Some days I really wonder about myself....

Today I realized that I have been overdosing myself on generic Claritin; all while thinking I was taking generic Benadryl.  *sigh*

And I had been wondering why I was SO exhausted and headache-y.

As far as I can determine, I haven't done any permanent damage - except to my ego.  It's things like this that make me question my sanity.

How this came about is because I generally buy generic Benadryl in bottles of 100 and I take one every four hours.  One day, in a hurry - as usual, I ran into the store to pick up a new bottle and they didn't have my usual generic brand.  So I grabbed the other generic brand and took off.  And proceeded to take one every four hours, as is my habit.

Oh sure, when I opened the bottle, I was curious as to why there was only 30 pills vs. the 100 and as to why the pills weren't pink - but I didn't do any investigating.

Until today.  When I ran into the store to replenish my supply - only to discover that, once again, they didn't have my usual brand.  So I reached for the other...only to notice finally that the bottle said TWENTY-FOUR HOUR RELIEF!

I put the bottle back and left empty-handed.  Once in my car, I scrambled through my purse searching for my bottle...only to discover that yes, indeed, I had been ingesting the "once every twenty-four hours" tablets three times a day for about a week.

*SIGH*

In other news.  After obsessing over the lampshades in yesterday's post, I determined they weren't right.  (As a side note, the Husband actually asked me if I was obsessing over half an inch...it's like he doesn't even KNOW me!) So I packed them back up, and armed with the actual lamp in question, I headed out early, early (who knew?  This store is open at 9 am on Sundays!) to what is usually the most congested area of our city.  And guess what?  At 9:30 am on a Sunday?  The most congested area isn't so congested.

So I returned the shades and spent about an hour lugging my lamp around and trying on shades until I hit upon something that seemed to work.

Still not the best picture - I never claimed to be a photographer

As much as I liked the barrel-shaped lampshade, I think this lamp needs more of an a-line pattern.  And one that was half an inch longer.

So with that task complete, I turned my eye to something a little more crafty.

I know.

I was just asking for trouble.

In my travels I happened upon a sweet, little chalkboard.  With all the beautiful chalkboard creations that abound on the Internet, I had it in my head that I could do that.

Yeah right.

I tried to create a welcoming message free hand.  Multiple times.  It was a total disaster.  So much so that I was ready to toss the sweet, little chalkboard into the trash and call it a lesson learned.

Then I turned to Google.  Which, of course, led me right back to Pinterest.

According to multiple sites, you can create your message via Word or PowerPoint, print it, turn it over, cover the back in chalk and then place the paper chalk side down and trace the words with a pencil.  This method will magically transfer the message; then you can fill it in with your chalk.

I don't know what I did wrong.  My message was transferred but it was SO very faint that I had to cock my head, squint and pray while I re-traced and filled in my message.

But, despite that, it came out much, much better than anything I could have created on my own.

Although, I did do the confetti free-hand...so that's about the extent of my creative, overdoesed abilities.

Opinions please...

As I'm sure I've mentioned before, I live in a home that gets very little light.

This drives me insane.

So, today, while out wandering around I found myself in an aisle full of lampshades and I had a "lightbulb" moment (pardon the bad pun, I couldn't help myself).

The lampshades in our living area are a dark merlot color and all of our furniture is dark.  This coupled with fact that this house lets in very little sunshine means that it is very, very, very dark in here.  Particularly on cloudy days.

So I decided, on the spur of the moment, to buy new, lighter lampshades.  The problem with buying lampshades on the spur of the moment?

The size.

Unless I have the actual lamp with me, it's very hard to determine whether or not the lampshade in question is the right size for the lamp.  But I found a pair that I liked - and looked to be about the right size and bought them.

I brought them home and put them on the lamps - and while I do like them and think they lighten the place up just a tad - I have a feeling they are too small.

But I'm waffling, mainly because I don't want to drive back across town to return them and search for new ones.

So I submit to you, Exhibit A.

Yes, I realize it's not the clearest picture in the world...ignore that.

