All Or Nothing

Love's Like A Bump On The Head, When It Comes Down To It

This past Saturday Cody and I went to meet some of our friends over at a house they were house-sitting.  Said house has a pool, and, as you'll recall, we all live in East Texas and it's like a trillion degrees outside right now.  (No really, it is).  So it only makes sense that we would all want to utilize such a welcome, cooling, oasis of water, and we made plans to do just that.  Cody and I packed up our floats and a cooler of refreshments and headed over.  And about three hours later, Cody hurriedly dragged all our stuff back out to the car and went to retrieve his concussed wife, who was dazedly walking around the backyard with a huge goose-egg on her forehead.

I'd like to take this moment to tell you that I am, actually, very familiar with pools, and with swimming.  I started swimming lessons when I was two, for goodness sakes.  I was on the swim team!  I worked every summer as a lifeguard throughout most of college.  I am not a pool retard.  So that makes the incident that follows even LESS impressive. 

And I'd love to explain what happened, getting wordier and wordier as I go, extrapolating similes and metaphors about how swimming can be just like life, man, and how love's like a bump on the head, when it all comes down to it.  But the truth is, I don't remember much of anything.  So, in the tradition of many a great blogger before me, I'm gonna let Microsoft Paint do the talking!

First, Cody and I thought it would be fun to do that thing where one person stands on the other person's shoulders, and Person 1 squats down so that he can then jump up out of the water and launch Person 2 into the air.  Actually, I should say CODY always thinks this will be a fun game; I normally am somewhat ambivalent about playing.  But anyway, that's what we were doing.  Like so!

As you can see, in this pool there is an area of deep water, and then another area where the water is shallower.  Just like every pool in the whole entire world.

Okay, so after a few jumps, I got to feeling pretty good about myself, and decided that I would do a back-dive.  Like this!

I did a few back-dives and they were just awesome.  I got really proud of myself.  And then, unbeknownst to me, Cody moved into shallower water.  He may have mentioned this to me and I, so taken with myself as I was, didn't hear him.  As I mentioned, I honestly don't remember, and, as such, will not accept Cody's version of the story as 100% fact.  I mean, that's like telling a coma patient that you sat beside their bed every day for 10 hours.  You might have....or you might have been out playing frisbee.  They'll never know.  It's pretty low, Cody, lying to a head-trauma victim.  However, whether it came with warning or not, Cody moved into shallower water and I still thought 'OOH, DIVING, FUN!"

 

So I dove, came down forehead-first on the pool floor, and ended up looking like this:

 

And then, for some reason, we went to dinner with friends, then somewhere else, and then to our friend's house, where I apparently fell asleep on the floor.  I remember approximately 5-7% of this.  And then all day Sunday I kept making mention of things I thought we had done the day before:

Me: Hey Cody, those sure were some good nachos we ate last night!

Cody: No one ate any nachos, Elise

Me: That was fun getting to see Friends X, Y and Z!

Cody: We never saw any of those people, Elise

Me: My brother says you called him all sorts of names (ed: he and Cody do this to each other ALL THE TIME - all in good fun) on the phone yesterday, Why'd you do that?

Cody: You TOLD me to call him, Elise. And then you told me what to say!

And that's how I feel about life - it's like you're having a great time, and then you smash your head into concrete (metaphorical concrete, of course), and then it's like the universe allows you to forget how much the concrete hurt and soon enough, you're all recovered and better than ever and can even look back and have a laugh or two about the whole ordeal.  Time heals all wounds, you know? 

Or maybe I'm just a moron who can't judge diving depth.  Either way.

Oh, Cody

Well, it has been a while since he's graced us with the material for one of these stories.  I guess we were due.

It all started a couple of weeks ago when Cody started a new rotation at a clinic in a town about 30 miles from where we live.  Because he was going to be getting up at least 45 minutes earlier than normal, we attempted to get into SOMEWHAT of a routine at night.  (For past attempts at routine, see this, this or this).

Cody is a night owl, and all attempts to determine what I am (night owl/early bird) have failed.  If I have to get up early, I am most certainly NOT a night owl, but am more of whatever type of species you imagine being horribly snarly and mean.  If I can sleep late, then I am happy to stay up til whenever.  Cody doesn't care if he has to get up early - actually he DOES care, but all attempts for him to override his natural compulsion to stay up late are generally met with failure.  He tries to go to bed, but always finds something more interesting to do, like watching SportsCenter or losing his keys. 

This perfect storm of disorganization results in the evening "routine" Cody and I have developed over the nearly four years we've been married.  Sometime between 7-10pm we eat something, and usually we're watching television while eating and/or after we're done eating.  Either that or we've gone out to eat somewhere, and may or may not even come back home until 10:30-11.  Sometimes we forget about eating until really late, and then Cody tells me that he's hungry.  Those are the nights I feel like a REALLY good wife.

We end up watching things that have backed up on our Tivo until at least midnight, and it's only then that either one of us even thinks about STARTING the true bedtime routine; a complicated dance that involves the following:

• Locating and bringing inside Sophie, the outside cat
• Chasing Jill (the mean cat) out from under the guest-room bed and into the laundry room
• Thawing the raw meat patties to feed Lydah (which is, as Cody puts it, "an up-at-dawn, pride-swallowing siege")
• Taking Lydah out and making her go to the bathroom so that she doesn't wake us up at 3am by standing over us in bed, panting
• Getting into bed 

Of course Cody has to have a movie playing in the bedroom DVD to fall asleep, a habit I HATED when we first got married but have now gotten completely used to and hardly even notice.  It was a good trade for me anyway, because the habit he had to lose out on in the compromise was the one where he set his alarm clock like, over an hour early and HIT THE SNOOZE, EVERY FIVE MINUTES, FOR OVER AN HOUR.  Boy, those were the days.

(The habit I had to lose was listening to soft music as I fell asleep.  I know, who would EVER WANT TO DO THAT?)

Anyway.  By the time we've stopped watching back episodes of It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia and finished the bedtime routine, it's easily 1am.  And I don't care, because I hardly ever have to be up early in the morning but Cody does care, because he has to be up early every day.  And you might think that he would catch on to the fact that every day he has to be up early, and every night he stays up late, and therefore every morning he is miserable, but you would be wrong.  Each night it's like a brand-new misery; he looks at the bedside clock, reads off some permutation of "AM", and gets all upset.

Recently, though, with the new clinic rotation and added insult of a 45 minute drive every morning, Cody decided to make a change.  I fully support all of Cody's "change" decisions (for their entertainment value if nothing else), and so I happily went along.  Plus, I already have my doubts about how I'll ever make it as a mom (see: total disorganization, lack of routine, staying up late, sleeping late, needing my sleep desperately), and I kind of feel like I NEED to get on a good routine as far as normal sleep/wake habits.

