on the phone to my local city prosecutor friend who we met incidentally at the dog park because he had two ridgebacks. Kimber has yet again earned her keep. She protects the heck out of me and now saved Hank's behind. Our friend smoothed things over with the animal control officer and I think the city has decided they have bigger fish to fry because my calls have not been returned. Keep your fingers crossed.

I'm just hoping I can come back with some hilarity soon. All this negativity is killing my sense of humor!

I Hate Today

Today has been a fairly balanced mix of pain in my arse and good friends. I wanted to get on my blog and write humor for once since it's been such a long time, but today I have some things I just need to get out of my system.

It started at about 5:30 when I woke up with wet hair and a wet pillow. This confused me. Did I suddenly start drooling uncontrollably in my sleep? Was it the dogs? OH NO DID KIMBER PEE ON ME IN HER SLEEP???? See, she has this problem where if she doesn't get her meds she wets the bed at night - not her fault, but annoying when it happens. Turned out to be a leaky ceiling and just as I got towels to sop up the mess, A HOLE OPENED UP AND DUMPED WATER ALL ON MY FACE. I ran downstairs mad as a hornet and scrambling for supplies. Vic ran down to the basement and grabbed me some buckets so that at least my bare feet would stay clean. She's really sweet like that.

As if that wasn't bad enough, I looked at my brand new (old) antique mirror I got at an estate sale last week and leaned up against the mantle in my bedroom and noticed that it, too was wet with a giant leaky spot above it. Are you kidding me? After proper bucket/towel/dog bowl placement, I finally had this thing somewhat contained and began making pathetic help me phone calls to Ben's squadron. They sent over a guy whose wife and I connected over a common first name and who Ben had been in Bahrain with and he crawled all around this place to figure out where the water was coming from. Turns out 97 years ago they didn't architecturally plan for this much rain to occur this week. I suppose that's acceptable. Unfortunately, my bedroom now looks like this:





The next task was to call USAA to see if this was a covered event. I have an almost $7k deductible for wind and hail damage and a $500 deductible for other unforseen events. One would naturally assume that rain that has puddled up on a portion of somewhat flat roof and gotten into the house does not count as wind nor would it be hail damage. USAA doesn't see it that way, and in order to make a correct determination, I have to file a claim with the understanding that they will most likely assign it as a wind or hail damage event and charge me that $7k fee to fix a few hundred dollars worth of damage. Isn't that a bit unethical of them to ask me to make a $6500 gamble on an insurance company's moral fortitude? I first got pissed and refused, then called back to make sure I heard them correctly. If I file a claim I am to be charged either $500 or $7000 based on their assessment of the mitigating factor that caused the damage and there is no such thing as having a claims adjuster inspect, determine, and then let you make a decision then on how you are going to handle the situation. Are you freaking kidding me? They are normally great, but this is the most asinine thing I have ever heard from an insurance company and as much as I would love to tell them to take their insurance and shove it, I know my house would burn down the next day and we would be ruined. That's just my luck today.

Thank goodness for my friend Kate, who invited me over for a cup of coffee and a bagel to save me from this madness. I also am glad for Ben belonging to a squadron so willing to help one another out. I got numerous phone calls from friends and squadron members offering kind words and their help and it makes deployment so much better knowing I have people I can count on. Tomorrow will be better. It has to be.

Aunt Chelley

Last week I finally met my beautiful niece Lily when Ben's whole family vacationed in the Outer Banks. She's 11 months old now and so close to taking her first steps but not quite there. Instead she has mastered the art of the surprise trust fall. Walking is overrated when fussy aunts are there to catch you before you land on your face. I'm happy to report that even though we just met, I'm still in the running for favorite aunt.

Remember this? Phil and Elicia showed up to the beach house with Lily in tow and, upon seeing them, Ben ran outside and held out his hands, hoping to earn his title as the fun uncle, Uncle Awesome-o 4000 (yes, that's what he wants to be called - I married well). Before he could grab her though, she puked a lovely bouquet of carrots and whatnot right on his eager outstretched hands. I showed up right about that time and there she was, reaching toward me with a toothy grin as Ben ran away in disgust. I love this kid.

Aunt Chelley - 2
Uncle Awesome-o 4000 - 0

Win.

