Sprout!

Because my pesky cat loves to wander onto my patio and attempt to taste my flowers, I bought a packet of cat grass seeds the other day. Just three days after planting, I have a zillion sprouts emerging from their container.

Check engine light

After owning my Volkswagen, car problems don't really phase me too much. I'm used to making the bi-monthly trip to a mechanic and have gotten to know some of the basic parts of a car and how to recognize when they crap out on me.

But, never have I had a car that silently warns me when something's up. Until now. My poor car is trying to tell me there is something wrong, flicking on the check engine light once every couple of months, and sending me into a fit because I'm tired of being told that the Kia mechanic's machine says there's a major evap leak, but that they can't find it.

My car is still under warranty, and that won't last forever. I want to get this "nonissue" resolved before it costs me $70 to have the Kia service center tell me there's nothing wrong and reset things again and again. I'm frustrated and getting a little cranky. And today I get to do it all over again. Oh joy.

So, how's your check engine light? I've talked to several people about this issue, and I've heard a lot of folks who have similar problems.

Some things

There are some things that I just don't blog.

Work is a biggie
Relationships come in a strong second.
Family matters are also high on the list.

I've always said that if I could bring myself to blog about at least one of those topics, this blog would rock. But, alas, I always hold back - mostly because I've never had a strong urge to divulge my super personal life.

Until recently. But I can't. Well, I could. But I'm torn.

So tell me, do you wrestle with this, too? Or should I just throw my hands in the air and spill it?

Junkie

I've gone three days without a fix.
My head hurts.
I'm tired.
I need that familiar pick-me-up from my old friend.

Caffeine.

But I'm determined to kick the habit. I've gone cold-turkey, and my goal is to get through a full week. Then maybe another week ... and then maybe I'll reward myself with a tall glass of heaven.

I miss you, Diet Coke.

Easy come, easy go

I'm old school. I file my taxes and actually mail in the forms.

So this week, while it seems as though everyone around me is getting their tax "rebates" directly deposited into their bank accounts, I'm still pondering what I'll do with mine.

The impractical side of me says to go for it. Spend it like it's on fire. Put it toward that camera my heart has been aching for. Or use it for a new wardrobe - one that includes at least one full-priced item. Heck, forgo the clearance rack altogether. Or maybe I could buy a new bedding set! Or a sleek new iPhone when they come out next month. Yes, that would rock. Good plan.

But then the logical side of me has to be a big, fat buzzkill and pop into the picture. You know that evil credit card that could be paid off? Yeah, that pretty Banana Republic card I decided to apply for because 20 percent off was such a great deal on the $150 I was spending? That could be gone. Sayonara, bye-bye.

And just like that, poof! The credit card wins.

So, tell me, are you going to have fun with your rebate? I hope so!

Stacey + Red Bull = A bad thing

Never, under any circumstance, would I recommend drinking a 16-oz. can of Red Bull in one sitting. I don't care how alert you need to be.

Four hours ago at work I was about to pass out from from not having slept much at all last night. Now I'm ready to run a marathon.

It's going to be a long night.

Baby skillz 101

I'm sore today. My left arm is on fire, and my right calf is actually throbbing. But I feel like I accomplished something amazing.

Did I do some kind of bizarre left upper-body workout combined with a right lower-body workout? Nope.

All I did was hold a baby - without moving for 45 minutes straight - in the same position: elbow up, knee balancing a pacifier. It was serious business, trust me.

You see, after a rather stressful 30 minutes at a hair salon in Atlanta in which I felt like the biggest dork for not knowing how to calm a crying 1-month-old (as about five or six other women watched me squirm with nervous smiles on their motherly faces) I was NOT going to disturb the little angel who had FINALLY fallen asleep in my arms.

So there I sat. As still as a statue, and thank goodness he didn't wake up, because I was out of tricks.

If you couldn't tell, I have exactly zero experience with babies. And that's not because I don't love children. I want about 10 of them someday. Well, maybe two. But anyhow, I'm an only child who never grew up around baby cousins or even friends with younger siblings. I didn't babysit, either.

So when Allison journeyed all the way to the back of her salon yesterday, and I looked down at the little guy with a furrowed brow sitting in his carrier, I immediately tried to reason with him.