11-11:30pm was decided upon as the bedtime goal, and for the past couple of weeks, I'd say that we've hit that goal at least 70% of the time - a success, in my opinion.  It's still hard though, to get up earlier than you're used to, and since Cody's been having to do that, I've been fielding all 3am Lydah bathroom breaks.  She's just so annoying, that dog.  I know it's probably our fault, feeding her so late and then expecting her little system to do a digestive miracle a mere 20 minutes after she's eaten, but geez.  Can't she hold it 8 hours? 

No.  No, she can't.  And when she decides she wants to go, she does this awful thing where she walks around on the bed, stepping on all our limbs, and then finally squeezes herself in between our heads, sitting upright, panting loudly.  Since Cody can sleep through a tornado (and has, actually! another story for another day!) I am ALWAYS the one woken up by hot dog breath on my face.  (Sidenote: foreshadowing for future midnight baby feedings, anyone?)

Normally we fight over who has to take her out, a fight which involves me waking up, Lydah panting heavily, Cody sleeping peacefully, me getting annoyed that he's somehow managing to stay asleep, me kicking Cody and telling him to take Lydah out, and him saying okay and then rolling over and falling back asleep immediately.  Without taking her out.  But for his first week of work, I just decided to forego all the procedure and skip to the part where I take her out.  I mean, that's what happens anyway, 90% of the time.  Oh, and obviously we don't have a fence, or all of this would be totally pointless as we would just open the door, shove Lydah into the backyard, and be done with it.

Earlier this week though, Cody took Lydah out to the bathroom before bed and didn't stick around to make sure she went.  This is a surefire way to make sure I get woken up at 3am, and so when it happened I was annoyed.  I took her out, but as I came back to bed I told Cody that the next 7 times were all going to be his turn.  He mumbled "okay" and rolled over.  Always coming up with something new, that Cody.

Anyway, last night Lydah started up with her whole panting routine and somehow (miracle? karma?) Cody HEARD her, and woke up.  He also remembered the "next 7 times" conversation and dragged himself out of bed to take the dog out, griping all the way.  I rolled over to fall back asleep, relishing in the freedom of covers all to myself and appreciative of Cody for taking the stupid dog out.  I didn't really expect him to do it.

Cue to OVER AN HOUR LATER, I am suddenly awakened by frantic dog barking, coming from outside.  I jump out of bed, blearily looking around for Lydah or Cody, seeing no one, but hearing even louder barking from outside.  I open the french doors from our bedroom and run out onto the screen porch, yelling for Lydah.  At the same time I hear Cody opening the front door and calling for Lydah from the front porch.  About a minute later Lydah comes bounding in the house, full of puppy energy, happy to be back inside.  Cody walks back into our room looking sleepy and I ask him if he just left Lydah outside, roaming the neighborhood, for over an hour.  He confirms that he did.  I ask him why.  He says he fell asleep on the couch after he opened the front door and let her out.  I tell him that I certainly hope he doesn't think this counts as one of his 7 turns.  He says that it should.

So I ask you, Internet:  Should it?

I Am Full Of The Truth

See?  Posting again already!  Look at me.  LOOK AT ME!  Don't look at all the losers and freaks, you look at ME!! (By the way, if any of you know where that lovely quote came from, I'll be impressed.  It cracks me up every time.)

So anyway, today I'd love to get your take on kitchen habits: what is normal, and what is not.  In order for us to have some frame of reference, allow me to present you with what I, for some reason, think "normal" kitchen habits should look like.

Somewhere between 4-6pm arrive home, pour a refreshing beverage and start pulling ingredients for dinner from your well-stocked fridge and pantry.  Of course you already have all the ingredients, because earlier in the week you sat down and planned out your week's meals and have already visited the grocery store for all needed items.

Cook dinner, pausing intermittently to kiss your spouse hello and maybe to shine your countertops.  Of course you are cleaning up as you cook.  Set the dining-room table.  Like, with napkins and placemats and everything.

Somewhere between 6-7pm sit down and eat your home-cooked meal.  Make pleasant conversation with your spouse and (if you've got 'em) kids.  Refill drinks as necessary.  Finish dinner and take all dishes back to the kitchen. 

Someone (preferably not the cook) has dishes detail, and rinses each dish and then places it into the dishwasher.  If the dishwasher is full of clean dishes at the start of this task, the dish detail person unloads the dishes, and then re-fills the dishwasher.

Someone else wipes down the kitchen countertops and cooking surfaces.  However, there's not much to clean, because you were cleaning as you cooked!

So there you go, that's what I envision "normal" kitchen habits looking like.  Why, I have no idea, except that it seems like it would be so nice and calm and organized.  However, let me present you with what our kitchen habits actually ARE like:

Arrive home anywhere between 6:30 and 7:30pm.  Tired.  Pour yourself a drink.  Open refrigerator and realize that no fairy elves have done your grocery shopping for you, and you still only have mustard, ketchup, and that same mold-cultivating tupperware container.  Go to pantry and see two boxes of microwave popcorn, three cans of Rotel, and a can of Healthy Choice soup that you've had since before you got married.  Slam the pantry door and yell to anyone who's listening that there's nothing to eat.

Repeat opening and closing both refrigerator and pantry doors several times, each time hoping that some stroke of genius will strike and you'll figure out something tasty and nutritious to make out of the popcorn and mustard you've got on hand.  Pour yourself another drink, and greet your spouse, who has just arrived home hungry and equally tired.  Give your spouse your drink in an atrocious attempt to appear like a decent homemaker.

Spouse observes that it is nothing less than ridiculous that there isn't a single PIECE of cheese in the house, because you can always make something out of nothing if you just have cheese.  Spouse also helpfully notes that the fact there are no eggs is just unbelievable.  Eggs are, as you know, about 88 cents a dozen.  These pearls of wisdom prove less helpful than you might think.

Discuss what sounds like the best option for obtaining food.  Obviously grocery store and subsequent cooking are out, because it's already hedging on 8pm and you're both starving.  Discuss going to a sit-down restaurant.  Decide that it's too pricey/you're too tired/none of them sound good/they failed the Restaurant Report on the evening news.  Discuss take-out options.

No one wants to get back into the car to pick up food.  One of you goes back to the pantry, finds some stale crackers, and starts spreading them with the same peanut butter you put in the dog's Kong toy.  Life has hit an all time low.  Finally, one of you decides that you'll go pick up food from Horribly Unhealthy Fast Food Restaurant.  Whoever is left at home sits on the couch, flipping channels, only to jump up upon hearing the garage door open and scramble to pull out some dinner plates (the good ones!) on which to place the food. 

Eat Horribly Unhealthy Fast Food, but on the nice dinner plates.  You put your plate in the dishwasher.  Your spouse puts theirs in the sink.  Why?  Because they NEVER PUT ANYTHING IN THE DISHWASHER.  Why would they, when the sink's right there?  And surely someone else (always you) will come by and put the plate into the dishwasher for them.  However, you can't really complain, since your best attempt at being any kind of a homemaker was serving french fries on a stoneware platter.

No one bothers cleaning the kitchen, because no one cooked anything.  The empty fast food bags are left strewn around the island.

