milk

Squeaking, squealing, yelling

"Ryan, did you hear that?  Wake up!  I think there's a mouse in here!" "There's no mouse, go back to sleep."

"No, I hear squeaking."

"It's just the wind. Go to sleep."

A couple minutes later.  "There it was again!  Did you hear it, Ryan?  There's definitely something squeaking in here!"

"It's probably just the heater! Go to sleep!"

An hour or so later.  "Ryan, there's a mouse in here!  I can hear it squeaking right behind me."

"Amy, there is NO MOUSE!  They don't have mice here!"

Another hour, more squeaking.  I am curled in a little ball under the covers of the guest room bed.  I swear, if a mouse crawls into this bed with me, I will have a heart attack.

"OK, that was definitely a mouse!" I turned on the light.

"What are you doing??  Turn off the light!!  They do not have mice here!  It's a new house and they've never seen a mouse!  Go to sleep.  I promise, there is no mouse."

It was a long night - squeaking, me waking up Ryan, him assuring me there was no mouse, more squeaking...

But it was soon forgotten.... until a call from the owner of the house.  "Yeah, we finally got rid of the mouse problem we were having.  We had heard the squeaking in the basement, but eventually we found it in the guest room."

Anger Issues

There's more to dumpsters than just trash.  Sometimes they can be highly informative resources for discovering your neighbors secrets.  Think about it.  In every detective movie, what do they do to figure out about a person?  They dig through their trash.  Gross, yes, but informative.  But sometimes it's even easier than that.  Sometimes your neighbors leave notes on the dumpster that reveal more about them than their trash ever could.  The following message was left on a dumpster in my special little community:  "Who is the freaking stupid person who left their recyclables by the dumpster?  IDIOT!  They don't go by the dumpster.  They go by the blue pole.  BLUE POLE.  Do you need a PICTURE of the blue pole?  Let me draw you a picture!  [insert what I can only assume is said "blue pole"-drawn in black]  Maybe now you'll remember to put them in the right place.  STUPID IDIOT!"

When I read this note, I looked down at the trash in my hands.  Were there recyclables here?  Was I putting everything in the right place?  By the tone of this note, my very life was on the line if I got it wrong. 

Several days later, another note was posted to the mail boxes.  A photocopy of a smaller note said, "Would you mind parking across the street?  Your truck takes up two spaces in front of my apartment.  Thanks!"  Under this copy, someone had written, "Never, EVER put your dirty hands on my car.  There will be trouble if I ever see you do this again."

I didn't think it had anything to do with me until I was bringing a pizza box to the garbage a few days later.  A man in a big blue truck across the street noticed me and yelled, "HEY.  You don't have recyclables in there, do you?"  All I had was a box, as he could plainly see.  "No," I whispered, my voice shaking.  "Good," he said, glaring as I hesitantly put my box in the bin, and practically ran back to my apartment.

Should I be worried?

Kid stories

Oh wait, I don't have kids.  But what do I do when everyone I know starts talking about their children?  I start talking about my dog.  Really, he's almost human, so people shouldn't be offended.  In fact, he communicates to me and understands me better than Ryan sometimes!  (Determine for yourself what that says about me and/or Ryan...) So yesterday I woke up to Ryan saying goodbye to me, as he has to leave for work before I even have to get up.  I gave him a kiss, a smile, and (only if he's lucky) a wave from bed and turned over to cuddle with my sweet little boy.  But he would have none of it.  Seeing that daddy had already left for work, he felt that it was time for mommy to get up too.  So, hopping like a rabbit around the bed, he began to bark.  And believe me, his high pitched yelp is hard to ignore (sorry people upstairs!).  But to Hugo, barking doesn't mean "I have to go outside and do my business" or "I hear noises outside and it could be an intruder so I want to scare them away", it means "Play with me or I won't stop until your ears hurt from my screeching!"  And he means it.  So I found the chewy we keep on the bed and hurled it out the door into the living room.  He leaped from the bed, bounded on the chewy, and brought it immediately back.  I was already asleep, and he knew it.  So the barking began again.  Finally I just got up. 