Me: Please, please don't cry.
Baby: Wait a second, where's my mom??!?
Me: Oh no, your face is turning red. You're not about to cry, are you?
Baby: YOU. ARE. NOT. MY. MOM!
Me: Please, PLEASE don't cry.
Baby: Waaaaaah! Waaaaaah! WAAAH-AAAH-AAAH!!!
Other mothers in waiting area: Awww, bless his heart. He's so cute! Is he wet? Is he hungry? How old is he? Are you his mother? etc. ...
Me: Oh God, I'm in trouble.

After numerous attempts at giving him a pacifier, rocking his carrier, taking him out of the carrier and walking him around the salon, trying to soothe him with quiet pleas, giving him a bottle and goodness knows what else I tried in the midst of my panic, I think he finally wore himself out. I know I was beat.

We eased into a chair and bam! He was out. Praise the Lord.

Forty-five minutes later, Allison emerged with the cutest perky haircut I've ever seen, and much to my gratitude looked down at her sleeping baby and said, "Aw, he looks SO content. Good job!"

Whew.

Next up: Retail therapy at Crate & Barrel, where I bought these:

They're salt and pepper shakers perfect for work! I'm forever searching my desk for little packets of salt and pepper, but now I've got the cutest shakers ever. Made from recycled materials, I thought these little guys were neat-o!

So, I rewarded myself and bought 'em. After all, I deserved it.

It's the weekend!

... and I'm off - for THREE days!

What am I going to do with myself? Well, I'll tell you. I've got a list because, um, I'm a listmaker.

1. Saturday - I'm about to leave for Atlanta to visit Allison and her new baby. It's mandatory that I get her out of the house, according to her husband (who is out of town on business this weekend). So that's just what I'm going to do. First stop: lunch at the Cheesecake Factory. Second stop: the salon for a haircut (her, not me). Third stop: The mall, because I really want a particular top at the Gap and I'm crossing my fingers they've got my size there (no more mediums at my Gap).

2. Sunday - Purge and organize my place. I helped a friend move last week and was completely in awe of her minimalistic approach to living. Only a few boxes, several pieces of furniture and an hour later she was in her new home. That would not be the case if I were to move. Some things have GOT to go. Why I hang on to old magazines, for example, is beyond me. The recycle center and Goodwill are going to be my BFF's on Sunday.

3. Monday - Learn an appreciation for ZZ Top. (Nah, just kidding) Um, I believe Monday is a certain festive holiday called Cinco de Mayo. And it's also cheap taco night at a local Mexican restaurant. Need I say more?

And that's it. Have a great weekend!

"Carrier"

Have you guys been watching this show on PBS? "Carrier", which chronicles life aboard the aircraft carrier USS Nimitz, has been on every night after work for the past few days.

And I am addicted.

On a six-month deployment, these guys and girls talk about what it's like spending 12 hours a day busting their butts to keep the ship and airplanes going. So much work - and without the luxury of coming home to their loved ones - or even the comfort of their own beds - at night when their day is done.

It's easy to go about our lives without remembering there are men and women all over the world working to keep us out of harm's way. And while I'm no fan of war, especially this one, I have to say these guys absolutely rock.

I believe the show will be broadcast until May 1, so you still have a couple of days to check it out. It's really worth watching.

Dad update

Dad and I usually talk a 3 or 4 times a week. This past week we've talked 3 or 4 times a day. And, I'm so happy to report, he's sounding better. Not tons better, but anything at this point is a blessing.

He goes to the doctor tomorrow and is FINALLY going to ask to be referred to a pulmonary specialist. Hopefully he/she will be able to give him the appropriate treatments - even if it does involve the use of oxygen on a regular basis.

Thank you all so much for your thoughts and prayers. They have helped, I know.

Prayers needed ... again

This time it's serious. My dad is very ill, and he refuses to see a doctor, go to the emergency room or even urgent care.

After smoking for nearly 50 years, his lungs are absolutely wrecked and, combined with chronic asthma, his breathing (on a good day) is terrible. Now he's sick with a pretty bad cold, but to him that's just as serious as pneumonia.

Walking from the counter to the kitchen table is like running a marathon for him. He can't go outside in the heat without getting severely winded. His temperature has ranged from 101-103.

I'm so incredibly scared for him and also very, very, very upset with my stepmother, who is going to Disney World with her granddaughter tomorrow through Wednesday. I am absolutely astonished that she could do this - especially after he nearly died four years ago after a bout similar to this one.

I work all weekend. My dad lives a little over an hour away. I don't know what to do. I just want to go to Rome and make him get in the car and take him to the emergency room. But I know he'll never go.