Repeat the next evening, ad infinitum.

So, how does it work for you?  Surely there is a happy medium I can aspire to.  Help!

And All The Stuff That Comes Along

First and foremost, let me extend a very happy CONGRATULATIONS to my friend Jen, over at Operation Pink Herring, who has gone and gotten herself engaged.  Jen is my friend in blogging, crazy pet ownership, and general OCD-ishness. 

Also Jen, like me, occasionally finds herself telling accidental lies, not of her own volition, and only on RARE OCCASIONS, and only for really good reasons, such as telling the jeweler that she HAD to have her ring back and sized by today because she was having an engagement party.  Which, at the time, she was not.  But now you are, Jen!  It's not a lie!  Congratulations on being a truth-teller!  And with that, here's my contribution for you and your honey.  I was going to give advice, and then I was going to try something funny like Janet did, but then I remembered that all I can really do is tell stories, so a story is what you're getting. 

When I met Cody, I was deep in the throes of my Anti-Engagement/Anti-Wedding Movement.  This was a movement to which I subscribed heavily in the years 2001-2003, give or take.  Unsurprisingly, I have recently found myself ensconced in a similar movement, the Anti-Baby-Having Movement of '06-'08.  Both movements were founded after a whole slew of friends of mine either A) got engaged and subsequently married or B) got pregnant and subsequently had a baby.  And I was not doing either of those things, at either of those times, respectively.  You might think that these "movements" were based solely and completely on jealousy, but I'm not fond of that type of self-awareness; instead I like to wallow around in largely unexamined feelings and base my decisions on a whole lot of nothing.  It's something I've always been proud of.

Anyway!

I "met" Cody (I say "met" because we had actually known of each other for quite a long time, but had never exchanged more than a sentence or two in all that time) on New Year's Eve of 2003.  My best friend in the entire world was about to get engaged, had been moving towards that finality for quite some time, and I happened to have the exclusive knowledge that It was going to happen that very night.  I was happy for my best friend - thrilled - but I was feeling more than a little left out.  Of course I was NOT going to express that most selfish of reactions to her, nor to any of our similar friends.  Actually, I was just planning on keeping the whole horrible thing to myself, but when I found out that I would be giving Cody, an older brother of my brother's best friend, a ride to Dallas, I had a captive audience; I figured why not?  Poor Cody got the whole earful.  He and I would more than likely never talk again after the ride to and from Dallas that weekend, and we had virtually no friends in common.  If ever there was a chance for some free vent therapy, this was it.  And so I went on and on about how I just didn't understand the appeal of marriage, the whole spending your ENTIRE LIFE with the same person, the whole coming home every single night to the same thing, dinner at 6:30 and the evening news and in bed by 11pm.  It sounded so horrible to me, so boring, so unfit to my personality.  Cody not only agreed with every single point I had, but also seemed to have put thought into the subject on his own, and had well-formed opinions eerily similar to mine. 

Turned out Cody had quite the slew of friends who had either recently tied the knot or were getting ready to, and he was nowhere near being ready to do the same.  Having found that we had a lot more in common than we knew, Cody and I proceeded to make great conversation all the way to Dallas.  I dropped him off at his party, left to meet my girlfriends for an evening of New Year's salsa dancing, and found myself counting down the minutes to when I could pick Cody up the next morning.  This was not in my plan.

Cody's mother, who had always been a friend of my family, had invited me about a week prior to drive up to Houston with her to see a Monet exhibit at the museum there.  I had absolutely no intention of taking her up on this invite, but had responded with the typical "sounds fun, I'll have to see what's going on", thinking that obviously New Years Day, after a long night out, would be an excuse in and of itself not to drive to Houston.  However, after my unexpected discovery the night before, the one where I realized that spending time with Cody seemed like a very good plan and should be acted upon, I decided I would do some sneaky work and try to find out whether Cody was going to the museum.  I'm not sure if he was planning on going beforehand or if he was having a similar decision-making process as I was, but on our drive back from Dallas I managed not only to ascertain that Cody was going to Houston, but also that he was now in the position of trying to convince ME to go as well.  Me, who already wanted to go anyway.  Oh dating power play, how I miss you.

Anyway, I did go to Houston, and after we got back from Houston I managed to finagle a situation where my brother, Cody's little brother, and Cody all ended up at my parents house to watch a football game.  Where, of course, I would handily be as well, looking all cute; just a coincidence.  The football game ended, and SOMEHOW the four of us (two little brothers and their two enamored siblings) went to a movie.   About halfway through the movie I started feeling a little ballsy and also somewhat impatient.  If you know me, I'm sure this mix of emotions is not shocking, and then neither would be my next move, which was to kind of move my right arm near Cody's, put my hand near my shoulder so that my fingers were lightly grazing his arm, and move my fingers JUST A TINY BIT.  Just enough so that he wouldn't mistake it for accidental contact, or even for the "accidental" contact that everyone knows ISN'T accidental but could be explained away as such.  No, this was obvious, and I did it for the express purpose of seeing his reaction.  He seemed game.  But I still wasn't sure.

After the movie was over, I decided that the only way I would know for sure how Cody felt is if I just came right out and asked.  I had figured that I was going back to Lubbock to finish up one last class and figure out when to move out to California for law school.  I certainly didn't have time to waste wondering about some guy, and whether my crush was unrequited.  So I asked him.  "Do you just think of me as Nathan (my brother)'s sister, or what?  Because I like you, but I don't want to sit around wondering whether you like me if you're just thinking I'm a cute kid or whatever."  Cody was taken aback, this being not his style at all; in fact this being THE OPPOSITE of his style.  His style is more like, wait around for a really long time and hopefully everything will work out with no conflict whatsoever and if it doesn't then it's okay because it's taken so long I've probably forgotten what I wanted anyway.  Which, dude.  I SO don't work that way.

So I asked, and he was taken aback, but in a good way, the way where I could tell he did like me (I mean, let's be honest - I'm not THAT brave - I had a good feeling about it before I asked).  Cody told me that he had a girlfriend (! news to me) and that it was pretty much over with her and had been for a while but that he didn't want to talk about how he might feel about me or do anything about it until he had officially ended it with her.  I figured that seemed like a good plan, and he broke up with her two days later.  The day after that we met for lunch, this was around January 9 or 10, 2004.  We got engaged in early March, and married in August. 

It was just so obvious, so completely obvious right from the start, that we were meant to be together.  Suddenly I wasn't worried about boring nights at home with the same guy, over and over, like some sick sort of Marriage Groundhog Day.  I wasn't worried about how I would manage to turn my irresponsible, fun-loving self into a mature, responsible homemaker.  I wasn't worried about developing an interest in the evening news, or somehow knowing how to cook meals that were ready by the time he got home from work, or any of that.  Because I knew our marriage would be nothing like that, because WE were nothing like that.  Our relationship was like exactly no one else's, and because of that I knew our marriage would be completely unique as well.  All the little things we thought and enjoyed and spent time doing as a dating couple, well, that was the same sort of thing we'd do as a married couple.  Only it would be easier!  And neither of us would have to go home at night.