Nursing School Causes Skin Cancer

Not really. Perhaps indirectly? This past weekend Ben and I spent the 4th at his uncle's house on the Potomac River. This was the first I'd seen of the sun all summer long, and I reluctantly bathed myself in SPF 30, desperate to get a tan but unwilling to burn thanks to the various scars on my body from mole removal and Ben's insistence that I stop being dumb. We spent all weekend in the sun, swimming, tubing, and going for boat rides and both of us came back white as a sheet. It was kind of embarrassing how pasty we were. It was more embarrassing how pasty we stayed.

On Wednesday we decided it was high time we hit the beach, so we somehow managed to find a few hours to squeeze in a little R&R between studying and Ben's flight schedule. We literally spent maybe an hour in the sun and we are both now lobster red and I have more freckles than a Ginger kid.



At least it wasn't a total loss. There's now an ever so slight semblance of a tan forming. Score!

Frustration

Dear Hank and Kimber,

We have only been here a month, but it really feels like I have swept this floor more often than I have over the past year at the last place. Each time I sweep is an exercise in futility, for 5 minutes later you both come barreling down the stairs dropping excessive amounts of fluff as you howl at some imaginary sound outside. This does not make me happy. Please stop shedding. Forever.

Love,

Mother

Johnny, Get Your Gun

Apparently my last post inspired some people *cough* *cough* *Victoria* to look into getting a gun before moving in. Allow me to clarify. We do not live in the ghetto. Our neighborhood is quite nice and not one of our neighbors have fallen victim to violent crime. We have two large dogs, an alarm system, and two guns. This is mostly because we are from Texas. Texans like guns. And dogs. And protecting our things. We rarely employ the use of said protective items, but we have them because we can. Also the dogs are really cute when they're not breaking into the trash to steal bits of brisket (looking at you, pig-dog).

I was merely trying to be funny. Epic Fail.

Norfolk Crooks

Norfolk and Virginia Beach aren't known for their brilliant zoning. Turn the corner in any good neighborhood and suddenly you've found yourself in a bad neighborhood. On any given day in a good neighborhood, you can find the hood rats walking the streets, looking for a convenient item to nab and sell for drugs. It can be a little unnerving at first, plus some of the bad neighborhoods look exactly the same as the good ones, but that's precisely why we rented our first year out here. Our apartment was the upper floor of an 80 year old home right off the main drag leading to the base, and with all the traffic and the shelter of being upstairs in what looked like a normal home, I think we missed out on a lot of the criminal shenanigans that take place around here. We also kept our cars behind a gate, so that helped quite a bit.

Now that we own a home and have been living here approximately a week and a half, we have found ourselves in all kinds of odd situations, situations I find necessary to document. You never know when you need a compilation of the funny crap that comes out of the mouths of crooks. I think we're getting the brunt of it right now because we're new to the neighborhood and everyone else is so jaded by it that the thieves know not to mess with them anymore. At least I hope that's why, because pretty soon my patience will run out and I'm going to start smarting off. Though funny, Ben doesn't like it when it comes from my mouth. He doesn't trust other people not to hurt me. My theory is if you catch them off guard they'll leave you alone. So far, so good.

For example, the other day I was at Farm Fresh (a local grocery store) and had just turned my ignition to find some guy tapping on my passenger window. I cracked it and he stuck up his wallet to show me "his" most likely expired Maryland ID. He then told me the longest, most convoluted story I'd ever heard, name dropping as many local businesses that have contributed to his woes as he could and then something about bus fare for him and his family. When he finally stopped to take a breath, I looked at him and asked, "Ok wait... are you asking me for money?" "Yeah please (salutes me). I was a marine and am a saved man!!!" "Oh, um, ok sorry I don't have cash (a lie, but I digress)." "That's ok! There's an ATM right over there!" Dude was crazy if he thought I was stupid enough to jump out of my car and let a perfect stranger follow me to an ATM to get him some cash and I told him so, saved or not. He ended it with a simple, "God Bless (I always feel a little dirty when people say that to me right after they just tried to hustle me)" and I took off as fast as I could, a little shaken at his audacity.

