The Pooka Life

I’m getting a little worried about visiting Baby D. These pictures they are sending me are almost too much to bear. This kid is so cute, I am quite sure that after I see him, I will want to keep him. You see, I am a closeted baby snatcher. When I visit friends with children, at some point toward the end of our visit, I turn to Kevin and say…”You distract the parents and I’ll make a run for the boarder.” Everyone always laughs when I say this. “Ha ha, isn’t auntie Chrissie funny?” they ask eachother. If they only knew how deep my devious streak ran they would clutch their child close to them instead of laughing.

So to prepare myself for Baby D, I am going to go to the pet store and subject myself to cute puppies and furry kitties. I will hold their warm little bodies in my hands, and I will not squeal, I will not use the words “cute” or “adorable” or “please Kevin please please please can we get just one more.” No, instead I will look at them coldly and make remarks such as…”yes, I suppose this one is rather nice but it seems a bit furry for my taste.” I figure if I do this everyday until I leave my heart should be sufficently hardened to the point that I don’t grab Baby D and make a run for the boarder.

Due to the craft room remodel, the computers have been disassembled. Last night we worked on bringing them up on line and (hopefully) this weekend we will do another Baby D picture update. Until then, I will leave you with a few of my favorites….. Enjoy!

Living the Good Life
Suzy and Dan
Goofing with Elmo
More Goofing with Elmo
Baby Tears

The Pooka Life

We’ve been working hard on transforming the computer room into a craft and computer room. Kevin has not only agreed to share his precious basement space but has also volunteered to build me a huge table and shelving unit. Of course, this means that he has gone to Home Depot every single day for the last week but that’s fine by me.

In a way, the whole project reminds me of freeway construction. For what feels like years, all you see as you idle in gridlock is a bunch of closed lanes that look perfectly fine interspersed with random bits of large machinery and equipment. The workers always seem to be on a cigarette/coffee break whenever you drive by and even though it has been months and months you swear you see the same piping and concrete blocks lining the side of the road every day. Right when you decided it is all a farce just so people could make you sit in traffic for hours on end, it’s all over. In the span of a day the road way goes from one lane open, three closed to a perfectly new four lane highway. Wham. Instantaneous road.

You see, my craft table has been in a mild state of chaos for the last month or so until suddenly I came home the other night and there it was, ready for the final round of drilling and glueing. After days of what seemed like little progress (but lots of mess) suddenly my table emerged from beneath the sawdust and strangely cut two by fours.

It’s massive and wonderful. As I type this, Kevin is applying the final protective coating so that when I arrive home tonight, I will have a table to call my own. Don’t worry, I’ll take pictures so you can turn green with envy and drool all over your computer screen as you gaze at Kevin’s creation.

For me, of course, the best part has just begun. Now, I get to organize. Right now, my photos and scrapbook stuff is in the dining room closet. The guest bedroom holds my sewing machine and quilting supplies. The kitchen table hides most of my drawing supplies. Meanwhile, the living room has most of my cross-stiching. Upstairs bedroom is my calligraphy station and the oil room holds my collection of rubber stamp and card making stuff. So you see how desperate the situation was. By my calculation, my next hobby would have to be stored in the bathroom as I am out of rooms to fill.

Lucky me, I now have the joy of gathering together all my odd ball projects and doing what I do best. Organizing. Yup, you guessed it. I’m already planning the placement of shelves, the purchase of drawers, the arrangement of hanging files. I figure it should take me a good month before I have everything settled right where I want it. Once it’s all there, I’m going to have to quit my job in order to free up enough time to pursue all these great projects but I figure that’s a small price to pay for happiness.

My very own little space. I can hardly wait!

The Pooka Life

Kevin is in for a tough summer. It’s his own fault, really.

Yesterday, the sun came out. Now in Portland, this means you rush into the attic to dig out your shorts and sandals hoping that by the time you unpack and change, the clouds won’t have rolled in yet. So while I was frantically digging through my sweaters looking for my tube top, Kevin was outside cleaning the Barbe.

Yup, that’s right. Sun = summer = BBQ. Even though it is just the beginning of spring, the temperature did reach a balmy 58 degrees which is close enough for Kevin. He whipped together that old charcoal grill which had sat dormant all winter. Piled on the coals and a generous helping of lighter fluid, and made fire. (He also asked me why he can’t use lighter fluid in the fireplace. Sigh.)

I believe at this point I had changed into summer gear and located a pair of sandals only to be horrified at the pale and icky color of my toes. This called for drastic measures so I began an emergency application of nail polish.

Meanwhile, Kevin prepared the first marinade of the season. This is a very important action as it will define the rest of the grilling season. After going all winter long, I figured Kevin might be a bit rusty on the exact proportions of his secret sauce but I was too busy applying my second coat of polish to really watch what he was doing. After letting the coals heat for 20 minutes or so, he headed outside with the pork chops and the fate of the summer resting on his shoulders.