All prayers and/or advice would be greatly appreciated.

Unexpected guest

Bleary-eyed, I stumbled to my bathroom this morning half-awake, but fully aware that I had to go.

I turned on the light, flipped up the toilet lid, and gasped so hard that my throat still feels funny. All I could make out was a small gray/green lump on the seat, and before I knew just what it was, I was pretty grossed-out. What in the world was going on?!?

I rubbed my eyes and focused on the unexpected guest who somehow made it into my apartment. A little frog - about as big as the palm of my hand.

After a mad dash to my computer to google how in the world a FROG! could end up on my toilet, I learned this isn't highly unusual. The little guys can get washed into sewers, and viola! They end up in toilets all over the world.

While my curiosity was settled, my stomach was not. I'm not a frog lover. I don't hate 'em, but they're definitely not high on my list of things I want to handle. My mind raced ... how do I get this thing outside without touching it??

After a brief meltdown that involved calling Jim and telling him he had to get over to my apartment stat, I found a shoe box, had another little freak-out at the thought of the frog jumping on me, and finally bucked up. It was just a poor little frog who was probably far more traumatized than I was. So, I scooped him into the shoe box, ran him down my stairs and set him free outside. Then promptly cleaned my toilet like it's never been cleaned before.

I'm just hoping this is an isolated occurrence. I really don't want to be known as the froggy-toilet lady. Has this ever happened to you?

Before & After

While some people will be posting before and after shots of more fashionable things today ... here's a before and after of my two hours' worth of playing in the dirt!

All I can say is that I'm ashamed, but really ... there wasn't much I could have done to have prevented this disaster.

But check it out! Looks so much better, right? And I even have my very own tomato plant. This is no small thing here ... I've never attempted growing my own produce before. This little guy is specifically meant for patios, so here's hoping he thrives on mine. Cross your fingers!

I'm back. I'm tired.

D.C. was wonderful, as always. My pictures, on the other hand, turned out terribly. I'm still trying to figure out whether I had my camera on some obscure setting or if I'm just loosing my touch. I'll write more about the trip when I can keep my eyes open for more than an hour at a time. I do not recommend driving from Washington to Chattanooga in one day. While it was only 10 hours, it was 10 hours. On the road. That is just wrong.

Mom's wedding went very well. It was nice to see my family in Virginia, and we all had a great time catching up.

Sorry this post is so second-grade. Hopefully I'll regain my senses soon.

Daughter of the bride

On Friday my mother is getting married. I really don't have any great attachment to her soon-to-be husband or the idea of this wedding. But I am very happy that she is so excited to have found, as she puts it, "The man of my dreams."

A parent getting married can be a funny thing to wrap your head around. I've seen my mother walk down the aisle once before and, while I was happy for her, I was also a little worried. That time, sadly, my concerns were not unfounded and the marriage was over in little more than a heartbeat. Details spared, the guy was a jerkface who never deserved the company of my mother, let alone her hand in marriage.

This time, however, I'm not worried. I can tell my mother and her fiance are pretty much perfect for each other. They act a lot like high school sweethearts, even two years after they began dating. That's amazing if you ask me, and if anyone deserves true love, it's my mother.

So why am I not overjoyed? I have no idea. I feel guilty about this, and wish I could call her up and discuss every detail with the same excitement I had when my best friend tied the knot. Instead, I find my mind wandering and the urge to ask her to please stop rattling on about all her ooey-gooey, lovie-dovie plans for the future.

Maybe it's because she lives a full day's drive away. Maybe it's because I see her once or twice a year. Maybe it's because she's changed so very much since I left for college. Or maybe it's because I just want my mother to experience the very best life has to offer.

What ever it is, I will put on a smile, welcome her new husband into the family and celebrate with my family Friday evening, all while hoping their story truly does end happily ever after.

After all, I'm not a monster. I'm just the daughter of the bride.

Butter fingers

So far today I have been awake for one full hour. (Yes, I slept in big time.)

And so far today, everything I've touched has managed to sprout wings and fly out of my hands and onto the floor.

Take, for instance:

* My razor ... while attempting to shave my legs in the shower.
* The lid to my shaving cream ... in the shower.
* The soap ... while trying to balance it and the lid to my shaving cream on on little ledge ... in the shower.
* My deodorant ... while attempting to apply it.
* My spoon ... while I was stirring my breakfast/lunch in the microwave.
* My phone ... while attempting to answer it.

I don't even what to think what the rest of today will be like.