Revenge Is Ours

We finally got the little fellow. It took a box cage and a carrot (we had been trying lettuce up until this point, guess he didn't like the stuff). So late last night we hopped in the car with our new pet and took him to one of our least favorite contractor's house. Oh, will he be surprised this morning! Lucky for us he doesn't lock the truck.

APRIL FOOLS!

While it was tempting we were raised right and didn't resort to levels unbecoming of us.

It seems to have done minimal damage to the room. Just tore out some of the insulation.

The Newton Woodchuck Project

Does anyone remember that movie from almost 10 years ago, the Blair Witch Project? Remember how those kids sat around in the woods really freaked out with flashlights shining on their faces? Well that's kind of how I'm feeling right now. Except I'm not in the woods. And it's not dark out so I don't need a flashlight to dramatically light myself. And I don't have a runny nose or a video camera. But I am oh so scared.

Every time the house creaks or the girls make a noise I'm on high alert looking which way and that to plan my escape/find an effective bludgeoning instrument to survive the woodchuck attacker. As of last night Tim almost had me convinced that the woodchuck had left and it was just a little ground squirrel in the library. See this is why our relationship works so well. Tim makes up completely irrational stories to explain away things he doesn't want to deal with. And I support him in this by being stupidly gullible. For the most part it works for us. That is until I go and do something like take Molly's potty stool out to peek in the window of the library. It's very hard to be gullible when you are looking right at the woodchuck.

Now tonight Tim will return home (well, unless he reads this first and then I'll bet he'll make every effort not to), and I will demand that he take care of the situation. Yes, I could and really should do it myself. But I see claiming to be a sissy around wild animals as being one of the perks of being a girl. The cons of course include menstruating and never being able to beat your husband at arm wrestling competitions. Tim will try and convince me that I don't know the difference between a woodchuck and a ground squirrel, and that it was yes, a really big ground squirrel. I will act all insulted for him thinking I'm stupid, even though technically I was stupid last night, and sulk around the house. Then he will eventually give in and try to fix the situation.

Of course, my day will not be complete unless I share this gem with you that he told me on the phone this morning when I called after the woodchuck visual. "Just calm down. It gives you something to blog about."

Where's The Supervision?

After reading this post at House In Progress a few months back I now sometimes ask myself this and laugh. You've gotta scroll down to about comment #16. And then her reply the next day.



So last Friday afternoon Molly gets up from her nap and I'm on Facebook (and I thought blogging was a time suck) so she's running back and forth from the office. I get done, close down the computer, and she comes running in say "Mama I put the stickers on the table." "Oh, OK." I reply obviously not yet thinking. Then it hits me. I walk into the kitchen to see the kitchen table mercifully clean. Molly looks up at me and says, "No, not that table. In here." and heads for the living room. I obediently follow behind to find this...




Lucky for her I am distracted by some banging and a snarling noise coming from the basement. So we high tail it to the upstairs, and I call Tim at work in a panic. He convinces me to go back downstairs and go into town to my mothers. Which I do.

Last night he went into the basement to see if the rat poison was gone. It wasn't. That apparently doesn't work. He set a trap, but came upstairs convinced that it was gone. I hope he's right.

Here's the great thing about houseblogging. You find out you are never alone. Thanks again for the suggestions Mike!

Creature Discomfort

Thank goodness Tim and I don't live in the 1800's that all I can say because we would be dead. We are incapable of trapping or shooting anything it seems. In my last post I poked fun at my outdoors-manly brother-in-law, but I do have to say I appreciate him far more than I think he knows. None of the other men in my life share his skill set (well Tim's dad does too, but I want him to think that I'm super smart and cunning so I don't bother him with stupid questions) so he comes in very handy at times like this morning.



Our house sat vacant for about two years. Now I didn't think that was too bad. There was a house down the road from where I grew up that sat for over thirty years before someone refinished it. However, I guess that two years is plenty of time for creatures to become familiar with a house. It seems once they are happy with an area they don't like to move.