Sure, it smelled good cooking but BBQ always smells good. Artie planted himself right next to that BBQ and just drooled and drooled and drooled. That was a good sign. Twenty minutes and a few turns later, Kevin emerged from the smoke with a plate of smoldering chops.

We tasted…. and they were delicious. Absolutely scrumptious. OK, maybe we had just missed the taste of BBQ. Maybe we were especially hungry after working all day long in the yard. Maybe the direct sunshine activated some long dormant taste glands. All I know is that was the best BBQ I had eaten in ages.

After stuffing our faces (and Artie’s), we rolled away from the table and groaned around our puffed bellies. Although it was delicious, Kevin knew he was in trouble. That first BBQ set the bar and it set it high. Now, for the rest of the summer, he was going to have to match that showing. I don’t know how he’s going to do it, but I’m going to stand by him.

On a side note, I did manage to enjoy the sunshine. Fully prepped, I sat on the deck, shivering, but refusing to go inside and put more cloths on. Besides, it was like 60 in the direct sun. And that’s practically tropical. I’m surprised I didn’t burn.

Grumpy

Poor Kevin. He has horribly scarred Artie and feels just awful. You see, Kevin is this wonderfully sweet guy unless two things happen to him. If he is both tired and hungry, he turns into a volcano of anger just waiting to explode. He can handle tired, he can handle hungry but put them together and what have you got? A very explosive Kevin. He’s kind of like a gremlin. All cute and cuddly so long as you don’t break one simple rule. If you do, watch out!

So the other night, Kevin was tired and hungry. Artie was being a pest and was ready for this nightly stroll so Kevin hooked him up and headed out. Normally, strolling round the neighborhood with the pooch is fun. But this night, unbeknownst to Artie, Kevin was that deadly combo of tired/hungry. On top of that, Artie was very rambunctious and naughty – barking at people and darting all over the place. By the end of the walk, Kevin was even more grumpy that when he started. Unfortunately for both dog and dad, baby Wicks decided to take that moment to hang out on the drive way.

Kevin turns the corner and begins walking to the back gate. He’s tired and almost home so he probably wasn’t paying too much attention. I mean, he’s almost home free and baby Wicks is an all black cat who, at night, is almost invisible to the human eye. Unfortunately, she is still highly visible to the canine eye.

Artie saw Wicks on the driveway – Wicks saw Artie. Being a cat, she did the sensible thing and made a dash for the nearest bush. Being a dog, Artie had a Pavlovian response and lunged after her.

Now, to fully appreciate this story, you must realize two things. First, Artie is a very big (some might even say fat) dog. Second, it only takes about three bounding leaps before he is at the end of his leash. So poor unsuspecting Kevin saw a blur of black on black streak by and before you could say bibitybobityboo, Artie had hit the end of his leash and kept on going. Something had to give and that night, it Kevin was arm. More particularly the part of his arm socket that joined his shoulder to his chest.

It was too much for Kevin. The hunger, the tiredness, the whole bad walking behavior and now his arm being ripped from his socket. He blew and he blew big time. I was inside the house, watching TV and I heard the yelling. Next thing I know, Artie comes tearing through the back door, tail between his legs, and he scooches under my feet shaking. He’s scared and I don’t blame him. He was followed by a very angry Kevin who yelled about the “stupid” dog for a while. Although Kevin gets really really mad, it only lasts a few seconds and then he feels just horrible. After eating dinner and resting for a little while, he apologized to Artie and we thought all was well.

Until the next night.

Kevin finished the nightly walk and headed toward the back door. Artie (who must be part elephant which would explain not only his great memory but his weight issues) was fine until they hit the driveway. Then he suddenly lowered his head, his tail dropped and he refused to go any farther. He knew this was were poppa went open loop last time and he wanted no part in that game. Kevin managed to coax him through the door where he promptly ran into the living room and cowered under my legs. It’s been three nights and so far, Artie is still freaked out. He’s fine until Kevin takes that last turn and then he goes into scared mode and Kevin has to practically drag him into the back yard. Poor Kevin feels simply awful for traumatizing him but no matter how many treats he offers, Artie is still scared. Oddly enough, he has no problem when I walk him down the driveway. He bounces along all happy go lucky but if Kevin is holding the leash, he becomes scaredy-dog.

I don’t think Kevin fully realized how scary he is when he gets mad. But having to watch the pooch cower in fear every time they walk up the drive has really hit home. Poor Kevin.

Warp Field

I have decided that my house is situated on some strange time warp field. This field appears to be particularly active on weekday mornings between the hours of 7-8am. If you are not careful, you will find yourself sucked into this deadly distortion and brutally victimized by its effect.