Focus on the lampshade.  Is it too small?  It should be longer; shouldn't it?

The more I look at it, the more I'm thinking it is...but what say you?  Keep 'em or return them?

Moody and new shoes

I've been pensive and moody all weekend long.

It could possibly have something to do with Man-Child coming home this weekend to celebrate his twentieth birthday.  Maybe I feel the passage of time.  I do know that I love having him home though.  Although, he made a very prophetic statement that stopped me in my tracks.  We were talking about his friends and how they are doing at their various schools when he mentioned that he probably wouldn't be seeing much of them this coming summer.  When I asked why, he stated that a lot of them would be doing internships, etc. and that they (including himself) were getting ready to start their lives.

That could be one reason for the pensiveness and moodiness.  Yes, they are starting their lives.  And moving on.  And although it's a proud moment it's also one of profound sadness - as in the mom days are definitely over.  I need to find a hobby.

I also watched a bunch of angst-ridden, 80's movies this weekend; much to the boys chagrin.  That definitely could have something to do with the mood.

Or it could just be plain, old PMS.  Although, can you call it PMS when you are, apparently, in the beginning stages of what seems to be perimenopause and you are fifteen days past your start date?  I suppose that too could be a legitimate reason for the moodiness.

On the bright side, I did discover something wonderful this weekend though.  Higher-waisted skinny jeans!  I love, love, love skinny jeans.  What I do not love is the fact that until recently you could only find them in low-rise.  This drove me crazy.  I was constantly pulling them up and we won't even discuss the obligatory, no way around it, muffin top that happened when one was seated.

I love these new jeans so much that I bought two pair.  Although, I am thinking I should have bought them a size smaller....even if I did feel that they were a little too tight.  With the spandex they put in the jeans these days they tend to get a bit baggy toward the end of the day.

And then today, I realized that I was still thinking about these shoes after two weeks so I went and bought them.

I admit it.  I am in love with them and have a feeling that I will be wearing them often.

Ah well...tomorrow is a new day that will be kicked off with new shoes.  That's bound to turn the mood around, right?

Wanting...and the very hard art of waiting

I am ready for a house.  My house.

I know I shouldn't complain.  This townhouse is very nice...but it's not mine.  I know that good things come to those who wait...but still.

Pinterest and Houzz are exacerbating the matter in that, no matter how hard I try not to look, everywhere I see houses and projects and ideas.  And then I look up and remember that I'm not in my own home where I could paint the walls, the cabinets, the whatever.  Where I could replace two of the ugliest light fixtures I've ever seen.  Where I could rip out those poor, sad looking Nandinas and the pitiful Hostas - which are singed and burned because they were planted in full sun - near the front door and replace them with some of my favorites.

Despite the fact that there are things I could do - temporary things - I don't want to because I know we aren't here for the long term - but yet, I don't know how long we will be here.

The houses we've seen are ripe with possibilities....if we wanted to outlay the cash to renovate them.  And to do that would mean they would have to give the house to us.  We've yet to meet an owner that is willing to do so.

I still think we will build, eventually, but the Husband is continuing to entertain the idea while resisting it at the same time.

In the meantime, I sit here - wanting - all while reminding my self to be patient.  I tell myself that by rushing the process I will end up somewhere that I don't love.  I tell myself that the house isn't as important as the people who are in it...but...still....

I want a house.

NOS4A2...a book review

I read this book about a week ago.  One night, I actually had a nightmare, which all credit goes to the book.

I recall thinking, as I was reading, this guy is good!  Good enough that I might have to list him right up there with Stephen King....

Well no wonder.  Tonight, as I was researching the book online (since I gave the book to Man-Child to take to school) I discovered that the author, Joe Hill, is none other than the son of Stephen and Tabitha King. He's done his parent's proud.  Although, this leads me to wonder just what the conversation must have been like around that dinner table!

At any rate, this thriller is a must read.  The heroine of the story, Victoria (aka Vic) has an uncanny ability, aided with her trusty bicycle, to find things - no matter how far away they may be.

