Thinking about moving? Don't do it! (A true life story from someone who did- and lived to tell the tale)

Ok, if you have to move because a job takes you elsewhere or your house burns down, then I guess you can go ahead and do it. But, if you have any choice in the matter, I am the living, breathing warning about how much it sucks and how it should be avoided if you can help it.

Can you guess what we did this summer? We did it. We moved. And, while we have owned our new house for three months now, our dining room and garage are still filled with boxes waiting to be unpacked and organized and, if I'm being honest with myself, will probably remained filled for a good, long time.

You see, moving is so much more than the day you actually transport your stuff from one place to another. It encompasses weeks and months of showings (I cleaned my house 25 times for 30 groups of people to come through- and I'm still unsure how I kept my kids and dogs from messing it up the moment I got it clean... I think I ran out the door with them and didn't return home until the showing was over).

Then there is the packing, the negotiations when you finally get an interested buyer, the fighting with the parent who sold you the house to finally get the last of their stuff out of your basement six years after you moved in (is that just me?), the moving day itself, the praying the deal doesn't fall through at the last minute, the negotiations on the house you're buying and the unpacking and organizing at the other end. I lived in a perpetual state of stress for more than seven months- realizing just how stressed out I was only after it was over and I could breathe- and sleep!- normally again.

And the funny (as in ironic, not ha ha) part is, the Pretend Husband and I are still not entirely clear WHY we moved. We gave various (truthful) answers to different people: "we need a layout that works better for us," "we ran out of projects at this house and are ready for something new" or "our lives weren't exciting enough before, so we thought we'd mix things up." It was a struggle because we didn't HAVE to move; we WANTED to. We had a perfectly good house that we had worked really hard to make our own. And it had plenty of room for us and our friends and family. But we both felt like it was time- and also had the thought that, if we didn't do it now, it would probably never happen once our boys were in school.

So, we did it. And now it's all over except the unpacking. And, while the PH and I tend to disagree (or at least debate) about EVERYTHING (paint colors, what to have for dinner, which house to buy, what gift to leave for the buyers, what show to watch together), we are in complete agreement about one important thing: we will not be moving again for a very, very long time.

The joys of homeownership...

The other day, it poured all day and well into the night. We made sure we checked our basement multiple times for flooding and were grateful to find it dry as a bone.

As I headed up to bed at 10:30 p.m., I checked it one last time and found nothing. When FunnyKid woke me at 3 a.m. to eat, I figured I was being overly cautious but I went downstairs to check and make sure the sump pump was still working properly. As soon as I opened the door to the basement, I knew something was wrong by the puddle at the bottom of the stairs. (One of the worst ways to wake up your husband in the middle of the night is to tip toe into the room and lovingly whisper in his ear, "Honey, the basement is flooded"-- but it does get him out of bed pretty quick).

While the sump pump and the back-up sump pump had done their jobs in keeping most of the basement from flooding, another part that wasn't protected (and had never had problems) had somehow collected a few inches of water throughout. Which is how the Pretend Husband and I found ourselves ankle deep in ice cold water and digging trenches in the snow in the pouring rain from 3-4:30 a.m.

We were fortunate that the only things that were damaged were some empty cardboard boxes (it's not our first time at the rodeo and we've become smart about how we store things in the basement). The worst part wasn't the flooding but the fact that FunnyKid didn't get the memo about Mom and Dad spending part of their night fighting back the flood waters and woke up for the day shortly after we fell back asleep. He's lucky he's cute even when I'm running on five and a half hours of sleep!

Welcome to our home. Want to borrow a sweater?

The Pretend Husband and I are notoriously frugal people, especially when it comes to spending what seems like bajillions of dollars on heating oil. Basically, we don't like to do it. So we keep our house at a temperature that we seem to have gotten used to, but leaves our guests blowing into their hands and cutting short their visits. We generally keep our thermostat between 60 and 64 and only bump it above that if people are coming over (although sometimes we forget and have to amuse ourselves by watching everyone's breath until it warms up in the living room).