A new thing he's doing is grabbing the tag on his collar.  He knows he's not allowed to do this, so I'm realizing it's completely out of spite.  He knows if he's doing something bad, he'll get more attention!  And he craves attention!  He stands just out of arm's reach, looking at you, daring you to try to get him to drop it.  But as soon as I reach out to grab it, he hops away (is he part bunny?).  So I have to chase him in order to get him to drop the piece of metal in his mouth, the toy that is always just right around his neck.  He is such a brat!  But it just makes him more endearing.  That little face, the daredevil expression, the catch me if you can attitude.  No wonder he is so bad!  Mommy and daddy are suckers. 

  

  

At least he doesn't eat his own poop anymore.

Noisy Neighbors

Ryan and I just recently moved into our own apartment. It's small, but cozy. We have all hand-me-down furniture, but it's beautiful. We love just sitting in our new home; enjoying its warmth and each other's company. Often we will dim the lights, throw some popcorn in the microwave, and pop a DVD into our new flat & widescreen TV to bask in its glow for hours at a time, while snuggled together on the couch. But then we hear it: the rattle of the pipes, the high-pitched screaming, the ghoulish yelling, and the eerie music. We pause our movie to listen, our faces terrified by what we are hearing. You see, our apartment is haunted by the worst type of ghouls: noisy neighbors. Our first encounter with our vociferous neighbors was early on one of our first mornings here. I woke up slamming the snooze button to turn off my alarm. Why wasn't it working? I thought. Finally, befuddled and bemused by the non-stop noise and the early hour, I looked around. It wasn't my alarm, nor was it Ryan's. It was coming from above, as if there were no ceiling or floor separating us. I looked at the clock: 5:30am . Nearly three hours before I had to get up. They'll turn it off soon, I naively presumed. Two hours later, I - nearly bald from pulling out my hair - could take it no longer. I stood on top of my bed and pounded on the ceiling. "Who leaves their alarm on for two hours straight, while obviously still in the apartment?" I wondered, frantic from lack of sleep and the most annoying noise in the world being drilled into my brain. Soon, I was delighted and relieved to hear footsteps go and turn off the alarm. I fell back to bed, with the alarm still ringing in my ears.

After weeks of waking up to non-stop alarms and pre-teen temper tantrums, of plumbing that literally runs right next to our TV, and the yip-yappiest dog (yes, I invented that word) I have ever encountered, one of them decided to take up the trumpet. Yes, the trumpet. An instrument that hardly sounds good played well. After several days of us thinking that someone up there had an incredibly bad cough, we realized it was actually someone practicing their music. With cringing faces, Ryan and I stood, horrified. Now it is my belief that I can always be useful to those around me, and help them by teaching valuable life lessons. On this occasion, I thought it would be extremely helpful for this insolent individual to learn what good trumpet playing sounded like. So feeling very pious, I sat down at my computer, double clicked on Miles Davis, and turned the volume to the max. Laughing at my cleverness and noticing the delinquent trumpet had stopped, I basked in the triumph of my victory.

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I'm so tired. I was up all night because my little girl has the flu. She finally fell asleep around 5 this morning, and I fell asleep a few minutes later. Unfortunately, I forgot to turn off my alarm so we could both sleep in - no way she was going to school this morning. Anyway, I woke up about 5 minutes ago to a banging on my floor. At first, I thought my daughter had fallen off the bed, but the banging continued. Finally, I realized someone downstairs was banging on the ceiling! That's when I realized my alarm was going off. It must have been beeping for quite some time, but I just hadn't heard it. I understand that may be annoying to people around me trying to sleep, but maybe they should realize there are extenuating circumstances sometimes.

