Tiling Saga--Part 1

As I previously posted, my dad came over to help us with tiling the girls' bathroom.  He suggested we lay the tile on the diagonal.  I said OK--as long as he was going to help because that was way above my pay grade and perhaps more importantly, my tiling book did not cover that particular lay out.  He and Doug tiled the floor in one day as I wrangled to keep the 3 kids out of their way.  My dad was on his hands and knees placing the tile and Doug was the one making the cuts with the tile saw.  About mid day, Annsley puts her hands on her hips and thoroughly disgusted with her daddy says, "Why won't you help Grandpa? He's doing all the work!!!!)  I guess in her mind if you weren't actually in the bathroom, you weren't working!

The day of Andrei's birthday party was actually quite warm.  After everyone left, Doug looks at me and says, "Hey, you want to get started with the tile?  It's warm and the tile saw won't freeze."  (If you don't already know, a tile saw uses water to cool the blade.)

I should have said no.  I was sick.  I had enough snot running out of my nose all morning I could have swum in it by the end of the day.  Doug loved the diagonal tiles and wanted to continue the theme in our bathroom and kitchen--you know, to make it look cohesive...  (I obviously have a husband who has watched too many episodes of HGTV with his wife...)

We needed my dad here--if for no other reason to act as foreman.  My dad is like this McGyver turned farmer person.  He can make a CB radio out of 2 Q-tips, a dime, and a pencil.  (I don't know if that is even a remote possibility, but really, he can do just about anything....)  He is also a perfectionist.  If it's not done correctly, he'll redo it.  Seriously.  No matter what it is and how long it took him to do it in the first place.

But no, he's not here and I have an over exuberant husband about to embark on a diagonal tiling job with a sick wife. Now, my husband can do a lot of stuff.  He's a rather handy guy to have around, and he's not afraid to attempt to do something new (which is good when you have a wife who likes to watch HGTV and DIY channels.) Doug is quite accomplished with a welder; he can wire light fixtures, new light switches (although he will not turn off the breaker.  "Real electricians don't do that.  Besides, how could I tell which wire is hot?" he says to me. OK, well don't call me to come get you when the electricity pulsing through that hot little wire tosses your big body off the ladder.  His step dad was a carpenter by trade, so he knows a lot about sanding, staining, hinges and glue.  Doug loves glue by the way.  Everything is better--and stronger--with glue.  No. Matter. What. It. Is...Oh the stories I could tell about that product and 22 years of marriage! He can change spark plugs in your car; he can dig big holes; he can drive big, earth moving machinery; he can do the plumbing; he doesn't mind climbing on the roof and hanging Christmas lights.  But let's remember, Doug is KING at demolition.  He loves tearing stuff up. Loves it. 

Loves it.

 Anyway, finesse is not his strong suit. He knows that and I know that, and he knows that I know that.  His number one desire in life is to be fast and finish first--looks are secondary in the moment.  It's speed.  Speed is king.  He shoots first and then decides to aim.  I'm the opposite, so we usually can make a pretty good team. He's like all those men you hear about.  It's not about getting to Dallas safely and having a good time.  It's about beating your last time you drove it.  Yes, he's the guy tapping his finger on the steering wheel as you and your two girls are waiting 10 deep to use the bathroom at the highway Stop and Rob. (And tell me again why you can't just use the empty Gatorade bottle in the back? he always asks!!!)

Case in point: when my parents were remodeling their kitchen, Doug gleefully takes his new pawn shop find--a sawzall--  over to their house to see if he can help with the demolition. This is a reciprocating saw that does what it names says--saws all. He is assigned to ripping out one of the walls--a specialty of his.   According to the ones who lived there, my step mom and sister were in the middle of emptying the cabinets when this saw blade from the other side of the wall appears above their heads.  It's all they can do to throw pots and pans, cereal, and Spaghetti-Os into plastic containers to keep ahead of the saw that is trying to eat them. Doug sawed the 2x4s, insulation, cabinets, sheet rock, electric wires, boxes of Uncle Ben's Rice--anything that was in his way.  But the job was done.  And hours ahead of schedule he would later add....

