I doubt they'll ever be snuggly, but at least there's been no bloodshed.

Coco, the cat. The polar opposite of Dori: thin, athletic, and claw happy.

New Addition?

A couple weeks ago the neighbors adopted a couple new kittens. This would have absolutely no bearing on my life whatsoever, save for when I go over there when they're out of town to clean litter boxes and let their two dogs out. Except that they talked Ben into taking one of their cats that wasn't enjoying the loss of space (it's one of six cats and two dogs living under one roof with two humans). Ben's always wanted a Siamese cat so I relented, under the same stipulation that went along with our other inside only cat, i.e., Ben has litter box duty. We took her on a trial basis because we had misgivings about how our cat Dori would react, having been queen of the domicile these past four years. To be honest, we didn't want her going psycho like our first cat, the one we had before Dori.

Yes, for those of you who don't know, Ben and I were the owners of a psycho kitty. It was our first real pet, aside from the goldfish somebody gave us for Christmas one year that died after a few days. Since Ben had never in his whole life gotten to name a pet, I let him name her Smeagol. You, know, after the scary weirdo in Lord of the Rings. Anyway, Smeagol was a perfectly normal cat for a year and a half or so until we moved into our house. Oh, the irony of that name. Just like in the book our innocent cat turned into a creature of evil. Ben took her outside a couple times and one time she got a look at the neighbor's cat and went crazy. After that Smeagol would randomly attack us, turning from a puring lap cat into a squalling ball of fur and claws, lacing right into our feet. Scary and not fun. I took to wearing my shoes all the time. We really loved Smeagol, aside from her evil alter ego, and tried some behavior modification that seemed to work. Whenever she'd get the crazy eye and poof up we'd just ignore her and she'd go back to normal. Then one day she attacked Ben's mom and Ben intervened and got bitten pretty bad and had to go to the doctor. I had just had Henry, so as much as we loved her, we decided that Smeagol and her craziness had to go. It was very sad but pretty much our only option was to have her euthanized because none of the cat rescue places would take surrenders, and she'd just end up getting put to sleep at the pound anyway. Ben was pretty sad, so his mom bought him Dori. It took me a few months to fully trust her and to stop being paranoid when I walked barefoot beside the bed. She's turned out to be a good, laid back cat who's only flaw seems to be occasionally puking up her cat food. So now you see why we were nervous about taking in another cat.

We've had this cat, Coco, a couple weeks now and she still won't willingly venture downstairs. For the first week she hid under the bed in the guest room. She's very affectionate, but she's the biggest chicken of a cat I've ever seen. I tried to take her down to the living room the other day and got a scratch on my arm as a result. Then I wrapped her in a towel and tried again. She stayed for about two seconds and ran back upstairs. It's really annoying beacuse I want her litter box in the basement with Dori's so I never have to see the thing. But if I can't even get her to downstairs there's little chance of her going into the basement. Speaking as the Queen of Laze, if she doesn't conform to my wishes soon, I have a feeling we'll have to give her back to the neighbors.

Newlyweds, in our one room shanty at E.S. King Village, Raleigh, North Carolina.

Ben And Sarah Through The Ages

Last week was our ninth anniversary. Miraculously I remembered, but neither of us felt like going out, so we hung out at home with Henry. Yes, we're super romantic, I know.

Our story:

