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Tree-normous

emily — Mon, 19 Dec 2011 18:38:56 +0000

Part of our lengthy to-do list yesterday was picking out a Christmas tree. As we walked around the lot, we found ourselves coming back to this one tree in particular. It had a great shape, a straight trunk, and good coverage (no gaping holes). Before we gave ourselves a chance to think twice about it, it was strapped to the roof of the car and we headed home with it. It was only then, as we tried to heft it into the house, that we realized we made a crucial error: we hadn’t done the angel test. Every year at the Christmas tree lot, John raises his arm to see if he’ll need a step ladder in order to place the angel atop the tree. If it’s far out of reach, we find a shorter tree. This year, we failed to do the angel test. As we tried to right the tree in order to place it into the tree stand, the top of the tree scraped the vaulted ceiling. Folks, this tree practically blocks out the sun, it’s so big. Oh, it’s gorgeous, don’t get me wrong. But it’s a good 10-foot high tree, in a 1300-square foot house. Thank god for the vaulted ceiling in the living room, is what I’m saying. Even still, we had to lop off several inches in order to get the angel on top (with a step ladder, natch), and the angel now rests just a couple inches shy of the ceiling. Still, for our first Christmas just the two of us (I can’t travel, what with being 36+ weeks pregnant), it’s nice to have such an over-the-top tree. And, hey, big is beautiful, right?

Scaling back

emily — Thu, 24 Nov 2011 04:22:44 +0000

About a week ago, John and I had a conversation about the Thanksgiving menu. John opened with, “I’ve been thinking that it would be a good idea to cut back on how much food we make. It’s just the two of us, after all.” So I grabbed a pen and started jotting some notes about what we might have on our Thanksgiving table and what we might be able to cut. But the more I tried to cut, the harder I found the task to be. Of course we don’t need that much food; we’re only two people. But I couldn’t bring myself to cut the things that were traditionally on my family’s table at Thanksgiving (cranberry relish, for example), nor could I find it in me to cut the things I’ve come to expect on Thanksgiving (apple pie, because I’m not a fan of pumpkin pie). All of which is to say, I spent the day baking today and John will spend tomorrow cooking. There’ll be too much food, for sure, but what’s Thanksgiving without too much food? It’s the American way!

Thinning

emily — Tue, 15 Nov 2011 02:42:20 +0000

I told anyone who would listen that I was going to go through the house this past Spring Break and clear it of the things we don’t use, don’t need, or don’t want anymore. All of those things were going to go to the Salvation Army so that, whenever we get around to moving, we won’t haul unnecessary things that halfway across the country. But the thing I noticed, even after Day One of the Great Thinning Experiment, is that, well, the things that are clogging up our house aren’t in drawers or cupboards or closets. They’re not in bins or boxes or crates. The problem we mostly have is what I like to call Too Much Furniture in Too Small of a House. Not, you’ll admit, an easily solvable problem. So I’ve got that going for me…

Second verse worse than the first

emily — Tue, 08 Nov 2011 12:56:47 +0000

So if that wasn’t enough, we woke up at 2:30 this morning from a weird sound emanating from the dining room. Upon further (sleepy) investigation, it turned out to be the goddamned cat with another (live) flying squirrel. WTF? She dropped it on the dining room floor (at least she was in the right room for eating, I guess?) and John ferried it outside. The poor animal was scared but alive and, hopefully, could find its way back home. We then locked the cat door and shut the bedroom door, not wanting to share a bed with something so determined to bring rodents into the house. This morning, we came out to… a completely empty house. The other cat was, in fact, on the opposite side of the cat door, even though I distinctly remember him being inside the house before I locked it up… and then I saw the window. One of them had shoved a paw into the window screen frame and popped it off (leaving me to wonder what creatures made it inside the house, but I digress). So now we’ve got to figure out how to stop a ruthless (albeit fuzzy) killing machine from raiding what appears to be a flying squirrel nest. Operators are standing by.

Look what the cat dragged in

emily — Tue, 08 Nov 2011 00:39:05 +0000

So, a few days ago, we walked into the living room and saw the cat disembowling a small animal. She was so, uh, thorough that it was impossible to say precisely what kind of small animal it was. All that registered to me was: small animal, dead in living room, entrails underneath coffee table, GAH. John removed the poor beast (the animal, not the cat… although she made herself scarce pretty quickly) and we were left to wonder why a cat who gets plenty of (premium) food has to supplement with hunting. And, even if you accept the premise that she’s acting out her natural impulses, why does she have to do it on the carpet?!? Segue to tonight, when the same cat waltzed into the house with a small animal in her mouth. I don’t know which one of us registered that fact first, but very quickly John, the dog, and I all hurried over and the cat dashed back outside, dropping the baby flying squirrel (no kidding, it looked exactly like this) along the way. The squirrel looks like it will recover, but again I have to ask: why does she have to bring it inside the house?!? For now, the cat door is locked and we’re all inside, each one more pissy than the next.

