my husband the artist

my husband has a competetive edge, but unfortunately, he rocks at chess, most video games, and also at scrabble. so i am currently the resident loser at my house. so he has challenged me to a draw off -- he picked a subject, and we both have to draw it to our reasonable abilities. i shall post the end result and you can be the judge. which is the winner? he's actually pretty good. i am impressed, although he would give mr. montgomery a coronary. mr. montgomery told me in my first semester that i was hopeless at art and should just quit. which i did a few semesters later, but not because i was hopeless as he had predicted. i was actually getting solid b's in art (which at PCC is pretty dang decent) after my first (disastrous) semester. no, i loved my art classes -- i just ran out of money. maybe he didn't like me because i made fun of hith lithp.

molly's pictures on her blob brought back some fond memories, for those of you who have absolutely no clue of what i'm talking about -- mr. montgomery was a exceptionally talented teacher, who was very picky. he happened to lisp when he got upset (yelling at the class), and he also happened to be heartstoppingly good looking. thus, i had trouble disliking him too much. but i did make the class laugh once with my imitation of him yelling at the class for something.

perhaps i shall blog next about some more memorable characters that made pcc life so very colorful.

impressing (or perhaps depressing) the neighbors

Nick has been teaching me kickboxing. This is great fun, but also alot of work. He's teaching me to do quick jabs and punches, and I'm learning to put some power behind them. At the moment, I'm "hitting like a girl" (according to my experienced teacher) alot of the time. Of course, I know why he's saying this; I hit with more force when I'm mad, so he's trying to get me riled up. Surprisingly, considering my horrible lack of coordination (due to some inner ear problem), I am actually doing okay.

I swear, that coordination thing could get me in trouble. I have balance, but not great balance; let's just put it this way -- if I ever had to do a field sobriety test, I'd totally fail it because I'm just that un-coordinated. Okay, I might pass it, but I'm constantly tripping on things, and misjudging distance and knocking into walls because my balance is off. People probably think I'm Otis the town drunk. But enough of that... back to what I was originally talking about...

He's also attempting to teach me to sucessfully block moves - and does really light jabs (in which he doesn't hit me) that I'm supposed to deflect. However, I'm a miserable failure at this -- I keep ducking instincively and flinching. If the neighbors saw this through the window, it would not look good at all. My luck, the cops will show up one day when we're practicing kickboxing...

"Everything's fine, officer,"
"Yeah, right, lady, that's what they all say... What really happened?"
"Nothing. Honestly, everything's fine -- we were just having fun. No one got hurt..."

Maybe I've watched "COPS" too much, but I'm under the impression that (or at least it seems this way) that most of the domestic cases the couple says that everything was just fine... they were just arguing a little. So it might take a bit of convincing before they actually believed that we were really just practicing kickboxing.

I suppose I should be glad that's all I have to worry about (as far as the neighbors talking). I could have a totally hillbilly husband who left junk lying all around the yard or left our old cars up on blocks. As it is, he's almost obsessive compulsive in his loathing for junk and clutter (which to me is a good thing). It's very cute. And he's not too wierd... he doesn't go out to get the mail clad only in his underwear (like a neighbor I used to have...). Nor does he get drunk and shout from his patio at the neighbor's dog (or kids), clad only in boxers, huge hairy beer belly out for the world to see -- like another neighbor I used to have. However, as neighbors go, my current neighbors are all very nice, so I'm very happy.

Speaking of not so great neighbors... one of my friends had a neighbor who perhaps, could not be topped, as far as bad neighbors go. He used to scream obscenities at them from his porch, and also have conversations with himself (in very loud voices -- yes voices) on his porch as well. The dude had issues... he also used to patrol up and down the street on his bike and glare at anyone who was unlucky enough to be outside when he was out. He would ride up and down, up and down, until they went back inside, angry eyes peering suspiciously every time he passed. When he got closer to the house, you could hear him mumbling (intentionally so you could hear) in a sing song voice something along the lines of "stupid neighbors, I hate $#@&! neighbors, people go AWAY! wish i could get rid of neighbors, wanna not have any neighbors, wish the houses were gone..."(a bit more colorful than that, though). Fun. Sometimes he did this wearing an old set of cammo. I kept waiting for him to come out onto the porch with some kind of scary looking machine gun. I'm thinking he made the realtor's job a tad difficult... that kind of neighbor is a real selling point for the neighborhood. Right.

go danika

I have a bit of a habit for speeding, thus, my husband has started calling me danicka (after danika patrick the racer). I got stopped for speeding through town last Friday (the cops were bored and I was going a few miles over... literally a few miles over), and my husband hasn't let me live it down. I didn't get a ticket, so he thought it was funny.

So today, I was late getting to work, and was hurrying a bit.... well, okay speeding. I passed a car full of guys, and they thought I wanted to race them, so they raced me for several miles, and when they passed they would wave and try to act cool and then all gawk at me. Hmmmm... I'm almost 30, am married and have a kid, and a car full of guys are flirting with me. Nice to know that apparently, I still "got it", even though I can't flirt back.