And just yesterday, more than four years later, Cody sat across from me at a Mexican restaurant, celebrating the birth of our newest niece, talking about how what our life with kids would be like, and deciding that it would be like no one else's.  That we would do our own thing, and the ways we would manage to figure out how to deal with the sleeping issues and the babysitting issues and all the things that come along would be unique to us, because we are unique.  And suddenly Cody looked at me, and started laughing, and said "this is all such an adventure, isn't it?"

And he's right.  Congratulations, Jen, and I can't wait to hear about your adventure.

See, You And Me Have A Better Time Than Most Can Dream

So, we just had Super Tuesday, and boy was it Super!  Ha!  Actually, it wasn't all that Super, but compared to last Tuesday, it was SUBLIME.

You see, last Tuesday wasn't exactly what you might call a banner day for my lovely husband.  Or, if you look at it another way, maybe it was THE banner day for Cody.  See?  It's always a glass half empty or full thing, isn't it?

The day started off innocently enough; Cody got up and went to work and I got up and took the high-maintenance princess dog to her bi-weekly vet appointment.  Around lunchtime, I found myself on the side of town near Cody's office, and called him up to see if he wanted to go on a little lunch date.  He did, and so I drove over and picked him up.  We left in my car, and the important thing to remember here is that in asking him to lunch, I was totally disrupting his normal schedule of getting things done in the most confusing, scrambled, backwards way possible.  It's a very complicated technique that works exclusively for him.

I was hungry and felt like Mexican, so we headed to my number one favorite place in town.  Just as we were pulling into the turn lane in front of the restaurant, we heard the unmistakable "flap, flap, flap" sound that can only mean a flat tire.  I looked at Cody and remarked that it was a good thing he was already with me; otherwise he would have been receiving a phone call right about then.  We parked, ascertained that the tire had some large metal pokey thing sticking out of it, thought we'd try to make it to the tire repair place without changing to the spare, and went in to eat lunch.  After lunch and a successful trip to the tire shop, we settled into the red plastic waiting room chairs to...well...wait. 

I, quickly bored with out-of-date car magazines (I like my car specs CURRENT, you know), decided to play on the Internet with my phone, and after a few minutes of that, decided to be a good wife and check Cody's work email to make sure his answering service hadn't scheduled appointments over lunch that he didn't know about.  The very first email on the page was from the answering service so I clicked on it and read the following:  EMERGENCY, CALLER STATES THAT OFFICE DOOR IS UNLOCKED AND THERE ARE PATIENTS INSIDE OFFICE WAITING WITH NO STAFF MEMBERS TO ASSIST.

I sucked in my breath and sat back, trying to quickly digest what such a message would mean to Cody, who was currently sitting next to me, blissfully reading an article about the newest thing in 2002 trucks, stuck at the tire repair shop with no escape. 

"Ummm..." I said aloud.  Cody continued reading.  "Uhhh...Code?" I tried again.

"Yeah?" came the absentminded answer; he was still looking at the magazine.

"Well, I think, maybe, that your office door....do you think you locked it?  For sure?"  I've got his full attention now, and I can see in his eyes that he's not sure if he locked the door; he's never been sure his entire life if he's locked any door.

"Yeah, I think I locked it - why?"  He looks panicky.

"Well, your answering service emailed you and said it was unlocked and there are patients inside and they are sitting there and no one is there to help them, and actually, what they said was that the wife of the doctor who shares that office space is the one who called them to let them know because she came up there to get a chart and found it that way....ummmm...." I trailed off. 

Cody has jumped out of his chair; he's looking wild-eyed and frantic.  I tell him he should call the other doctor's wife, and maybe the other doctor as well, because as we've been talking he's received three new messages from his answering service, all detailing the unlocked and unmanned state of the office.  Cody grabs his phone and runs outside to make calls.  I sit inside, silently willing the tire people to finish quickly.  Thankfully they do finish up in the next five minutes and we race back to Cody's office where he jumps out of the car to try and do some damage control.  After receiving assurances that no, there is REALLY NOTHING I can do, please stop asking, I leave to go home and research available office space online.

A few hours later, after the work day is over, I call Cody to see how things turned out.  He's surprisingly upbeat about the situation, telling me that nothing was out of place, and that there really weren't all that many patients in there; he thought it was all going to be okay.  He segues into a story about "the craziest patient he's ever had", and regales me with a story he apparently thinks I will find hilarious.  Here's the story: 

Cody got a new patient, and boy is she crazy!  I mean, she is the kind of crazy that you can't ignore; it radiates around her like a force field, and she's just the type of person you know will have all sorts of weird circumstances at all time.  I mean, take today!  She comes in for her appointment, and has her friend drop her off.  Cody tells her that the first appointment won't take that long, and does she maybe want to have her friend wait?  She says no, her friend isn't really a friend but rather someone doing a favor and won't wait on her regardless of the time.  He asks how she'll get home and she says she doesn't know.  Yeah!  Crazy!  So then the appointment is over, and he sees some more patients, and she's just waiting in the waiting room.  Time goes by, and pretty soon it's the end of the day and she's still there.  She has no way of getting home, nor any plans to make a way to get home.  So, Cody decides what would be best would be to drive her home.  Yes, that's clearly a good idea, so that's what he does, he drives the crazy lady home, just him and her in the car together, all the way to the other side of town.  Yep, that's PRETTY CRAZY, CODE.

I am nonplussed by the story.  I ask him what in the world made him think that was a good idea.  He says, in his typical, good-hearted way, that it seemed like the right thing to do.  I say yes, if all things were perfect and we lived in RainbowWorld that would be the right thing to do.  But since we don't, it was probably more of a GET SUED AND LOSE YOUR LICENSE thing to do.  He doesn't understand why I am concerned about the decision.  I ask him not to tell anyone else what he's done just yet, because they will most certainly be more concerned than me.  I get back online to start researching new careers for Cody.

About an hour later I am getting ready to meet a friend for a movie.  Cody is still at work, and I see that high-maintenance princess dog's water dish is empty.  I turn on the tap to fill it up, and....no water.  This is strange, and so I try the bathroom sink.  No dice.  I try to flush a toilet.  Nothing.  I go to the garage to see if I can figure out what's going on (note: this is ridiculous because why would I be able to ascertain anything by looking in the garage?  oh, on this model of water tank, when the valve is pointing to that number, well, that means the pressure's all wrong, and the meter's not reading right...yeah) and the hot water heater is making a really weird noise.  I call Cody, and I'm annoyed.  I mean, seriously, what is going on?  I ask him if he's got any idea why we've suddenly got no water, and it's like magic - I can somehow see, over the phone, the exact face he's making, and it's the face that means OH NO I SCREWED UP.  He doesn't even have to say it, I know he forgot to pay the water bill.  He confirms this, and I can't think of a single thing to say.  So I say okay, and goodbye, and get in my car so that I can make it to the movie on time.