The very next day, I left my house at around 6:30 in the morning to go to the hospital for clinical orientation, when a guy who I saw coming from up the street stopped in front of my house and asked if he could come in and use the phone. Still bitter from the previous day, I said flatly, "No. You can't." "But my car broke down!" "Sorry." I didn't believe him anyway. I was taking Ben's car that day because I was out of gas and had to drive about 30 minutes away and as I got in, realized I had forgotten to take his cover (or hat that he wears as part of his uniform for you non-military folks) out for him the night before, as previously agreed as a condition for taking his car. As I ran back inside to give Ben his hat, THE SAME GUY comes rolling back by the house from the same direction he came from on a rusty old bicycle I know he didn't steal. Well at least not that day he didn't.

Flash forward to yesterday. We had a pretty good little Sunday that started at Lowe's and ended in a new lawn mower, weed eater, and leaf blower. I kid you not that very day as Ben is messing with his brand new weed eater, a guy (probably the same one who I saw last week and maybe even the one who our neighbor caught stealing from his shed) came rolling up on a bicycle and stopped. "Hey, lemme borrow that weed eater!" Ben: "No!" "Come on, man, I live right up the street!" "YOU CAN'T HAVE MY WEED EATER!" Do people really think we're that stupid?

It's times like these I get a little homesick. In Texas you can shoot at them. Texas is awesome.

It's Been a Long Time, Blog

I have had nothing to say for a long time. Still don't have anything earth-shattering or even remotely funny, but I figured I owed all 2 people who read this SOMETHING. Let's catch up, shall we?

The past month and a half has been insanity. I completed my first set of clinicals and confirmed Med/Surg nursing was not going to be my cup of tea (those are the nurses on the medical floor who take care of our sick grandparents). I'm great with the elderly and really enjoy bantering with them while I complete my tasks, but I'm bored. Out of my mind bored. That and the men get really embarrassed when I have to be around for bed baths/clean ups because they think I'm a lot younger than I am. Normally this would be a compliment. In nursing? Not so much. People don't trust the young'uns.

On a not so happy note, at the end of the semester and just before finals my uncle succumbed to hepatic (liver) cancer and my dad thankfully paid for my trip home. I didn't get to go when my grandmother passed due to many factors I won't get into and it broke my heart because I was very close to her. Add to it Ben was at survival training and therefore unreachable for a week afterward and we have probably one of the worst experiences of my life. This time around was much different. It was nice to be given the opportunity to say goodbye, see the family, and be a part of things. It's tough living so far away sometimes. You can feel a bit like an alien around your own family when you do make it home.

The next week we became homeowners and I took finals while juggled painting and living between two households. We're still moving and adjusting, but it's so nice to own a place that we can do whatever we want with! It's a lot of work and is still very much in progress, but we're absolutely in love with this place and can't wait until I get a job and we have more disposable income to get things like granite countertops and tile floors. Pictures to come - it's still a wreck!

WARNING: NERD ALERT!! I am happy to report another great semester and you're looking at the next Student Nursing Association President. No life. I know. Ben is going to deploy soon so I figured I should stay busy. I also feel really guilty all the time being a succubus and not contributing income (it's that Type A coming out), so making good grades makes me feel somewhat better. Ben doesn't mind because I am in school for good reason, but I get all weird and stressed out, especially when I have to buy makeup or something just for me. People say you get over it, but it's been a little over a year and I am definitely not over it even though I did save half my income at my last job to help pay for this and the military has offered us some pretty good deals as far as my education goes.

The pups are happy and healthy and love the new house. Hank's just happy to have his own yard and a couch to sleep on. Poor guy was so scared at the last place and spent most of his time hiding out in the back bedrooms. We've been breaking the dogs of sneaking up into the bed at night, but Kimber's no fool. I got up before Ben this morning and there she was... snuggled up to the pushover. She's also learned to open the food container lid that SCREWS down into the top. Sometimes it might be nice to have a stupid dog. They're both way too smart.

Other than that no news. It's going to be a super busy summer so posting should be light over the next few months. Looking forward to finding time to spend at the beach and relaxing - maybe August?

The Bald Tail Mystery

Kimber has this bald spot on the end of her tail that just won't seem to grow any hair. At first I thought it was something she was doing in her crate when we would put her up before we left, but we have been giving her more freedom to lay around in the patches of sunlight while we're gone and so far, so good. We had issues with separation anxiety/puppyhood before, but she has been maturing and we have gotten a lot better at Ridgeback proofing the house (those dogs will eat anything). Today I found out that bald spot was because when I leave she gets nervous and starts chewing the end of her tail.

