Saturday, April 27, 2013

The week in review.

This is the highlight of the week. Before you sits over $100 worth of meds. For the dogs. Or more precisely, two of the dogs. Somehow, in typical mysterious fashion for our house, there is sickness afoot. Without being exposed to any other dogs, much less sick dogs, we have kennel cough germs tucking into the lungs of all the beasts, one by one. 

The dosage instructions are involved enough, I need a chart to keep it straight and make sure we don't miss any doses. Each course is 10 days. If all of the dogs end up getting this, I will be passing out pills for at least a month. I better stock up on hot dogs and lunch meat. They are so talented, they can separate pills out of a wad of bread and spit them right back out on the floor. Appetizing, to say the least. 

I've decided this is no different that having a house full of young children who bring home every bug known to momkind. I'm just really glad it's not chickenpox, stomach flu, or explosive diarrhea. Those were NOT the days.

And as luck would have it, the oldest son dropped off his dog on Thursday in order for me to take him to the vet for his annual visit. For some reason, his 12-hour work days prohibit him from having the time to take care of it himself. And because of those 12-hour days, the dog is still here because he hasn't had time to come fetch him. I've tried to keep him separate from the other dogs, but you know how that goes. They looked at each other, so that's about all it's going to take. If Junior starts coughing, I'm pretty sure I'll have him for the full 10 days as the boy won't remember to divvy out meds twice a day. I'm not entirely convinced he remembers to do his laundry or buy groceries. Unless it's beer.  Being the mom never ends, even after they move out. 

And from behind closed doors comes the sound of more hacking and coughing. From dog #3. 

Fucking fantastic. The vet is now on speed dial. 

Tuesday, April 23, 2013

Mothers and sons.

It is said that fathers and daughters have a special relationship, and they do. At least until said daughter dives head-long into her teen years, then all bets are off. I was a daddy's girl for many, many years. Sometimes, I still am.

But what about mothers and sons? Don't they share something special? You bet your football-loving, no clue as to wrestling, bicycle crashing, motorcycle revving ass they do!

Some days, I don't have the words to describe just how much I love my boys. Other days, my legs are tired from kicking them in the ass every time I turn around. I can't tell you how many times I've had to stitch my heart back together after it bursts in pride for some accomplishment. The well of tears I've cried as they grow and mature and take slow steps away from me is bottomless. The happiest tears of my life result from the out-of-nowhere hugs and the "Bye, Mama. Love you!" that I hear each and every day as they walk out the door or hang up the phone.

Yes, there is something special between mothers and sons.

I've been beaned with footballs. I've been run over with bicycles. I've been the unintended victim of wrestling moves gone awry. I've stepped on countless legos and matchbox cars at 3:00 am. I've learned to accept the sight of blood and not get bent about open wounds. Which is a good thing after Dean filleted his knee open two summers ago.

I've learned to understand auto mechanics and flying. I have a basic knowledge of welding and the proper way to ensure an awesome long distance spit. No, I will not demonstrate. Thank goodness I came into motherhood already knowing how to drive (and trucks, at that) so I had some sort of leg up on them.

The relationship I have with each son is as different as they are. One is known to seek me out in the garden, to visit and chat, and share what is bothering him. The other likes the same odd documentaries that I do, and doesn't overly mind going shopping with me. They both have physically picked me up and carried me past the shoe department lest we be delayed. They both eat themselves sick when I make homemade bread. Neither will eat peas, even if their very lives depended on it.

And they both know I will do anything for them, so long as it is in my power. Whether that be dropping everything to rush to their first accident, or slipping them $20 for gas because they don't get paid until the day after tomorrow.

My husband says I spoil them. That I let them walk all over me. Not so, I say. I love them. I nurture them (even when they think they're too old for it). I help them. I teach them. I bond with them. And when I've done my job, and they grow up and move out, I cry for what was, and what will be. Knowing that I've created something important beyond measure. Something that only another mother of sons can understand.

