Archive: August 2007

Whenever I watch a show like Clean Sweep, I shake my head in pity at the participants, clucking, “How do they get to that point?” They describe how walking into a room makes them want to cry, that they can’t live like this anymore. Well. There is a room in our house affectionately nicknamed “the Astroturf Room” for its evergreen, fake-grass-like carpet. We have lofty ambitions of using it as a gym someday and outfitting it with a treadmill, a TV, and my yoga mat. In the meantime, however, we’ve been using it as a landfill. No exaggeration. Sundry household and outdoor items littered the floor from lack of a system. In one step, I might run into a cooler, a fireproof box, or a DVD player we’d retired, if I managed to open the door, that is. The room made me want to cry. Swallowing my pride — while being grateful that I wasn’t on national television — I spent the bulk of the day today was spent clearing out and re-organizing the Astroturf Room. JG took hold of the cleaning spirit and got to work converting our laundry room back to its former state of glory, before it was taken over by a puppy and a sea of newspaper.

JG and I cleared, mopped, swept, vacuumed, assessed the damage, and made a trip to Wal-Mart for storage accoutrement (if only we had a Container Store nearby!). Ted wandered back and forth between our two rooms to watch JG assemble three shelving units and install hooks for our beach chairs while I sorted through gift bags dating from 2004 and obsolete electronic devices. It was ridiculous what we managed to keep because we simply did not know it was there. In the afternoon, we surveyed our success: in the laundry room, new shelves held paint, painting supplies, and JG’s tools; I had a new shelf and rod for air-drying clothes; and bulky items were off the floor and hung on the wall. In the Astroturf room, two shelving units held all of our camping and tailgate equipment; the gift-wrapping supplies were a slim one-third of their former bulk; JG’s golf clubs had a home, and I had built a sizeable trash pile that included an old kitchen table, an antiquated box fan, and two lamps that were deemed too ugly to use two years before. As I collapsed on the couch, I realized that we actually had floor space in the two rooms, but I had not seen it in months. I felt a deep sense of accomplishment as I sank into my hard-earned nap.

We spent the evening on the town at our favorite local restaurant, courtesy of a gift card from JG’s mom for our anniversary. For the first time, we requested a table on the roof because the weather was so nice and it was such a good decision. The dining room was surrounded by windows operated with garage-door mechanisms, a system that provided a beautiful view of Kennett Square’s residential skyline and an open-air feel. JG and I each tried new entrees for dinner and our food exceeded our already-high expectations. We have so many great local restaurants at our disposal, but this is my favorite one and everything is always so good. It’s so good that I have to say it between every other bite, remind myself later of just how tasty the barbecue pork spring rolls were, and ask myself if it’s possible to replicate a dish at home. But it wouldn’t matter if I could because the atmosphere and charm of the restaurant will bring me back for more.

We walked out satisfied, but not so full so that we didn’t walk down the street to La Michoacana, which we’ve heard is the home of the best ice cream around. It’s a tiny hole-in-the-wall place that’s always packed with kids with their noses pressed up against the glass case and swarming with folks out front licking from their sugar cones or scooping from Styrofoam cups piled high with colorful ice cream. The menu is in English and Spanish and I was pretty intrigued by the corn-flavored ice cream, though JG and I ordered cookies and cream and mango, respectively. We sat down to eat our dessert and I took immense pleasure in that I was sitting on a bench in the downtown area of my town, leaning against my husband, and eating fantastic mango ice cream. I put my feet up on the bench and my red patent leather flats glinted under the light of a nearby streetlamp.

It was a good Saturday.

This week, JG and I shed the last remnant of financial dependence we had on our parents. We’ve been fortunate enough that we haven’t had to rely on them for borrowed funds; however, one aspect has lingered until very recently and I am shaking my head with shame as I type it out.

We just got our own cell phone plan.

I see a collective question mark emerging from the masses and, so, I will begin to protest too much. What with the timing of college, wireless contract terms, replacing phones for various members of a shared plan, differing service providers, and high cancellation costs, JG and I were never synchronized to the point where we could secede from our parents’ plans to join forces. We’ve languished on separate providers with bizarre, out-of-state numbers, waiting for the time when the stars would align and we could not be on our parents’ shared plans. Hello, we’re married! And adults! And independent! The situation was laughable, if not stubbornly irritating.

At last, JG looked into plans and realized that Pennsylvania teachers receive a sizable discount and free phones, so we made the move this week. Along with choosing shiny new phones came the task of entering my entire contacts list and all that that entails. How does one decide whether or not to keep distant contacts? Was I the only one who felt guilt over not including that college friend whom I haven’t even seen in over two years? It just seems so … passive-aggressively harsh. Enter JG, proclaiming that I think too much. Whatever.

Despite the pressure of the contact list, I love that we both have numbers for the state in which we live — how novel! JG jumped through hoops to get the theme to How I Met Your Mother as his ringtone and I resigned myself to the fact that they just don’t make phones without cameras on them. There may be some parties out there who will appreciate (or gloat over) the fact that I instated a picture of Ted as my wallpaper and am therefore that much closer to becoming an official dog person.