The other day, I got home to find my daughter crying outside as she tried to play her trumpet. I couldn't figure out why she was standing out in the cold, when she was supposed to be inside practicing. Then she told me she had been practicing, as I had told her to do, but someone had started playing trumpet music really loudly. She said she couldn't concentrate, but I knew there was more to it than that. Someone was insinuating that they don't want to hear a little girl practicing her trumpet, and they wanted to shut her up. I was fuming when I went upstairs. I'm so tired. And I'm tired of neighbors who just don't understand what it's like to raise two children by myself in a small apartment. It's very hard. I'm doing the best I can. But right now, I'm just tired.

Counting Towards Something

I learned some very important things about myself recently. (As I am sure the anticipation is killing you, I won't bore you with some long introduction and far-fetched allusions.)  I have learned (1) that everything I do has to matter in some way, and (2) that I like fantasy fiction.  The latter should not have been such an epiphone to me, especially considering how much I enjoy LOTR and Harry Potter, but it was.  It was my husband who suggested it.  We were riding in our car and I was listening for the umpteenth time to The Two Towers.  He kept asking questions and I, proud of my vast LOTR knowledge, answered in the longest and most complicated way possible (I wanted him to be impressed).  Then he said it: Amy, I really don't understand your love for fantasy fiction.  "Fantasy fiction?  I don't love fantasy fiction!  Only losers like fantasy fiction, you know, like trekkies."  He looked at me knowingly.  Well apparently, I am a loser.  So, in my pain-staking quest to find and accomplish new projects, I am going to try reading some new books in this genre and see if indeed I am a loser. Now to explain my next stop on the path to self-enlightenment.  You may think that the statement "Everything I do has to matter" is some way of expressing my need for meaning in my life.  Well, on a deeper level, that is true.  But let me give you some examples on a not-so-deep level.

  • Every time I read a book, I record all its information (author, pages, publisher, whether I took any notes or quotes from it, rating - my own personal, and very complicated system - and any comments I may have, etc.) on a spreadsheet. Otherwise, it's like I didn't even read the book and I have to read it again in order for it to count.

  • When I watch TV, I often find myself wishing that everything I watch was included as part of the Niellson ratings. I want what I watch to be counted and measured and reported, otherwise, watching TV is totally pointless.

  • I will not run without my Nike+iPod kit. Otherwise, my run is not counted and it is as if I haven't run at all. Do I think about the health that is improved or the waistline that is shrunken due to a run that perhaps hadn't been counted? No. I just won't run unless it is recorded into my computer.

  • I have a list of projects that I want to complete and published it right here on this blog. Apparently the feeling of accomplishment is not enough for me. I also must have it recorded somewhere that I am working on it and have finished it.

  • I also have a very detailed spreadsheet of anything that I want to spend my money on. If I cannot cross it off that list, the purchase was pointless.

Had enough?

Unfortunately, a set-back with all these points is that I am also quite lazy.  Now if I could find a way to make laziness matter in some way, I'd be golden (perhaps a spreadsheet detailing hours of laziness and quality of that time as compared to other laziness times taken?). 

Once again, my sweet husband was the one who made me realize this (If I had known I'd learn so much about myself through marriage, I'm not sure if i would have gotten married in the first place. But that's a topic for a whole different blog post.).  As I contemplated the amount of laziness accomplished this past weekend, I realized it just isn't fulfilling.  I need more.  I guess I thought everyone felt like this (if I'm one way, then I just assume everyone else is as well).  Well, I was trying to explain this to Ryan when I realized he had no idea what I was talking about.  Eventually, however, he understood - or at least pretended to very well - and became much more sympathetic.  Once again, I find myself with a project - to find something to do to make my time matter.  It just has to, at least for me, because otherwise, life is pointless.

So, whether this is indulging my life-long dream of writing a LOTR encyclopedia or getting more involved in music or children ministries at church, the point is: I am on a quest to find something.  (I welcome any suggestions - can't promise to do any/all of them.. lazy, remember?)  I'll keep you updated.