I can co-exist with mice. Growing up our farm house always had mice. When they started running around the living room at night while you were watching TV it was time to put out the traps to discourage them a little. We do that here. Last winter we had our first rat. For awhile we told ourselves it was just a really big mouse we hear moving in the walls, but when it started hijacking diapers from the pail we had to confront reality and take care of the situation. We tried multiple kinds of traps and bait with no success. Finally I broke down and let Tim get out the poison.



With bugs it's always that big rush in or out in the spring and fall. For a few weeks I look at them crawling over every available surface on the south side of the house and think I should get out the vacuum, but I mostly just wait until they've found their happy place and then sweep up the dead relatives.



When we first bought the place there was a skunk family that lived in the crawl space in the back of the house. We generally ignored them, having to deal with the stink only when we started up a particularly noisy power tool. When we moved in I decided they had to go so we tried trapping them. We did end up with one right away (since discovering our trapping skills over time I've come to the conclusion that he must have been suicidal), and then nothing again. Tim sat out on the porch for a few nights with a shot gun we had borrowed from his dad with no luck. At this point I was glad we lived on a quiet road because it was probably something that would have generated talk at the local bar had he been seen. So the first couple of years living here we and the remaining members of the skunk family coexisted. A crying baby must have been too much though because shortly after we brought Molly home we never smelt them again.



Two falls ago Tim tore down the old grainery to build his shed. We knew that a woodchuck lived under the thing. We'd see her out and about in the evening sometimes. We just assumed that she would go on her merry way and find a new place to live. Well she did. It just happened to be in the old skunk hole under the back of the house. We figured it out last spring and spent most of the summer trying to trap her.



So last night Tim get out of bed and heads down stairs with out a word to me. I assume he's going down to check his sugar and have a little snack. Well he takes his sweet time so when he gets back I ask what he was doing. "I heard something downstairs." He says and rolls over to go back to sleep. I, of course, ask, "What?" "You don't want to know." He replies. Well he was right. It was the woodchuck. It seems it has transitioned from the crawlspace in the back of the house to the basement area in the middle of the house. What Tim heard was her banging on the duct work at the bottom of the furnace. I guess when he opened the basement door she gave him a less than friendly greeting.



So the rest of the night I had nightmares of her eating her way through the basement door and gnawing my leg off. I must save the children! When Tim called this morning about something he said, "Yeah, I figure I'll come home tonight and they'll be this really fat woodchuck staring at me in the middle of the kitchen." Because you know she's gotta be hungry because there's nothing down there to eat. And that is exactly what we are hoping for. We put a little left over rat poison down there and hopefully by tomorrow night we'll have a dead woodchuck in our basement. Yes, it looks like poison is becoming the Newton family weapon of choice. Now the only thing that's got my pickle (if I lived in the 1800's I'd say that a lot more I'll bet) is that Tim thought someone was in the house and didn't say anything to me. If you are reading this dear, I would like a little notice when about to be killed so I can enjoy the last few minuets of my life. You know, panicking appropriately.

The Return Of The Big Box Shopping Experience Part II

So I must say I had a lovely experience at the Home Depot. Tim on the other hand did not.



Tim ended up re-arranging my plans for me, and so we ate before hand. And supper took much longer than I expected so when we got to the store I sent Tim in search of items for weather-proofing the windows and I headed out in search of refinishing and landscaping items.



The refinishing stuff was right were it was a year ago and so that was a breeze. However, the Home Depot was in the process of creating their outdoor landscaping section and most of that stuff had been moved out there, but it was not yet open. And as I'm figuring this out I notice a college age looking kid right in front of me with the smock on. I approach him, not expecting much, and end up pleasantly surprised. He took me right back into the unopened part and the waited at a courteous distance and didn't make me feel pressured to make a choice so he could go back to re-arranging stuff. And then just as I emerge from the landscaping section I see Tim headed my way with what looks like not even close to what it will take to tackle the window job, but that's his problem now.



So we head for the check outs and of course there is just one open with a line. This does not bother me because three years ago with the housing market was booming there was only one check out open with a line. We wait our turn and when we make it to the front there is a cute and bubbly high schooler at the check out. She greets us like an exited puppy all friendly and I think to myself that yes, this has been a success. I leave Tim to pay the bill and take the cart back to the dead zone where all the used carts gather.



