Jan. 31, 2009
Good Morning and Happy Saturday Morning,
I've finally achieved Martha Stewart level 4 Super Homemaker Status . . . Envision if you will, a pregnant and barefoot Kate baking cookies with a '50's style waist apron tied around her ever-expanding belly, whilst a gaggle (or is it herd) of girls sit at the breakfast table nicely playing with Playdoh. I know, I know, you're all a little bit jealous. Okay, so maybe some of you are gagging a little too - Domestic perfection is not for the faint of heart.
There are times in all of our lives when we sit back and think, if someone had told me this is what I'd be doing in X amount of years, we all might have headed for the hills.
I've never been known for great patience, and have already expressed my issues with potty training, but today we reached an all new high (or is it low?).
In an effort to optimize potty time, I've taken to noting what time of day our delightful (and oft stinky) daughter has BM's (for the sake of the non-parents out there, we shall use abbreviations - we don't want to reveal all the secret joys of parenthood), thus making sure she sits on said potty at that particular time. Thankfully, my much-more-patient-than-I husband has taken on this task, and now sits with Addie for 30+ minutes at a stretch.
Now you'd think with this kind of upper level science being used, we'd have more success, but alas, she's on to us.
Bubbles was attacked by a neighbor dog a couple of weeks ago, and since she's already surpassed her life-time spending limit, we chose to doctor her at home and hoped for the best (of course each of us have a different definition of "best" outcome, depending on the number of cat bites received in the doctoring process). The very same irksome nine-year-old from the last email thought it was a good idea to take Bubbles to his house to play, and low and behold, their boxer thought he'd brought her a new toy. We've since determined that he was not in fact present for the attack, but I still think there's more to the story then we've heard. His 13 year old brother was there, is still traumatized (city kids are so sensitive) by the memory.
Just after it happened, the mom came over practically in tears and told us Bubbles was stuck up in a tree and both cat and dog were covered in blood. So Jeff went over, ladder in hand, and dragged Bubbles home. She was in fact covered in blood, but after a nice relaxing bath with grapefruit hand soap (we all know how much cats like baths, and I drew the short straw for that particular task), she looked like new.
Later that night, the parents came over apologizing for the attack, and since he's in insurance, trying to subtly determine whether we were the suing type. We tried to explain that it is the nature of cats to come and go, and it's best not to get too attached.
Apparently they don't share our feelings on the subject of cats, and now think us unfeeling monsters.
For a few days after the attack, Bubbles stuck close to home, but is now back to having sleep-overs at the neighbors. One day while their daughter was over playing, she let it slip that her mother feeds Bubbles salmon . . . See, it's not just her home life Bubbles is running away from.
Jeff has taken to bribing the cat in an effort to buy her loyalty. Every morning when he lets her in, he gives her a piece of salami and a fresh bowl of water (I'm telling you, the cat has a weird affinity for fresh water). So far, no changes on the loyalty meter, but he's hopeful. And besides, it's a great way to get rid of expired meat . . .
I've never been one for mixing business with friends, but since I'm still trying to make friends here, I put my personal feelings aside, and went to a Southern Living at Home party. For those of you who don't know, this is like a Tupperware or Mary Kay party, only with products seen in Southern Living magazine. This is one of those times when I've had to force myself to acknowledge what my life has become. I suppose it's all part of becoming a domestic goddess, and should just embrace it.
Apparently there is a trend out there to "party swap," (it has nothing to do with politics as I was inclined to believe), but two individuals who are representatives for two different companies agree to exchange forcing each others products on their friends. As it turns out, I'm not a very supportive friend.
My most recent at-home party invitation is to a Pure Romance Party (another party swap, but who thinks that "marital aids" is a fair swap with cheap jewelry?). I'm actually considering hosting this one myself, as there is nothing sexier than a pregnant woman with bladder control issues . . .
When I'm not attending these special special parties, I've taken to going to storage unit auctions. This week I stood out in the cold for three hours watching the auctioneer sell off the contents of six storage units. The big finds that day were a large box of pornographic magazines (some lucky person picked that little find up for $3.00), and a very nice, hand-blown water bong. Since the auctioneer can't legally sell off drug paraphernalia, they say things like, "remember, you're bidding on the box only." They also can't sell off paint, so when a storage unit full of painting supplies came up, they auctioned off 5-gallon buckets, and the paint inside was just a bonus.
In the news this week:
South Carolina Born Sweet Tea Vodka is Coming Home. This staple in everyone's liquor cabinet was invented here, but due to strict distilling regulations, had to be moved to Florida. Since the SC unemployment rates keep increasing, we're all thankful for any industry that wants to set up shop here. And since we've already determined that Southerns drink like it's their God given privilege, I think this little product is the real reason sweet tea is so popular here.
For those of you who don't know, Jim and Tammy Fae Bakker's Heritage Land was erected in Fort Mill, SC (just up the road). Since Jim's shameful falling from grace, Heritage Land has been abandoned, and is now a collection of abandoned buildings, which (among other things) include several castles and an outdoor coliseum.
But there's bright news on the horizon. Another religious group has made a deal with the city to take over the abandoned hotel (imagine the scene of a horror movie, and you've got Heritage Towers), and will be putting in retirement apartments. After all, who doesn't want to buy a space in a hotel that's been abandoned for nearly 20 years?
Those of you who can claim DAR rights (privileges?), now have another group to aspire to: Dames of the 21st Century. Apparently there is a new (new to me anyway) society of women who get together to do who knows what, and the only qualifying consideration is whether your forefathers were here from 1600 to 1699. The article gave a definition of the modern-day Dame, and detailed how one might begin researching said family lineage.
I'm just excited about finding a new hobby.