As I'm driving to the movie, I experience the weirdest mix of emotions I've ever felt.  On the one hand, I'm frustrated.  And I'm thinking I have every right to be frustrated.  I mean, seriously, who leaves their office unlocked and unattended for over an hour, drives an insane patient home alone, and then forgets to pay the water bill, effectively cutting off one of the few things actually necessary for survival, all in one day?  On the other hand, I'm thinking the same exact thing, but suddenly I can hardly keep myself from giggling.  Who does that?  Cody does that.  My Cody does that.  And all at once, it's like the floodgates open and I'm sitting in my car at a stoplight, laughing out loud and thinking about how much I love that guy.  Because seriously, are any of those things REALLY that big of a deal?  The office thing could have been bad, but nothing happened; the crazy lady thing could still turn out to be bad, but we can get her to sign something and mitigate that situation, and the water?  I mean, Cody could be a multi-billionaire and we would still get our water turned off.  He just forgets stuff; he always has and he always will.  If I'm going to get mad about not having water for a night every once in a while, or maybe dining by candlelight once or twice, then I better be prepared to waste a lot of time being unnecessarily angry.

The more I thought about it the more I couldn't stop picturing Cody as this hapless cartoon character, stumbling through life, being a good guy, making jokes, and somehow always having things work out in the end.  He's such a great guy - full of love and life and laughter - and I wouldn't trade any of those things for the world.

Especially not for one extra night of water.  I mean, let's be serious.  Cody totally gift-wrapped me a golden excuse for why I hadn't showered the next day.  Normally I have to make stuff up.

An Oldie But A Goodie Nonetheless

****And the beat goes on****

No more whining coming from over here.  The official stance of the House of Carter is that Lydah is going to be fine; will heal and will recover.  The end!

(If you keep saying it, it will become true - right?)

Kitters, on the other hand, will have to rest in peace, but I think that's alright because she was at least 117 years old, in the feline world.  That's a nice long life and I can only imagine that if I were 117 years old and forced to live outside on the back porch I would probably be ready to throw in the towel as well.

****Best search keywords from last month****

This time, I found the "how to" questions and the confessions ("I did activity X") to be the most interesting.  Some examples?  Sure!

1.  "how to deal with a guest that lost his keys"

I actually feel uniquely qualified to answer this, not because I often host guests who lose their keys, but because as the wife of Cody, I have often been the guest who has lost their keys.  I'd say your best bet is to either crack open another drink and make the best of it, or (if you're really sick of us), offer to drive us home with lots of assurances that the keys will turn up somewhere the next day.  And roll your eyes a lot. I hear eye-rolling works well in situations such as these.  Cody LOVES it.

2.  "how to bite girls toenails if I am the girl"

Hmm.  I have no problem biting my own toenails, and so I can't see why you're having such a tough time with it.  Maybe more yoga or something?

3.  "how to store headbands organize"

You seem to have answered your own question there, smarty.

4.  "how to poison my husbands dog"

My gosh.  It's like you have no tact.  Either that, or you haven't even been READING what's been going on around here lately.  Poor Lydah is all hurt and dying getting better and healing and all you can talk about is finding ways to kill dogs.  Well, if you MUST, I'd try feeding your husband's dog some fancy canned pet food from the pet food recall.  I think that'll do the trick nicely.  And you'll come off as the kind and caring doggy mommy, who only wanted little Fido to have some special treats.

And now for the confessions:

1.  "I go motions sickness on the airplane and puked in the air sick bag and my self"

Gross.

2.  "I got motion sickness on a airplane and puked on a flight attedent"

Again, gross!  Also, you sound like you've got a nasty cold.  Go blow your nose before typing anything else.

3.  "I walk around nude in front of my baby sitter" 

Wow!  Opportunistic little gal/guy!

4.  "I'm a pretty pony clippity-clop dragonrealms and I love to have my coat brushed"

Where to start?  First of all, I seriously doubt that you're a pony at all.  I mean, let's get real.  Ponies aren't well-known for trolling the Internet, typing vain phrases about themselves into search engines.  You just don't have the hooves for it.  Secondly, as we've already established that you're more than likely NOT a pony, we don't even need to get into the ridiculous arrogance and fallacy that lies within the whole "pretty" thing.  So there we go.  You aren't a pony, you DEFINITELY are not a "pretty" pony, and while I will admit to being confused about the "clippity-cliop dragonrealms" part of your message, I'll go ahead and call foul on that as well.  Clippity-clop sounds suspiciously like you're trying to emulate pony noises, which really makes the whole thing even MORE pathetic, as we've already all agreed that you are NOT a pony.  Stop trying so hard.  And you like to get your coat brushed?  Really?  After all of this?  You're still claiming to have a coat?

It's sad, is what it is.  Sad.   

What are the best search phrases you've seen this month?

Nothing Fun Here; Holiday Happiness Seekers Can Move Right Along

Well.  Lydah has everything you can imagine wrong with her, and then some.

No, that's not fair.  I suppose she could have had cancer and the vet could have told us that she had to be put down right that very second.  That didn't happen.

However, she does have the torn ACL, she does have a severe enzyme deficiency, and she does have bad hips.  Which, although that sounds like the least of the problems, is really the very, very worst.  You see, bad hips is what you pray your (especially large breed) dog won't have.  Because if they have bad hips then they are really likely to get hip dysplasia, which is a chronic, debilitating disease.  And then you have to put them down, because they are in too much pain.  And guess what!  Lydah is a "very strong candidate" for hip dysplasia.

Boy, I am a real joy to be around right now!

Of course, we need to take into effect that I am, as a friend puts it, not just a "glass half-empty" person, but rather a "glass is half-poison" person.  And Cody is more of a "glass half-full" or a "what glass; I have forgotten about it altogether in my endless and boundless optimism" person.  So if you, as my vet, give me a pretty negative diagnosis, I am going to go home, dress myself all in black, start tearing my garments and putting ashes on my head and mourning inconsolably.  And Cody is going to want to rent a movie and pop some popcorn.

Anyway.

My in-laws have had this same cat for over 20 years.  The cat, who became known only as "Kitters" (after no one cared enough to name her), has outlasted at least three dogs, several unintentional starvations, and a serious case of worms that may have lasted for at least 5 of those 20 years (my father-in-law, one day recently: "you know, we just thought Kitters had gotten awfully skinny these last few years, but turns out it was just worms!  Whaddaya know?").  He then bought some really cheap de-worming stuff and Kitters recovered beautifully.  Anyway, she's the sweetest and toughest cat ever, and last night, right after we found out about Lydah's DEATH SENTENCE, we got the call that Kitters had died.

Sucky, sucky days.

I Type In Box; We Finish Quickly!

Okay, so the U-Haul guy.  First of all, let me just tell you that I dislike...err...hauling U-Hauls in the first place because they inevitably make the vehicle you're driving feel all shaky and weavy, and if there are two things I don't want to feel while hurtling down an interstate at 70+ miles per hour, those would be them.  Well, to be fair, I suppose there are a LOT of things I wouldn't want to feel while hurtling down the interstate, like "extremely nauseated", or "drunk as a skunk" or "attacked by crazed cat" (which, by the by, the last of those has happened, and have I already told you about it?  Let me look...no, I have not!)