One day she goes looking for trouble.  And she finds it in Charles Talent Manx.

Charles has created "Christmasland."  And he finds children and transports them to this "magical" land where the children can experience his version of Christmas every day.  Vic was able to escape Charlie's grip once and her life was changed forever.

But, as with most unresolved issues, eventually they must be faced.  And after a hard life, Vic finds herself once again seeking out Charlie and Christmasland all in effort to save her son.

So if you are looking for a good, scary read this book is for you.  As for me, after reading some fluff to rid my mind of the scary, I will be seeking out other books by this author - because he is that good.

My Husband Thinks I'm a Genius....

I know!  I'm as floored as you are!  But it turns out, he only thinks I'm a genius because of this one, teeny-tiny, completely common-sense thing I said to him.

But, apparently, this one, teeny-tiny, completely common-sense idea absolutely astounded him.  It struck him as the most glorious idea that had ever been spouted.

Something, that I have ALWAYS done.  And he's just never noticed.

It all began as I was emptying the dishwasher.  The very same dishwasher that he had thoughtfully loaded earlier.  One of the chores he dislikes - but will do - is emptying the dishwasher.  I don't mind emptying the dishwasher, if it's been properly loaded.  Which, it never is, unless I load it.  But I think that is probably pretty much the same for everyone; we all have our own ideas about how the dishwasher should be loaded and that's fine.

But, just so you know, I am THE master at loading that dishwasher and I have it down to a SCIENCE...so my way is the best way hands down.

Be that as it may, this particular evening I was emptying the silverware caddy and I mentioned, in passing, to the Husband, that if he would load all the like spoons into one section, all the like forks into another section, all the like knives into another section, and let all the random silver go into the remaining slots that removing the silverware would be a lot less tedious.

I said this in passing, never really thinking that he would actually hear and process this information.  Much like he has never heard or processed other bits of wisdom I have passed onto him.

But hear and process he did.  Because for the next three times he emptied the dishwasher, that he himself had loaded, he proceeded to proclaim that was a GENIUS idea.  And every single time since, that I have emptied the dishwasher that he loaded, I find all the like silverware separated into separate slots.

Now, if I can only convince him that to listen to few of my other common-sense nuggets, then maybe this house would run like well-oiled machine.  But so far?  It hasn't happened.

From the "Eerie" files....

Once, a long time ago (approximately three years ago), a light bulb went out. 

This particular light bulb was in a sconce in the hallway.  A sconce that had a little, screw-in thingy that held it up.  A little, screw-in thingy that somehow escaped the Husband's fingers as he un-screwed it and then disappeared.

It literally disappeared.  We scoured the hallway.  We moved the bookcase.  We moved the buffet.  When it didn't turn up, we branched out.  We scoured the intersecting hallway, the staircase, the floor below, that little, screw-in thingy was GONE. 

So we headed out to our local home improvement store in search of another screw-in thingy to anchor the sconce to the wall.  We found one.  But, of course, the new screw-in thingy's finish didn't match the finish of the old screw-in thingy's.  *sigh* 

As a compromise, we switched out the un-matching screw-in thingy with another fixture; one that I wouldn't see on a daily basis - because the whole un-matching thing would have made me twitchy.  Seriously.

We had fully expected to find that piece in our move.  It didn't happen.  Where in the hell had it gone?  Was there a tear in the universe?  Had it somehow slipped into an alternate universe?

Flash-forward (approximately three years or so; and a whole move later) - guess what I found the other day?

The screw-in thingy.  And the eerie part?  In a Stephen King book.

*cue the scary music here*

In a Stephen King book that was amazing that I even kept - despite my adoration for Stephen King.  Why?  Because I normally don't "do" short stories.  I usually want "whole" stories.  But, I adore Stephen King so every single one of his books made the cut.

Including the one that has held the screw-in thingy for the past three years.

I suppose this is supposed to "tell me something."  Like maybe how what seems to be lost isn't really gone?  It's only hiding away, waiting for the right time to reappear.