Monday, April 22, 2013

A little bit of tough love.

One of my resolutions decisions for 2013 is to get into better shape. (I really hate the word resolutions.) I want to get in better shape. I need to get in better shape. I don't hold up as well as I did in my 20's. I'm still strong, but some parts of me no longer reside where they once did. (How did my ass get way down there?!) Some parts of me aren't as firm as they once were. (What is with that jiggle in my thighs?!) And, of course, I no longer weigh what I once did. But it's really not about the weight at all, it's about how I feel.

I don't have the endurance that I used to. I've never been a runner, even in my teens. I just could never figure out the rhythm of the moving and breathing over long distances. I was a fair sprinter, but that's entirely different. I used to lift weights. A lot. I love to walk, but put me on a steep hill, and I may have a cardiac event. And yes, I know a lot of it is due to smoking. I've heard the speeches...from everyone. I keep trying, and one of these times I'll be successful.

Earlier today, I took a little break from work to catch up on emails and Facebook. And there in my inbox was the latest entry for a blog I've totally fallen in love with. Today's entry was all about fitness. And she's totally into fitness. As in, she's been an instructor and works out daily. Thank goodness she's also a major cat lover, because I truly can't relate to working out daily. :)

Anyway, part of her entry was a video featuring a man by the name of CT Fletcher. You can find the post and video here. Amanda is awesome and her blog is fantastic!! Sometimes, I just need to have it shoved in my face. Tough love goes a long way sometimes.   Thanks, Amanda!

I think Taz and I will go for a brisk walk before heading to the garage and our closet project.

Friday, April 19, 2013

I need something.

This has been an unbelievable week. Bombings in Boston and suspects wreaking havoc following, explosions in Texas. When will it end? I'm torn between listening to the media waiting for word that justice and healing are falling into place, and turning it off because it's just too much. Honestly, it's just too much.

I'm also seeing family members going through tough and trying times, friends dealing with ongoing issues that are emotionally unbearable, and other friends at a crossroads that has them on their knees.

My heart feels heavy. I've been on the verge of tears most of the week. I'm emotionally worn out. I'm having headaches. I try to turn to humor, but that seems out of place amidst all this pain, suffering, and somberness.

I need time in my gardens. With Smalls along side for conversation. 

Maybe some time in front of the aquarium.

Maybe some time in my project corner, working on new ideas.

To start things off, I'm headed to the salon this afternoon. For the first time ever, there will be some colors other than blond on my head. Should be interesting. Not to mention shocking to my family. After that? Who knows. Maybe I'll head to the thrift stores in search of some project treasures. Or maybe I'll go home and play in the dirt.

Even if I have to wear a parka.

Because I have to do something.

Wednesday, April 17, 2013

An evening alone with...


Hi, my name is Deni and I'm a Pinterestaholic. Yes, I admit I have a problem. No, I'm not looking for a cure. Quite frankly, after everything in the news as of late, I'm swearing off TV and internet news pages. So that leaves me with Facebook and Pinterest.

I've been searching for ideas to turn a newly vacant bedroom into my personal closet/dressing room/craft/sewing/couponing space. NIRRRVANA!! I'm giddy; all but doing cartwheels. Yes, it really is that exciting.

I've found a few ideas here and there and my imagination and crafty mind is chewing on them. In the meantime, I noticed a few things that, based on the popularity of repins, I should be doing. And, wow, am I way behind.

Sorry for that slight delay. An evening with no noise, children, and frying pans deserves a second glass of wine.

Those two mangy looking stumps in front of my house? I should be out there drilling holes in them and dumping epsom salts in there to kill the darn things. Actually, since they are small and rather odd looking, I'm planning to work them into the landscape. I just haven't decided quite how to accomplish that yet.