Remember? The Alamo

Ryan and I have decided that we need to adopt some better habits. For example, we now eat our dinners at the table instead of in front of the TV. This has been life changing in several ways. One, I do not watch nearly as much TV as I used to. Two, I don't snack in front of the TV at all. And three, the most important of all, I always remember the Alamo. What does this have to do with us eating at the dinner table? you may ask. Everything. Because there, perched on the wall next to which our table sits, is a beautiful cross-stiched image of the famed building, with those famous words stiched beneath. Needless to say, the picture is not my mine. It made it to the wall for two reasons: Ryan's dad made it for him when Ryan was young, and the frame matches the table. Nevertheless, the words have been fused in my brain and now every day I am obliged to remember the Alamo.

Unfortunately, I didn't know much about the Alamo as I have never had to remember it before, so I did a very small bit of research. It's an interesting story and if it hadn't been so depressing, I might have read more, or even watched a movie depicting the events. The gist of it all is that many Texan men fought at the Alamo for freedom, and died for it.

Now, every night as I eat, I think about the cost of freedom and what my life would be like without it. Seemingly, this is exactly why the phrase "remember the Alamo" was first uttered. However, as it was for the freedom of Texas and not America in general, my life probably wouldn't be so different.  I am not from Texas, I've never been to Texas, and I don't really care much about Texas (I am sorry, all you Texans).  So there I sit, pondering, wondering, and feeling, well, mostly depressed - that picture staring at me, challenging me to think of anything but an event that has absolutely nothing to do with me. "I know," I mutter with submission (in my head, of course. I don't want Ryan to know I'm crazy.). But every so often, in the deep recesses of my mind, I escape the call of the picture and realize the tedium in remembering the Alamo every single night.

In Costume

My husband has a blog where he and some of his friends from college spout off about their various political opinions, among other topics.  I am not an avid follower of politics like these guys, and therefore have never before posted on their site.  Until today.  Today I had a few things I wanted to say, but I knew that they would not listen or respect what I wrote.  So I posted under an alias.  Oh! the freedom I felt!  I could say whatever I wanted and no one would ever be the wiser.  Not only did I post once, I posted 4 times!  Unfortunate as it may be, these gentlemen appreciated the comments left by a stranger (interestingly enough - a man) than if the comments had been left by their friend's wife. 

These events led me to start thinking about Shakespeare and his commentary about the freedoms of being in costume.  One of my favorite Shakespeare plays is "As You Like It."  In the story, the main character- Rosalind - puts on a disguise and only then is able to truly talk and get to know the man she loves. 

Think about it.  If you were in costume and no one knew it was you, what would you do?  I know you've wished you were invisible at some point, why?  What is the appeal of becoming invisible?  There is a certain freedom in word and deed when no one can connect them back to us. 

Unfortunately, my brief encounter with "invisibility" was dashed by my husband's big mouth.  But it did start me thinking about perhaps living more more often like I was invisible, except that I'm not.  Would I be braver?  Would my voice be louder?  Would people - or even myself - find that I actually had interesting things to say?  Maybe I should start giving it a try.

What I wouldn't choose over chocolate.

In other words, I am going to attempt to write a complete list of things that I would never choose over chocolate.  Unless I for some reason have had my fill of chocolate.  But I don't think that will ever happen, and has indeed never happened, even though I have been on some serious chocolate binges.  OK, here goes:

  • internet access

  • work

  • hair highlights

  • professional manicures & pedicures

  • Diet Coke

  • talking on the phone

  • buying new purses

  • paying too much on gasoline

  • writing lists

  • going out on Friday nights

  • office supplies (or office supply shopping)

  • entertainment news

  • all my knowledge of economics

  • any kind of alcohol

  • seeing new movies

  • Ned Lamont & Joe Lieberman

  • Arizona, actually pretty much any "A" state

  • Duct tape

  • Harry Potter

  • My music collection

  • My DVD collection

  • President Bush

  • "America's Got Talent" and "I Love Lucy"

  • baseball

  • my Honda

  • The 20 questions game

  • kittens

  • apple pie

OK, after much consideration, that is the complete list.  These are the many things in my life that I would never choose over chocolate.  There's nothing else.  And for those of you who know me well, you will see how much I really love chocolate because of how important some of those things are to me.  At the same time, however, I couldn't care less about some of those things.  I guess it's up to you to figure it out. 