I came home at lunch to find her jumping up and down, squealing, and generally causing a big ruckus because "OMG MOTHER'S HOME!!! I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU!!!" Once she stopped leaping into the air (this dog jumps off all four of her paws and springs into the air like Tigger.... you even see the little extra kick she does with her back legs for added ups) I saw her calm herself down. She grabbed the end of her tail and just started chewing and pacing, trying to get it together. "Stop that, silly girl!" I chided, patted her on the head, and walked off to find Hank to give him a good butt scratch. Next thing I knew there was a ridgepig in my face going crazy and then I saw the carnage. Blood spatter EVERYWHERE and Kimber just wiggling away, flinging blood with every slap of her tail.

My first instinct was to tackle her to the ground and grab hold of that tail, which I did, but then realized I didn't have supplies, so I put her in her crate, grabbed whatever I could, and slowly let her out, ready to brave the wrestlemania that was about to ensue... and OH DID WRESTLEMANIA ENSUE. Kimber at first thought I was playing, so she started chewing my arm, leaping around, and flinging blood every time I touched her so again I had to tackle her and grab the end. That was just too much fun and after rolling around, pinning her, and doing some VERY creative taping all the while suffering paws to the face and teeth to the top of my head, I finally got the tip of her crazy, whiplike tail secured. Then came Full Shame Face, where she scrunched up her face, hung her head and slunk away, so I had to reassure her that she was ok all the while completely disheveled, sweaty, panting, and cleaning up the murder scene that was my house. When I finished, she walked over to me, sat, thumped her tail a few times, and then both of us sighed and collapsed into a big heap on the floor.

Real life is sometimes so much better than fiction.

The New Hotness

Everyone hates their school uniforms, but I have to say this one takes the cake. All my friends in Texas and Florida got these cute little scrubs with their school's name/mascot embroidered on the cute little pocket up front and what do I get in Virginia? A smock. An all white smock with stretchy pants that make me look like I would be better suited to sit in a creepy van and sell ice cream than take care of patients.

I apologize for doing the lame bathroom self-portrait, but Ben is in Haiti in warm weather with a beautiful ocean and the coral reef (I make that sound so appealing) and I am here alone. Wearing this atrocity and getting stares on the Marine Corps base when I have to stop for gas because I forgot to do it in regular clothes.

Yeah, laugh it up.

Lame-O

You may be wondering why I haven't been updating this thing. Or not, whatever. The truth is, it's been a pretty uneventful few weeks. Well that's not true either. Hrm... how do I explain this? Nothing mildly entertaining has happened. There. Except this one time about a week ago when I went out with some nursing school friends to get a drink after one of the most harrowing days and met some weirdo sociology major named Chuck, who, after finding out I was from Texas proclaimed that he would sell Texas to Mexico and settle the national debt.

Me: Are you aware of how much commerce comes out of Texas? We're talking Japan, too, not just NAFTA. Also, I'm pretty sure Mexico can't afford it.
Chuck: Texas suuuuuucks.
Me: What about the music? A lot of great artists have come out of Austin.
Chuck: I hate conservatives.
Me: Have you even been to Texas? I feel like you are stereotyping.
Chuck: Um... nope. I hate Texas.
Me: Hey guy, F&*$ YOU!

I keep it classy like that. In my defense, his goal was to rile people up because he's a sociology major and therefore thinks he's smarter and more awesome than everyone. You could smell his smug a mile away.


In other news, Ben left for Haiti the other day while my mom was here. She acknowledged she came at a bad time and I probably wanted to spend some alone time with my husband, but then she realized that if she didn't come, then SHE wouldn't get to spend any time with him and she REALLY wanted to see him. I guess I should mention that if it ever came down to me or him, she'd pick him every time. He could smack me around and she'd high five him as she gave me a roundhouse kick to the face. So loved.

We also bought a house and are about 5 weeks away from closing (timed it to coincide with our lease). It's an adorable 97 year old colonial in the neighborhood we wanted, and though it has a few additions, they don't take away from the rest of the house. We saw some strange things during our house hunt, some mildly disturbing, some just gosh awful, but our house is mostly untouched save for some much-needed extra closet space and a 2nd bathroom. All that's left for us to do is the easy stuff - paint, granite counter tops, and stainless appliances. I think we can handle that. :) I have been frequenting Pottery Barn, Restoration Hardware, Lowes, and Home Depot trying to get ideas and it's been a lot of fun.