Anyway, I've been told having the temperature of our (large, inefficient, hard to heat) home kept in the low 60s is crazy. But we put on extra layers, always wear socks or slippers and deal with it.

Except when the PH and I got into bed to take a nap yesterday afternoon and I just.couldn't.warm.up. I had on extra layers and yet my feet were still ice-cold enough to wake the PH out of a deep sleep (he pretends to be angry when I do that, but I know he loves it). After 20 minutes of shivering and not being able to sleep, I decided our bedroom had probably gotten below 60 degrees and I would turn up the heat just a bit. That's when I glanced at the thermometer in our room and noticed it read: 56.

Fifty-six. Although the thermostat was set for 61, our room is far enough away from it that having it get that cold doesn't necessarily kick the heat on. So, I jumped out of bed, ran to the thermostat and, to make up for my misery, jacked it all the way up to 66.

In case your resolutions are as trite as mine...

I received the best, best, best piece of cleaning advice ever the other day. Which, normally wouldn't make the blog except for A) One of my resolutions for the new year is to keep the house cleaner and better organized and B) This is the only cleaning tip that has ever changed my life. So, on my scale, it's worth sharing.

The Pretend Husband was in complete charge of choosing our appliances (seriously, the first time I saw them was when they were delivered) not only because he's the cook in the family but because he likes to research the crap out of things and appliances bore me (I bought myself a couple of Saturday afternoons of bliss while he stalked appliance salesmen). Anyway, like everyone else in the world, he bought stainless steel appliances. Which drive me crazy because they never look clean, what with all the streaks, fingerprints, etc.

And here's the advice that is going to change your life too (uh, but only if you actually own stainless steel appliances...) Here's how you clean them. Buy a microfiber cloth. Spray water on the face of the appliance. Wipe with the cloth.

That's it. So not only do you get shiny appliances, but you don't waste your life cleaning. Since I hate to clean, any other amazing tips are welcome.

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.

This will teach me to be so productive!

Last night was a productive night around Casa de la KAT. I took the dogs for a walk, made dinner, the Pretend Husband got some work done, I baked a cake, I did some laundry, I loaded the dishwasher and then we had a bit of time together on the couch watching mindless television.

Around 10:30, we were ready to haul our weary selves off to bed... just as soon as I put the load of laundry in the washing machine into the dryer. But when I went downstairs, the washer was making a funny noise (why can't washing machines make funny noises at 10 a.m. instead of 10 p.m.?!?) And it seems our old washer has kicked it.

The fun part was the fact that it had filled up with water before dying its quick death. So we had a machine full of clothes sitting in a pool of water. Which led to the fun of us throwing all the sopping wet laundry into a plastic bin, taking it upstairs, rinsing it, wringing it out in the bathtub and hauling it back downstairs in the hopes the dryer could handle it. And the night wouldn't have been complete without the PH and I trying to lay blame (him: "If only you hadn't told me to put a load in..." me: "If only you had done it without breaking the washer...")

So we figured out what to do with the wet laundry, but it still leaves the question of what we're going to do about the laundry situation in general. Stay tuned for my next post: "If KAT lived in olden times" accompanied by photos of me beating a pair of jeans against a rock out by our pond.

It's a slightly more grown-up version of "Can not!" "Can too!"

On Saturday, I made this:

look like this:

Oh, excuse me. It's kind of hard to see with those two vehicles in the way. Oh wait, that's the point! I can actually park cars in our garage! Saturday morning, I started moving stuff around in the garage and taking stuff into the house to put it where it actually belongs and not where it's been since we moved in a year ago. Eight hours later, I was done. And I did it with minimal help from the Pretend Husband, his father or my brother, who were all doing various tasks in our yard (which looks great, but not dramatically different enough to warrant illustration). Ok, I did ask the guys to move some furniture around with me (I'm no superhero).

And, while I was looking forward to finally being able to park in the garage (and I can't wait for the garage door openers the PH promised me for doing the cleaning), I probably wouldn't have killed the entire day on the project if it weren't for one thing. My dad said I couldn't do it.