So, with this mentality, a box of Kleenex stuffed up my nose, and hours of DVDs to entertain 3 children under the age of 8, we embark on the great tile quest of 2013. 

 Part 2 to be continued...

Sanford and "Wife"

That's what I feel like.  We've been cleaning out (or up) the place for the last two weeks.  There's nothing better than spending your afternoons in an attic with outside temps over 100.  My pores are clean and I paid no one. After this last move 3 years ago, I refused then to NEVER move stuff that we don't use.  Two years ago I got rid of box after box of 20 year old wedding gifts that had never seen the outside of the box it was packed in 20 years ago.  Every time I would go through the attic or move, I'd think, "Now I just know I will have a use for these 6 crystal pitchers." 

Nada.

So, two years ago we got rid of lots of stuff in our garage sale.  But this summer it was different.  Now it was Doug's turn to let go and let loose.  He's had a bit tighter grip on his stuff of 15+ years that he doesn't even know he has.  (Sad to say, but I've "helped" him purge at various times over the years.)  But this time, he finally ditched a box of college textbooks.  We collectively agreed that the 3 1/2" floppies and the notes on DOS were out of date, the old professors had probably died, and  it doesn't look like you're planning to attend medical school any time soon, so really, why are we hanging onto this stuff?  And yes, those I Can Learn Spanish in Easy 14 Lessons on VHS that we've been carting from house to house for the last 18 years must go.  And, let us not forget the 5 boxes of infomercial materials that my husband bought when he stayed up a little too late one night.  They have never been opened.  I personally cleaned out no less than 20 boxes of old stuff hanging around in the attic.  I even have plans of sending our hard copies of pictures in bulky albums to a place here in town to scan them and put them on CD. 

Let me must say it was liberating.  Let me repeat. LIBERATING! Thanks to our intense clean out efforts, we'll only require 2 giant U-Haul trucks next time we move instead of 5. 

 Doug and I have both decided to not let our stuff define us any more.  Fear of lack has kept us in bondage for years.  We are children of the Most High God.  We lack for NOTHING.  It's high time we start acting like it.  We took pictures of stuff and then just let it go. (Let me clarify...pictures of "sentimental" stuff.  I did not take a picture of Herman Cassidy's Becoming a Millionaire by Buying Dilapitated Homes infomercial package.)

And then we had the junk piles.  When you have acrerage, you are entitled to junk piles.  I'm not sure that is a good thing because that then turns into the "good" junk pile and the "real" junk pile.  To define the difference, the "good" junk pile is stuff that could be used for future projects.  (Which, by the way, never get used for said future projects...) The "real" junk pile has seen its day. For instance, rather than pay Sears $30 to haul off our old dishwasher, we just tossed it into the "real" junk pile. Two days ago we decided to haul off all things junk.  ALL THINGS. 

The scrap metal went to scrap metal recycling place here in town.  Yes, we recycled.  Amazing for those of you who know us.  This morning the girls and Doug took a field trip to the dump.  I'm not sure who was more excited--the children or their father. I've never been.  I don't really have an inkling to go either.  I understand it smells.  The dishwasher proudly sat at the front of the trailer.  Coupled with all the old stuff overflowing the trailer, all I could do was think about how we had almost become a real live Sanford and Son.  Never Again.  Never Ever.

(Now, what Sanford and Son have to do with "stuff" is beyond me.  It's just that whenever I hear that song, I think of junk piled everywhere.  I don't know...)

Z-Line

My husband often forgets that his comments can quickly become fodder for my blog.  Last night was no exception.  He was looking at the pictures I had posted of Andrei running his trucks all over the house and yard.

"Oh wow! Look at that Z-Line!" he said.