Housewarming party this summer!

Getting a 4th Opinion

Two days ago Mr. Hank hurt something in his back or leg, causing him excruciating pain every time he lays down or uses the stairs. At first it was random and occasional, but he still managed to crawl into bed to cuddle for some serious sympathy points Sunday night. Yesterday it got much worse, and he wasn't just crying or yelping... he was SCREAMING. Not screaming, but SCREAMING and every single time it clenched my heart, pulled it out of my chest, slammed it on the ground, and stomped on it.

I took him to the vet as soon as I could and of course she couldn't find a thing wrong with him. Hank hung tough and let her do whatever she wanted because he's the perfect patient, or at least he was until she tried to lay him on his side and he peed on her. Serves her right for telling me there was no possible way Hank's thyroid condition could be caused by a tumor. I'm no genius, but I'm pretty sure a tumor on the thyroid can slow it down. Hank's other vet who unfortunately does not have X-ray equipment agrees and was pretty upset to find out she told me that. I also have a dear friend back home who also happens to be a DVM who agrees and has helped me a lot over the past couple of days. If we ever end up in Tyler, TX he has a customer for life. I'm going to trust the majority and go in for yet another opinion with X-ray or ultrasound confirmation. So frustrating. The good news is at least we know it is his thyroid slowing down and not so much his metabolism. The bad news is he weighs almost 90 lbs. Out of control.

Today Hank is doing much better, but I'm pretty sure it's because he's high on Tramadol. Lucky for us we had some left from his last surgery and it's the only thing that helps, though he hates taking it. He curls his lips and shakes his head. It's kind of cute - he looks like a weasel with his long pointy nose. The vet gave us pain meds equivalent to doggie aspirin, but those can take days to kick in and I just couldn't take the SCREAMING anymore. It was too gut-wrenching. Poor Hank stood up all day and night, afraid to lay down while I fought off tears, scared and unable to help him.

Thank goodness for drugs and good advice from a great friend (thanks Justin!). Since it kicked in he's been wagging his tail non-stop, walking up and down the stairs with ease, and napping in the sun. What a relief!

Just in Time

Last night Ben and I went to the Apple store to get my whacked out cell phone replaced. We parked near Dillards and walked through the store to get to the main part of the mall. First department was little girls clothing, and I couldn't help but admire. There had to be something cute in there for our niece Lily. Ben doesn't get that at all, and since he makes the money, I got dragged along by the elbow out of there before I could find something expensive.

Next up were the cutest panties in animal prints, lace, you name it. They had thongs and boy shorts and everything was adorable but looked kind of small for your typical gal, but I ignored that fact because on the table was a sign that read "Just in Time for Valentine's Day!" My eyes lit up. "HOW CUUUUUUUUUUUUTE ARE THESE, BABY???" And then it hit me and my stomach dropped. We were still in the little girl's section.

There are going to be a lot of things we'll let fly in the Morton household that will not go down in the Grave's, but if I catch Lily with a pair of those before the age of 18, Phil will be the very least of her problems.

The Best Gifts are Homemade

The other day I came home and let Hank out of the bedroom. He gets locked up with the radio on while we're renting this duplex because he's been stalking the next door neighbor from the guest bedroom window and causing a ruckus. He hates that guy. There have been days where it has gotten so bad that I could have tossed him out the window. So annoying. This time he ran to the front door (I came in the side) and started howling his face off and furiously sniffing the cracks. After much reassurance that there was no one there, he continued so I flung open the door to prove my point.

There, laying unannounced on the front step was one of the most fabulous gifts I have ever received. Behold:


I dare you to find a more fitting gift for me than an oil painting of my stinky monkey. I kind of think it would be hilarious to take a family photo of Ben, me and the two dogs sitting in armchairs in front of a roaring fire, blow it up, and hang it over the mantle, but that's one of those things that people don't get and you walk around thinking you're hilarious while they think you're a pretentious jerk.

Back in December the Hodges moved to town and we put them up for awhile so they could stop paying for hotel rooms and find a decent place to live without feeling rushed. Tricia's mom was also in tow and she was a hoot. Her hobby is painting, and to thank us for our hospitality she decided to send us a Diane Grande original. She asked us what we wanted her to paint and I immediately got all awkward. The thought had never crossed my mind and for the life of me I didn't know how to respond. Ben suggested a beachy scene and I think I may have tumbled out a few really stupid words before she came up with the idea to paint Hank. To our surprise, she sent both:


Mind completely blown. Awesomeness.

