Friday, October 24, 2008
Yikes
Now I've done it, I've gone and joined NaNoWriMo. How in the hell did this happen? I blame it on my friend Shannon, and reading the blog of Rachel, of Yarnagogo fame. What in the world am I going to write? It's official people, I've lost my fricking mind. Send the folks in the white coats.
Monday, October 6, 2008
Tired, so very very tired
Warning, this post is going to be whiny and ranty. Read at your own risk.
I'm tired. Tired down to my bones. Tired of working so much, tired of being so broke, tired of only being at home or at work, tired of the only conversations Brad and I have being about money, or the lack thereof. Tired of being tired.
We have more than enough equity in our property to pay off all of our debt, and still have a reasonable mortgage payment. But, because we have so much damn debt, no one will loan us a penny. Not one fucking person can look at what we owe, and what we have, and decide that if they could just help us out, we'd be able to make our payments on time, and save some money. And I'm too tired to be mad about it anymore. I'm just scared and tired, and that's such a lovely combination, now isn't it?
It's October, and we don't have our winter hay in. And we are behind on other bills, not just a little, but a lot. I just want one person to look at us and realize that all we want is to pay our bills on time, and cut us a break. We screwed up, we allowed ourselves to get into too much debt (but not credit card debt, thank all that is holy), and now we just want to use the equity in our home to pay off that debt, and get back on the right track. We don't want to go to Aruba, or buy a fancy new car, or something else we don't need. We really just want to pay our bills on time, feed our critters, save some money, and breath.
I'm tired. Tired down to my bones. Tired of working so much, tired of being so broke, tired of only being at home or at work, tired of the only conversations Brad and I have being about money, or the lack thereof. Tired of being tired.
We have more than enough equity in our property to pay off all of our debt, and still have a reasonable mortgage payment. But, because we have so much damn debt, no one will loan us a penny. Not one fucking person can look at what we owe, and what we have, and decide that if they could just help us out, we'd be able to make our payments on time, and save some money. And I'm too tired to be mad about it anymore. I'm just scared and tired, and that's such a lovely combination, now isn't it?
It's October, and we don't have our winter hay in. And we are behind on other bills, not just a little, but a lot. I just want one person to look at us and realize that all we want is to pay our bills on time, and cut us a break. We screwed up, we allowed ourselves to get into too much debt (but not credit card debt, thank all that is holy), and now we just want to use the equity in our home to pay off that debt, and get back on the right track. We don't want to go to Aruba, or buy a fancy new car, or something else we don't need. We really just want to pay our bills on time, feed our critters, save some money, and breath.
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Hunting is Good
Well, Brad left on Friday morning to head back into the Bob Marshall Wilderness to elk hunt with his brother and his brother's buddy. And be still my heart, last night my phone rang, and it was my sweetie! He got his elk, a nice 5 x 6 bull that will look lovely in my freezer!!! Yeah!!!
I was really worried about this trip for a couple of reasons. Number 1, the guys go 24 miles back on horseback. No quick trips out if someone gets hurt, or something happens to one of the ponies. Reason the second, this was our horse Sam's first trip out since seriously injuring his back leg in February. As usual, I worried for no reason (the more you read here, the more you will discover that worry seems to be my number one sport. Thank all that is holy that it's not an Olympic event.), and all is well. Sam did great, no swelling, no limping, no need for Bute (horsey tylenol). And I have a nice big elk to put in the freezer and chomp away on during the winter.
Yes, we are a meat loving family. And Brad and Sara both hunt, big game as well as birds. So if hunting offends you, this is not a site you're going to want to bookmark, 'mkay? This is the way this family in Montana lives. I will not post photos of hunted animals here, simply because I don't find them appealing to look at. But I will crow to the rooftops my family's success in the field. Cuz the less money I have to spend at the grocery store, the better. And let's be honest, how many 21 year old girls still want to hang out with their dad, much less go stalking around the woods with them?