Be Careful...

I wish I could be reminded of my mortality without having to lose something precious. I wish I would cry more at the ends of books and less during corny TV shows.

I wish I lived in a castle and had long enough hair for my prince to admire it, even from my tower window.

I wish I had magical powers and everything I touched would succeed.

I wish I were tall and lean with a wonderful fashion sense.

I wish I hadn’t taken youth for granted when I was young.

I wish I was uninhibited and felt free to explore my wildest dreams.

I wish I was a Broadway singer, with a voice that reached to the rafters.

I wish I could dance freely and not wonder what people were thinking.

I wish I were a fairy princess, with evil stepsisters but a kind heart and my loyal subjects loved me as their queen.

I wish I were a better wife, friend, daughter, and Christian.

I wish I were more like my mom and grandmother.

I wish, when I looked out my window from a soft window seat, that there would be soft rolling green hills as far as my eyes could see.

I wish I were a writer.

I wish my favorite food was broccoli and its all I ever wanted to eat.

I wish Cadbury Cream Eggs were a magical potion that made you lose weight in all the right places.

I wish I was brave enough to star in my own adventure.

I wish my fears wouldn’t overtake me.

I wish I was disciplined enough to achieve my goals.

I wish I knew how to be content and “content” wasn’t such a boring word.

I wish my husband acted just like he does in my head.

I wish my imagination wouldn’t lead me to discontentment or disquiet, but would only come out when I call, with something absolutely brilliant.

I wish I were somewhat good at a lot of things.

I wish I were really good at one thing.

I wish I didn’t have to work, but never got bored.

I wish I could travel mystical isles, attempting dangerous deeds and exhilarating quests, while saving my money to buy beautiful robes and a horse to be my friend and carry me on my journey.

...what you wish for.

Italian Ice

Here is a perfect example of emotions gone awry:  Due to the horrendous heat of late, our HR person just brought around Italian Ice for everyone in the building.  She came over to my cube and I chose my preferred flavor.  "What's the occassion?" I asked.

"Hottest day of the year!" She answered and I laughed.  Ha ha ha.  (What else is there to talk about in an office but the weather?  Thank goodness for extremely hot days and blizzards.)

I brought my Ice back to my desk and looked at it.  How sweet, I thought.  I'm so excited to eat it.  And then I burst into tears. 

Like I said, emotions gone awry. 

Earlier this morning...

I was minding my own business, creating reports for my boss, when from the corner of my eye, I noticed a small black spot moving quickly toward my hand.  I jumped and saw that yes, my worst fear was confirmed, it was a spider.  I quickly moved everything away from the spot and started slamming my mug against the speedy arachnid.  Soon I realized I wasn't making a dent in the thing and the noise from my mug was echoing through the entire building.  I put the mug down and made up my mind.  I needed help.  Off I ran to my boss's office.  "Can you kill a spider for me?"  I might have added "mommy" to the end of the sentence, because I felt like a small child.  I was horrified to find I was shaking and sweating because of this 1/2 inch wide beast. 

"Oh, I'll come kill it.  Does it help do data runs?  If it doesn't help with our work, it doesn't deserve to be here."  She grabbed one of our publications and splat - it was dead.  I thanked her profusely, but had the feeling she was laughing at me. 

No longer able to sit at my desk in comfort, I performed a prolonged spider-check, bringing me back to the days of my youth.  Every night I checked my room, every dark corner, every spec of the floor.  I'm sure my dad remembers those days, with me screaming for him, even after he had gone to bed. 

Often I spout out about how much I've changed since my school days.  I'm not the same person I was back then.  Yet, I still find myself asking the same timid question.  "Can you come kill a spider for me?"

Wish List!