This morning, both Kevin and I were victims of said field.

I know this because at 7:45am, we were both in separate rooms, looked at the nearest clock and yelled, “Ghaaaak! Look at the time, I’m late, I’m late! How did this happen????” Now that I am here at work, contemplatively sipping my coffee and eating my sesame seed bagel, it is obvious. We were clearly struck by a massive time warp field this morning. Really, we didn’t stand a chance.

It goes something like this.

The alarm goes off and you peer over your pillow (squinting if you don’t have perfect vision and are too spineless for LASIK). The little evil black box is flashing 7am and you think, “just 5 more minutes, then I’ll get up.” Unbeknownst to you, a massive time distortion field is forming around your bed and you won’t realize it until it’s too late.

“Traffic and weather every ten minutes on the 5, 15, 25, 35, 45, and 55 past the hour. It’s 7:25 and here is Steve Nelson with the traffic.” Some part of your bleary, barely functioning brain begins to listen to what I-5 North is looking like and then it hits you. 7:25!!! You bolt upright, grab your glasses and realize your five minutes have stretched into twenty. “Ghaaak! We’re late!” you yell, elbowing your spouse and kicking the dog in the face. “Sorry Artie, but momma overslept.” Both of your stumble out of bed and into the closet where, in your frantic state, your select a black skirt and navy blue hose. It isn’t until you get down stairs in the sunlight that you realize your mistake. Of course, by now it’s past 7:30 so you grab what you hope are a pair of black hose with no runs and stuff them in your purse. A quick trip to the bathroom and you emerge groomed and clean by 7:40. Now, you are ahead of the curve and this is where the time warp really sinks you. That early warp was just a warm up really.

You see your spouse stumble by wearing a yellow shirt, tan pants and black shoes but figure a) he’s a guy and b) he’s an engineer and decide to let him leave looking like a fashion disaster. After you get him out the door, you realize you have 5 minutes before you have to go and so you slow down.

It’s like a bad horror movie.

There you are breathing a sigh of relief as you casually gather your purse and lunch together while right above you is hovering a huge time distortion cloud. If you listen very carefully, you can hear the kids in the back of the theater yelling “Noooooo! Don’t slow down, run, run you stupid girl!” Silently, deadly, the time field drops over you as you open your shoe closet.

“Lets see, I could wear the navy and match the hose but I’m going to change them so I probably want black. Looks like rain so no open toed shoes. Those heels hurt last time but I am wearing a skirt so maybe something with a little height….” You dig around blissfully, trying on this pair and that when you hear, vaguely, from the bedroom……

“Traffic and weather every ten minutes at the 5, 15, 25, 35, 45, and 55 past the hour. It’s 7:55 and here’s….” You look up, frantic, and shake off the gossamer tendrils of that sneaky time cloud and a strangled “Ackleryp” emerges. You shove your feet into your tennis shoes ‘cause you’re going to have to run now. Throwing yourself into your car, you run every yellow light to the park and ride, and sprint over the bridge to the commuter platform where you just manage to squeeze through the last door on the 8:01am MAX train before it leaves the station. Exhausted but relieved, you slump into the nearest seat only to realize two things.

1. You forgot to grab a pair of shoes and will be stuck wearing your ratty old tennis shoes all day.
2. Your purse, replacement hose, lunch and all your money is sitting on the kitchen table and you will have to borrow a few bucks from your co-workers. Again.

I have yet to find a way to beat this time warp in my house but I have discovered how to mitigate the side effects once I am outside of its range. You see, I keep a pair of black hoes, black shoes, extra money, one whole work outfit. hair brush, tooth brush and toothpaste, and one frozen lunch here at work so when I arrive haggard and mismatched, I can collect myself quietly in the women’s bathroom and emerge (half and hour to an hour later depending on the severity of the morning time warp field) ready to face the day.

I’m thinking we may need the help of a professional exorcist at home. I mean, clearly, it’s not our fault. There’s just some strange supernatural force working against us. Thank goodness they do the traffic and weather every ten minutes on the 5, 15, 25, 35, 45, and 55 past the hour! ,

Domestic Goddess

WWas an absolute domestic goddess yesterday. Kevin is going to have a tough time following my act. He’s on shift and worked all day Sunday. While he was gone, I cleaned the house, pulled weeds, baked banana nut bread, went grocery shopping, chopped kindling, built roaring fire, walked dog, and baked the world’s best lasagna.
Why all the effort?

Because, when he has his week off next week, I will be able to demand the same level of attentiveness. You didn’t think I was doing this for purely altruistic purposes, did you? Kevin came home last night to a warm fire, good dinner, and clean house. He was impressed but undaunted. Although he admits my little performance on Sunday raised the bar, he claims he can top it. We’ll see.