"What?" I asked. 

"Andrei's got perfect form.  Look at that!" 

I'm not following.  Neither am I seeing this Z-line.  Doug points to the picture and shows me his level back and as Andrei is lifting his knee, he is creating a Z. 

Oh.

"Now in this one," Doug begins critiquing, "he's in an L.  That's not good."

"Really?"  I thought he was just driving a Tonka truck.  Obviously there is more at stake.

Doug continues, "Oh, this one is perfect technique. You can't teach that."  Then, I see a funny glaze come into my husband's eyes.  "Look out Baby!  OL is coming!"

Now the light bulb is on.  Football.  Offensive Lineman.  Proud Daddy.  Ex-coach. 

Picture Post!

I'm cleaning out some 800 pictures off my memory stick, so here's a little show and tell about our comings and goings for the last few months.  Enjoy!



Andrei lovin' his first corn on the cob!




Andrei thinking he's big stuff getting a ride in the jeep!

  Scenes from the Tri State Fair:


Daisy the milk cow




Watching Daisy the milk cow get milked.




Kennedi helping out the lady from the Farm Bureau kids' show.



Annsley realizing that her daddy is about to beat her.  (Please note her father's gleeful face...so sad, so sad)

 Scenes from the Corn Fun Farm:

Navigating the ropes through the corn maze

Annsely on the zip line.

Doug re-living his ice slide in Krasnoyarsk...



Loving the slide through the "mountain"



Is it ever going to end???

Kennedi on the zip line.

Doug sporting some fine looking attire:

Free ride in the wheelbarrow with the guy in the wife beater t-shirt.  (Doug knows I HATE those shirts...What girl wants to look at arm pit hairs?? He hadn't worn one in about 18 years...cut this shirt up that day  I guess in a fit of rebellion..it has since made its way into my cleaning cabinet.)

Pig

I remembered yesterday why there are no school field trips to the pig farm.

My husband raised hogs when we were dating.  It had been my first time to be around them--and I mean around them. My nose started to hitch hike off my face.  Nostril hairs were thumbing for a ride.  I promise.  I had never smelled anything that horrible in all my life--a smell that makes you want to smack your momma smell. Skunks have NOTHING over pig poop.  Dung.  Whatever it's called.  So, I knew I had to be in true love when he took me for a ride to meet his prized pig breeder.  Oh joy.  It was in the middle of the summer.  About 100 degrees.  No wind.  He drove Mabel (the name for his pickup) into the middle of his breeder's hog farm, parked it, and turned off the engine. 

"Do you want to come in to his office?"  Doug asked pointing to a sad looking 1950s style trailer with rusty tin on the outside. 

"I don't think I can suck in enough air to breathe in order to walk that far," I gulped. 

"You think it stinks?" he asked.  I couldn't tell if he was serious or just making fun of me.  "OK, well, if you get hot, start Mabel."

He leaves, and I soon learn a very important lesson about my future husband (although this experience put that manifestation in serious jeopardy).  If there is another living human close to the vicinity, gab will over take Doug and we will be there a long, long time.  Live animals will also take his attention to new heights as well.  I'm new to this phenomena.

I sit in the pick up.  It is sweltering.  The smell is insane. It seeps in through the glass.  I am in absolute shock that Mabel's paint isn't peeling. Beads of sweat are starting to pour down my head.  I can feel sweat down my back.  I have to get some air.  I start up Mabel and turn on the air conditioner.  I am met with a blast of pig poop a la perfume.  The air conditioner is cooling me off but it's blowing nasty pig particles through my hair.  The horrendous smell is now magnified.  I turn off the engine.  I smell pig in my hair now.   15 minutes goes by.  Surely my new love knows I'm still sitting out here.  Surely he will come and rescue me.  Time ticks away.  No Doug.