When I return I hear the cashier (now this is not word for word people, I didn't tape the conversation) say, "Oh God, not this song again!" Tim responds, "Do they keep playing the same music over and over again?" I catch the beginning strains of Eric Clapton's I Shot The Sheriff as she replies, "Yes and it's really crappy. It's like all this old stuff my dad listens too." At this point Tim has also recognized the song and gives a little nervous laugh, "Oh yeah, my dad really likes this song too." With that I'm am biting my lip so hard that I'm about drawing blood because Tim owns the CD that this song is on. And I can honestly say I have never heard Lyle (Tim's dad) go on and on about the musical genius of Mr. Clapton. We will not go into how much Tim loves Clapton's Lady In Red. If I was a decent singer I should have sang a line or two of it. The cashier would have thought I was bonkers, but it would have made Tim turn even redder than he was.



But I am on my best-wife behavior and don't do anything to embarrass the poor young thing (the cashier, not Tim). But as soon as we are out those huge automatic doors with our purchases safely in bags I can't hold it in any longer. "So your dad likes Eric Clapton?" "What! Yes, he does." Tim's voice is two octaves higher than usual, "He sings that song every time he hears it. All the time!"

The Return Of The Big Box Shopping Experience

I never again thought I'd reach this point, the state of being excited to buy home improvement related things. Tonight my mom is watching the girls and we are going to buy home improvement type things. And I am excited. I am going to stimulate some economy, well as much as Tim will let me before yelling at me and then we will sulk all the way home trying to distance ourselves as much as possible as you can in our economy sized car. Yes, it's been a long, long time since I've been able to say I'm excited at the prospect of entering a Home Depot.

You know it's been over a year since I have been to any type of lumber yard, big box store, or even in the home improvement section of the local K-mart? That might not be strange to a normal human being, but to a house blogger it's quite a dry spell. I mean from early spring 2003 until around 2005 we were going weekly to multiple venues. Seriously. And lets just say in that time I developed a aversion to them.

Now before you get all excited an think we have the next big project to start, we don't. I just want to get some things to do a little work on our landscaping, and stuff to seal up the attic windows which I think are a major culprit in our leaking when it rains. Oh and I've got to get some things to finish up the buffet.

So tonight I am going with a fresh outlook. No longer fresh in my mind are the rows and rows of cheaply made items that I know are going to disintegrate the minute they are installed, the smocked help with their don't ask me attitude and hard to find ways, and the end of the evening bill that always ends up in the triple digits even though you are only buying a can of paint and a home improvement magazine. Tonight I am going to expect more. And I am also going to wait to go out for supper when the shopping is done so I can have a few glasses of wine. You know just in case in the last year Home Depot hasn't cleaned up it's act. Here's to optimism!

I Admit To Loving David Hasselhoff

Note: I was six. When you were six you did stupid things too. Ate glue, thought the opposite sex had cooties, figured if you whined in a high enough octave daddy would really buy you a pony...

I was six and I was in love with David Hasselhoff. Sure, if you asked I would get all defensive and say I really liked the car and not him, but I was lying and I was really truly in love with him. Well, what a six year old knows of love anyway. Which proably means I'd share my coolest Barbie with the really long hair with him, but only if he'd let me drive the car. Hey, even a six year old knows you gotta give to recieve.

But times change. I don't know if it's an older and wiser sort of thing or if time just changes a person. Long story short I've traded my David Hasselhoff lust for Daniel Craig lust. When I am 60 will I be slightly mortified that I had a crush on the blond James Bond? Only time will tell.

What does this have to do with my house? Well lately I've been dreaming a lot about other houses. I was in the middle of one such dream where I had purchased an old church with the most beautiful stained glass windows and the typical quaint church kitchen and cabinets and a loft that I was going to turn into my bedroom. Molly came in needing something and Tim rolled over, "Your turn." I came this close to beating him with my pillow, and I have very heavy old feather pillows. It would have hurt.

So I wonder is my house becoming David Hasselhoff? Will it too loose it's appeal? What does a person do then? I know I will never be ashamed I lived in this house, like I am kind of really ashamed of my David Hasselhoff stage. But what does change in a person?