Foolish Southerners

The weather forecasters have been predicting snow this weekend for at least the past few weeks, 6-12 inches to be exact. The locals thumbed their noses in the air, laughed, and exclaimed, "It NEVER snows here! It's been eight years since we got even an inch! Someone needs to fire those dumb meteorologists!!" We knew it was a definite possibility, but being new to the area, believed the people who had survived a few decades of winter and just bought some food to get us through the weekend. Sounded like a reasonable compromise at the time.

Yesterday morning I woke up, looked out the window, and saw about 4 inches of beautiful snowy white landscape. It was gorgeous, and then it started snowing even harder. Guess who's laughing now?! We now have about 6-8 inches on the ground and it's a nice change despite the inconvenience (and wonderful news of school cancellation).



What we DIDN'T know about snowy conditions is that when it snows you need to shovel your driveway... not so that you can get out of said driveway, but because it freezes over and creates a slippery patch of awesomeness that will either cause you to slip and fall on your arse or unintentionally slide out into oncoming traffic on our busy little piece of the road. I have done one of those two things already while playing with Kimber in the yard. You would think a dog from Africa would hate the snow, but she thinks it's the most awesome thing that has ever happened to her. She is especially puzzled by snowballs. I like to throw them at her and when they hit the ground she pounces on them and then looks at it "WTF MY BALL DISAPPEARED!!"



Hank, as predicted, is not a fan. It's a chore to get him to go to the bathroom and while I normally end up pushing him to the yard in grassy conditions, I'm not about to bust it while carrying his fat butt while there's ice on the ground. Poor scared Monkey.


The worst part about this whole thing is that every time we have inclement weather, one of the climate control contraptions goes out. On a Saturday morning when we can't call our landlord. Last August it was the AC and we spent 5 sweaty nights (with 3 trips by the handy man) before our landlord broke down and bought us some window units. That thing still didn't get fixed for several weeks. This time it was the heater and of course it happened as soon as the snow started falling. Figures.

As soon as the heater broke, Ben braved the storm and found a hardware store that was open. He returned with another space heater and a bottle of rum for snowed-in pina coladas. I think I'll keep him.

I Don't Think Buddy Wants to Hire Me

For some reason, cakes just aren't my thing. It kills me because I love to bake, but I just can't seem to get them right. When Ben and I first started dating, he would ask me to bake him yellow cake with chocolate frosting. Out of a box. Sounds easy enough, right? It should be, but Betty Crocker would slap me if she knew what I've done to her batter over the years.

The first attempt was about seven years ago for Ben's birthday, and it came out beautifully. I had never made a cake by myself before, but I really wanted to impress my boyfriend of a whole month with my mad skillz so maybe he'd think I was wife material and keep me around a little longer. The joke was definitely on him. Turns out that was a fluke and by the time he realized he'd been pool-sharked, it was too late... and that, my dear friends, is how I tricked him.

A few months later he decided he'd like another one of those awesome cakes he thought I could make. The second one came out raw in the middle and black on the edges. If that wasn't amazing enough, the third one came out completely dry and stale-tasting. Every cake came out worse than the last, and by then Ben had been let down so many times he stopped asking and I stopped trying.

It took me a good five or six years to go down that road again, but Christmas of 2008 I decided to try cupcakes with all my newlywed bakeware. They were delicious and over the course of a day an a half, Ben ate at least 20 of the 24. I'm not kidding. Ever since that day I've been baking cupcakes for every special occasion and even bought a fun icing tool so I can make them extra pretty.

Flash forward to today. Ben has been gone for two weeks doing survival training in Maine in the throes of a blizzard, and tonight he's coming home. I'm really excited - it's been a tough week (see previous post). Feeling brave and totally confident in my abilities, I went to the store and bought all the things I'd need to make him his favorite - yellow cake with chocolate frosting. I was going to make the real deal this time, and in my head it would be glorious and Ben would surely bring flowers home the next time he went out. I guess I had envisioned something like this:


Ok maybe not that fabulous, but I have been watching a lot of Cake Boss, paying special attention to all the little details they put into the icing all the while fighting like the hilarious Italians they are and playing stupid pranks on one another (I love that show). How hard could it be?