Maybe, even though I still have the baby belly, I'm still a hot mama. :P Move over Danika -- apparently, I have a little babe factor left -- and I definately have a lead foot; maybe I should try some racing myself.

All I need is a few sponsors and ... oh, wait... a car would help. We HAVE a car, but its on the verge of a serious breakdown. Nick is trying to hold off on doing anything with it until his father gets here (in May), but I think I might be stuck on the side of the road very soon, the way its acting. Guess we'll find out. Hey, it will give me something to post about, anyway.

Ciao

we have coyotes!

Ah yes, we are VERY close to nature, apparently. Yesterday, when I went outside to look for the cell phone in my truck, I heard howling. A chorus of howling -- definately from several animals. It sounded pretty close, so I turned on the truck's headlights (the truck was facing the feild) to see if I could see anything. I didn't see any glowing eyes in the darkness (shudder), but I was rewarded with sudden silence. Which meant that they were close enough to see the truck's lights and know someone was out there.

I don't mind the howling -- its actually a somewhat lonely, beautiful sound. Haunting -- but beautiful. It's realizing they are probably hunting that makes me nervous; not for myself, but for my dog (the schnauzer) that would no doubt become coyote kibble if they caught him. Not good. And so I wasn't thrilled when I heard them.

Plus, as a kid, I used to have this recurring nightmares about wolves, coyotes and foxes. When I was about 6 or 7, my sister told me to be careful when I went outside because there were wild foxes on the loose, and they were bigger than our dog... and that they were very fast, and I wouldn't ever be able run fast enough if they chased me. I had a wild enough imagination without any help; but she had me believing that there were these huge red demon foxes with glowing eyes on the loose that loved to eat little girls. Why it didn't occur to me that she wasn't scared, so I should probably be suspicious, I don't know. However, I was terrified of foxes... and wolves, and I used to dream I was trapped, and they were hunting me; and they always cornered me and were pouncing... but I always woke up right before I was actually caught. So I'll sheepishly admit it... they still make me nervous. I love nature -- I think wolves are beautiful, but I'd rather have something between us, like, say for instance -- four solid walls. As for foxes, I was a bit chagrined when I saw my first one and it was smaller than my cat. I felt a bit stupid for ever being afraid of them.

But last night they weren't foxes, they were probably coyotes, and could have been wolves... so, like a little pansy, I ran back inside; I didn't need the phone that much, I decided. I made Nick come to the door so he would be there while I got in the car. Yes, I know, I'm a complete and utter wimp about some things.

And you're all thinking -- she's a security guard? That'll make everyone sleep better at night, knowing I'm pretty much useless when faced with the thought of danger (real or imagined).

Well, I'm out for the night. Ciao!

full house

this weekend, i babysat for my friend, who has a two year old and a five year old. they both had very healthy amounts of energy, and i am completely worn out from the experience. i better get used to it... clay will be two before i know it, and we'll have fun then! actually, we had a very good weekend. no temper tantrums and no injuries, so i count myself lucky.

the five year old was very perceptive. she discovered that i have 24 plants to water. no wonder its such a chore to water them! she was very impatient with my herbs, because i had just planted them, and she thought they should grow -- now. she was dissapointed when they didn't sprout before she left.

they both decided that they liked wearing my shoes, so i got pictures of one of them wearing a pair of platform sandals, and the other wearing doc marten work boots. such a combination, i know. clay had the time of his life. he rarely sees such excitement, and sat on my lap in wide eyed wonder, watching all the activity around him.

he had quite a week, actually. i also had a home and garden party this weekend, and so had some people over. my neice was here visiting from iowa for the week with her little boy (she was staying at my parent's house), and so she visited our place a few days, too.

our couch was in such a state of disrepair -- it was my grandmother's, then my parents, before i "inherited" it, so it was quite old, and literally on its last legs. anyway, we got another couch this week -- albeit secondhand -- but it was better than the old one!

but we had fun moving the OLD couch (which was also a hideabed) upstairs (to our guest room). it got stuck several times, and then the bed part would fall out and have to be pushed back in. we finally got that upstairs, and after catching our breath, we had to go outside and get the "new" couch out of the truck. i was having a hard time pushing it in the door and nick said to just shove it in. so i did. but his hand was in the way. and it got jammed between the couch and the doorway... whereupon he discovered that the couch was not as soft as he initially thought. i actually dislocated his thumb, and after some healthy shouting, upon closer examination, he realized it wasn't broken, so when the throbbing had ceased somewhat, he helped me get it in. as it was, it was stuck in the doorway, and i couldn't get in -- and he couldn't get out (which, after me hurting his thumb, he may have thought was just fine).