Am I the only 32-year-old who still feels the need to prove Dad wrong? My dad stopped by about an hour after I started working on Saturday and when I told him what I was doing, he estimated it would take me about four days to finish.

"Oh no," I said. "I'm parking both cars in here today."

"Today?" he said. "There's no way you're going to finish today."

I had to prove him wrong. Which means at hour seven, with one bay cleaned and swept and a bunch of junk still clogging the other one, when I normally would have left the rest for the next day, I soldiered on and got it done. I have Dad to thank for that (I'm thinking of sending him a card saying, "Thanks for not believing in me!") I think the PH is hoping he'll make a comment about the basement next.

I don't like strangers, so having them feet away from my underwear drawer is really hard for me.

I have worked my butt off over the past few weeks cleaning, cleaning and packing to get our house as uncluttered as possible to sell it FAST.

Not only have I been a cleaning mad woman, but I've also been a packing mad woman. You guys *know me* and my shoes. I packed away about 30 pairs - and most of my clothes including just about all of my sweaters.

I'm really, really optimistic.

So, our house went on the market on Tuesday morning. And today we have our first showings - back to back.

Thankfully, my beloved is staying home to work on cleaning what we didn't get to (mainly, the one room of the house that hasn't been packed/cleaned by me because the contents include things like "golf bags" and other such nonsense).

But, really, even I'm impressed by my house right now. My basement looks like you could hang out down there. Which you always could, I suppose, except that you'd have to pacman your way through boxes and crap everywhere. It practically looks empty right now. So much so, that I put a rug down. And a lamp with a table. I even considered getting a ping pong table.

I'm not looking forward to this being a long process. But, I am looking forward to a new house. A bigger house. One that can house all of my shoes (however, I've told J that our response for when people ask why we're moving is NOT to say "my wife has too many shoes to fit in our house").

So, while strangers walk all around my house today and judge me for my taste in furniture/paint color/carpet/curtains/wardrobe/shoes (at that point, no one can deny my taste, really), I'll be sitting in traffic praying that they like it enough to buy it when it's been on the market for three days. I can dream, right?

(I'll also be praying that they don't really open my drawers - because a) that's creepy b) they're a mess c) no one buying a house has any reason to look at my underwear. But totally just in case, I put all the Victoria's Secret ones on top, and the ugly cotton ones towards the back.)

And *if* they do, I will kick myself for pricing it too low.

And also *if* they do? And want a quick closing? I'll be homeless.

God, I hope I'm homeless at the end of October.*

*Note: God, if you're paying attention to this blog, first: thanks. Second? I mean homeless but with a pile of money to use as downpayment to a larger more fabulous house.

A true friend...

The Pretend Husband and I took a little detour after his softball game yesterday and ended up at the SJ manse. The one SJ and J have been furiously cleaning and touching up in preparation for putting it on the market. And while we did little more than admire their work and instill fear into them about how much it sucks to have your house on the market (you're welcome, SJ!), you know what they gave us? Alcohol.

There was some explanation about putting a piece of furniture into storage and having nowhere to keep the bottles, but my brain pretty much switched into alcohol beverage recipe mode and I missed the reasoning. Because when someone gives you free booze in a variety of flavors, you don't ask questions.

And when someone not only hands over a bunch of alcohol but then throws in some furniture for kat's lil bro's new house? You keep that friend for life.

(Hey SJ, martinis at my house anytime you need to vacate your house for a showing!)

Do you think I'll have to list "Insulated in Porn" on the disclosure form?

Well, we here at Funny Gals wouldn't dare let six months go buy without someone buying real estate, and so to ease the burden of KAT and the PH, who like to buy a new house once a year, we've decided to bite the bullet and buy a new house.

Really, this is mostly because my shoe collection has outgrown two closets and threatens to take over my life. And because more than half of my beloved bakeware lives in Rubbermaid because I don't have enough storage space in my tiny, though beautiful kitchen.

Which means, in short: we're moving.

As everyone knows, with moving comes a good deal of cleaning, house hunting, staging and the whole nine, since we will of course have to sell our house in order to move into a great big one. (Or, a slightly bigger than the current one and by that I really mean twice the size because let's face it, I am NOT going through this again.)