Sometimes I wonder if it's because I wasn't true to my sense of style when we bought it. Tim loves all things gothic/anything curved and I love craftsman/anything square so this seemed like a good compromise for us. You know one where neither of us got what we want.

You Know That Annoying Person Who Stops For The Tour

it's me.



So there is this house on the way home in Greene that had a for sale sign in the yard that I really like. I'll try to remember to get pictures next time I go in for work.



But anyway I heard around town that the realtor wasn't even showing it to people because it had been sold already, which is really strange for this small town. So the other day I drive by and there is a pile of stuff in the yard and the roof is ripped off the back upper story. Ooooh, exciting! So Sunday I drive by even though I was headed in the opposite direction and see someone in the yard working. Tim is in the car with me and we are supposed to be on the way back to my mom's to get the girls. I try to talk him into stopping. He majorly protests, and I decide to put being a "good" mom a head of my house lusting. So I head back to my mom's just long enough to quick eat some roast and find out the first name of the woman who bought the place.



I offer again to let Tim come with me, and he now says that he doesn't want to go because seeing a house in the beginning stages of remodeling will "depress" him greatly. -sigh- I miss my old house hunting partner. If I had known he would end up like this... OK I still would have bought our house and put him trough it. He's being a big baby. Sorry to those of you who like him and take offence at this. I like him too, in fact much, much more than you. But he's still being a baby and he needs to get over it. Hey, is anyone looking for a new market? How about Psychiatric counseling for the home-improvement weary? You know, to get them back into that naive/cheery state of mind that comes pre-project.



But I digress. And I go it alone to the house. I tried to get mom to go briefly. She though I was nervous to go by myself. Not true. I don't know about you, but after I see a house I love to talk about it for hours. How do you do that if no one else saw it? You can't. So I just bottled it all up inside until I could sit at a computer and spill it all to you.



So I head up to the house and she give me a look I am sure I have given many others in my life time. I explain to her who I am and give the required list of relatives that you need when you aren't actually from the small town yourself. Once proving my "heritage" I ask to see the house. Explaining that I could come back at a time when it's more convenient. NOTE: This is a nice thing to do if you are putting someone in this uncomfortable situation just in case they have unmentionables strewn all over the house or something like that. She said that she shows the house to anyone who asks and that she was just taking a break. I told her I had been in the same situation and that I promised not to give any advise. That seemed to break the ice, and I had a lovely tour.



She purchased the place because she had always loved it and was afraid because it had such a cheap purchase price it wouldn't be properly cared for. She is planning on selling if the opportunity arises or possibly running a bed and breakfast.



The woodwork in the house was beautiful and never painted. Tim missed out. Especially since the main staircase had a Gothic-ish arch in the rail that he would have loved. It seemed a bit small to me, but I think that mostly comes from living with 18 rooms for the last 5 years. Let me tell you it can change a girl. The kitchen is a decent size for a house of it's age and she is going to be moving a few walls around to make the flow of the house a little more efficient. Plus add a few more bathrooms.



As the tour drew to a close I wanted to cling to her legs and beg her to hand me a hammer or maybe let me strip woodwork just so I could feel "that way" again. Instead I demurely offered her a tour of my home next time she was in the area. We also discussed salvage shops. She is looking for an old built-in for the dining room and I told her they might be a better bet than the antique shops she had been visiting. I just now need to get the information to her along with a thank-you note for her hospitality.

When It Rains It Leaks

Image from JLG Lifts http://www.apisupplyinc.com/jlg.php

OK... so we've had these leaks for awhile now and we've been hoping that if we ignore them they will go away. Don't laugh. Yes, deep down we knew they wouldn't go away if we ignored them. But I did say hope didn't I. And hopes don't have to be realistic.

So I am to the point that I can't ignore them any more. Tim is still in denial. This is causing some marital tension, but then would it be a renovation if it didn't. So I am hoping. DON'T LAUGH AT ME... that we can attempt to solve this problem over the long holiday weekend. Notice I said attempt, that's because while I can slip into denial at times I tend to wake up to find myself practical again. So I realize that it is probably going to take a few tries to get these leaks back down to nothing, or at least to the point where we can happily ignore them again.