Ben and I met in 1992. That year I was very grumpy because my parents decided to move halfway through the second semester of my junior year in high school. We moved an hour from the town I grew up in to the even more podunk town of Ramseur. Maggie and I were in the same chemistry class and instead of letting us be lab partners, the teacher made me sit next to a tall skinny strawberry blond kid named Ben Tilley. We were going over balancing equations, something I hadn't done yet at my old school, so I asked Ben how to do it. He said he didn't know how to explain it, and that was pretty much our last real conversation of the year. The next year my sister Beth took an interest in him and they started dating. Ben and I became friends after that and drew comics and joked around a lot in our physics class at the expense of the teacher, Howard Johnson. For some reason I told Ben about seminary and the hilariously bad church videos we got to watch. The next thing I knew he started going to seminary. He and Beth were pretty much set on getting married, and in May of 1994 Ben got baptized. The next year Beth and Ben broke up and I didn't hear from him in a while. We were still friends and started hanging out, but not dating or anything. Then right before he went on his mission he confided his amorous feelings for me, which I'd honestly been oblivious of. I wasn't quite prepared to hear what he had to say and had no idea what to say in turn. Ben took it as a rejection and left for his mission not knowing if he'd ever see me again. I felt pretty lame about the whole thing, so I wrote him a letter while he was in the MTC and explained myself. Then I went on my mission the next year and we wrote each other until I got home in October 1998. He proposed in February 1999, we got married in the Washington, D.C. temple August 7, 1999. After I survived three weeks of marriage in our one room studio and didn't kill Ben or myself, I realized I hadn't made a horrible mistake after all.

A few weeks ago we were watching some home improvement show on TV and these guys were moving a big glass door and one is explaining, "This door is three hundred pounds, it weighs a ton." Ben and I both opened our mouths and said pretty much the same sarcastic thing, "No, it weighs three hundred pounds."

Yes, we were made for each other.

Let's Go To The Movies

The other day I took Henry to the movies. I decided to do this knowing full well from previous experience that it wasn't going to be 100% fun making Henry stay in his seat, prevent him from running all over the theater, and keep him from bolting at the end and getting lost in a crowd of a hundred kids. Well, the movie was an older one but it was free, so I figured why not. Seeing how the theater lures people in with the free movie so they can make money on their overpriced candy and popcorn, I felt like I should be a jerk and not get anything, but Henry, having been to the movies with his grandmother recently, ran right up to the concession stand so I caved and bought some popcorn and raisinettes. I ordered a cup of water, because we all know what happens to Henry when a little soda is added. The chick asked me if I wanted a bottled water and I said no, tap water in a cup could be fine. Who wants to pay for freaking water? So we met up with our friends and I secretly was hoping that they'd want to see Wallace and Gromit because I've seen it already and can stomach it, crossed my fingers that they'd already seen Alvin and the Chipmunks, because having seen one scene from that movie in a McDonalds made me want to puke. So we end up going to Alvin and the Chipmunks. Yeah. I didn't complain too much, I was mostly busy keeping Henry in his seat and making him sit back down, stop bothering the people in front of us, stop sitting next to the teenager at the end of the row, find his missing shoe ("Mom, my shoe is missing! Mom, my shoe is missing! My sock is getting sticky!"), retrieve his cup of water from underneath the seat, grab him and make him sit in my lap, all while trying desperately not to scream "This movie sucks!" at the top of my lungs. Then to my immense relief the screen faded to black.

I turned to my friend, "Oh, man, I didn't think I was going to make it." And then another scene comes on and there was a few more minutes of annoying chipmunk agonies to endure.

It was kind of funny when Henry yelled at the top of his lungs about six times, "That girl looks like a hippy!" And his loud obnoxious laugh whenever anyone got smacked in the head or a chipmunk farted. So I guess torture can have its moments. And yes, I'd probably do it again, just to see him have a good time, even at my expense.

Then when we got home Henry found the receipt in my pocket and I glanced at it when I took it away from him and noticed that the concession stand chick had charged me a dollar for a freaking paper cup of water.

"That (insert biblical swear here)!" Whoops, I guess I shouldn't have let that one slip out. Henry laughed and repeated it like five times. I apologized and explained that I shouldn't say stuff like that even though I was angry. A dollar for a paper cup of tap water...

Next time we go to the free movies I'm smuggling in my own snacks.

MEMORIES...

I stole this from Barneckedlady's blog:

MEMORIES...

Fun if you want to participate.

1. As a comment on my blog, leave one memory that you and I had together. It doesn't matter if you knew me a little or a lot, anything you remember!

2. Next, re-post these instructions on your blog and see how many people leave a memory about you. It's actually pretty funny to see the responses. If you leave a memory about me, I'll assume you're playing the game and I'll come to your blog and leave one about you.