***Tangent Begins***

I'm in college.  Some break has occurred, maybe Christmas or Thanksgiving, because it was cold and I remember that because I remember the sweater I was wearing - pink, fuzzy, boatneck.   Anyway, I was going to be away from college and my apartment for at least a week, so I loaded up my suitcase, an assortment of CD's (enough to last through a seven hour drive), and my cat, Jack.  Jack was riding along with me in the front passenger seat and seemed very content to just curl up in a kitty ball and sleep.  I was happy to be on the road, too.  I am that kind of person who always looks forward to a long, solitary drive because you get to listen to whatever you want, sing as loud as you want, and get all that pesky thinking out of the way so that you don't have to do much of it again for a while.  So all is well in the car, right? 

Cue NOTHING, and all of a sudden Jack The Cat has leapt out of the seat next to mine and has somehow wound all four of his (clawed) legs around my right arm and is simultaneously shredding my arm and biting my hand.  So, OUCH.  And, PANIC.  And, as you might have ascertained, I was indeed driving down an interstate at at least 70 miles per hour.  I honestly had no idea what to do, so I just kind of kept driving and started shrieking and trying to extract my arm from Jack's claws and/or teeth.  After a while, I began to suspect that weaving all over the highway whilst wrestling with a cat might not be looked favorably upon by the highway patrol, so I decided to pull over.  On the side of the road, I managed to detach Jack, who was seriously pissed, and I just kind of sat there, shaking, trying to figure out what had just happened.  After a bit Jack settled down and curled up again, this time in the backseat, and I decided to go on my way.  I probably made it about 5 miles down the road before a black, furry object from the back of the car missile-shot himself forward and into the back of my right shoulder.  He quickly wound his evil claws around my right arm again, and set to work shredding what was left of the skin there. 

I'm a little ashamed to admit it, but my only response to this second unmitigated attack was to start crying.  I don't know.  I was just so frustrated and kind of scared and SUPER MAD about being attacked repeatedly WHILE DRIVING, I mean, geez.  It was like Jack had no respect for the car or the highway, or anyone else on the road.  And I had always thought he was more of a sensitive cat than that.  So there I am, driving east at 70 miles an hour, crying, with a biting, clawing cat attached to my arm.  I pulled over again, with the serious intent of throwing Jack The Cat, beloved pet, into the ditch on the shoulder of the road and driving off without him.  After a while I decided against this plan (mainly because I shared Jack The Cat with my roommate/best friend  and explaining, after the fact, why throwing your pet out into the wilderness of West Texas and then leaving him there seemed like a good idea at the time was going to be difficult, even for me).  So I emptied out one of my suitcases, put Jack inside of it, and zipped it about 9/10 of the way up.  Then, I put the whole thing into the trunk of my car and resumed my traveling, feeling pretty secure that Jack could not escape.

Of course about an hour later I felt bad for stupid Jack and so I got him out of the bag and put him back in the car, baiting him with small bites of a TCBY frozen yogurt I had just purchased for myself.  After eating the yogurt Jack seemed to calm right back down and turn back into a somewhat pleasant animal and traveling companion.  That is, until he started dry-heaving and puked up the yogurt into the cupholder.  He puked up that yogurt for the rest of the ride home, about once an hour, every hour.  Every time I would see a "nice" gas station I would stop to get more napkins to try and contain the situation, and so that I could go into the bathroom and try to extract pink fuzzy fibers (see? this is why I remember the sweater!) out of my shredded and bleeding arm.  Pleasant trip.

***Tangent Ends***

Okay!  So I don't like pulling U-Haul trailers, and this is mainly because (besides the shaking and the weaving) the last time I had to pull a U-Haul it was a less than stellar experience.  I had just graduated from college and was bringing all of my belongings back east and I had rented a trailer because I had a couch, amongst other large items, and there was really no other option, especially since NO ONE FROM MY FAMILY CAME TO HELP; THANKS GUYS.  Anyway.  I was all packed up and planning on leaving the next morning, but, you see, I had just met Cody, and we were kind of IN LOVE, and I was sitting in my empty room of the apartment I shared with three girls, thinking about how stupid it was that I was THERE, and Cody was SOMEWHERE ELSE, where I was not.  And how I could remedy that, if I would only get into the truck and start driving.  You know how this goes.  It's that silly stage where everything makes sense.  $500 last minute plane ticket?  Sure!  I mean, what's money and credit card debt in the FACE OF LOVE?  I just won't eat next month!

So I left town, with my borrowed pickup truck and rented U-Haul, at about 8 or 9pm.  And four hours later,  somewhere in the vast nothingness of West Texas, I found myself sandwiched between two relatively scary men in the cab of a truck, pulling into what could easily have been named the Rape and Murder Warehouse Complex - Guaranteed to be So Far Off The Beaten Path No One Will Ever Find Your Victim! but what I had been assured was, instead, the U-Haul regional office for that area.  You see, my stupid trailer had FALLEN OFF OF MY TRUCK.  On the highway.  Thus forcing me to call the 24-hour U-Haul help number and wait, alone, in my broken-down state, in the dark, on the side of the highway.  I waited there for AT LEAST an hour and then finally, the aforementioned scary men showed up, glanced offhandedly at the mangled trailer hitch, and told me to "hop in" with them; we were going to get a new hitch, but the office was at least 25 miles from there, and so it was going to take a while.

And look, I'm still alive today!

The result of such an incident, however, is that I have no love lost for the U-Haul people and/or the renting and pulling of U-Hauls.  But last month, with the out-of-town holiday show, I HAD to rent one.  Cody, being well appraised of the last U-Haul pulling scenario (he being the recipient of my frantic phone calls that evening and admonishments of "if I die, here is the general area you will find me: somewhere between Sweetwater and Abilene in the back of this scary warehouse place!  Make sure they play the right songs at my funeral!") kindly went to pick up the U-Haul for me, and also made sure that he was the one to attach the trailer to the vehicle in such a way so as to ensure it would remain attached for the duration of the trip.  Cody even took a day off of work just to drive with me all the way to the show, and to pull the shaky, weavy trailer so that I wouldn't have to.  So see, it WAS a good idea, in retrospect, to leave so late that night from college just to see my future husband 12 hours earlier.  I mean, look how nicely he turned out!

Anyway, once we got to our destination and unloaded the trailer, we needed to return it to U-Haul.  It was getting late in the day, however, and so when we called the "return your U-Haul" number, they told us there was only one location open at that hour.  They gave us the address, we drove around for a while looking for it, and finally I called the location number and a very nice, European-sounding man answered.  He not only gave us the address, but the exact location, landmarks, and a promise that he would be waiting on us and that he was very excited to see us!  Which, wow, right?  I mean, that's something.  I can't say that I have ever given someone directions to my store with quite so much enthusiasm.  I was enjoying recounting the conversation to Cody, complete with my best Eastern European accent impression, when we pulled up to the U-Haul drop-off location.

