ice ice baby

Ah…living in the mountain. The fresh air…the relaxing atmosphere…the gorgeous views…the aches and pains!

Between feeding the chicks, tending to the new hens, chasing the dogs when they forget their boundaries, entertaining the neighbor kids (the Goonies), and trying to unpack everything I freaking own…I hurt so bad.

And I do mean soooo bad.

I’m ready to stick my feet in a bucket of ice. And I’ll need an ice pack for my knees too. And while we’re at it, can I get one of those for my back? And what’s that cool stuff you spread on sunburn? Cuz, I need some of that too. I’m seriously trying to calculate how much aspirin I can take before I risk overdosing.  Maybe I should just fill the tub with ice water and climb in.

I took a break today. No unpacking. No neighbor kids. I did chase the dogs, but regretted it as my tendons screamed at me for overuse. I need a few more days like today (minus the run-away dogs.) 

Because aches and pains aside, after living here for weeks, Mike finally got the flat screen mounted on the wall in the living room. It’s funny how something so simple can make such a huge impact. I actually feel moved in.

Maybe I can tackle more boxes after all. I might even hang the art work…organize the pantry. You know…the stuff normal people do when they move in.

Right after I feed the chicks.

Until the next time…It’s ice packs for me!

life is really just a 70's rerun

Blech. Moving.

After careful consideration, I’ve decided the worst part about moving is the unpacking. I still have boxes stacked everywhere. I don’t even know what’s in them anymore. I know I wanted everything as I was filling them. I remember thinking I would be heart-broken without the ceramic rabbits and silver-plated Bulldog salt and pepper shakers. Now I dread unpacking them and finding a new place to put them. But dread or no dread, I made a good bit of headway today. I managed to clear a wider path through the living room and even hung a clock on the wall. Hey, I even have hot water after more than a week of nothing but cold. Now, if only I could get the washer and dryer connected so I can wash clothes.

Oh well…baby steps, right?

At least I finally got my husband to clear out the back of the old pick-up truck before I had the entire city of Blue Ridge humming the theme to Sanford and Son as I roll by. Hey, it could happen.

Who am I kidding? It did happen.

I went to the farmer’s market yesterday and a man actually came up to me humming the theme song as I got out of the truck. I had to laugh. It was kinda funny. I spent the better part of the weekend laughing at my husband as he drove the truck. The Junk Mobile

But this was me. I don’t drive junk-filled pick-ups. I don’t drive trucks at all. I drive a Kia Soul. Powered by hamsters, or something like that.

Right…apparently I do, now that I’m a farmer’s wife. Even if my farmer husband has been too busy with his day job of Network Engineer to do much of anything else this week, leaving me to fend for myself with the unpacking.

Oh well…it happens.

I just hope he wasn’t hoping I would unpack his underwear or anything. I’m sure it’s on my to-do list. Somewhere near the bottom…below the silver-plated dogs and the ceramic rabbits.

Until the next time…I’ll be driving my Kia again!

so, about this farm life thing...

I miss my kids. 

I miss my washer and dryer (still unplugged in the sunroom.) I miss hot water (still no ETA on the water heater repair.) I miss the hustle and bustle of the city (okay, the suburbs.)  I miss good cell reception, Dunkin Donuts, and Barnes and Noble. And I really, really miss my kids (I know, but it bears repeating). And living out of boxes sounds much more exciting in print than it is in real life.

But aside from all that, I love the mountain air, and the dogs are having fun investigating the green pastures.

The things that go bump in the night are still bumping, but as nothing bad has come of it, I’m not so inclined to worry. I do, however, reserve the right to change my mind in the future.

As for today, I spent part of it resting, and the other part unpacking boxes in the kitchen. I’ve decided the task requires a systematic approach. And why not start in the room with the food?

The first box unpacked was the one with the wine, and the wine glasses.

Isn’t it funny how a few sips of wine takes your mind off your worries? Ok, so maybe it takes a glass or two, but I’m definitely feeling more comfortable in my surroundings. Ghosts, coyotes, bugs, and scary basements be damned.

Now I just need to get the rest of the boxes unpacked and the house decorated. That might be the scariest proposition of all. I think I just might have a garage sale this weekend…sell things by the boxful.

Yep…sounds like a great plan.

Until the next time…I’ll be taking pictures!

I'm officially an activist

After last night’s response to my tampon dilemma, I’ve decided to become an advocate…no, an activist…for women. We need affordable feminine products. And we’re going to bite the heads off Barbies until we get them!

Ok…so maybe not the head biting, but the rest is true.

After reading all the comments last night, I discovered people were blaming everything from OPEC and global warming, to the Republicans and the drought for the rising cost of cotton. I also discovered there are crazy people out there who think feminine hygiene products are luxury items. Luxury? Really? So, if they’re a luxury, that suggests we can just choose not to use them.

Wouldn’t that be interesting?

Imagine if women everywhere just decided to boycott all feminine products. I don’t think I can write about how horrible…how frightening…that idea truly is. And I don’t think the men out there would survive a post apocalyptic society where women just gave up.

Talk about your zombie invasions!

Ok…enough about that. I got the heebee jeebees just thinking about it.

So, if not a boycott, then what do we do?

Sounds like we’re back to biting the heads off Barbie dolls. A scary band of PMSing women biting the heads from dolls in drug store parking lots? I don’t know…I sort of think I’ll come to my senses in a day or two…when the hormones wear off. I might be a little more rational by then.