And all those pesky weeds ALL OVER THE PLACE? I just need to get out there with my vinegar. Not a bad idea since I refuse to use Roundup. And if I don't get them taken care of quickly enough, Mike is out there with some sort of poison, spraying away. Always on the windiest day of the week. Without regard to whether it is weed or flower. Only if it is clearly blooming is it safe from his magic spray wand.

Let's not forget, before picking up that favorite knife and slicing and dicing, I'm supposed to check on the gender of my peppers. Gender? Really? That sounds just a bit too personal to me.

Personally, I love this idea and I did pin it. If I had a picnic table you can rest assured that I would have a wine trough in the middle of it. Of course, that also means I would spend the entire summer drunk under the locust tree laughing at the squirrels that come to visit me. Might be a good way to spend the summer, actually.

This? My husband would kill me. Seriously. And he wouldn't eat the salad goodies anyway.

And since I value my life, and my ability to escape to my gardens, I think I'll just go off and regrow my kitchen scraps, collect some of ashes from the wood stove for fertilizer, and paint my stepping stones with glow in the dark paint.

Saturday, April 6, 2013

The Never Ending Story

Back about six years ago, we bought the house we are living in. Six? Seven? I'm honestly not sure as I'm horrible with dates. I should ask my step-mom, she writes down EVERYTHING. She can tell you when our litter of kittens were born, when I had my tubes tied, when and why Dean got his first round of stitches, probably even when I last made meatloaf. But I digress.

We bought an old farmhouse. It has great bones. That's about all that doesn't need some work. I'm serious. The people who rented before we bought it had no respect for the house. AT ALL. The original and beautiful hardwood floors have paint on them. Actually, everything had paint on it when we first moved in. And not properly applied paint, in case you were wondering.

One of the bedrooms on the main floor was painted in the most nauseating shade of Pepto-Bismol pink. Complete with a badly painted castle on the wall. The other bedroom on the main floor had a black and white city skyline motif, complete with the Batman symbol. Upstairs, the smallest bedroom had virulent colored hand prints, signatures, senseless quotes, and what looked like Rorschach tests all over. The other room was a vomit-inducing shade of pink/purple/mauve, with lilac trim. Sense a theme here?

It was also filthy. Not your everyday filth either. I'm talking right up there with Hoarders filth. As in, we rented a dumpster and filled it three times. No they didn't take their shit with them. They up and left for parts unknown.

Anyway, the point of all this is...this house needs lots of work and TLC. I'm fairly certain when we finally get it all done, one of us will expire the very next day. It's really going to take that long. Why? Because we decided we're going to do all the work we possibly can ourselves. It's cheaper that way, and this stuff doesn't come cheap. And there's always something to buy that's more important than household cosmetics. Like buggies full of food and an endless supply of new shoes for the teenagers that insist on growing.

The first thing we did, after the massive clean-out and sterilization was to blitz through and paint everything white. I've now decided I despise white walls at a level that is unnatural and quite possibly unhealthy. They are boring. They are lifeless. And they show every speck of dirt, glob of dog slobber, smear of whatever is on my kid's hands that must always touch the walls, and every gut pile of every swatted fly and spider to ever have the misfortune of entering through the door that never gets shut. Yes, I scrub and clean, but it's like it's some sort of haunted house where whatever splotch of evil-induced blood is removed comes right back the next day. It gives me nightmares.

I have had a mental list of all the things I want to do to the house. Some of those lists even get written down. Then the list gets lost, and I forget all my great ideas. Last night, about 1:00 am (thank you insomnia) inspiration struck. I'll find an app, get it all written down and saved on my phone. Voila! I finally settled on Tasks+. One of the drawing points in the description was that it was intuitive. Pfft! If it's intuitive, shouldn't it know exactly what's in my head and transcribe it verbatim? Apparently not.

Anyway, I now have a nicely organized list of what I'd like to get accomplished this summer. Realistically, I'm going to have to quit the job that's going to pay for all this just to get it all done. It might be worth it to get rid of the harvest gold and avocado green linoleum that's still in my kitchen.