It's interesting to note how much money hunters add to a state's economy. Last year alone, in just the state of Montana, hunters contributed nearly $15 million dollars to the state's revenue. This is money that was spent on hunting licenses and tags (money that goes back into the Fish and Game service, which helps many conservation projects, as well as fighting fires, catching poachers, and doing all sorts of good things), hotel rooms, meals, groceries, gas, hunting and camping gear, etc, etc. This does not include fees spent for fishing. That figure is just for hunters. And let's talk about how much money hunters spend each year just on conservation efforts. I don't know a hunter who does not support the Rocky Mountain Elk Foundation, Ducks Unlimited, Pheasants Forever, or some other group who does nothing but wildlife conservation work. Hmm, these folks must be good people.
Now don't get me wrong, I'm not saying all hunters are saints with halos and rifles (or shotguns, or bows). Some of them are stupid idiots, who should not be allowed to play with a nerf gun, much less a real one. But those people represent the very small minority. Unfortunately, they're the ones who get all the press. You don't hear alot about the guy who donates his processed elk to the local food bank, or the neighbor who brings you half a deer because he has plenty, and he knows you could use some extra meat. You don't hear about the guy who tracked an injured white tail deer for three days, and tagged the animal when he found it, even though the weather had turned, and the meat was totally spoiled. He tagged it because he shot it, and claiming it was the right thing to do.
Most hunters are good people who hunt for the love of the wildlife. More times than not, Brad and Sara come home empty handed, and totally exhilerated. Watching two bull elk wrangle about who gets the girls, seeing literally hundreds of ducks get up off a river and fly at the same moment, or just spending the day on horseback, talking, laughing, and reconnecting. We just recently finished building four ponds on the bottom of our property for duck, geese, and pheasants. It's going to be so much fun watching baby ducks and geese learn to paddle around next spring. I will be posting photos of that!
And hunting fills the freezer. Between the elk, the pigs (who have a date with the butcher October 1st, thank all that is holy), and the quarter beef we are buying, we will eat well this winter, and not have to spend a ton of money on overpriced, chemical filled meat at the grocery store. And yes, there will be new pigs in the spring, and perhaps some chickens if we can get a good coop built (living in the country on 40 acres means coyotes and foxes, and hawks, and eagles. They seem to like chicken as much as I do.) And hopefully another beef in the freezer. Brad and I are determined to raise all of our own meat from now on. It just tastes so much better. And then there's the fact that we have 40 acres and five horses. We seem to have a little bit of room.
I was really worried about this trip for a couple of reasons. Number 1, the guys go 24 miles back on horseback. No quick trips out if someone gets hurt, or something happens to one of the ponies. Reason the second, this was our horse Sam's first trip out since seriously injuring his back leg in February. As usual, I worried for no reason (the more you read here, the more you will discover that worry seems to be my number one sport. Thank all that is holy that it's not an Olympic event.), and all is well. Sam did great, no swelling, no limping, no need for Bute (horsey tylenol). And I have a nice big elk to put in the freezer and chomp away on during the winter.
Yes, we are a meat loving family. And Brad and Sara both hunt, big game as well as birds. So if hunting offends you, this is not a site you're going to want to bookmark, 'mkay? This is the way this family in Montana lives. I will not post photos of hunted animals here, simply because I don't find them appealing to look at. But I will crow to the rooftops my family's success in the field. Cuz the less money I have to spend at the grocery store, the better. And let's be honest, how many 21 year old girls still want to hang out with their dad, much less go stalking around the woods with them?
It's interesting to note how much money hunters add to a state's economy. Last year alone, in just the state of Montana, hunters contributed nearly $15 million dollars to the state's revenue. This is money that was spent on hunting licenses and tags (money that goes back into the Fish and Game service, which helps many conservation projects, as well as fighting fires, catching poachers, and doing all sorts of good things), hotel rooms, meals, groceries, gas, hunting and camping gear, etc, etc. This does not include fees spent for fishing. That figure is just for hunters. And let's talk about how much money hunters spend each year just on conservation efforts. I don't know a hunter who does not support the Rocky Mountain Elk Foundation, Ducks Unlimited, Pheasants Forever, or some other group who does nothing but wildlife conservation work. Hmm, these folks must be good people.