Or, should I say, the tall, falling-down-ish shack of a building on a plot of land next to two vacant lots and several cotton fields.  But whatever!  There were trailers there.  And a large, European man waving wildly at us and grinning happily.  We pulled in and this man literally RAN up to shake our hands and welcome us to his establishment.  I mean, it was like we were U-Haul royalty.  I can honestly say that I have never been greeted better, anywhere.  He then invited us inside so that he could "do the papers" and as we walked to the door, we were followed by no less than five dogs.  The man brushed the dogs aside as he pulled open the screen door and gestured for us to come in.  While he was holding the screen door open for us, a couple of cats ran out and at least one or two of the dogs came in, but he seemed completely impervious to it all.

"I have many pet," he said cheerfully, as I was trying to fend off the full-frontal sensory assault that had been unleashed as I walked through the door.  It seriously smelled like...well...dirt, grease, motor oil, human smell, dog smell, cat smell, human waste, dog waste, cat waste....for at least 20 years, all built up.

"Ahh, I see...errgghh" I choked.

"Here, sit!  Sit.  Right here, next to me!" he grinned widely, as he pulled a rusty metal folding chair next to his desk.  "I need do papers now.  You give me information, I type in box, we finish quickly!  I learn about you some as well!"

I was still holding my breath and trying to sort of talk through my nose. "Okay!  Bhat d'ya deed be to get?"

He looked at me strangely "Just yourself, lady!  Come sit down, and you too, sir.  You such a nice looking couple.  You cannot be married yet, are you?"

We assured him that we were, and I tried desperately to think of an excuse so that I could go back outside.  However, at the rate my brain cells were dying in there, I was having a really tough time.  I finally thought of my cell phone, and gave some horribly convoluted reason for why I had to go get it right then, and dashed out of the room, sacrificing Cody to the stench.

About 15 minutes later, after I had texted everyone I could think of and wasted as much time as possible, I began to get a little curious about what could possibly be taking so much time inside.  I crept back in, with no short of three dogs and a cat following, and they all slunk through the door with me as I rejoined the conversation.

"So, young man, this is why American government CANNOT BE TRUST.  They will tax and tax until you have nothing!  I have a man, and I not racist, you understand, he work for me three months and he cost me at least 35 thousand dollar.  And he STILL not as big of thief as government!"

U-Haul man turned to look at me.  "Hello!  You come back.  I not racist, okay?  I just have this man, he work for me, and he take everything not nailed down!  He even take my clipboards!  Just like this one!"  He looked around for his clipboard to accentuate his point and could not find it.  "You see?  They never where I put them!"

And he laughed uproariously.

I glanced at the computer screen to see how much of the form they had completed, and didn't even see the form at all.  I saw some weird email.  U-Haul man saw me looking at the email and decided to read it to me.  It was some joke about a man wanting the pharmacist to give him poison so that he could kill his wife, and the pharmacist not wanting to until the man explained something and then haha!  He did want to give him the poison after all!  Laughs all around!

Next we were treated to some very sound marriage advice because U-Haul guy and his wife have been married for over 40 years and "we never say one bad thing to one another.  Not one bad word at any time; never!  She is angel, and we decide long ago that we not ever say one bad word, no matter what."  Which is admirable, and very good advice, I'll give him that.  But if that's the criteria for staying married, then Cody and I are, shall I say...screwed?

After that U-Haul man regaled us with a hilarious (to him) story about a woman who rented a U-Haul from him, declined to purchase the insurance, and ended up rolling the U-Haul into a ditch and dying.  And still having all the bills from the U-Haul!  And to think, all she needed to do was just buy the insurance!  Wowee!  That is funny!  Thanks for the lesson on what great peace of mind a $25 temporary insurance policy can buy me and my family.

All this, and we were no closer than when we had first arrived at doing any of "the papers".  You know when you travel to some areas in Europe, or Latin America, or the Caribbean, and you try to accomplish some sort of transaction with the locals, and it takes forever and a day?  And then you get laughed at for being such a stupid American tourist, because don't you know?  You're on Island Time.  What's the hurry?  Well, that's what this U-Haul office was operating under.  Island Time.

Eventually we managed to detach the U-Haul, sign all the necessary papers, and promise U-Haul man that we would be back on Sunday to rent a trailer for the trip back home.  Have you ever gotten to the point with someone, a really talky person, where you are honestly scared to ask even one question about anything because you know that if you do, you are sentencing yourself to at least ten more minutes of conversation?  Well, I had a somewhat important question to ask him about pickup times on Sunday, and what time he was available, and I truly could not decide which was more important: knowing for sure that I could obtain a trailer for my trip back home, or getting out of there, right then.  I opted for the safe play, and after hearing another story of how hard U-Haul man works and how the government bleeds him dry for every penny, he assured me that he would be there for me anytime, morning, noon or night.  He lives on-site, you see.

The obvious thing to do, you know, would be to rent a U-Haul from ANY OF THE OTHER LOCATIONS for my trip back home.  But I had promised Eastern European man I would be back, and honestly, how could you pass that up?

The Apple Butt

This past weekend was Cody's annual college soccer alumni game.  In a sad twist of...something, the alumni (all of whom are dangerously near the 30-year-old mark) have managed to WIN this game every year since their graduation.  This must be just horribly embarrassing for the young college guys who are actually ON the team, and are also, you know.  Not old.  Or fat. 

Anyway, this year the old guys lost.  Sad!  But true.  They will claim that the game was completely skewed, with the referees being A) not licensed B) paid off C) burdened with some sort of vendetta, or D) just completely dumb.  The guys might have a point I would listen to, if they would only add option E): the refs were begged to please, PLEASE just let the actual college team win.  Anyway, if I could ever figure out how to get my camcorder to sync up with my computer, I could show you actual footage of this event.  Unfortunately, every time I think I've got the camcorder thing figured out, it kicks me straight in the teeth, laughs, and screams INVALID EXTENSION!!  Also, the footage I really want to show isn't even of the game, but rather after the game, when an...unfortunate bathroom incident reminded me and my good friend Jenn of a story I've been meaning to tell for a while.

Back around Christmas, Trey and Jenn and their 2-year-old daughter, Maddie, moved in with us for about a month or so.  Jenn had just been hired to teach at a school around here, and Trey was kind of going with the flow.  He collects jobs like other people collect...stamps?  I don't know.  What do people collect these days?  Commemorative state quarters?  Whatever.  The point is, Trey could suddenly be relocated to Beulah, Wyoming and within three weeks he would not only know everyone in the town, but he would be working for at least half of them.  And the other half would have given him their boats and cars just because "we weren't really using them right now and thought y'all might enjoy it".  I digress.

