The house is coming along nicely, and rather quickly I might add! I do believe that we will be able to live in it soon! I'm actually just happy to be alive, as my ditziness has nearly killed me again. Cleaning the house was required before we could do anything- even paint. If we had tried to paint over all the filth, I'm pretty sure it would have slid right off the walls. I grit my teeth and got down to business. I opened the windows and put on some gloves, and got to scrubbing. I quickly discarded the gloves, for they were too bulky and I couldn't keep hold of the sponge. After an entire day, Olivia's future room was cleaned and ready to prime. That's when I realized that the windows have two layers, and I had only opened the inside one. I had been cleaning with the windows closed. I marveled at my lack of observation, and primed the room (P.S. You know why they call the primer Kilz? Because when it gets in your eyes, it kills). Anyways, after a couple days, Olivia's room was done, and Shawn could come in to do the floor. I moved on to Genevieve's future room and got to scrubbing. While scrubbing, I noticed my right hand was turning yellow. I figured that it must be from the nicotene stains on the wall, and it was getting on my hand when I leaned against the wall for support while scrubbing with my left; but sometimes it would come and go. As I puzzled over my hyper-color hand, I realized that I had done the exact same thing that I had done in Olivia's room- I had left the outer window shut. I was seriously losing brain cells. Genevieve's room has been scrubbed and primed twice now, despite my dim-witted foibles. Later that night, I googled ammonia and its side effects. Turns out that if you expose your hands to it too long, they will swell turn yellow because the tissues are dying. And my headaches and nausea are no doubt from the lack of ventilation. I am happy to say that three days later, my hands are no longer yellow, and my fingertips are just about back to normal. I can even bend them!
On to happier subjects, like cats. The girls and I have become fond of visiting the animal rescue shelter in Brainerd. They have a room full of cats, and you can just waltz right in and play with them. The last time we went to play, it was only us and a woman in her late 20's. She seemed shy, so I didn't chat her up. I know how obnoxious I can be. The girls found some rambunctious kittens, and I sat in a chair to watch. The woman stuffed her entire upper body into one of those cat cubes. Those things are only 12"x12", so it was an incredible feat to observe. On top of that, there was a cat in the cube with her! I waited to see if the cat would shred her face. I know I would certainly be terrified if I were shoved into a fuzzy box with a head warbling baby talk to me. Appearantly, the cat liked it, because the woman stayed in there for quite some time. That is, until I had the nerve to talk to one of the cats. A grossly obese calico jumped into my lap and settled in for a snooze. "Oh wow, you're a big boy, aren't you!" I exclaimed, incredulous over his weight. The woman in the cube immediately back peddled so fast that I thought that her cat had finally bitten her in the face. She spun around and gave me the stink-eye, snapping, ''that's agirl." I was surprised, and a little afraid of her sudden anger. I smiled meakly at her in apology, and began muttering things like, "that's a good girl, nice kitty, good female cat.". She narrowed her eyes suspiciously at me, and then turned and stuffed herself back into the cube. The cat in my lap purred, so I looked back at her and giggled at how fat she was. "If you were my cat, I would nambe you Chubsy-Wubsy. Yes I would!" Suddenly, the crazy cat women flew out of her cube and glared at me furiously. "Her name is ROSIE!!!" she snarled. This time I was rather terrified, and I nodded dumbly at her with my eyes wide. She gave me another nasty look, which clearly said "that's twice now," and retreated back into the cube to coo at her cat. I found myself whispering to the girls, and scrambling to get us out of there before I said something else that was offensive. We survived, and we even came back a week later and adopted that fat cat. And you know what? We named her Rosie. I'm not taking any chances.
To give you an idea of Rosie's size, I will use our cat Noelle for an example: Noelle is nine pounds, and has an ample stomache. When she lays down and stretches out, it reminds me of syrup, slowly spreading over a plate. Now compare her nine pounds with Rosie's 15. It's gross. Rosie is a sweetheart though, and loves to be loved. She did bite Shawn this morning, however. I came in to the house this morning (she stays in our fixer upper) and for the life of me could not find the cat. She's pretty hard to miss, so I was perplexed. Somehow, she had managed to get inside a hole in the floor that was waiting for a vent cover. Shawn had noticed her sniffing at it and had wondered if he should cover it. I had laughed at him, asking him if he was joking, because there was no way fat Rosie could fit down that hole. Unfortunately, she did fit; and pulling her out was a man's job. You see, fat oozes downward, with gravity. For Shawn to pull Rosie up out of the tiny hole was much harder, and she let him know that she didn't like it. So other than the one rabid attack on Shawn, she's very sweet. And I am very sorry now that I laughed at Shawn.
Uncle Harry takes good care of us, and we have an open invitation to his garden and chicken coop. He and Christine invite us over regularly for fires and conversation. The girls absolutely love it over there! They have a dog named Krissy, who just cracks me up. She is older than dirt, and all gray at the muzzle. There is nothing she loves more than taunting our dog, Emma. Her latest shenanigan was to defecate just inches out of Emma's reach, which of course drove Emma nuts. When Shawn peeked out the door to see what was going on, he scolded, "Krissy!" Krissy looked at him disdainfully, and proceeded to drag her rear across the lawn. She snuffed at Shawn and then left. It is clear that nobody tells Krissy her business.
Our other neighbors have been generous as well, giving us bags of food from their gardens. There is an elderly couple, Alice and Leo, who live kiddy-corner from grandma's house. One day Alice brought me a bag of red potatoes. The girls and I wrote her a thank-you note and gave it to her. About a week later, I made some Challa bread and we brought a loaf over. The very next day Alice brought me another bag of potatoes, plus muffins. Although I am very thankful, I'm beginning to wonder if I was one-upped. Is this how people keep up with the Jones' around here? I'm not sure yet. I just know that next time, I will have to bring her Challah bread, a cake, and a giraffe. Let's see how she responds to that one.
I will write more when I can. Sorry that this one was late- between working on the house and writing my thesis for Dr. Sprinkle, I'm either slaving or exhausted. Dr. Sprinkle rejected my first draft, so I have another couple of weeks to salvage it. Wish me luck!!
Oh, and one last thing- here is your thought for the day: The girls and I were eating at Applebee's and Olivia asked about a picture of The Lone Ranger and Tonto. I explained what I knew, and then sat back, expecting Olivia to ask me what "lone" meant. I was ready to impart my infinte wisdome upon her when she asked, "why do they call him the "lone" ranger if Tonto is always with him?" I didn't have an answer.