but we got it in. and after getting it in place, i got the couch cover on it, and it looked all right. we sat down to relax. i was already exhausted, and still had to go to work later. after a while, nick wondered where monty was (the little dog). pretty soon, we heard whining. after we looked around for awhile, i thought -- i think its coming from behind the couch. sure enough, he had gotten back there somehow while we were moving it and we hadn't noticed him. then, when we put it back, there was a chair on one side and a bookcase on the other, so he couldn't get out. so, after moving the couch, we had a very happy puppy running about the living room.

i hope we don't have any major projects for awhile... i just want to take it easy for a few weeks.

the joys of spring

i love dogs, i really do, but it's march, and march means melting snow. and melting snow means... mud. lots of mud. and my dogs find it all. gleefully, they track it through the house, and make it look like a war zone. i had just finished mopping the floor, when nick let both dogs in. they made a beeline for their waterdish, which just happened to be... you guessed it -- in the kitchen. where i had just mopped. the literally covered the floor with muddy footprints. and so i had to mop again. nick was amused. i was not .

now we have a new rule. dogs stay in laundry room until feet are dry. wait... i made that rule last spring. *sigh* i tried (unsucessfully) to get nick to try to mop the floor, but he theroized that the dogs would just get it dirty again, so it was a futile and pointless excercise, and a waste of time. exactly, which is why keeping them in the laundry room is not futile, nor pointless.

unfortunately, the dog is huge. and the laundry room is not. so she doesn't like being in there. in fact, she is a huge dog, and really probably too huge for the house, but she is family, and leaving her outside is unthinkable, although probably wise.

after all, letting a 108 lb malamute into the confines of any house is probably quite foolish, and one cant' expect to keep an immaculate house if one lets a great hairy beast of that size inside. think flecks of drool, constantly shedding hair, and huge muddy paws. then we have the little dog, who insists that the best place for him is on the couch. he feels especially drawn to the couch when he is completely soaked and/or muddy.

i think we need to get a dyson vaccuum. the one i currently have (which we paid alot of money for) keeps getting the hose clogged with cody's hair. i literally have to clean tightly packed hair out of the whole lenght of the hose every so often because it just gets jammed - much like a clogged sink pipe that has too much hair in it.

too bad its dirty and full of bits of whatever from the vaccuum -- i read about a lady who actually used dog hair to make yarn which she then made into sweaters and hats, etc. of course, after reading it, i immediately thought: does this stuff stink like dog when it gets wet? gross. can you imagine getting caught in the rain and then having the permeating smell of wet dog engulfing you until you could change? ughhh! okay, maybe salvaging cody's hair isn't such a great idea.

and i am realizing that little boys are every bit as adventerous as two dogs, and i will be dealing with muddy footprints for the next 18 years. and i'm smiling because i think, i'm so lucky to have this sweet little boy, and if i have muddy footprints in my kitchen it no doubt means i have a happy little boy, and so i'll be a happy mama.

so in the end, exasperating as it may be, muddy prints are a good thing. it means i still have a house full of animals and people who i love. maybe they are God's way of reminding me how lucky i am.

stick 'em up...

there ought to be a law against manual shift vehicles. I had the exhilarating experience of driving one of them today...

One of our responsibilities at work is moving the maintenance vehicles if it snows, so the parking lot can be plowed. So, tonight, in March, we had snow. And I had to move the vehicles. "No problem," I stupidly thought.

Right.

The first vehicle hadn't been driven in awhile, and I had to dig it out under about a foot of snow. After finding the door under the snow, I was able to get in...

and almost got stuck.

The normal driver, I think, must be a midget, because I was instantly squashed into the van, and very cramped. I could have moved the seat back, but found it impossible to move enough to bend forward to reach the seat controls. Thus, I managed to drive, kissing the dashboard and stuffed into a tiny space like some circus contortionist.

And I congratulated myself on a job well done.

Until I opened up the next vehicle and saw that it was a manual shift. Did I mention that I don't drive manual shift? Or that I do... but that I don't do it well -- or often?

*sigh*

Being used to an automatic, I insert key, and try to turn on engine. Nothing.

I think, "Oh, great, the engine's dead," and proceed to take the key out. The key will not come out. I make sure the gear is in neutral. It is. Key is still stuck. What the...?!

About the time I discovered the little release lever by the ignition, it dawns on me that manuals have a clutch.

Right, then...

So now that I can get the key out, I decide to try again, with the clutch. The engine, of course, turns over. I am happy. Until I try to reverse. I stall. I realize I have to keep my foot ON the clutch. I manage to get the truck reversed. I go to shift into drive, and the truck promptly dies. This happens several times, whereupon I notice two important things, but unfortunately, not at the same time. The parking brake is still on, and so, I turn it off. Who parks on a flat surface with a parking brake? Okay, so that's done, I *think* I'm home free. Anyone who drives a manual know what I'm still doing wrong? After several more attempts to drive forward, and not going anywhere, it finally dawns on me that you start out in first gear, not drive. So, I push in the clutch (pray) and *slowly* shift into first. And I accellerate, and take foot off clutch... and we actually move!

I wonder if anyone was watching...