The doorbell rang this morning, and this is what I found staring at me through the storm door. I think he's supposed to be Batman, but I could be wrong. He really is getting miles and miles out of that swim vest.

Mommy's Happy Hour

After I spent all morning and afternoon dealing with the adventures of the psycho tornado formally known as Henry, Ben decided to go out and see the new Batman movie with a friend, leaving me with our adorable little hell-beast. All was fine until dinner time when the whining started and every culinary suggestion I offered was shot down with complaints galore. Moments like these often cause me to contemplate and reflect upon the horrible luck doled on me when my son decided to quit napping at about 25 months. I made dinner in spite of his avowal that he didn't like pizza (a flat out lie, since it's one of the few things he'll actually eat) and when it was ready I found him zonked out in the recliner. I made a half-hearted attempt to wake him, i.e., I brushed him with a finger, and when he didn't stir I gleefully let him sleep for an hour. Of course, thanks to his nap he was wide awake when Daddy got home.

Happy Birthday USA

Independence Day was spent at home since both Ben and Henry were laid up with colds. Henry actually asked to take a nap a couple hours after he got up that morning and he and Ben slept until well after one p.m. Fireworks were definitely out since the menfolk were so beat, so we busted out the sparklers instead. I'm not sure that Henry got the whole Forth of July thing, but he thought the sparkler was pretty cool, once he figured out it wasn't going to ignite him. I guess I should have told him it was our country's birthday, which he'd totally get. Too bad I always think of these things long after the fact. Oh, well.

Ahh, back on flat ground. Can't tell if I'm any whiter than normal, but my hands sure were sweaty

Family Vacation

Ben took a few days off and we went on vacation. We didn't go very far, just to Pilot Mountain and we camped out at Mom and Dad's again. Henry didn't get to play with all his cousins this time, but he did get to help babysit Wesley, Maggies' cute little three month old. He got in a tractor ride, boat ride, a couple of movies and got to feed the ducks before we called it a night. I slept really well since we skipped the air mattresses this time and used a foam mattress thingy. Henry drifted off, well more like crashed off, to sleep about ten thirty, and woke bright and early at about five.

"It's morning!" he said perkily into my incredulous, blinking, bloodshot eyes.

"No, it's not," I said and rolled over.

"It is morning! The birds are tweeting!"

Stupid birds.

We packed up the tent and stuff and left about nine and drove over to Pilot Mountain where Ben's paternal grandparents live. We spent the day with them then went up to the mountain to find a camping spot. This involves driving up a narrow windy road with hairpin curves and minimal guardrails, so I was a little queasy by the time we reached the top where the hiking trails and look outs are. We wanted to hike around the knob, which Ben and I did many years ago in the pre-Henry era. Of course, watching Henry fearlessly check out the view on the edge of the drop off did little to ease my nerves.

"Can I climb on that rock?" he asked, pointing just outside the fence.

No, imagining that didn't make me want to faint and puke at the same time.

I get completely stressed at home when he runs around on the back deck, which is about fifteen feet above a cement patio thing.

So we start our hike, Ben taking charge of Henry and the camera, me carrying the water.

"Have these sharp, slippery looking rock steps hanging out into open space always been here?" I asked Ben.

Of course, they must have been there the last time we hiked, but I honestly didn't remember them or getting vertigo that quickly before. I opted not to watch Ben leading Henry up and down those steps, pretty much because whenever I did my heart seized and dropped down somewhere in my knees. We'd gotten about a third into the hike and were working our way around bare rock when I decided I'd had enough. I think if Henry hadn't been there I'd have been okay. I mean, I've hiked it before and it was really fun. But watching my only child, who by the way only up until recently couldn't walk across a room in flip flops without tripping, climbing on pine needled covered rocks next to a very steep drop off sans hand rail or trees... Okay, the stress was killing me. So I was done. We turned around and went back and I kept my eyes on my feet the whole way.

At a much less stressful point where the path was soft and flat, and surrounded by trees we stopped for a little rest. Henry announced to a couple coming up the trail that his mommy was afraid of heights. Heh, heh, heh, ya little weasel. Just you wait until next time we go to Chick-fil-A and you're too chicken to climb to the top of the indoor play house...