August is upon us!  A new month brings a new allotment of spending money.  Granted, this is a very small amount so I have to make it last.  But just for fun, here is a list of things I am saving up for. 1. a wireless Mighty Mouse!  (http://www.apple.com/mightymouse/)

2. Frasier Season 8

3. a shade for our kitchen window*

4. a couple nice skirts for work*

5. a sewing machine

6. The Return of the King on audio CD

7. An assortment of books, CDs, and movies (Amazon Wishlist)

8. a haircut*

9. WoW Expansion Pack (not out yet) - if you don't know what this is, don't ask.

10. a Mac laptop

11. a tiny cell-phone

12. a tiny PDA

OK, that was fun.  Those with * beside them are probably ones I will get this month.  The rest will have to wait for later months.  And numbers 10-12 are just distant dreams. 

Disclaimer:  This post is in no way a hint to any readers.  It is simply me wanting to take my mind off the events of the day. 

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Harry Pottered Out

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Between re-reading all the books, listening to them on CD on my way to and from work, discussing them with my husband as he reads them, and watching the movies every weekend, I must confess to being slightly tired of it all! Wow, I feel almost guilty saying that... I am a very adamant fan. So I am on a bit of a Harry Potter hiatus. For me, this will probably last a couple weeks. After all, as soon as Ryan finishes book 4, we will have to watch the movie! I will take the time now to catch up on Lord of the Rings (I have all those on audio CD too). I have started with The Hobbit and will continue through the end, watching the movies when I finish each one.

I have found that these types of epic books can be read over and over! The detail is absolutely incredible and I am amazed after reading and listening to The Hobbit many times that I don't even remember the whole story! The same is true for nearly all the Harry Potter books, especially the long ones. This does lead me to wonder if this says more about my memory than the detail of the books... Oh well, I will choose to believe the latter.

I think the reason for my attraction to these types of books is that they really are romantic in the true sense of the word. The characters are larger-than-life and there is a strong emphasis on the individuals and their personalities. The themes are similar in both sets of books as well: There is a chosen one who must do a certain deed to save the rest of the world. It's an interesting and appealing concept, and certainly not new. Many movies explore the same idea! But maybe one of the reasons for its appeal on my own behalf is that it is the same theme of the Bible. The entire Old Testament is the story of a people waiting for the One who will finally redeem them. He finally comes as an unlikely hero - most people don't even believe he will do the job. But His sacrifice does indeed save all of mankind - if we choose to accept it.

I could go on and on... but this certainly is not the place for an essay.

Anyway, even as I write this post I realize I will never be able to continue my hiatus. As much as I read, listen, and watch, I will never grow tired of Harry Potter! But I guess the break is good, so that when I begin listening again (probably around October), each book will carry the same magic for me (no pun intended) as the first time.

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I love you, Harry!! (don't tell Ryan...)

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Golf Schmolf

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Yep - I went golfing today. You may have guessed that I did not do as well as I'd hoped. Although, I cannot totally blame my ability. The past three times we have been golfing together, my score has dropped by around 12 strokes. I will not reveal from what to what, however. I think the poor performance of today was due entirely to the weather. The reports say it felt like 104 degrees, because of the humidity. It was horrible! Nevertheless, we had a nice time and I got some cute pics out of it. Here are just a couple - perhaps I will post more later.

My dad putting and Ryan holding the flag.

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My mom - she'll hate this picture because she was sweating, like we all were, but I think she looks cute. Besides, no one ever looks at this blog, right?

It's Raining, It's Pouring

I used to be terrified of thunderstorms. I used to lay in my room just knowing that lightning was about to strike the huge old Oaks just beyond my bedroom window. It would fall right across the bed, in flames. I would have to scramble to find the extremely heavy metal fold-up ladder, fling it out my window, throw myself onto it, while holding my puppies - Hugs and Kises. I would surely die.

Within the last few minutes, I have realized I'm not that scared anymore. In fact, thunderstorms are romantic and like a mini-adventure! Here I am at work, listening to the growls of the thunder and wishing against wish that the power would go out! We'd have to reach under our desks for the emergency red backpack, and maybe, if we were lucky, they'd close the office and we could go home. Once home - if I made it! - I could curl up in a blanket, turn on a good movie, because of course, it's dark enough to watch one now, and feel like I'd just finished my own adventure.