Nah.  More likely - it was just one of those weird things that happen in life.

Seriously, Husband?

I love my husband, I truly do.  One of the many reasons I love him is the fact that he is "manly."  That he is the one I can count on to open stubborn jars, and whatever else he does that is "manly" around here.

But... (you knew there had to be one, didn't you?)

Sometimes his "manly" strength irritates the life out of me. 

Like whenever we are dealing with something plastic.  If he is the one in charge of repairing it, it inevitably gets broken further.  Because a "twist" isn't just enough when a full on "wrench" is surely better.

Or like this morning. 

Which, of course, requires a little bit of a backstory.  Yesterday we were attending a cookout to celebrate Labor Day and Hubby was the designated driver.  (That's probably THE shortest backstory I've ever given you)

As the designated driver, he drove us home and parked the car safely on what must be the shortest and steepest driveway in the history of the world.  A driveway that definitely necessitates using the parking brake.

And everything was fine. 

Until this morning when I found myself struggling to release the brake.  As he does with most everything he hadn't just tugged on the brake; he had YANKED the brake.  Making sure that he YANKED that brake as hard as he could.  What he didn't realize while he was YANKING on that brake was that his wife - the one with the puny arms and thumbs - would be the one fighting with the brake the next day...after he had already left for work.

After five minutes of struggling, I sent him a text telling him of my dilemma.  He gets credit for immediately calling and asking what he could do - he was even willing to drive home and fix it.  But as I was scolding him and reminding him that not everything in this word requires brute strength; that sometimes a little finesse is in order, all while still fiddling with the brake and getting more and more frustrated and then?  Success! 

Apparently, adrenaline finally kicked in and I was able to unlock the brake and drive to work.

Now, what are the odds that he is going to remember this the next time he drives my car?  My bet?  Slim to none.

Luckily, I had the foresight to take tomorrow off...I'm gonna need it.

Yesterday was "the" day.  The day that Man-Child moved back to school; this time by-passing the dorms and headed straight for an apartment.

The Husband had borrowed the van from work (remember this; it's key) which we proceeded to load up with his dresser, night stands, bed, and other paraphernalia.  Then we filled up Man-Child's car.  Turns out, I was to drive up with Man-Child...while sitting in the passenger seat (YIKES!).  To be honest, I had hoped that there would have been a need for a third car so that I could drive up myself.  That didn't happen.

Apparently, the work van has magical capabilities (aka removable seats) and my car wasn't necessary.  So there I was; stuck being a passenger both ways (with a maniacal driver one way and a very, very slow driver on the way back) *sigh*

I am not a good passenger, according to my guys.  But this is just not true.  My passenger abilities are directly correlated to the person driving...and usually, the drivers just aren't up to par.  Yes, maybe I do have control issues...

Turns out, Man-Child isn't that bad of a driver.  On the highway.  The in town driving?  Terrified the hell out of me.

The Husband got a head start...but we quickly passed him.  We waved and went on our merry way, figuring he would eventually show up at the apartment...probably about 20 minutes after we arrived.

After several near misses at a couple of red lights; one time found me slamming my foot against the dashboard as I braced for the obvious imminent impact (much to Man-Child's annoyance); we found ourselves *this* close to rolling into the college town when my phone rang.  It was the Husband.

When I answered, he asked where we were.  I told him.  And then he proceeded to tell me that he had just passed a certain landmark and that the transmission was shot on the van.  Oh. My. Hell!  The only blessing?  He had made it UP the mountain before the damn thing failed.

He said that he was going to try to limp into town and was going directly to a shop.  He didn't want us to come back for him.  At least not yet.  Once we hung up, I started to look for shops that might be open on a Saturday.  Luckily, the Toyota dealership/Service Station was open AND it was located at the edge of town.

I called the Husband back and told him where to find the dealership.  He told me he'd call me once he knew what was what.  Man-Child and I headed to the apartment wondering just how in the hell we were going to transport his bed, etc., from the dealership to the apartment with nothing more than his teeny-tiny, two-door car.