I am miserable.  I am sweating.  I am breathing very shallow.  I can't take a deep oxygenated breath. I can't physically will my body to do it.  I have to get some air.  I roll down the window about  2 inches.  I then roll down the driver's window about two inches.  I'm hoping that it will create a draft above my head.  It doesn't.  Of all days in the Texas Panhandle, there is no wind today.  The pig stench is permeates my skin.  Every so often I pull the collar of my shirt above my nose and take in a huge amount of air.  I'd keep my nose covered, but it is too hot.  As the afternoon melted into evening, I sought relief in the setting sun....Just kidding, but my 30 minutes in the truck might as well have been 4 hours. 

Doug FINALLY shows back up.  "I couldn't find Leroy." 

What???? What in the world have you been doing all this time????? Can you not fathom how miserable I've been?? My love tank was on empty.  He's been walking around looking at sows and boars and what not.   I've been gasping for my last breath. 

He notices my severe state of distress.  "You didn't turn on the air conditioner?"  He takes me home.  I need a shower.  Pig smell is much like cigarette smell.  It is in your ears, your shoes, your hair, plastered to your skin.  I burned my jeans that evening. 

So yesterday, my husband takes Annsley and Kennedi to a nearby pig farm to see the baby pigs.  God is amazing as He wipes from our memory really really horrific things.  I had totally forgotten in nearly 20 years about the polluted odor.  It came rushing back to me about 7:30PM last night.  It was in Annsley's hair, Kennedi's shirt.  I told Annsley and Kennedi to leave their shoes on the porch.  Clothes went immediately into the washer.  I personally washed both girls from head to toe myself.  Doug was just laughing.  He actually questioned my sincerity of having him take a shower before he read the girls a good night story!  And his dress pants spent the night on the porch rail in an attempt to water down the smell before putting them in my car for a trip to the cleaners. 

Now I like bacon like any other Southern girl.  I'll fry up the entire package and eat it all by my lonesome.  I put bacon grease in my green beans.  Anything is better with bacon on it or in it I say. But I like my pig already butchered.  I like my pig on the pages of a children's book.  That's where it stops.  I honestly do not know how hired hand/owners of farrowing barns survive without an oxygen tank.  I've been in one and only one in my lifetime.  Doug was so excited to show me all the baby pigs.  He tried to explain to me how clean it was.  I walked in and turned around and walked right out.

If you're running low on ideas to do, I I double dare any of you to load up the family and head to a pig farm/farrowing house. My advice: ask for a tour but don't wear flip flops.  Take a plastic garbage bag to toss your clothes in for the ride home.  Tie the bag to your back bumper.  Maybe the clothing will air out a bit before you get home.  Load up on body wash BEFORE you take your field trip. Have your olfactory nerves/system removed before attending. Or, be like me and support your local pig farmers from a distance--literally.

Conversations with Doug

Buckle yourself down. Riveting...simply riveting...

(1)  Our conversation last Saturday as Doug was frying his eggs:
DOUG (as I'm walking into the kitchen):  Smell that green stuff.
ME:  What?
DOUG:  Would you smell that green stuff in the fridge?
ME:  What green stuff?
DOUG:  That salsa stuff.
ME:  You're talking about that green verde salsa that's been in the fridge since the beginning of summer?
DOUG:  I guess so.  See if it smells funny to you.
ME:  No.
Allow me to interrupt this tantilizing conversation for a little background.  Doug is constantly telling me he has a wonderful sniffer.  He can smell things that I simply cannot.  I admit that.  He has this super sensitive nose.  Annsley has it too.  He is continually asking "you cannot smell that????"  No, Dear, don't smell a thing...He can smell Andrei's dirty diaper the minute he walks in the door...he can smell a match that was lit three weeks ago...he can smell a feedlot from 100 miles away...I'm telling you has has a serious nose on the end of his face!  So, since he has this super smeller and I don't, I'm constantly amazed that he is asking me to smell things for him--whether it be his shoes, his shorts, or something out of the fridge.  In case you're wondering, the answer to his pleading is always "NO!" I'm thinking, if he's asking me to smell it, it must be bad, and if I can smell it, it means it's really, really bad. He's just using me for validation...
ME:  You didn't eat any of it did you? 
DOUG:  Yeah, I poured it on my eggs yesterday, but my stomach felt a little funny afterwards.
ME:  It's been opened for over 3 months in the fridge. 
DOUG:  It had white stuff on the top. Here, look...
ME:  (not looking) No thank you.  That's called mold.  M-O-L-D.  You shouldn't eat that. You actually ate that???
ANNSLEY:  Mom, Dad eats tortillas with mold on them. 
ME:  I know.  Don't let him feed that to you.
ANNSLEY:  Oh I don't.  It's gross. He tried, but I said NO WAY!
DOUG:  If you get it hot enough, it won't hurt you...