Now don't get me wrong, I'm not saying all hunters are saints with halos and rifles (or shotguns, or bows). Some of them are stupid idiots, who should not be allowed to play with a nerf gun, much less a real one. But those people represent the very small minority. Unfortunately, they're the ones who get all the press. You don't hear alot about the guy who donates his processed elk to the local food bank, or the neighbor who brings you half a deer because he has plenty, and he knows you could use some extra meat. You don't hear about the guy who tracked an injured white tail deer for three days, and tagged the animal when he found it, even though the weather had turned, and the meat was totally spoiled. He tagged it because he shot it, and claiming it was the right thing to do.
Most hunters are good people who hunt for the love of the wildlife. More times than not, Brad and Sara come home empty handed, and totally exhilerated. Watching two bull elk wrangle about who gets the girls, seeing literally hundreds of ducks get up off a river and fly at the same moment, or just spending the day on horseback, talking, laughing, and reconnecting. We just recently finished building four ponds on the bottom of our property for duck, geese, and pheasants. It's going to be so much fun watching baby ducks and geese learn to paddle around next spring. I will be posting photos of that!
And hunting fills the freezer. Between the elk, the pigs (who have a date with the butcher October 1st, thank all that is holy), and the quarter beef we are buying, we will eat well this winter, and not have to spend a ton of money on overpriced, chemical filled meat at the grocery store. And yes, there will be new pigs in the spring, and perhaps some chickens if we can get a good coop built (living in the country on 40 acres means coyotes and foxes, and hawks, and eagles. They seem to like chicken as much as I do.) And hopefully another beef in the freezer. Brad and I are determined to raise all of our own meat from now on. It just tastes so much better. And then there's the fact that we have 40 acres and five horses. We seem to have a little bit of room.
Thursday, September 18, 2008
Crazy Ride
Well, we discovered the reason for the neighbor's dogs chasing the horses and barking at 3 am the other night. Their beautiful daughter, 16 years old, was in the hospital in labor with her son. Yes, I knew she was pregnant. Mother and child are doing well, home now, grandparents are happy, everyone has had a bit of sleep.
This brings back some memories for me. See, my beautiful daughter Sara was born when I was 17. I remember being the only pregnant girl in my high school. I remember thinking this couldn't be that difficult. Yes, I was that naive. I was on the debate team (boy did that raise some eyebrows in Kansas!), I graduated and got my diploma. I did not go to prom, because diapers were fricking expensive. I was so blessed to be loved and supported by my family. And my awesome boyfriend, Brad, stuck by me 100%. Yes, the same Brad that pulled my smelly dog out of the septic tank Sunday. We made it. 23 years this Sept 28th we've been together.
It was difficult. It's still difficult. Sara is 21 now, and I can't believe we all survived this crazy ride. And we're still on the ride. I'm getting the sneaking suspicion this ride never ends.
Having a child while you are a teenager sucks. I mean, the baby is wonderful. I wouldn't trade Sara for anything in the world. But not being able to do the things other kids my age were doing sucked. No college, no travel, no parties (although, considering how many teenagers die from drug and alcohol overdoses, car accidents, or just general inebriated stupidity, I'm not sure I missed much there). My life revolved around that little person. And you know what? My life still revolves around her. She's in college, but still living at home. And I'm okay with that, but for the love of heaven, I still lay awake waiting for her to come home. And I still have to remind her to pick up her shoes, socks, books, etc etc etc.
My heart goes out to my neighbor's daughter. I know exactly how she's feeling right now. She's excited, overjoyed, and scared out of her freaking mind. She has the support of her family. But the father?? Can't be bothered. Yes, I have hugged my husband repeatedly. I got lucky, and I know it. And I've been hugging that teenager still hiding in me, wondering if her life will ever be the same again. No, it's never been the same. It's been better, an exciting ride that takes my breath away with joy, terror, frustration, silliness, and pride. I'm glad I got on the ride, I just wish I'd waited in line a little longer.