The best part is that JG and I don’t have to pay to talk to each other anymore. Thanks to rollover minutes and calling after 9pm, we didn’t have to worry about it too much in the past, but there are no restrictions now! I hope JG likes hearing that ringtone a lot. Heh.

I hit a rough slump with Ted over the past couple of days. After our eventful trip to Mimi’s house, he seemed wary around me and refused to go on walks even though he was walking really well before the weekend. I took small comfort in the fact that JG was having a hard time with walking Ted, too, and we discussed the line between a firm decision to walk and abusive dragging, though I wasn’t sure I could tell the difference in trying to assert myself as the alpha dog, as the books recommend. Discouraged, I tried not to think about all of those well-meaning dog owners who end up being dog abusers. Then, last night, I noticed that Ted was limping, trying not to put weight on his back right leg. Even worse, I had my panic all to myself since JG was at a meeting for school. What if I had hurt him in my aggressive attempts to make him walk that morning? What if his hesitation was actually pain? Of course, when JG got back from his meeting, Ted was fit as a fiddle and my paranoid delusions took full flight. “What if he was just doing it around me? What if he felt better because you came home?!”

JG waved me off. “It’s probably nothing. He just popped something out of place, that’s all.”

“Please don’t minimize what I saw.”

He stopped. “I’m sorry. I’m sure you saw him favor that leg. But Ted might have had a splinter or something and was only just realizing that it hurt when you noticed. If he’s fine in the morning, he’s fine. You were right to worry.”

Okay.

Despite a rough time with the morning walk, yesterday was much better. JG and I took Ted for his very first visit to the pet store, where we got a shiny new tag and a big, fat rope toy for chewing. Ted also encountered an enormous Great Dane puppy and he wasn’t quite sure how to react. My goodness, those legs were at least as long as mine. When we got home, JG suggested that we try a walk all together and — hallelujah! — Ted finally cooperated. The three of us trotted around the neighborhood and waved to the people sitting out on their porches. I loved being out in the fresh air and feeling as though Ted and I could make a habit out of this walking thing. I felt like the three of us were a family or something. It was kind of spooky, but mostly good.

JG put the new tag on Ted’s collar when we got back in the house and, now, in addition to the clickety-clack of toenails on the wood floor, we hear a sharp, high jangle of the tag against the metal fittings on his blue collar. It’s a happy sound, like puppy sleigh bells.

Tune in to Roosday-Tuesday and Wednesday-Bensday for the other two-thirds of the doggie cuteness trifecta!

I think it’s safe to say that I spent my entire weekend eating. (Again.) It’s not like I had a choice in the matter – when you hang out with Mimi, it just kind of happens. Between homemade pita chips, chocolate chip cookies, caramel brownies, corn on the cob, and chicken salad, the food coma was my friend. Although JG and I did our best to prep our two friends who came along, they were staggered by the amount of food Mimi had prepared for the four of us and their jaws dropped when she whipped out a bar’s worth of liquor and said, “Anyone for a cocktail?”

In short, Mimi’s house is the place to be.

In between stuffing our faces, we took in a scenic tour of Mimi’s little town, where she knows everybody and their parents. In the afternoon, we lazed by the pool at her country club and the low humidity heat was perfect for turning somersaults off the diving board and finishing books on chaise lounges. Mimi took us back to the club for dinner, where we witnessed an odd wedding reception where the dress apparently ranged from shorts and a t-shirt to full-on prom dress. Even with the day’s inherent entertainment value, having Mimi’s commentary and perspective on it made for quite the amusing, but never snarky, experience. I’m really glad that we had a chance to spend time with her as a kind of end-of-summer last hoorah.

Oh, and did I mention that we brought Ted?

Mimi would have hardly let us come if Ted wasn’t in tow. He was admirably calm during the car ride and, once we arrived, he kept busy by terrorizing Mimi’s dog, Samantha, a 17-year-old, one-eyed, blind, and deaf Lhasa Apso. Ted’s get-acquainted routine of running up, sniffing her face, and letting out his high-pitched bark only produced Sam’s deep, bass-toned growls, and then, scary Sasquatch roars. JG thought Ted might learn not to antagonize her after the first few big barks, but our little guy is persistent, even to his detriment.

Unfortunately, Ted is not so much in my good graces at the moment. He was an angel on the way home, but he insisted on barking his face off and resisting JG’s firm repetitions of “no” last night. Granted, I was a little crankier than usual because I had a terrible sore throat and the last thing I wanted to hear was constant barking and chiding. Ted earned back some cute points by lying quietly on the sofa later on, but he went back to the black list by refusing to go for his walk this morning. I don’t know if the change of environment threw him off, but whatever it was, it’s hard for me to be as gracious as JG is. So far, Ted’s high cuteness factor has covered up his sins pretty well, but I’m not naturally a patient person, so I’m worried about how I will react when that’s no longer the case. Here’s to hoping for fewer sins and more cuteness, I guess.