Since I was a bit stressed, Henry had acquired a runny nose and the weather was supposed to be a bit cooler that night, and you could hear the highway noise all the way up the mountain, Ben suggested that we drive back to Mom and Dad's. Henry had left his hat there anyway, so we all agreed and drove back to Seagrove, arriving at Mom and Dad's right after seven. We ate our campfire dinner: Chef Boyaredee straight out of the can ( I heated Henry's in the Microwave) and we put Henry to bed and ordered pizza and watched movies.

Now we're home and Dori is happy and full of wet cat food.

Me cat, Dori. I think she may need to go on a diet. Not sure why she's so fat. As often as she pukes up her food one would think she'd be a trifle less endowed with lard.

Henry aka Skeletor. The skeleton with a heart.

Henry and his kite. Pay no attention to that pile of laundry on the couch.

I Got Nothing

It's true. I've nothing really to say. Today I sanded and spackled the bathroom walls, ripped off a huge chunk of that ugly wallpaper. Cleaned the kitchen, did some laundry, cleaned out that grout bucket that's been sitting in the bathtub all week. Boy, was I in rare form today. Whilst (I love saying whilst) I was engaged in domestic duties, Henry was occupying the recliner and catching up on a week's worth of PBS cartoons. After a while he left the TV to ask me to help him build a kite. So we built a kite out of some newsprint and a couple sticks I broke of a bush growing next to the deck. Then Henry wanted to fly it. There was absolutely no way that thing was going to fly; even if there had been a trace of wind, the twigs were probably too heavy, the tape to flimsy to hold it together, the thread (applied for aesthetic value only) wouldn't have held up. I indulged him anyway and ran around the back yard with the kite pathetically flopping beside me. Henry thought it was cool, though, and had to have a turn. When we went to Mee Maw and Pee Paw's to go swimming he insisted on bringing the kite to show it off. But then when we got there he changed his mind and left it in the car.

We've gotten some rain and a few cool nights, so the pool water had dropped back down to seventy eight. Too cold for me. I dipped my feet and watched Henry frolic. When we got home Henry wanted to color some more and decided to make a skeleton suit. Not sure where he got the idea, maybe from whatever inspired him to make the kite. I made him a skeleton suit with some more newsprint and he was happy. Then he taped the skeleton to his door and requested that I invite one of his friends over so he could scare her with it. By then it was too late for a play date, so he was a little disappointed. Then he made two "brothers" out of paper. He was really Mr. Creative today.

Well, that's it. Hope I didn't bore anyone into a coma.

More Weekend Fun

Saturday morning we got up early. Henry was still snoozing so I had to wake him. I almost never have to wake him up, and when I do it's usually because we have to be somewhere before nine thirty. And of course on those days he decides to sleep in. Anyway, Henry looks up groggily and asks where we're going. Nowhere, I just wanted to make you get up early for no reason like you do to me all the time. Not really. I reminded him that we were going to Grandma and Papaw's house and he hopped right up out of bed like that sick guy Joseph Smith gave a blessing to.

We got to Mom and Dad's around nine thirty and there on the table was a big batch of biscuits Mom had just made, which was nice because we'd neglected breakfast in our haste to get there early. After breakfast Ben and Dad went off to tear down an old tobacco barn. Dad wants to build a log cabin so when people come to camp and stuff they don't have to go all the way back to the house to use the bathroom. I guess Dad could just build an outhouse or something, but he likes to dream big.

While the men went off to do manly stuff, Henry and I hung out with Mom. We were a little disappointed that Beth's kids weren't there, as Henry had no one to play with, but he was able to make due with me, and was happy to require me to push him endlessly on the swing. Luckily before too long Mom asked us to go to the store with her and Uncle Dave so I got out of swing duty. We went to Asheboro, a thirty minute drive, and picked up some printer ink so I could copy some more family photos at Mom and Dad's expense (thanks Mom and Dad!) and then went to the super Wal-mart. While shopping Dad called Mom and said Beth was trying to reach her. In the process of trying to call Beth on her cell phone, Mom accidentally called Aunt Liz and then realized after several tries that Beth wasn't answering the phone because she was dialing her old number, so she had to call Maggie to get her new one, and Maggie had to call her back. Then we had to hurry back because Beth needed us to watch the kids for her.