So for any teenagers out there thinking pregnancy won't happen to you? Yes, it sure as hell will. And to the parents who think their child isn't out having sex (unprotected or otherwise)? Talk to your kids. Be honest, even thought it's embarrassing. Sara and I have always had an open dialogue about sex and protecting herself. I've offered to buy condoms, drive her to the clinic to get on the pill, whatever she wants. Because let's face it, the worst thing that can happen to a kid having sex? Not getting pregnant, or getting someone pregnant. The worst thing that can happen to your child is contracting an incurable disease. Dying, because their hormones had them acting like bunnies. Take it from a teenage mother who was too embarrassed to talk to her mom, and who's mom was too embarrassed (and thinking her daughter wouldn't have sex) to talk to her. I got so lucky, healthy baby, amazing husband. But too many kids didn't get that lucky, and won't. All because society thinks if we just bury our heads in the sand, the problem won't happen, or will just go away. I'm living proof, and so is my neighbor's daughter, that it just keeps happening.
This brings back some memories for me. See, my beautiful daughter Sara was born when I was 17. I remember being the only pregnant girl in my high school. I remember thinking this couldn't be that difficult. Yes, I was that naive. I was on the debate team (boy did that raise some eyebrows in Kansas!), I graduated and got my diploma. I did not go to prom, because diapers were fricking expensive. I was so blessed to be loved and supported by my family. And my awesome boyfriend, Brad, stuck by me 100%. Yes, the same Brad that pulled my smelly dog out of the septic tank Sunday. We made it. 23 years this Sept 28th we've been together.
It was difficult. It's still difficult. Sara is 21 now, and I can't believe we all survived this crazy ride. And we're still on the ride. I'm getting the sneaking suspicion this ride never ends.
Having a child while you are a teenager sucks. I mean, the baby is wonderful. I wouldn't trade Sara for anything in the world. But not being able to do the things other kids my age were doing sucked. No college, no travel, no parties (although, considering how many teenagers die from drug and alcohol overdoses, car accidents, or just general inebriated stupidity, I'm not sure I missed much there). My life revolved around that little person. And you know what? My life still revolves around her. She's in college, but still living at home. And I'm okay with that, but for the love of heaven, I still lay awake waiting for her to come home. And I still have to remind her to pick up her shoes, socks, books, etc etc etc.
My heart goes out to my neighbor's daughter. I know exactly how she's feeling right now. She's excited, overjoyed, and scared out of her freaking mind. She has the support of her family. But the father?? Can't be bothered. Yes, I have hugged my husband repeatedly. I got lucky, and I know it. And I've been hugging that teenager still hiding in me, wondering if her life will ever be the same again. No, it's never been the same. It's been better, an exciting ride that takes my breath away with joy, terror, frustration, silliness, and pride. I'm glad I got on the ride, I just wish I'd waited in line a little longer.
So for any teenagers out there thinking pregnancy won't happen to you? Yes, it sure as hell will. And to the parents who think their child isn't out having sex (unprotected or otherwise)? Talk to your kids. Be honest, even thought it's embarrassing. Sara and I have always had an open dialogue about sex and protecting herself. I've offered to buy condoms, drive her to the clinic to get on the pill, whatever she wants. Because let's face it, the worst thing that can happen to a kid having sex? Not getting pregnant, or getting someone pregnant. The worst thing that can happen to your child is contracting an incurable disease. Dying, because their hormones had them acting like bunnies. Take it from a teenage mother who was too embarrassed to talk to her mom, and who's mom was too embarrassed (and thinking her daughter wouldn't have sex) to talk to her. I got so lucky, healthy baby, amazing husband. But too many kids didn't get that lucky, and won't. All because society thinks if we just bury our heads in the sand, the problem won't happen, or will just go away. I'm living proof, and so is my neighbor's daughter, that it just keeps happening.
Monday, September 15, 2008
Oh Shit
The title pretty much sums up my weekend. There was animal related drama all the time. From escaping cows (yes, I have cows now. Pregnant cows even. Pray for them, cuz if they get out again, they are going to the butcher), to barn cats in the house, on the kitchen counter, to the neighbors eighty bazillion dogs (no, I'm not exaggerating) barking at 3 am right outside my bedroom while chasing the neighbors thirty bazillion horses, who are very loud running at 3 am.