And with the selling comes a question: Do we have to disclose that our house is insulated in porn?

Oh? You mean I haven't shared that story before?

Well, yes. As it happens, our house is insulated in pornography. We discovered this five years ago when we bought the house and were putting in heat on the second floor. Just me (the youngest of three girls), my fiance at the time and my father - who, for the record, looks alarmingly like John Wayne, sitting around doing home improvements when lo and behold, my father discovered a stash of porn that could rival the archive of Playboy under the floorboards.

And with publications much, much more foul than Playboy. And when I say publications, really, I mean we found pornography in every medium possible and not limited to slides, photos, magazines, newspapers and soft cover (no hard cover. make your jokes now...) books.

As you can imagine, this is a story that often gets repeated when I'm sitting around having some beers with friends. Which is why, when I recently told one of my bloggy buddies that I was moving his reaction was: what are you going to do with all of your porn?

Another very good friend of mine suggested that the porn may in fact be a selling point.

I'm not so sure. In fact, I'm starting to worry that the next owners may discover the porn on their own and think me much more... interesting.... than I really am. I almost want to bury a little Vera Bradley note card under the floor boards that says:

"Hi there!
Just so you know, this wasn't my porn. It was here when we moved in. And the color in the living room is caled "Irish Paddock" - I've left you the curtains because they match perfectly. Enjoy! And by that I mean the color of the walls. Dirty bird.
Love, SJ"

Too bad, because I was planning to surprise each of you with something you would have loved...

Saturday, the Pretend Husband, the Pretend Father-in-Law and I spent three hours painting the biggest room in my brother's new house tan. Sunday, we spent three hours painting the biggest room in my brother's new house blue-gray.

Kat's lil bro has been incredibly busy lately (like working multiple 24-hour shifts at his job, which basically means working days at a time) and needs to get his house into good enough shape to move into it when his rental lease ends. So the family has been pitching in and doing work, buying some of the items he needs and giving lil bro more advice than he will ever use.

Last week, lil bro asked me to go to the tile store and pick out the tile for his bathroom remodel. And I was all set to do it, but then I chickened out and made him come with me during the few hours he had off one afternoon. Because, as much experience as I have with remodeling and as well as I know my brother, I was not ready for the responsibility of picking out hundreds of dollars worth of (non-returnable) tile for a bathroom he would have to live with.

And it's a good thing he went with me because, out of the two colors of tile we both liked, he chose the one I wouldn't have (I would have chosen the other one only because it was half as expensive, but I agree he got the better of the two colors).

But, even with that experience, I agreed to pick out paint for the family room. I had a long conversation with lil bro about his preferences ("I don't care as long as it's neutral") and got warnings from the PH ("You like dark colors. Don't go too dark. He likes the color we had in our old living room"). And when I got to Home Depot, I chose a shade of brown that was sort of dark, but still much lighter than anything I would have picked out for my house. And, when they were unable to mix that color in a five-gallon quantity, I agreed to go even lighter, ending up with a very light tan...

... that had a peach tinge to it when we got it on the wall. But we wanted to surprise lil bro with a completed room so we painted the whole room anyway (and it's a big room-- it used to be a two-car garage, to give you an idea of how much wall space we had to cover). And when lil bro saw it on Sunday morning, he hated it. He thought it looked peachy. And better yet, I showed him the color I intended to get him (the one the PH, my dad and the Pretend Father-in-Law all said was way too dark and good thing I didn't get it), he said he would have preferred it.

So, off to Home Depot the lil bro and I went, returning not with a darker shade of brown, but an entirely different color altogether. And we spent yesterday afternoon repainting the very room we spent the day before painting (so it's kind of like we did nothing at all on Saturday).

And that's why I will not be trying to surprise anyone by doing something nice for them. Nor will I be shopping for lil bro's house by myself (although I'm happy to to help paint with whatever colors he chooses). But I'm not making decisions or buying anything non-returnable. Pretty much, it's the last time I try to do anything nice for anyone ever again (or at least until my back stops aching from a weekend of work).