So I was thinking what we really need is a construction lift so we can check things out with out risking our lives hanging out windows. And then I got to wondering do others of you housebloggers wish you had one oh say in the garage or barn to pull out and use when you need it? Or is it just me who was stupid enough to buy a 52 ft. house. It's OK you can say it's just me. Can I ask for one for Christmas? Or will Santa get my letter, open it, and blow cocoa out his nose as he laughs calling the Elves over. I can see it now "What does she think we are Rent-A-Center!" he would say as his belly jiggled like a bowl full of jelly.

So maybe we'll do something on the house here in the next couple of days. Or maybe not.

And please don't respond with dire warnings of death by black mold. Yes I know. -sigh- But then again we all gotta die of something.

wwjbd

or What Would James Bond Do

So of course the morning I do a post on how the furnace hasn't gone out it goes out that evening, and doesn't stay lit. So last night Tim gets home, eats, and then gets suited up to do battle in the cold. In the mean time I'm cleaning up after supper when his phone vibrates. I pick it up and say, "That's funny it didn't ring, I was standing here the whole time." I then turn around and continue wiping. A couple of seconds later I turn back and see him poking at the phone with his hand over the screen. "Are you texting?" I asked in an amazed voice.

Ok, I know this makes me so totally uncool, but I believe that texting is best left to people who are not grown men. Something about it really turns me off. Picture someone who is the epitiamy of manhood, like James Bond, poking at his phone using stupid abbreviations. You can't right? I rest my case.

So back to our conversation. He shows me his screen. "wtf," I exclaim. "What are you a sixteen year old girl." "Your just jealous you don't know anyone who text messages," he replies.

Which is not true. Tom and Jen text message. For some reason I accept this. Maybe because when they started they were actually teenagers. Maybe because they are so darned cute because for some strange reason they seem to still want to talk to each other after being married for two+ years. I think of them as young and cute. I don't want to think of my husband as young and cute. I want him to be a tool wielding, furnace fixing machine. And this text messaging crap is interfering with both.

The phone vibrates again. "idk, what does that mean?" he asks. I feel a little better because if he doesn't know all the slang maybe he's just starting down this dark path and he can still be saved. "I don't know, maybe," I reply. He types away furiously for a bit and then heads down to the basement. I assume he is going to get tools, but after the minutes drag by I figure out he's down there texting where I can't see him. So the situation has gone from weird to creepy and no one is fixing the heat. -sigh-

James Bond wouldn't sit in his basement text messaging. And you know what, James Bond wouldn't come to bed smelling like burnt corn either. But I suppose I'm disappointing in ways too. I imagine Bond girls shave their legs more than once a month.

I Hate Contractors

Things are pretty glum around the farm house these days. We don't understand. Are all contractors jerks? I mean I think we are pretty good judges of character, we seem to have so many lovely friends and family. Then why are we incapable of picking a decent contractor? OK, not all of them have been horrible (we love you Wedeking Electric please come soon to wire the dining room), but it seems we get more bad apples than good.

For the last three days the furnace has not kept lit over 6 hours. Last week it worked fine for us. Tim would go out every night and stir the pot a bit and things were a nice and toasty 72 degrees. And when the weather turned so did our luck.

They sent a guy out yesterday. When Tim called last night Mick (the owner of the company) said that we had bad corn and just the slightest crack can cause the furnace not to work. Now isn't that something you should tell the customer before they purchase corn? Also, he was upset to find that I was not home. The girls and I had gone for 4 hours to a friends for a play date. I guess you are not supposed to leave the furnace. Isn't that something they should have told us? Now if someone said to you you can't leave the house for the furnace to work effectively would you buy the furnace? I think not.

So we got up this morning to our cold house and Tim called Mick again. He said that this is the last time he is sending a guy out for free and we just have to face the fact that we have a bad batch of corn. Now here's my solution. We will waste even more of our time (Tim was supposed to be a work hours ago, but he's here waiting for the contractor) draining the bin. We will then purchase "approved" corn from the contractor and then see if the damn thing works. Or I am seriously tempted to say to them take the damn furnace and the coil that you put in that is too small to heat the house and we'll just pay for the work plumbing the two together. Then we'll go to another contractor and start over again.