But the worst animal drama involved my beloved Penny. She's fine now, but I have several more grey hairs than I had yesterday morning. Brad was working on our septic system, replacing a pipe that had broken. He'd had the ditch open all weekend. When we came home from Missoula to find Prim the barn cat on the kitchen counter, we decided that closing her entry point (the window the swamp cooler sits in) was a good idea.
So Brad is emptying the swamp cooler, and I'm goofing around with the dogs, looking at my sunflower garden, and just putzing. I hear splashing. We do not have a pool. Keon is right behind me, so I start looking for Penny, because normally she does not like to get in the water, much less splash as energetically as I was hearing. Plus, there is no standing water for her to get into. I head over to the ditch Brad has open, thinking maybe she is goofing in the sewer water. No Penny. It's then that I realize not only has Brad opened a ditch, HE'S TAKEN THE COVER OFF THE SEPTIC TANK, AND PENNY HAS FALLEN IN!!!!!!!
My heart stopped. All I could do was fall to my knees and scream for Brad. Thank all that is holy that Penny had gotten one leg caught on a wire, and had not fallen all the way in the septic tank. She's looking at me with her big brown eyes, and I'm freaking out. Then Brad was there, grabbed her leg, and hauled her out. She was smelly (oh heavens, she was rank!), but unhurt.
All I could do was put my head on the ground and try to breath. Brad wasn't in much better shape, the poor man was white as a ghost. The cover immediately went back on the septic tank, and Penny went in the house for two very thorough baths. She smells like flowers now, thank you very much.
I love Penny dog more than is natural. I saved her from a hellish start in her life, rescued her from an abusive situation (verbal as well as physical. I hates people.), and she has repaid me a thousand times over with unconditional, unwavering love. She is my shadow, my velcro dog. She sleeps with me when Brad is not home, and cuddles with me on the couch when I'm watching TV. Her warm weight beside me is better than any sedative known to womankind. The only time I am not foremost in her heart is when it is bird season. And, as she is after all a bird dog, I do not begrudge being second in her heart three months out of the year. This was not Penny's first brush with disaster. She has been stitched up by my next door neighbor (a surgical nurse), our vet, and even Brad. She was lost for two days when a thunderstorm scared the holy crap out of her. I was out of my mind for those two days. The joy and relief I felt when she found her way home was unbelievable. Penny also has epilepsy, although we have been fortunate to be able to control her seizures with diet, rather than put her on medication.
I'm glad the weekend is over. I'm so glad my girl is safe and sound. And you can bet your bippy that Brad will be making sure the septic tank cover is ALWAYS on. We do learn from our close calls. Go hug your dog, cat, hamster, or whoever makes your life more bearable. Shit happens fast.
But the worst animal drama involved my beloved Penny. She's fine now, but I have several more grey hairs than I had yesterday morning. Brad was working on our septic system, replacing a pipe that had broken. He'd had the ditch open all weekend. When we came home from Missoula to find Prim the barn cat on the kitchen counter, we decided that closing her entry point (the window the swamp cooler sits in) was a good idea.
So Brad is emptying the swamp cooler, and I'm goofing around with the dogs, looking at my sunflower garden, and just putzing. I hear splashing. We do not have a pool. Keon is right behind me, so I start looking for Penny, because normally she does not like to get in the water, much less splash as energetically as I was hearing. Plus, there is no standing water for her to get into. I head over to the ditch Brad has open, thinking maybe she is goofing in the sewer water. No Penny. It's then that I realize not only has Brad opened a ditch, HE'S TAKEN THE COVER OFF THE SEPTIC TANK, AND PENNY HAS FALLEN IN!!!!!!!
My heart stopped. All I could do was fall to my knees and scream for Brad. Thank all that is holy that Penny had gotten one leg caught on a wire, and had not fallen all the way in the septic tank. She's looking at me with her big brown eyes, and I'm freaking out. Then Brad was there, grabbed her leg, and hauled her out. She was smelly (oh heavens, she was rank!), but unhurt.
All I could do was put my head on the ground and try to breath. Brad wasn't in much better shape, the poor man was white as a ghost. The cover immediately went back on the septic tank, and Penny went in the house for two very thorough baths. She smells like flowers now, thank you very much.