Tidbits: when there isn't enough for a full post

* As though life isn't exciting enough with the Pretend Husband starting his own business and kat's lil sis starting a second child, kat's lil bro had to get into the action by getting deep into the home buying process (he doesn't like it when I tell people he bought a house because it hasn't been finalized yet). When he made the offer, the PH told me I was forbidden to even pick up a paintbrush at lil bro's house until our house was done. He came home to find me painting the bedroom the next day and we rolled out the paint in the family room two days after that. I will not be thwarted in my quest to decorate lil bro's house.

* Do you think it's an indication I have a problem when I come close to finishing the renovations of one house and immediately start trying to figure out how to buy another one that needs work? I mean, just as we finished our first house, we bought the second and now that the second is almost done, lil bro has one ready for me to work on. The PH says we're not buying a third house when lil bro's is done. I may just have to start flipping houses to satisfy this weird urge of mine. Unless SJ is ready to buy a house and let me decorate it...

* Remember the guy who works for me who cannot get my name right? He happened to mention a few weeks ago that he drove by the office and didn't see my car (little creepy because he has not reason to be driving by and it's not even close to being on the way to anything...) Well, he upped the creepiness factor the other day when he stopped by my office and said, "Did you get a new car?" I had driven my brother's car to work that day, but I just said, "no." Then he replied, "Oh, because I thought I saw your license plate on another car." What?!? I'm not sure I even know my license plate number, so why in the world does this guy?!?

On splinters, Rick Springfield, lack of sleep and yardwork

Hi bloggy buddies!

How's it going? If you've guess SJ has had a crapload of caffeine today, you are exactly right! Every thought of mine right now is magnified and running about 10 times faster than usual!

Freaking awesome!

So right now, I've had very little sleep because of my crazed addiction to work, which is second only to my crazed addiction to the office coffee maker. I can guarantee you this blog post isn't going to make much sense in paragraph form, so I've decided to bullet point my thoughts.

• I have a splinter in my finger because of seriously overly ambitious pruning in my yard on Sunday. The splinter is mostly gone, but I think there's still a piece left. A friend told me to put a piece of ham on it. I think she's just trying to make me look silly.
  
• Yes, I did yard work. About four hours of it, after getting 3.5 hours of sleep the night before.
• Because the night before I went to see Rick Springfield.
• Stop laughing. I'm totally serious.
• Yes, he sang Jessie's Girl. Yes, it was awesome. There was an encore.
• Again I ended up at a karaoke bar, and actually sang by myself. Thank god there were no video cameras.
  
• It gets worse. I sang a Jewel song. But at the time, I had a super awesome time. Sunday may have been a little tough, however.

Sorry, Interweb. That's all I have for you.

How to get your house egged in three easy steps

Since we moved into our new-old house, we’ve been dealing with a “situation.” I have been transformed– kicking and screaming and with a lot of whining to the Pretend Husband– into the neighborhood witch. You know, that mean lady down the block who would keep your ball if it accidentally got thrown into her yard? That’s apparently me.

 We have a pond in our yard next to our house. It’s a nice pond that was one of the reasons I was most excited to move back to that house… and one of the reasons the PH was dreading it (silly lawyer with all his worrying about lawsuits!). It all started this winter when I looked out the window to see someone shoveling off the pond while his four kids ice skated around him. Wait, what?!? I hadn’t been on the ice, hadn’t checked to make sure it was safe and definitely hadn’t invited anyone to skate.

We let it go because we weren’t sure if my dad had given anyone permission to skate (and we were sure the ice was safe). But after talking to Dad and finding out he hadn’t given anyone blanket permission that would extend beyond him owning the home, then finding out a school vacation day had brought a whole bunch of kids onto the pond (without adults) while we were at work, we decided to needed to set some rules. For the record, I was all, “But not everyone is lucky enough to have a pond in their yard and it would be a good way to meet people and…” (The PH was all, “All we need is someone breaking through the ice and suing us! We could lose the house! How would you feel if someone got hurt in our yard?!?”) (The PH is a lot more logical than I am, obviously.)