I only have one cake pan because let's face it, cake and I have a history I'm not real proud of. I thought maybe I'd test the waters before committing to a second one. I went to the store and gathered my ingredients, even springing for some decorating icing to give it that little something extra. Pleased with myself, I mixed up the batter and baked the first half of it as directed on the box. When the timer went off, the cake looked perfect and I thought I totally had this one in the bag. As soon as I let it cool and started pulling it out of the pan, it crumbled into a million pieces and all was lost. No problem - my cake would just be one layer instead of two. I threw it away and tried again. This one held together a little better until I went to ice it. I'm not really sure what happened, but let's just say cake is not my calling. The end product looked like this:


It's a really good thing Ben thinks I'm funny.

My Dear Sweet Granny

This is one of my favorite people in the whole world. We speak on the phone at least once or twice a week and she calls to check up on me every holiday, worried that I'm spending it alone (I never am, but she worries anyway). When I went home, I always made it a point to go by her house and do what I could for her no matter how small because of her osteoarthritis and inability to stand for more than a few minutes. I love this woman more than anything, and yesterday I lost her.

My granny was one of the strongest people I have ever met. She was born in the Great Depression, raised five children, two of which gave her hell (she gave it right back), spoiled 8 grandchildren, and lived long enough to see the birth of her first great-grandchild (for that I nicknamed her GG - she actually liked that one better than when we started calling her Granny, also my fault). Her first husband beat her, the second one was even worse though I hate to say it since he was my gramps and I loved him too. She walked away from both marriages during a time when divorce was not an option with her head held high. She hid her feelings for the sake of her family and despite the divorce, my grandparents were both there at every important family gathering, leaving their baggage at the door. I hope I told her how much I appreciated it. I wish my parents could do the same. She was also very quick-witted, could take a joke, and always had some hilariously snarky comment she'd make with a wink and a smile to get back at you. There was this one time she called to ask how long Ben and I had been married. She thought it had been a couple of months and I got a bit annoyed. "GRANNY! It's been a year and a HALF!!" Yes, I acted five, so what? She laughed and said, ".... and they said it would never last." Totally deserved it.

I called her on Christmas Day this year to tell her I was ok and that we were spending the holidays with friends. She was in the hospital and had just survived a serious electrolyte imbalance, one that almost took her out for good. I got the chance to tell her how much I loved her and that I'm glad we didn't lose her. She was pretty happy too and was looking forward to going home, which she did a couple days later. She told me that when she did kick the bucket, I had throw a party and dance on her grave. She also said some other things I will not be repeating but were definitely entertaining. It was good to hear that the old woman didn't lose her sense of humor... and also that the drugs were spectacular. Morphine is a hell of a drug.

I feel very fortunate to be the oldest grandchild and to have had so much time with her throughout the years. She was one of the few people I could talk to about anything and I will really miss hearing her voice every week. I'm not ready for the grave dancing or the party yet, but maybe some day. What a sight that would be, eh? Rest in peace, dear Granny. I love you.

I'm a Terrible Mother

I'm terrified of the day that I will have to say goodbye to one of my pups and for that reason, I'm super vigilant/neurotic when it comes to their health. The first time I found a lump on Hank I got so upset the vet gave me a big hug even though the thing was totally a giant lump of fat and completely harmless. Lately I've noticed Hank's neck has felt somewhat larger and maybe even a bit squishy near his throat. I'm well aware of my crazy and tried to shake it off, but I just couldn't do it, especially since he's gaining weight despite us cutting back his food at dinner time. He also seems to cough and choke a bit for no apparent reason at least once a day. Finally I decided I couldn't let it go any longer. I mentioned it to Ben who told me I was nuts and that Hank just has "old man throat." I'm sure that's a very real affliction. Much worse than the thyroid condition I suspected.

I called the vet to make an appointment, and the girl who answered the phone told me the same thing. Hank was probably getting old and his metabolism was slowing down and I should not worry about such silly things. The vet would probably just look at him and send us home with no issues. If I had any gall whatsoever, I probably would have gone off. First of all, anyone with a DVM behind their name is probably not going to be answering the appointment line. Second, I know my dog is getting old - I get that he will probably slow down a bit and gain some weight. I don't need you telling me everything will be fine when you haven't even seen the dude. Shut up and give me my appointment already, geez.