I love Penny dog more than is natural. I saved her from a hellish start in her life, rescued her from an abusive situation (verbal as well as physical. I hates people.), and she has repaid me a thousand times over with unconditional, unwavering love. She is my shadow, my velcro dog. She sleeps with me when Brad is not home, and cuddles with me on the couch when I'm watching TV. Her warm weight beside me is better than any sedative known to womankind. The only time I am not foremost in her heart is when it is bird season. And, as she is after all a bird dog, I do not begrudge being second in her heart three months out of the year. This was not Penny's first brush with disaster. She has been stitched up by my next door neighbor (a surgical nurse), our vet, and even Brad. She was lost for two days when a thunderstorm scared the holy crap out of her. I was out of my mind for those two days. The joy and relief I felt when she found her way home was unbelievable. Penny also has epilepsy, although we have been fortunate to be able to control her seizures with diet, rather than put her on medication.
I'm glad the weekend is over. I'm so glad my girl is safe and sound. And you can bet your bippy that Brad will be making sure the septic tank cover is ALWAYS on. We do learn from our close calls. Go hug your dog, cat, hamster, or whoever makes your life more bearable. Shit happens fast.
Monday, August 25, 2008
I slept
Good news, the microwave survived the weekend intact. Sleep was had, laundry was washed, folded, put away, the bathroom was sort of cleaned, and some progress was made on quilt instructions.
That's about it. I guess a quiet boring Sunday at home was my due. The dogs and Bast played outside most of the morning, I got caught up on my Project Runway viewing, and was able to find clean clothes to wear to work this morning. It's the little things, right?
That's about it. I guess a quiet boring Sunday at home was my due. The dogs and Bast played outside most of the morning, I got caught up on my Project Runway viewing, and was able to find clean clothes to wear to work this morning. It's the little things, right?
Saturday, August 23, 2008
Things that go snore in the night
Late night sleeping has been interrrupted the last two nights at my house. I love, love, love my sleep. I consider napping an art form (even though I am a crappy nap artist), and I aspire to sleep as late in the mornings as possible. The women I work with try not to call my house before 11 am, and even then they think twice. Now that we have that background out of the way, let's discuss the events of the last two nights.
Thursday night, Brad and I are trying to sleep, when we hear an unusual noise. We can't identify where it is coming from, and it stops pretty quickly. We chalk it up to some unkown critter outside, and head off to Sandman Land. Until 1:30 am. The mystery noise is back, very loud, and seems to be coming from my dresser. Have you every heard a moose call? That's what it sounded like...coming from under my dresser. Now, I like moose. But I don't want to meet the one that can make that loud of a noise while stuffed under a cherry dresser. And then I thought...where's Bast? So I call my petite little kitty's name...and she meows at me from under the dresser. The horrible, scary noise? Is my cat snoring!!!!
I've never heard a cat snore before. It's not pretty, trust me. And then she wants to play, and be petted, and purr louder than a Mack truck. It was a while before I fell back asleep, let's just say that, ok? And then I had to get up at the ungodly hour of 6 am, because Brad and I are carpooling whenever possible. It's worked well, we've saved almost $120 in gas the last two weeks, but it's hell on me. Remember, I like my sleep.
So Friday night, I'm ready for bed. At like 8 pm. I've had a lovely dinner of chicken breast, rice, black beans and sour cream wrapped up in a flour tortilla. I've finished knitting my second ever mitten, and it is the same size as the first one. And they both fit my hands. In other words, it's been a good evening, and I'm ready for a date with Vin Diesel in dreamland. I manage to stay awake until 9:30. And then Brad and I toddle off to bed, to sleep the sleep of the just, wrapped in two quilts, with the window open, and the fan blowing. I'm only 39, but occassionally I experience a personal warming trend, and I like to be cold when I sleep, to better enable the cuddling under quilts thing.