I was all for holding neighborhood skate parties… until I looked out the window to see someone clearing the ice with a snow blower he had dragged down the road from a quarter-mile away and then was extremely dismissive when I went out to talk to him about our concerns. Then it was on like Donkey Kong.

So it’s been a struggle the last few months (until, thankfully, the ice melted) with a plan of attack that included me enlisting Neighbor Lady Z to keep watch (we have awesome neighbors who keep an eye on things for us and are willing to not only put up with us, but to lend us things and do things for us like moving our piano), me having to chase two 10-year-olds off the ice (“Did you know this is private property?” “Noooo.” “Really? Did you think it was a park? No, it’s my yard.”) and us having to consider asking the police to swing by our yard on school vacation days (which we luckily never had to do).

And I thought this had all ended (without me bitching and moaning about it on the blog even!) until I had a dream the other night that I looked outside to see that someone had set up those bounce house things on the edge of the pond. When I went outside, a couple of girls were hang gliding over the water and Neighbor Lady Z’s husband and kids were swimming in the pond. Then I got in a fight with Neighbor Lady Z’s husband because he thought I was being mean for asking everyone to get off our property (when in reality, he agrees with our concerns).

If we make it through the summer without having our cars broken into or our house egged, I will be shocked. And yes, I AM keeping your ball. Maybe next time you’ll be more careful where you throw it.

In this post, I try to coherently tie together two completely different subjects... how'd I do?

Wouldn't you know, on a day when I actually have something to blog about, we get tagged! WildARS has signed us up for a photo thing where you have to pick the sixth photo of the sixth folder in your computer and post the photo (thanks Andy, I'll remember this...) I've been tagged for this before, but never remember to do it after I get home, plus our personal computer is not currently hooked up to the Internet. So, I decided to do it with my work computer. And this is what I got:

I think that's pretty self-explanatory. Oh, it's not? Well, I work for a newspaper and this photo was taken for an advertisement. Or, more likely, I so love martinis and everything that goes into them that I was creating a photo essay of how to make them. Either way...

And, back to what I was originally going to post...

This is what we get for moving to the country. A few weeks ago, I took the dogs out into the yard and wasn't paying much attention until I noticed they had been sniffing at a pine tree branch laying on the ground for a long time. I called th

em away from it to no avail, so I walked over to it... only to discover that it wasn't a branch-- it was a tail. A tail. Like a raccoon's tail (but, luckily, without any sort of body or blood or anything else too gross).

We have a fox that comes through our yard almost daily and the theory is that it brought it home as a souvenir from its last good meal. Gross, but whatever.

Then, today, again noticing the dogs sniffing at something in the front yard, I went over to discover what I think are intestines. Yeah, intestines! (Or a heart but it was big so I don't want to imagine what kind of animal that came from if it was actually a heart). A few more days and I'm going to be able to piece together an entire animal.

Grossed out yet? Me too. Let's go back to thinking about this:

There. Isn't that better?

The KAT Family... Making Bonehead Decisions Since 2007

Start polishing up those awards, folks, because the Pretend Husband and I just won two big ones. First, my ridiculous decision that netted me the "Wife of the Year Award." On Friday, I took the day off work to be home while the kitchen cabinets installers installed... our kitchen cabinets. Knowing it would be boring to sit around by myself, I invited a friend from high school who was in town for a few days to keep me company.

She came over and we quickly settled onto the couch to begin looking up everyone we ever knew on Facebook (don't worry, I still haven't gone over to the dark side... but she had an account). The PH kept interrupting us with phone calls asking me to keep an eye on the installers and I kept brushing him off, "I know, I know. I've got it under control." By the time he called to tell me I had to make sure they put the island in the correct place, I was annoyed and said, "Hon, I'm an adult. I got this."