I am so tempted to e-mail the company a link to this post and a copy of my site stats. Let them know just how fast word of mouth can travel when you have a houseblog. I suppose I had better just settle down though.

Waste of Fricking Money

I want to call my husband and scream and yell. But I won't because I am a good wife.

They came Monday and installed the corn furnace the rest of the way and the last few days have been a constant battle with it. If it actually stays lit, it doesn't keep the house warm. I let the temperature fall to 63 and then I'd bump the propane on to catch it up so I don't know just how low the thing would fall before it would keep up.

Yesterday morning the contractor came out to start the fire because Tim had to get to work and we couldn't figure out why it would have gone out (he said it was feed that plugged the auger, but when Tim looked at it this morning after it went out again he said the auger is not sitting right and it's grinding the corn up into feed). I talked to him about it not keeping up and how maybe we need a bigger exchanger on the furnace. He told me that the exchanger was more than big enough for area this size in that "Don't be stupid" tone of voice. I wanted to make a nasty comment, but not only am I a nice wife, I am a good person so I just smiled sweetly at him bottling my anger deep, deep inside.

What really burns me is we used a really expensive contractor. And it's still not right. Arrrrrrrrg@!#$

Well today that anger is itching to get out. I need to get somethings tonight at the store and I just know Tim is going to make a fuss about price and not having any money. Well at least the camera case I plan on buying will work unlike that stupid corn furnace he bought. There I said it, and hopefully that will be enough and I won't have to have a complete melt down in the middle of the Target store.

I wish I had a time machine. I'd hop in it and travel back to October and forbid Tim from buying that stupid corn furnace. Instead I'd take the money and buy a Wii and the Guitar Hero game (I played it with my cousin last weekend and fell in love, I even dreamed about it last night, serious). Then if I was angry I'd just rock out until my anger subsided...

Slow Ride -da dum dumb, da dum dumb-

Take It Easy -da dum dumb, da dum dumb-

I'm In The Mood...

The Customer Isn't Always Right I Guess

What ever happened to that school of thought? I went "shopping" today. It was a very painful experience. First I had to return a sleeper I got as a gift that Elsa was too big for. Well the person who bought it for me took off the tags, but I did have a gift receipt. It took me 20 minutes at the counter to get my money and by the way the lady treated me you'd think I'd had asked her to build Rome in a day. My 1 1/2 year old complains less in a month than what that lady did in that 20 minute interval. But I consider myself lucky because I did get money back and sometimes when I go back with something I'm not so lucky.

Later on today I headed out for groceries for the party on Sunday. I'm doing a ham. I decided this because my mother has done a ham for a couple of occasions now and it's very easy to do and very tasty. Well I went to the store (large chain store that now sells groceries, not the local guys) she told me she buys it from. And low and behold right when I walk in there is the ham. But it looks a little too big so I head back to the meat department but I'm not finding the ham. I'm in a hurry because Molly is crabby so I decided that I'm not going to mess around I'll just send left overs home with the guests. So I get to the check out and they can't find a price. It turns out this particular ham is part of a dinner pack. You need to buy a bunch of other crap just to get the ham. At the time the cashier is telling me this Tim is already very unhappy and embarrassed (he doesn't deal with going against the norm at all, he likes life to be like those credit card commericals where everything runs perfectly until the person with the check book shows up), and he can tell I'm going to get belligerent. I sense this, but I still prod on. I ask if I could possibly buy the exact same type of ham with out the additional stuff. The cashier looks at me like I'm asking her to cut off her arm and sell it to me. At this point Tim cuts in and says I must have the wrong ham (ooooooo, does that make me mad!) and we'll just pick out another kind. We pay for our other purchases and I'm steaming. I lite into him saying I know exactly what kind of ham my mother buys (I do!) and what are we going to do... Tim manages to get me out of the store and into the car promising me he'll go back and pick out a new ham and it will be fine. I call my mother on the way home to whine. She makes me feel better by telling me a couple different ways you can doctor up a plain ham. I start to feel a little better.