All is well until 2:30 am, when I am awakened by someone knocking on my front door. Now, we live in the country. When someone is knocking on your door after dark, it's not a good thing. At 2:30 am, it's very bad. So I did what every self-respecting country wife does. I woke up my husband to tell him someone is knocking on the door at 2:30 am. He laid there for a minute, and said, "That's the fan." I got up and turned off the fan in our window. Still knocking noises. He then informs me it's the fan in the living room, rolls over, goes back to sleep. I consider pulling the quilts off of him. I walk into the living room, and low and behold, it is the fan making that noise. I turn it off, go back to bed. Realize when I cuddle up to sleeping, unconcerned-about-ax-murderers husband, that if I don't turn the fan in our window back on, I'm going to melt in about 10 seconds. Turn fan back on, get back in bed, settle in, ready to resume my date with Mr. Diesel. Then Bast decides it's time for a cuddle and purr session. Have I mentioned she is LOUD! At least I got to sleep in until 7 am this morning.
Tomorrow is Sunday, and I do not have to leave my house. I will be sleeping as late as destiny and a 3 month old puppy will let me. And then I will be cleaning my bathroom, catching up on laundry (which seems to mean making sure it all gets folded and put away. Who knew?), and working on the instructions on my latest mystery quilt for the shop retreat this fall. I hope that nothing else in my house decides to make mystery noises tonight. Three nights in a row would be too much. And I own guns. I'd hate to have to shoot the microwave.
Thursday night, Brad and I are trying to sleep, when we hear an unusual noise. We can't identify where it is coming from, and it stops pretty quickly. We chalk it up to some unkown critter outside, and head off to Sandman Land. Until 1:30 am. The mystery noise is back, very loud, and seems to be coming from my dresser. Have you every heard a moose call? That's what it sounded like...coming from under my dresser. Now, I like moose. But I don't want to meet the one that can make that loud of a noise while stuffed under a cherry dresser. And then I thought...where's Bast? So I call my petite little kitty's name...and she meows at me from under the dresser. The horrible, scary noise? Is my cat snoring!!!!
I've never heard a cat snore before. It's not pretty, trust me. And then she wants to play, and be petted, and purr louder than a Mack truck. It was a while before I fell back asleep, let's just say that, ok? And then I had to get up at the ungodly hour of 6 am, because Brad and I are carpooling whenever possible. It's worked well, we've saved almost $120 in gas the last two weeks, but it's hell on me. Remember, I like my sleep.
So Friday night, I'm ready for bed. At like 8 pm. I've had a lovely dinner of chicken breast, rice, black beans and sour cream wrapped up in a flour tortilla. I've finished knitting my second ever mitten, and it is the same size as the first one. And they both fit my hands. In other words, it's been a good evening, and I'm ready for a date with Vin Diesel in dreamland. I manage to stay awake until 9:30. And then Brad and I toddle off to bed, to sleep the sleep of the just, wrapped in two quilts, with the window open, and the fan blowing. I'm only 39, but occassionally I experience a personal warming trend, and I like to be cold when I sleep, to better enable the cuddling under quilts thing.
All is well until 2:30 am, when I am awakened by someone knocking on my front door. Now, we live in the country. When someone is knocking on your door after dark, it's not a good thing. At 2:30 am, it's very bad. So I did what every self-respecting country wife does. I woke up my husband to tell him someone is knocking on the door at 2:30 am. He laid there for a minute, and said, "That's the fan." I got up and turned off the fan in our window. Still knocking noises. He then informs me it's the fan in the living room, rolls over, goes back to sleep. I consider pulling the quilts off of him. I walk into the living room, and low and behold, it is the fan making that noise. I turn it off, go back to bed. Realize when I cuddle up to sleeping, unconcerned-about-ax-murderers husband, that if I don't turn the fan in our window back on, I'm going to melt in about 10 seconds. Turn fan back on, get back in bed, settle in, ready to resume my date with Mr. Diesel. Then Bast decides it's time for a cuddle and purr session. Have I mentioned she is LOUD! At least I got to sleep in until 7 am this morning.
Tomorrow is Sunday, and I do not have to leave my house. I will be sleeping as late as destiny and a 3 month old puppy will let me. And then I will be cleaning my bathroom, catching up on laundry (which seems to mean making sure it all gets folded and put away. Who knew?), and working on the instructions on my latest mystery quilt for the shop retreat this fall. I hope that nothing else in my house decides to make mystery noises tonight. Three nights in a row would be too much. And I own guns. I'd hate to have to shoot the microwave.
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