She finally gets me my appointment and we show up, only to be hassled by the same girl for a rabies certificate. I told her I had never received one and that shot records were always given to me in summary form when I checked out, which I had brought with me and provided every time before with no problems. She decided to call the vet office in Florida herself, only to be faxed the exact same form I brought. SUCK ON THAT, LADY!!

We finally get in to see the vet who looks at Hank and tells me his neck is indeed enlarged, he had gained 10-12 lbs which is a lot for a dog, the choking is suspicious, and that he does feel it necessary to draw blood and check his thyroid. I knew Ben's analysis was flawed! Turns out the guy worked on research animals (Bluetick Coonhounds in fact) at Baylor and knew a thing or two about Hank's past life, so we have it narrowed down to one of two things: thyroid issues or damage to his trachea/pharynx from all the times they intubated him while practicing anesthesia. My poor little boy. He said the only reason he suspects damage over thyroid was due to the fact that Hank had a shiny beautiful coat. He really does have a beautiful one. Much better than the beaver coat Vic wears (ha!).

Anywho, back to the point of this post. At the end of the exam when the girl mentioned above was checking us out, she asked what he thought. I told her that the vet had drawn blood and she cringed like the vet had made a big mistake and again told me Hank was just old and he was fine. I DON'T KNOW WHY YOU ARE ANSWERING PHONES WHEN YOU KNOW IT ALL. She requested the rabies certificate yet again and gave me the fax number to send it to if I should come across it. I dug through Hank and Kimber's medical records to see if I had ever been issued that dumb piece of paper and I ended up finding something even more interesting. Something that made me feel just terrible.

Our last vet in Florida who we adore wrote me a note to feed Hank Vitamin E every day (which I've been doing, hence the shiny, healthy coat that is NOT consistent with thyroid disease) and also that I needed to come back and get his thyroid checked in 2-3 months because he suspected a problem. That note was dated August 18th of 2008. Aaaaaaand I'm a bad mom. How did I miss that? I started to beat myself up over it, and then I realized I did bring him in 2-3 months later, and he left looking like this:


I kid, I kid. That was his Halloween costume. He was not pleased with us (more like he was pissed), but he won a contest and got lots of treats for it, so he can get glad in the pants he got mad in. Plus he looked really stinking cute in toilet paper. Look at him, he's adorable! In all seriousness, he really looked like this:


Bless his sweet heart. So you can see why his thyroid was not really a concern. We had much bigger problems back then.

At least I can feel a bit vindicated that nursing school has not contributed too much to my bit of crazy. I think it really helped in this case. As for "old man throat," we find out in 3 weeks. Until then, I think I'll just love on my sweet boy, hope for the best, and thank God for my stubbornness.

Sick Day

For the past two weeks I've been training for my first half marathon, and so far I've been doing pretty well. I haven't followed the training plan precisely (I'm slacking on the strength training), but I have been keeping up with the running portion. At least until today, when parts of my face turned purple and my temperature got really high. Let's just say it's 36 degrees out and I have yet to turn on the heater because I'm sweating.

Luckily I have taco soup and two lazy pups to snuggle with. Today just might turn out alright.

Still Got It

Ever since Ben and I got engaged two years ago, all the male attention I was used to getting/warding off pretty much stopped. It became immediately apparent that this rock was like kryptonite - I'd go out to bars with some girlfriends and end up standing alone while guys chatted them up blissfully unaware that eventually my friends would casually mention their boyfriends. The occasional guy would walk up and go, "Soooo.... you're engaged." Me: "Yup." Him: "That's cool. (awkward pause)...... well have a nice night!"

Although I haven't missed the awkward small talk one bit, the change has been pretty noticeable. I'm not one to catch on really fast when a guy is hitting on me (though the change in the dynamic of the conversation became apparent the second Ben was mentioned), but I have noticed that it's stopped, which brings me to the point of this whole post.

Today I was waiting at a stop light when I heard a honk next to me. I find that incredibly annoying and disrespectful, but I begrudgingly peeked over to the left to see one gnarly looking dude with a scraggly beard down to his belly button wearing a torn beanie giving me a giant grin and the biggest thumbs up I'd ever seen. I couldn't help but laugh - this guy was hilarious!

Great Success!

I waved at him and went on my way, laughing the whole way home. Who knew a guy like that could totally make my day? Norfolk sure has some characters.