I'm the customer, I'm always right. And to me the right thing to do is to sell the customer who wants a freaking ham the freaking ham!

I'm A Little Worried

At first I was thrilled that Tim was excited to work on the house again, but I guess this is a classic example of be careful what you wish for. He's become almost frantic. He's talking about taking this here or that there to be refinished. I don't know where the money is coming from since he's planning this shed project also (I'm starting to think I should make sure he's not dealing drugs).

Last night on the way to my uncle's birthday party we drove by an old house they are fixing up in Clarksville. I made a comment about the scaffolding they had up and Tim replied, "Yeah, I might paint the porch this weekend." I looked at him with disbelief and said, "Wouldn't it be better to get the trim in the dining room since we have a party planned for next Sunday?" "We'll see," he said. Which means I'll do what ever I want no matter how stupid it is, thank you.

Then again before bed he drags me out to the foyer and says, "What about blue for the walls? We could have it painted before Thanksgiving." "You mean before next weekend?" I ask. "Yeah," he replies. I tell him no.

You know, maybe he's taking some of those drugs he's selling...
Some how I must stop him before he starts 20 projects and doesn't get the dining room finished for the company. Stay tuned to see if our marriage survives this weekend.

Projectitis

Definition: Disease causing swelling to portions of the brain related to memory. Most common symptom is forgetting past aches, renovation disasters, monetary drains, household messes, etc. The effects of this disease include waking up in the morning and saying "I can't wait to work on the house this weekend."

As my husband did this morning. Seriously. Sickness it's the only explanation.

The remedy is a good stout weekend of trim application, furniture moving, grate refinishing, and mess clean-up.

The Aftermath or Why Tim Had To Call 911 Again

Tim decided he wanted the new shed to go where the grainery is standing so he chose yesterday afternoon to burn it down.

Here it is before the fire. We didn't take it down when we tore the rest of the outbuildings out because the little lean-to on the side was a nice place for Tim to store the Oliver we mow with. Well, now the plan is for the Oliver to be kept in the new shed so bye-bye grainery.

It's sad to see these old out building go. It really affects the look of the place, but we can't afford to maintain them. We decided when we bought the place that we'd do everything we could to try and save the barn, but we just wouldn't be able to save it all. It's hard, but you learn as you go through one of these renovations that sometime you have to let things go so save something else.

We had spent yesterday morning at my mom's house because Tim had put the second coat of finish on the dining room floor and it was kind of stinky at the house. I really wanted to see the fire, but Molly has been teething and not sleeping well and she had just settled down for a nap and Elsa need to eat soon so I had to pass. Tim wanted to get it started fairly early because we were supposed to go to his folks house for supper. I told Tim to take lots of pictures.

I called him about an hour after he left to see how it was going. He said fine, but the camera had run out of space on the card so he only got one picture. I asked why he didn't delete old photos. He said he didn't know how. I sighed and resisted beating myself on the head with the phone out of frustration. I then asked if he was about ready to leave for his folks. He replied that it was burning fast and to give him about a half and hour. I started to say something to the effect of how to delete photos on the camera but he cut me off saying, "****, I've got to go, I really gotta go." And since he tends to be a little over dramatic I hung up the phone and went to get Molly up for a snack.

For your viewing pleasure, the only photo taken of the burning building...

About a half hour later I got the girls packed up. I headed outside to tell my mom and step-dad good bye. They were working on landscaping around the new addition they built last year. Molly was happy to be outside with all the crunchy leaves and I had trouble getting her to leave because she was busy helping Papa "drive" his tractor. I jokingly said we had to go see if the house was still standing because of Tim's parting words. Mom said that they had heard the fire department leave town and we all had a good laugh.

I finally got my daughter in the car and headed north towards the house. No big cloud of smoke that direction, things were good. I was on the road just at the base of the hill before you see our house when Bubba, one of the local firemen came over the hill. When he saw it was me he laughed and waved. It was then that I got the sick feeling in my stomach. As I crested the hill I saw the house was still standing but the towns entire fleet of fire engines were headed down the road back towards home. Tim is in the yard by a smoking pile of rubble talking agitatedly on his cell phone.