Well, 20 minutes later, the guys yelled, "OK, we're all set here. Have a good day" and left. And I walked into the kitchen to find the island almost two feet too close to the wall. I swore, I panicked, I called the PH and almost started crying as he got (understandably) angry that I hadn't paid attention. He was pissed that we were now going to have holes in our brand new kitchen floor when they moved the island into the correct position. Finally, in a panic, I called the cabinet place to explain what happened and the guy's response was, "Did they anchor it?" I said, "You mean there's a chance they didn't?" and my friend and I lifted it in unison. "Oh, thank goodness, now my husband and I don't have to get a divorce!" I said to the guy before calling the PH with the good news. Still, my first place win had already been ensured.

But the PH followed my win up a few days later when he swept the "Father of the Year" category. The same friend was over (she is such a distraction!) and we were playing Wii while the dogs had a grudge match all over the house. The PH got home around 9 p.m. with a pizza so we all sat down to eat. About an hour later, my friend was talking about how funny the dogs were when they wrestled when I looked down and saw only Molly. So I started walking through the house to make sure Casey wasn't getting into trouble... and couldn't find Casey. Then I ran through the house, calling for Casey and opening closet doors in case she had accidentally gotten closed inside.

As everyone started putting on shoes and coats so we could comb the neighborhood, I opened the front door, yelled for Casey and held the door open as she came running around the corner of the house. She was a bit wet and a little cold, but no worse for the wear. In fact, I think the PH was more scarred by the experience than she was.

And if this story about Casey's terrible parents doesn't tug at your heartstrings enough, listen to this. I went out the next morning to see where Casey had gone by tracking her prints in the snow. I was curious whether she had run out to the road or to a neighbor's, etc. and to the best of my investigation skills, it looks like all she did was run from the front door of the house to the side door, trying to get in. I know, I know. Good dog, bad parents.

I would never actually say this to his face, but the PH was right (for once)

Among the projects I've taken on at both our "practice house" and the current one is wiring and hanging the light fixtures. Not to brag or anything, but I actually put up the chandelier at our first house (although, if I'm being perfectly honest, it didn't work quite right until Dad came for a visit).

So putting up the light in the front hall didn't seem like such a big deal. It was a pain that I couldn't get to it until about 7:30 at night, which meant I had to clutch a flashlight under my chin while I wired it, but I persevered. For two hours... after which, it still didn't work.

The complication was because the light in question is controlled by three light switches and I wasn't the one who took the previous fixture down so it wasn't a matter of wiring it the same way. So, despite my best guess at which of the 26 wires went where (OK, perhaps it was only six wires, but still...), the switch at the top of the stairs was, at one point, controlling the lights outside the house. And the dimmer in the hall? Was dimming the lights outside the front door. Yeah, I'm not sure how that happened either.

After a lot of frustration, we decided to abandon the project and try again the next night. At which time we began trying different combinations of wires, hoping to stumble on the right one. It wasn't completely random-- I tried finding a diagram on the Internet to follow, but couldn't find our exact situation (look at us! putting our lives in the hands of the Internet-- what trust!) While I tried to reason out the situation (well, those wires were twisted together and they look like they might be these wires in this diagram...), the PH just started twisting different wires together. And, on his second try, the light worked (and, even more importantly, the switches controlling it did not affect our outside lights).

So, for the rest of the night, I had to listen to the PH talk about what a genius he is and how he found the solution in two tries after I had spent hours trying to make the light work. Would it be terrible if I hope he gets a little shock the next time he tries to show off his electrical skills?

Another reason to be glad you're not the Pretend Husband...

When we picked the color for the master bedroom in our new house, we (OK, I) chose a pinkish brown that was supposed to go well with the bluish color of our comforter. We painted the walls at night and liked the pinkish brown color of them, although they looked more brown than pink. But when we went upstairs to check out the room the next day, we were stunned to discover we had painted our room mauve (which, for the color-illiterate, is waaaaaay more pink than brown).

The Pretend Husband grumbled about it, but seemed placated by the people who said it wouldn't be so bad when we got our furniture moved in and stuff up on the walls. Me on the other hand? I hated it, but didn't want to admit I made a mistake (and, to be honest, did not feel like repainting the room we had just spent all that time painting when there were, oh, eleventy-hundred other things that need to be done in that house).