The important thing you need to know about Trey is that he has something seriously wrong with him.  It could be IBS or maybe it's something even worse, but whatever it is, you don't want to mess with his bathroom time.  In fact, it was a small outbreak of Trey's Disease that caused the unfortunate bathroom incident after the alumni game.  Let's just say that Trey and Cody played a little game of chance to see who got to "shower" first, and when Cody lost, he didn't know how bad he had really lost.

So.  Back to Christmas time.  Cody and I had arrived home after doing something...maybe holiday shopping.  That sounds festive.  We stumbled in the front door, loaded down with packages, and were met with a crackling fire and a big bowl of popcorn.  It smelled very Christmassy, with all the wood burning, and the hot popcorn, and the....hmmm.  Potpourri?   Maybe Trey and Jenn bought some Christmas potpourri.  It sure was strong.  Cody started guessing, aloud, what the scent might be.  Jenn and I stood in the kitchen, sniffing the air, listening to Cody run through options.  After a minute or two, he threw politeness to the wind and said something like "I know this is weird, but you know what it really smells like to me?  Butt.  But not just butt, it smells like Apple Butt.  Did you buy some Apple Butt potpourri, Jenn?"  Jenn laughed and assured Cody that she had not purchased anything like that, and Cody and I, somewhat embarrassed that our house smelled inexplicably of Apple Butt, tried to self-depreciatingly explain away the odor.  Just as we had ruled out the inside of the refrigerator, Trey emerged from the bathroom, can of Febreze Apple Air-Freshener in hand and with an almost visible cloud of...well...butt behind him.  He quickly shut the door and glanced around the room, taking in the six eyes staring at him in amazement.  As he sauntered into the other room, leaving a trail of destruction behind him, he off-handedly mentioned that we "might not want to go in there for a while".  Trey rounded the corner, probably smiling, and left Cody in the kitchen to triumphantly yell "I KNEW it was Apple Butt!"

Cody's real proud of his newfound smelling ability, too.  If you're ever over, try mixing up something really funky yourself and ask him to guess it.  Trust me, he's game.

Proving That There's Only A Couple Of Degrees Of Separation Between Ladder Injuries and Functioning Ovens

As I sat, pulling runny cheese and charred crust away from the doughy innards of a slice of pizza, I wondered how it had come to this.

And then I remembered.  Getting the oven fixed had been Cody's job.

You see, our oven has been broken since Mother's Day, at least.  The reason I remember the date is because this year our Mother's Day celebration was to be held at our home, where I would be doing all the cooking.  And as some of you who know me personally can attest to, when I take on a challenge, I TOTALLY TAKE IT ON.  So I was doing some Serious Cooking Plans, including lots of Research and also lots of Explaining To Cody How THIS Time It Wouldn't Turn Into A Disaster, Really, I Promise.  He kept referencing the great Strawberry Fish Cake of '06 spectacle and seriously?  That was so LAST YEAR.  Whatev.  Baking soda, baking powder, don't mix them up, that's all I'm going to say.  Moving on.

I was planning a little Mother's Day Mexican Fiesta.  Enchiladas (made from scratch), chips and salsa and guacamole, lots of rice and baked, marinated veggies, and a really awesome dessert that I am not even going to describe because of its awesomeness and maybe someday (if I ever have an oven again) I can make it and I don't want anyone on here to tell me how EASY it is or that it's not that great, because then my hopes will be destroyed.  Ok!

I don't remember what sort of stroke of luck alerted me, two nights before Mother's Day, that my oven was broken.  Perhaps I was attempting to make cookies, but I doubt it because that would imply non-laziness, and that doesn't seem to fit.  At the very least, I must have walked by and randomly hit the ON button, and that is when I found out that my oven had no intentions of cooperating.  Rather, my oven decided that instead of working NORMALLY, it would work sporadically in little, heated bursts.  Hot flashes, if you will.  I apparently own a menopausal oven. 

Well obviously these desultory hormonal moments were not going to do the trick in cooking ANYTHING, much less my super special dessert of awesomeness.  Or my enchiladas.  Or the baked veggies.  So I had to come up with a totally different plan, one that did not involve ovens or baking of any kind.  It was kind of funny, because I totally overthink these sorts of things in my attempts to make everything Perfect In Every Way, and so having to change my plan one day before the dinner was ironic.  Also, because I can't properly cook anything to save my life, my grand recipe aspirations are always a source of humor for my husband.

Anyway, Mother's Day ended up fine (long live the Strawberry Tortini - possibly the easiest and yet tastiest dessert ever) and I moved on with my life.  My life that involves very small amounts of cooking and/or baking.  However, the moment did arise, only a few weeks later, where a batch of cookies or a cake was needed for an event.  I tried the oven, but all it had to say to me was F7.  Well, F7 and a lot of unnecessarily loud beeping.  I'm not sure what the problem was.  Cody and I had both recognized that the oven was broken and then we had non-verbally agreed to studiously ignore the problem and then act really surprised when our next attempts to use the oven were not met with unmitigated success.  So it was weird then, when we tried to bake and it was still totally broken. 

That's when we decided that it would be Cody's job to get the oven fixed.  There had been some talk of Cody getting the oven fixed after the Mother's Day thing, but then our Ignore It plan, coupled with the fact that the oven-repair-person he knew fell off a ladder and broke several vital oven-fixing bones kind of took over.  And when it broke the second time...well, no; that's not exactly true.  The oven didn't break again so much as it remained broken.  So when the oven remained broken, we decided that it probably did need to be addressed, rather than ignored.  However!  Oven-repair-person was still in traction from his accident.  And while there are probably many more oven-repair-people in this city, we chose to ignore all of them!  And focus on the one oven-repair-person we couldn't have, no matter what!  I don't know why!  It sounds really dumb to me, too!

The oven remains broken.

Nowadays, I am experiencing something akin to the phantom itches and pains described by amputee patients.  I'll be at the grocery store and see a particularly delectable item such as baked sweet potato fries (really good, trust me, I HATE sweet potatoes, but these fries are divine) and think "ooh! I totally need these fries; I'll make them for a side dish!"  And then I buy them.  Along with chicken fingers, several frozen pizzas, and all the ingredients for some cookies I heard were really good.  I bring it all home, nearly salivating at the thought of all the yummy baked goodness I'll soon be enjoying, put everything away in the freezer, and forget about it until dinnertime, when I inevitably reach for a pizza, go to turn on the oven, and am faced yet again with the dreaded F7.

I can't understand why I keep doing this.  I mean, Mother's Day, seriously, isn't that in May?  This can't be explained by the whole electricity-is-out-but-you-keep-hitting-the-light-switches concept.  That's explainable.  Unless of course your electricity has been out since May, and you continue to hit the light switches.  In which case, really, you've got bigger problems than your chronic light-switch-hitting, because how are you watching Top Chef?  Or flat-ironing your hair?

At any rate, the above scenario is exactly what led to the pizza disaster of aught seven, where my despair and despondency at not having access to ANY frozen pizza led Cody to attempt to grill the pizza, outside, in the rain.

Which does not work.  In case you ever wondered.