The aftermath, taken this morning...

I get out of the car and make him hang up the phone so I can find out what happened. It turns out while he was talking to me the ditch across the road started on fire. After he hung up the phone he headed across the road to put it out with a shovel. Well, the shovel broke and the fire spread to the corn stalks in the field. He ended up calling 911 (what is strange is this is the second time this month he's had to call, there was a cow in the road that someone hit coming home a few nights before) and they sent out every engine the town of Greene owns. He's like, "Yeah, you missed it Kip and Bubba where here. I didn't ask Kip about the wedding but..." like I had just missed some friends stopping by for a beer. They had put of the fire in the field and then by law put out his building fire. Luckily the building was pretty well gone by that point so he won't have to try to burn it again.

Later on that night as we're getting ready for bed he's telling me that the firemen were pretty serious when they showed up. He was standing along the road to talk to them and they just drove right by him and started putting out the fires. I must have looked at him with what could only be called amazement and said, "You thought they'd chat before they went to work?" "Well yeah," he replied. "A quick conversation, maybe say hi."

-sigh-

Dead Line For Destruction Of Rath Pack

-sigh-

Caught this on the news tonight. I love this building. Click on the picture here for a decent view of it. Believe me it's got a even more style in real life. The unfortunate part is it's in a pretty bad neighborhood.

I'd like to go to the informational meeting the mention at the end of the article, but the way things have been going here in Iowa 60 miles is a long way to drive just to get depressed.

How cool would it be to turn it into one of those assisted living homes (check out the photo album at that place!). Have you seen the new ones they are putting up? For what one of those puppies cost they could do a pretty decent remodel I would think. And no, I don't want to hear you arguments against it and why it wouldn't make sense, so don't post them in the comments. I'm just going to lean back and picture myself living it up there in 50 years. So what if it is in a bad part of town? Mess with me and I'll run you down with my motorized wheel chair and beat you with my cane. Oh yeah.

You Think You're Having A Bad Day...

at least you aren't walking around with a can on your head.

So Elsa and I are hanging out on the couch watching Martha Stewart when we hear this banging on the kitchen window. So I put her in the swing and head over to check it out. Well, it's this greedy little cat. So I'm torn about what to do because I was taught growing up not to mess with strange animals. And even though it's kind of funny watching the poor thing stagger around (I know- bad person, I can't help it, it was funny) the front yard I do feel sorry for it. Plus it would probably spend the last of its days in my front yard and end up dying there and how evil and trashy would that look.

Tim had a pair of leather gloves laying around so I put those on and headed out. It didn't run away when I, talking REALLY loudly so it could hear my through the can, walked up to it. It took me five tires before I got it un-stuck, it was really lodged on. And boy was I glad I had those gloves because it was not happy during the attempts. But finally it fell out and ran away hissing.

Of course it chose to run right into the basement. Stupid cat. No, it's not our fault we leave the basement door cracked. Remember what happened last time we had a unwanted cat in the house?

All I know is if it's down there it had better kill some of those mice who keep showing up at night in the kitchen in gratitude.

Murphy's Law of 18 Month Olds

If you have shut to door to the dining room to paint (don't worry her kitchen set blocks the other doorway so she was not left unattended) it's bound to happen that your 18 month old decides that is the day to figure out how to work the door knob -sigh-

Oh was she proud of herself, and of course wanted to repeat the trick over and over. Luckily I was just about done. UN-luckily she just about knocked me off the ladder opening the door.

King Corn

A movie made in Greene, IA? And about a subject I'm starting to really get into, how cool is that!

Remember me telling about that book I was reading on agriculture? Well this seems to be a movie version of the first part of the book. There's going to be a lecture and screening of the movie at Iowa State University and I'm hoping I can make it. Kelli want to come along :)

Check out the trailer. The guy who says "That's corn..." he the funeral home director. And I should know the guy who says "carbs" and the one with the crap quote I'm pretty sure goes to our church. I think I read somewhere that they filmed in 2004 so we would have owned the house for a year, but not been moved in yet, I think.