Decisions, decisions...

Since the Pretend Husband went into business for himself, there's been a bit of belt-tightening in the KAT household. To the point where anything involving money results in a long discussion and/or debate.

For the PH's birthday last month, he wouldn't let me buy him any gifts. Which I smoothly got around by not buying presents, but instead buying food and making him breakfast, lunch, dinner and three desserts (it probably would have been cheaper to just buy him a Wii game already!)

With my birthday and Christmas coming up, negotiations have been going at a feverish pace. We agreed yesterday to purchase garage door openers as our only Christmas gifts (which sounds lame, but I am so, so excited about them, which just makes me lame, I guess). As for my birthday, the PH tried to convince me to institute a ban on gifts, but I wasn't having any of that (especially because he can't bake to save his life so I'd basically be getting chicken for my birthday).

I told the PH I want a purse for my birthday (not even an expensive one-- one that costs less than $30 at Marshall's). I've needed a purse for awhile now, but have been holding off on getting one so it can be my gift. But then my electric toothbrush died the other night so I threw that onto the birthday wish list. Which led to the following email from the PH yesterday:

Do you want a toothbrush or a purse? One or the other, my friend. Choose carefully. I will still love you if you only have one tooth (if that helps the decision making process).

I would complain that it's going to be a pretty sad birthday if I get only a toothbrush or only a purse, but it's still better than the alternative-- a plateful of chicken as my only gift.

Having a five-mile wide neighborhood could get a little tough on the trick-or-treaters

Oh man, did you ever have one of those neighbors who you could spend all sorts of time with and it's just not enough for them? Like, you let them sleep over your house on a Thursday night (and make them waffles in the morning), but THEN they still want you to visit their house on Friday night? And THEN they come over to your house on Sunday for dinner? And THEN they accept an invite to come over for dinner on Wednesday night? And THEN they invite you over for dinner the next Sunday? And THEN they want to establish a weekly dinner with you? It's so hard for the Pretend Husband and I, being just so popular with our neighbors *insert dramatic sigh here*

You may have picked up on the fact that SJ and her husband moved Friday! To our town! And all that complaining I was doing was fake and was in fact, just a way to rub it in about how much time we now get to spend with them and how awesome that is (we have decks of cards scattered all over both houses because you never know when a Setback game will need to be played!)

I would love to tell you about SJ's new house because it's huge and fabulous and, thanks to her family, had a completely organized kitchen by the time they went to bed on their first night in the house. But I don't want to steal her thunder (seriously, though, it's huge... and fabulous.)

But I will say, welcome to the neighborhood, SJ (what? I can't extend my neighborhood five miles to the west to include SJ's house?) We're excited to have you and look forward to those weekly dinners and if a game or two of Setback gets played afterward, who am I to complain?

Because a true friend turns the attention on herself when you're having medical issues...

My best friend in high school, "Bertha," was put on modified bed rest this weekend, meaning she can't leave her house for the next two weeks and can only get up from the couch to use the bathroom or sit at the dinner table, but no cooking or setting up the nursery or being on her feet. She has 10 weeks left in her pregnancy and is hoping the bed rest will not be continued through all of them since she has a lot of work left to do to prepare for this baby.

While I was on the phone with her yesterday hearing about her predicament, I tried to come up with some things she could do from the couch. I suggested she have her husband wash all of the new baby clothes and then bring her the basket so she can fold them on the couch. Then I asked her to watch "Oprah" for me today and be ready to summarize it when I call (I also vowed to call a lot more now that I have a captive audience. She can't avoid my calls now!)

Last night, I came up with a few more ideas, so I emailed her to suggest she read through the entire archive of this blog and send me an email detailing how funny she thinks I am. And, if that task gets done fast enough, how about I send her some beads and she can spend some time making crafts that I can then sell as my own? I'm still coming up with some more ideas for her and am open to suggestions.

But, please, let's make sure they benefit me in some way. Because although this concerns Bertha and whatever precautions need to be taken to keep her son healthy and safe, I've managed to make it all about me. That takes talent.

Apparently he can only be romantic for so long...

The Pretend Husband went missing this weekend. But I wasn’t even upset about it because whoever took him replaced him with a similar looking model with the biggest romantic streak you’ve ever seen.

The PH surprised me with a trip to Boston this weekend for our second wedding anniversary. We ate good food, wandered around to a million different places, hunted out the best ice cream in the city, tried to buy cannoli in the North End (the PH: “what business doesn’t take credit cards these days?!?”), napped more than our fair share and just enjoyed the crap out of the chance to spend time alone with each other with nothing else tugging at our attention.

We decided we will never own a Sleep Number Bed after a too-soft bed the first night resulted in lower back spasms for me and a too-hard bed the second night was just uncomfortable for us both (but still better than back spasms).

He decided we will never live in Boston, even after we retire and have a couple million dollars laying around just begging to be invested into a brownstone on Beacon Hill. I’m still not entirely convinced it’s not a sound plan, but we have some time to argue about it.

And I think we’re both in agreement that I’m the better driver. Oh wait, no. The PH doesn’t necessarily think that, but agrees there’s a lot less arguing when I’m behind the wheel (I still say I wouldn’t be such a bad passenger if he wasn’t so bad about not braking until we’re practically in the trunk of the vehicle in front of us. I’m just saying.)

And I knew the honeymoon was over when, a few hours after arriving home, the PH insulted not just me, but SJ too! As we were telling friends about all our Setback playing adventures, I told them the PH and j always try to anticipate how we’re going to play our hands and act accordingly. But it often backfires because SJ and I aren’t exactly known for our logic when it comes to cards (We say, “You know what to do” a lot, but I don’t think either one of us takes that seriously…)

“Yeah,” the PH said. “You can’t outplay crazy.”

Oh, good. It appears my husband has returned.

We are living in a material world, and I have unfortunately packed all of mine.

Oh my god, you guys! I'm moving in 9 days!

The whirlwind that has been my selling and buying is nearly done, but I will not actually exhale until this pony has left the stable. Because if you think I'm paranoid, well. You know me really well.

We've been very slowly packing our house up room by room for the past four weeks, and we're coming down to the wire. And by wire I mean "all of the crap that wouldn't easily go in boxes." I also mean: "that scary box in the basement I'm afraid to open because I found a dead mouse right next to it."

In the process of moving and packing, I've had to do some cleaning.
And by cleaning, I mean:


Serious overhaul:


Thank god this process is almost done. (Did you hear that? It was the sound of me knocking on wood for six weeks. My knuckles are totally sore.)

Although, one thing I've learned. It is much easier to keep your house super clean when all of your stuff has really been packed away into a storage unit. I'm hoping that it also feels like Christmas (but won't actually BE Christmas) when I unpack it all.