The Roommate was there when we arrived.  We explained what had happened and the first words out of his mouth were, "What can I do to help?" and I knew I liked this kid.  Despite the fact that two days before we'd received notification that "someone" hadn't yet paid his half of the rent...(let's hope this was the oversight he claimed it was and not a *trend*).  As I was hanging Man-Child's brand new shower curtain (note to self: those curtain rings are crap and I should never buy that type again) the Husband called.

The Toyota place couldn't fix the van.  He was going to have it towed to the Dodge dealership and asked me to come pick him up.

What I neglected to mention was the fact that this was THE weekend for everyone coming back to school.  Which means that traffic was BEYOND horrific.  So I offered to go pick up the Husband and the Roommate, helpfully, offered up his truck to go the Dodge dealership to load up Man-Child's stuff.  The fact that this Roommate had a truck was like a gift from God, at this point.

So I went one way and they went another.  I'm sure they sat at that Dodge dealership for at least an hour.  Why?  Because I was stuck at one light for at least four cycles.  It took forever to go what was, probably, four miles away.  I wish I was exaggerating.

While I was waiting in traffic, I called the Husband and informed him that the boys had a truck and would take the stuff from the van back to the apartment.  The relief I heard in the Husband's voice was palpable; that was one less thing to worry about.

So eventually, I picked the Husband up and we fought the traffic to get to the Dodge place, where the boys were waiting.  The Dodge place promised that they would have the parts to fix the van by Tuesday, now how long it would take to actually fix it is up in the air, as they were slammed.  The Husband's boss was unbelievably kind about the whole thing.  He was more concerned that we were all okay.

The boys loaded one load into the truck and drove away.  The Husband and I sat with the van since we couldn't lock it.  Well actually, we could have locked it but that would have been pointless since just the day before BOTH windows had failed.  In the down position.

When the boys returned, we refilled the truck and headed away.

For some reason, I had this crazy idea that the desk I'd bought Man-Child would be easy-peasy to put together.  It wasn't.  The Husband doesn't have much patience for those types of things, so I took the lead on that.  And about two hours later it was assembled.  And then, and only then, were we able to  bring in his bed, dresser, etc.  Why?  Because putting together that damn desk took up the whole room and some of the living area as well.

Is that the end of the hell we were living through?  No.  At one point during the assembly, I stepped outside to stretch my legs only to watch a police officer walk up to the neighbor's apartment.  Luckily, she had called him and he hadn't been called about her.  Apparently, there was some sketchy guy hanging around the pool ogling her daughter.  Lovely.  So it's only now that I realize that the apartments my only child will be living in are not only not just for students but there's a sketchy guy in the neighborhood.  A sketchy guy that the police, as I overheard, are already aware of...needless to say, I was ready to pack him back up and take him home.  He can afford to skip a year of school, right?

But then there was the problem of getting home.  How?  The lone rental car agency was closed.  Of course.  Our only option was Man-Child's car.  *sigh*  Our weekend just got that much more crazier.

After feeding both boys (and "medicating" the Husband with alcohol; he obviously needed it) we stole borrowed his car and I drove us back down the mountain.  Both exhausted and not really looking forward to the fact that we had to drive back UP the mountain today to return Man-Child's car; which in reality he will need since he is no longer living on campus, and to cover the van's gaping windows with plastic since there is a possibility of rain in the forecast.

The Husband declared that we would be heading up early, early, EARLY in a bid to save some of the weekend.  But he must have taken pity on me after realizing just how exhausted I was from yesterday, he let me sleep in.  Until 7:30 am.  Not to be rushed, I had a cup of coffee and perused the paper.  Finally, we headed out about 8:30 am, me in my car and the Husband in Man-Child's.  Whereupon, I immediately lost him.  How I don't know.  Eventually, we re-connected and headed over to the apartment.  It was a good thing we re-connected because the Husband had no idea how to find it since he'd been sidelined as a passenger the day before.