I finally sucked it up this weekend, just hours before we were going to be moving our furniture in, when I realized if I didn't do something, I'd probably be living in a mauve room for the next 10 years. Sly as I am, I think I actually got the PH to think it was his idea to re-paint and better yet, he thinks he finally won an argument about the house (and, even better, now he owes me!)

So, instead of moving furniture, we headed out to Home Depot, picked out a nice navy blue and spent the rest of the day slapping on a couple of coats. Which, next to the gray we chose for the hallway, it's looking a little like the Civil War is being fought in our very own house (you know, the blue and the gray? The North and the South? Geez, am I the only one who grew up with a Civil War buff for a father?) In any case, it's a huge improvement over pink.

If I make you laugh, will you give me some advice?

OK, I am seeking some advice on something, but I'm not just going to ask you to give me something without giving something in return. So, first, a funny story... and then I'm going to need you to put out. Uh, information, that is (get your mind out of the gutter! Did you really think I'd proposition you on my blog?!? That's weird! I would call you and ask you over the phone, of course...)

Anyway, first the funny story. The building I work in (on the fourth floor) is connected by a tunnel in the basement to a second building. Well, I watched an event that was happening on the second floor of the other building on TV and then realized I needed to get the names of these two old ladies who had testified about something. So, wearing heels and a dress, I ran to the elevator, took it to the basement, ran through the tunnel, caught an elevator to the second floor... and found I had missed both ladies.

Figuring they couldn't have gotten far (one is 91 and uses a cane, for goodness sakes!), I ran around the second floor then climbed up to the third floor to see if they had exited there. A security guard said he hadn't seen them so we stood at the railing watching the floors below. Suddenly, we spotted them on the first floor, so (still in heels), I took off running for an elevator and took it to the first floor. At first, I couldn't find them, but ran into the cafeteria and caught them as they got their lunch.

Out of breath and with very sore feet, I then went back to the third floor because I figured the security guard would wonder how this little drama turned out. And, for the record, even he commented on how fast those two moved for being little old ladies!

And now, your turn... I have A TON of cleaning ahead of me at the house we're moving into. Dust and dirt and black dust from many years of using a coal stove kind of cleaning. And, if you ask KAT's lil sis, she will gladly tell you that I am more than little challenged in the cleaning department (although, I have gotten better over the weeks of having to clean almost every day for open houses and showings). Anyway, any recommendations you have for awesome cleaning products (such as ones that work instantly without me having to scrub or actually do any work...) are much appreciated. I especially need something that will clean up the mineral deposits (I think? It's a colorful stain in the shower so perhaps it's mineral deposits?) in the bathroom. Offering to fly in and help me clean will also score you a lot of points (Molly, I know you're planning on going to England for Christmas, but this would be a lot cheaper and almost as much fun, wouldn't you say?!?)

Movin' and groovin'

Hey there. I just got back into town from our weekend away, pulled up to the front door of Funny Gals and... whoa! A whole new look for our corner of the neighborhood. How awesome is that?!? SJ and I can take no credit for the improvements, of course. We have our gal Molly with help from Burg to thank for the new look (she was even the impetus for it-- she emailed us to tell us we are sooooo 2007 and it's time to let go of last year's look for something new). And seeing as how it took no more work for us than an email back saying, "Go for it!" SJ and I went along with the idea.

So we've moved into these new digs-- some of which may look familiar, but some of which is completely new (I'm told we have a "blog roll" down in the bottom right and it's supposed to keep track of the blogs we read and how often they're updated, so that sounds fun...)

Speaking of new digs, the Pretend Husband and I are about to get some too. We sold our house. (That doesn't quite reach the level of excitement I'm feeling. It's more like, HOLY.CRAP!WE.FREAKIN.SOLD.OUR.HOUSE!) So, we're moving (into the house I grew up in) and we're demolishing and we're repainting and restoring hardwood floors and clearing out trees and... we should be done by the time our youngest child is in high school. Yeah, it's going to be a lot of work. And the next couple of weeks are going to be tough as we try to get everything done at once.

But, you know what? I can't wait.