While we were finishing our shopping, Henry saw a man in a wheel chair and asked in his loudest voice, "Why does he have a wheelchair?"

My attempt to quiet Henry and discreetly give him the "some people need wheelchairs speech" failed big time and the lady accompanying the man in the wheelchair explained to Henry that someone had hit the man in the back of the head with a big stick so he couldn't move anymore.

Dang, what do you say to that? "Oh, no. I'm so sorry to hear that," was the first thing that came to mind so I went ahead and said it. I felt really bad for the guy, but was glad he had someone to take care of him.

When we got back to Mom and Dad's Henry got to play with his cousins and I got a break. Then Ben and Dad got home, both completely filthy. Ben told me about their adventures in tobacco barn demolition while I helped him disinfect a cut and a broken blister on his hand. Made me glad I stayed with Henry instead of leaving him with Mom and trying to help them with the Barn. First they had to drop off some trash at the waste/recycling collection center down the road. Ben said as he was unloading the trash bags this reeking yellow slime oozed out of the bottom of the bag all over his hand. He just managed not to vomit from the smell and quickly looked around for something to get the stuff off with and the only thing in sight was a can of soda. So he used that. Then he saw there was hand sanitizer there, so he used that. His hand still reeked so when they got to the barn he rubbed dirt on his hand to try to rub the stink off. That didn't work either.

The tobacco barn was eighteen feet tall and they had to climb up from inside on these old bars of wood used for hanging the tobacco. That would have been my stopping point. Bendy old wood is not something I'm willing to trust my weight on. Nor would I have been able to climb up eighteen feet. Dad climbed through a hole in the roof, but Ben had to make his own by smashing through with a crowbar. They got the old tin roof off and decided that was enough for the day. Ben washed his hands a lot when they got back. I asked him if it still stank (I wasn't willing to sniff for myself) and he said a little. Ben hadn't the foresight to bring a change of clothes. When we went out to eat Dad loaned him the only shirt that would fit him, a hideously loud yellow Hawaiian-style shirt. Beth told me to lose it because, "he wears it when we go out to eat!" I think I'll return it though.

After dinner we let the kids play in a park a while and then went home, and during the ride home Zejda drew everyone pictures, including one she gave Henry of a poopy-pants gingerbread man, which Henry thought was hilarious. I'm going to save it and reintroduce it to her at a family gathering when she's about sixteen. That'll make her day. :) We made homemade ice cream when we got back. By the time it was done it was eight p.m., so I fixed us some to go and we said our goodbyes. We decided to follow Dad's advice and try a new route home through the back roads. Everything was great until we hit a road closed "except to local traffic" sign. Ben drove on to see if we could get through anyway, but it was getting pretty dark by then so we couldn't tell if the road was passable. The detour added about twenty minutes to the trip, but we still got home the same time that we would have if we'd gone our normal route. It had been a nice drive, despite the detour. The farms were all foggy as the sun was setting and we got to see what looked like an old textile mill ruin on a river (not sure if it was the Deep River or the Haw). Plus I reminded Ben that even though we'd had to drive a little more, we didn't have to go through Siler City, a town through which you had to drive and endure multiple stop lights, slowpokes, and cars yanking out in front of you. So we'll probably go that way from now on, and hopefully the road will be fixed before long.

Almost done. Hopefully by the end of the week.

Me laying tile. Kind of wish I didn't have that zombie eye thing going on. But hey, it's a photo of me not sitting on the couch reading a book.

The old floor. Well not really. I forgot to take a picture of the floor before we ripped it up, so I took a picture of the upstairs bathroom floor. But it's the same ugly yellow stuff. Just imagine it peeling away from the tub and a cigarette burn in it and you get the idea. Plus the floor squeaked. Made me crazy.