After spending some time buying essentials that Man-Child needed (i.e., food) and taping up the windows to the van, we took him for a very, very late breakfast/lunch; because obviously, when we are there we are there to feed him.  And somehow I found myself driving us home.  This is surprising because the Husband is much more a control freak about driving than I am.

So now we are home.  Exhausted, spent and ache-y.  The house is quiet - kind of (the tv is on but not at its usual ear-splitting decibel) and the Husband is napping on the couch; and I can feel "it" - the Boy isn't at home, it's rather lonely.  I will adjust after a day or so - or maybe a week - of him being gone.  The knowledge that one day soon he won't be coming home to stay ever again teases the back of my brain; but I refuse to acknowledge that just yet.

And tomorrow?  Thank God I had the foresight to take tomorrow off because that is when I will get everything done that I had planned to do today.

The hunt is on...

Well, that title's not technically true.  I've been hunting ever since we sold our house.  And let me tell you; Zillow (and other sites like it) are a wonderful way to sooth your nosiness.  Getting to peek inside homes without having to actually, you know, interact with people.

Of course, I've seen some homes that have left me scratching my head.  Like the one that was For Sale By Owner.  Which meant, of course, that all the pictures were taken by the owner and not a real estate professional.  Every single picture of this particular house showcased clutter.  EVERYWHERE.  So much so that I couldn't even focus on the house itself.

Other houses are devoid of any personality.  I realize that Realtors encourage homeowners to remove personal items, etc.  But somehow, I don't think they mean for people to remove every single piece of artwork or knick-knack.  It's that OR (even worse, in my mind) these people actually live in homes with no artwork on the walls; without pretty things that make them smile.

Well, now that I've gotten all that out of the way...on to what the true purpose of today's post.

Today, the Husband and I ventured out to a couple of Open Houses.  I had a list of five - which, to be honest, was probably over-reaching considering most Open Houses are from 2:00 pm to 4:00 pm.  The odds of being able to hit them all in that limited time frame was slim.

The list quickly got knocked down to four as the Husband had absolutely NO interest in one.  Fine.  As we were getting in the car the Husband asked, "What are we  going to do if we find a house we love today?" I responded that we'd call the landlord and see what could be worked out, since our lease is through the end of the year.  And then I added, "I'm fairly certain this will not be a problem since we can't agree on anything house-wise."  He agreed...finally, something we can agree on!

As we drove to the first one on the newly shortened list, he began grumbling.  "What do you mean this place is across Market Street?  I don't want to live over there.  Do you know what goes on over there?"

Turns out - the neighborhood, though nice enough, really wasn't what either of us are looking for - and the house wasn't actually "open" anyway.  So we drove off to the next house on the list.  This one had us hopeful.  The area is nice and the pictures online were fabulous.

The house itself?  It was okay.  But even I could tell that this house hadn't been built well.  The first thing I noticed in the living room was that the wall and the ceiling weren't exactly touching each other the way they should.  Plus there was creaking everywhere.  We won't even talk about the narrow stairs and the rickety banister.  Another one crossed off the list.

So we headed to the final house.  This one was GORGEOUS online.  I only had two reservations about this house.  It was built in the 60's so I figured there would be absolutely NO closet space and I was concerned about aluminum wiring.  When we first moved here, we put an offer in on a house.  The inspector informed us that there was aluminum wiring and then went into great detail about how bad that was and that the odds of the house catching fire and killing us all was massive.  Needless to say, we didn't buy that house.

Now whether or not this house had aluminum wiring, I have no idea.  This house was crossed off the list pretty quickly as the Husband thought the sunroom was poorly done - I disagreed in that I saw what the owners were going for by using the planked ceiling...but it didn't go well with the rest of the house.  This was a nice house but it was too chopped up for us.  And, as expected, closet space was minimal.

And as we all know, I will NOT be sharing a closet with my husband ever again, if I can help it.

So, as I said, the hunt is on.  But I have a stash of floor-plans and an eye on a lot in a neighborhood we love.  Why?

Because every other house hunt we've been on has ended with us building a house.  Somehow, I have a feeling this one might end the exact same way...