(2) I announced to Doug Andrei's new word for the day:
ME: Andrei said car today!
DOUG: He said car????
ME: Yes. He walked to Annsley's jeep, said "car" and got in.
DOUG: He really said car???
ME: Well, it was more like c-a-a-a. He sound like he's from Minnesota or something. You know, the East.
DOUG: Well, he really is from the East--way East...

(3) Doug's comment about roast and mashed potatoes:
ME:  Here, give Andrei a bite of those mashed potatoes.
ANDREI:  Uhmmmmm.  (Then he makes the sign for more.)
DOUG:  Looking at the roast left on Andrei's tray.  You like that?  This food reminds you of the old country doesn't it?? Yeah, those mashed potatoes too??
(Doug found out before we left Krasnoyarsk that the country Andrei's birth mother was from ate a lot of lamb.  Anytime we're eating meat that Doug doesn't care for (aka: roast) he looks at Andrei and makes some comment about it being from the "old country."  Quite frankly, I can't understand the connection between the food and the native country.  It just reminds me of two very old immigrants talking about the good old days....)

I know, you're thinking, "it can't get more astounding than that."  What can I say...conversation at it's best.

Beauty Shop!

The results of living with two big sisters.

 So Annsley and Kennedi got out the nail polish and painted their toenails and fingernails the other day.  Well, Annsley actually did.  Kennedi painted her finger tips and insoles too--and possibly part of the back porch.  Andrei wasn't the only victim of the beauty shop that day.  They also wrangled their father as well.  Dainty Doug has neon orange on one foot and glow in the dark baby blue on the other. They begged to do his fingernails as well, but my husband drew the line there.  I can't imagine why with school starting... 

There is nothing like looking at your husband shave in the morning with his toe nails all dolled up.  Ummmmm....what a man! :) It brings an entirely new definition of sexy to our house!

In other news, Kennedi is starting to ride her bike without training wheels! Whoo Hoo! Go Big Girl! Her poor daddy has had his work cut out with her though.  Her free spirit seeps out even in her biking.  She tends to not actually pay attention to where she is driving.  Her eyes are not focused on the road ahead.  More like the ditch.  And so there she goes.  She leans crazily to one side and has this wild look in her eye as she passes by.  Don't get in her way.  She won't steer.  Doug is in need of a road side oxygen tank after spending a few minutes running along side her.  I wish I could get a picture of her face as she tries so hard not to look at you as she passes by, but quite frankly, I can't get too close because she'll run me over.  But, I am so proud of her!  She is already stopping and starting by herself as well after only a few days of trying! 

Instead, I'll leave you with a picture of Andrei sporting his new "hat".  No, he's not maneuvering the tricycle yet, but if you could will yourself into pedaling this vehicle, he'd be there! The helmet is much too big for his little head. He spent the afternoon having to tilt his head back to see as it kept falling down over his eyes.  But hey, he was a big kid like his sisters!  And yes, it's a pink and purple trike..a hand me down from his sisters.  I've said before that this little guy is going to have to get tough...

Not at all impressed that he can't make it move.