On getting a financial life

emily — Fri, 04 Nov 2011 17:36:10 +0000

Several years ago, John and I had a lot of credit card debt. A LOT of credit card debt. Our theory was, there’s no way to escape graduate school unscathed in the debt department, so might as well accept it. Well. Hah. That led to problems (see above, re: a lot of credit card debt). And it gave us heartburn every time we thought about it and coughed up only the minimum payment every month on our two credit cards. But we continued to push those dark thoughts to the backs of our minds because, well, doesn’t everybody have credit card debt? And the balances grew and grew, and the interest piled up, and the heartburn got worse and worse until one day we decided we’d had enough. We were tired of worrying about the debt, of worrying about how we were ever going to pay it off, and how we’d ever get out from under this weight. We sat down had A Talk. A hard talk with lots of crunching of numbers and reviewing of budgets and rending of garments. We were honest about the kind of life we wanted to have (free of debt, for example) and made some really tough decisions to help us get there. In the end, we put ourselves on a payment plan and an allowance plan so that we could pay off the debt and finally be rid of all that heartburn. It took awhile; things like that always do. But we’ve been free of credit card debt for some time now (I honestly can’t remember how long), and it’s such a liberating feeling. This doesn’t mean that we don’t use our credit cards; we absolutely do. But now, when we want to buy something, we know that we have to figure out how to pay for it first. And if we can’t, we don’t buy it. That seems like such a simple rule to live by, I know. It seems like something a third-grader could come up with. But it can be difficult to honor in this age of instant gratification, and I’m sure we’re not the only ones who had to learn that lesson the hard way.

Ed: I’m well aware that John and I are tremendously lucky that we are able to pay our bills and pay down our debt. This post is not intended to look down upon those who are unable to do so.

Spiders, snakes, and a lizard’s head

emily — Tue, 07 Jun 2011 17:14:48 +0000

I’m not afraid of spiders. I’m fairly sure I used to be, when I was a child, but I’ve since made my peace with the eight-legged world. We’ve got wolf spiders in the house and some other small, jumpy spider, and I honestly don’t mind letting them scuttle about as they please. (It’s not as if we have an infestation, after all. That might change my ‘live and let live’ policy.) But the other day, we noticed a larger spider outside our front door. It was, well, eating another spider. Upon closer examination, it turned out to be a black widow. And that’s pretty much where I draw the line. Spiders are fine, but venomous spiders must die. We were running late, so we didn’t bother killing it right then. And (you see where this is going, right?) now we can’t find it. What we’ve noticed in the intervening days is that it’s likely a female, because it has made an egg sack (which, yes, we disposed of immediately). A quick search on Wikipedia reveals that “the female black widow’s bite is particularly harmful to humans because of its unusually large venom glands.” Nice. So, somewhere either inside or just outside of our humble abode, there lives a venomous black widow spider. I’m sure I’ll be sleeping well this week.

It could be curtains or dishes or a double boiler

emily — Fri, 27 May 2011 21:23:53 +0000

Confession: I get completely jazzed about the mail. Now, yes, it’s true that the USPS and I have had our differences. Most recently (read: currently), they’ve failed to resume delivery service to us following a ~~disastrous~~ ~~regrettable~~ not awesome trip to the beach. But still. Still! I’m terribly excited for the day that mail does start coming to our house again, whenever that day may be, because it’s full of the unknown! Who knows what the mail might bring! John, who does not share my adoration for the mail, has repeatedly pointed out that the mail for which I tremble each and every day usually consists of a) bills and b) junk mail. And, in truth, Mr. Naysayer is right. But mail service after it’s been held for a week is even better! Maybe I’ll get a letter! Maybe a package! Maybe a reimbursement check! It’s. Just. So. Exciting!

Greased lightning

emily — Tue, 17 May 2011 17:24:20 +0000

Subtitle: “Why It’s a Bad Idea to Shower during a Thunderstorm.” I’d always heard, of course, that you’re not supposed to shower during a thunderstorm. Heck, I’ve even seen a Mythbusters episode that proved what a bad idea that is. But I always digested the information in a manner you might expect from a fearless (read: stupid) teenager: whatever, dude, ‘snever going to happen to me. So when Saturday rolled around with whopping thunderstorms, torrential rain, and lightning, I didn’t think anything at all of hopping in the shower. And when I was done, John started his shower. I popped into the bathroom to ask if he needed a bar of soap when it happened. The brightest light I’d ever seen, right outside the bathroom window. I’m sure there was a thunderclap, but I don’t remember because all of a sudden, John yelled out and the next thing I knew, he had propped himself up against the far shower wall. Turns out? Yeah, it’s a bad idea to shower during a thunderstorm. Lightning struck right outside our house during John’s shower. Thankfully, it wasn’t bad at all: his big toe on his left foot was juuuuuust barely touching a puddle of water on the shower floor and he got a jolt. I don’t want to think about what would have happened had he been standing in that puddle. So, take this as a PSA: Don’t Shower During a Thunderstorm, Kids. It’s a bad idea.

Adora-vole

emily — Thu, 21 Apr 2011 14:41:28 +0000

Subtitle: Things that go “mrowr-urmmm” in the night. I’d just managed to fall asleep the other night when I heard it. An insistent, repeated, “mrowr-urmmmm…. mrowr-urmmmmmm.” It was clearly a cat, but it sounded sort of far away and muffled. John called out to whoever it was to shut up, which they did. And then it started again. “Mrowr-urmmmm…. mrowr-urmmmmm…”. I turned on the light. No cat, no noise. I walked into the kitchen. No cat, no noise. I walked back into the bedroom and, out from behind a chair, came Lydia. With something in her mouth. She looked up at me with bright, eager eyes. “Mrowr-urmmm?” And I saw that she had gone hunting and, in her infinite wisdom, had brought her bounty into the house. To, what, share? It was unclear. I managed to call her over to me and, after she had dropped it, saw that it was a vole. The thing is, she was so damn proud of herself. There’s no other word for it. Her expression, her body language, everything bespoke a shameless pride in what she’d done: contributing to the family upkeep. And after John unceremoniously got rid of the vole and I locked the cat door so that she couldn’t go retrieve it, she looked at us like we were morons. If you were just going to waste it, she seemed to say, I wouldn’t have gone to the trouble of offering it to you.