I sure hope the world survives that long.

Until the next time…I’ll be moving (wish me luck!)

three days and counting

Do I really need small appliances? I don’t even drink plain coffee, so why can’t I just throw out the coffeemaker? I mean…that’s why they have Starbucks, right? It just seems so much easier than packing it. And let’s talk about toast…how often do we really make toast? Can’t I just light a fire and hold the bread over it? Do you have any idea how much room a toaster takes up in a box? And while we’re talking boxes…sure they’re cheap, but even at a dollar a piece they add up. Quickly.

So, the closer we get to moving day, the bigger my toss pile is getting. I’ve already sold my leather sleigh bed (cuz who wants to move that?) And I know I said I wanted to keep all forty-two of those wine glasses, but I’m thinking it might not be so bad to drink straight from the bottle. I don’t entertain that much anyway. In fact…I barely have any real friends (other than you…and you know who you are.)

How am I ever going to be ready in three days?

Maybe I should order a few pizzas and invite all my readers to come pack with me…hey, it could happen.

Until the next time…I’ll be weeding through the rest of my stuff.

I think I'd pack my head if it wasn't attached

I love moving. I do. It’s an adventure. A chance to decorate…and shop. But with moving comes packing. And I hate packing.

Have I mentioned how much I hate packing? If I haven’t said it enough times, I’ll say it again. I hate packing.

I mean…I really. Hate. Packing.

We’ve started the final countdown to moving day. And now that Mom is officially out of the woods with her illness, I can finally take a deep breath and get down to business. The business of…yep, you’ve got it…packing!

And there’s nothing like packing to unearth how much crap you actually own. And I don’t even mean the sort of crap you agonize over tossing out. I haven’t even gotten to that yet. I’m talking about the crap you really can’t bear to part with. The sentimental momentos like baby pictures, hand-knitted blankets made by Mom, the artwork from kindergarten, and other assorted items that don’t contribute to the day to day functions of life, but must be preserved, nonetheless.

And as far as the day to day items, I’ve already filled two huge boxes with linens. And these are just the linens we aren’t currently using. Those, I’ll worry about later. Like the clothes.

Until then, I’ve packed the heirloom china, and the everyday dishes, but I haven’t even touched the glassware. I discovered when we moved here that I have forty-two wine glasses. Forty-two! I don’t think I can drink forty-two glasses of wine by myself.

I can’t even get through one!

Maybe I’ll tackle the glasses tomorrow. Or maybe I’ll sort through the old magazines and DVDs and decide what’s going and what’s not. And hey, maybe I’ll even paint something.

It’s never too late to decorate…right?

Until the next time…I’ll be careful not to pack my head.

somebody pass the kleenex

What’s that old saying about spilled milk?

Sherwin Williams Shoji WhiteWell, it wasn’t exactly milk, but I found myself crying over white paint today…not even spilled paint. For those of you playing along at home, I finally found the right white (Sherwin Williams Shoji White ) and the minute I discovered it, the tears were flowing. Then the flood gates opened yet again while I considered the sentimental journey of packing my entire house as I pull up stakes to move to the mountains. Basically, I was crying over everything.

I’m not entirely sure if I’m finding myself suddenly nostalgic or if I’m simply suffering from PMS…again.

I’m going to go out on a limb and say, perhaps PMS is working in conjunction with a bit of nostalgia. After all, I just helped my son get situated in his very first place. It’s simultaneously exciting and heart-wrenching to watch my oldest child go out on his own. I’m sure he feels the same way. I’m sure he falls asleep each night almost wishing he was still home…close enough to ask me for a drink of water.

I’m sure of it.

And next I’ll be helping my daughter find her way. She’s younger…maybe less ready in some ways, but at the same time, I often think she’s more of an adventurer. More like her father than me. Fearless. Always willing to jump off the high-dive of life. So she’s been clawing at the nest for some time, ready to leap…to spread her wings and fly.

And I’ll miss her. I’ll miss them both horribly.

And this is precisely why I need another box of tissues. The extra soft, lotion infused kind. Feel free to send a box. I think I packed mine.

Until the next time…I’ll be drying off the packing boxes.

Ok...who put all this stuff in my house?

Time to take my head out of the clouds…cloud white that is. I was looking at paint chips as I reached my front steps and promptly tripped onto the porch.

This was the highlight of my day.

My house is beginning to look like an episode of Hoarders as I pull everything out of the cabinets, drawers, closets, etc to pack. I’ve unearthed assorted knick knacks, books, games, Christmas decorations, magazines, DVDs, not to mentioned all the other things I don’t even remember buying.

I mean…when did I buy purple and orange paint? And what on earth was I planning to do with it? It’s like I went through a comic book villian stage and completely blocked it out. These are the strange things people find at their local Goodwill. I guess I can find solace in the fact that someone will be delighted to find orange and purple paint samples one day soon.

And speaking of Goodwill…my husband has given me an ultimatum. I need to part with at least half of the magazines I’ve discovered. Half. Do you have any idea how many magazines he wants me to throw away?

Oh, hundreds at least. 

But I wasn’t done with those! They’re filled with really good decorating ideas. You never know when I’m going to redecorate my dining room using orange and purple paint splatters…oh wait. Never mind. I can get rid of that one.

And maybe the Marvel Comics Scene It game. I was awful at that. Oh, and the stained glass Christmas candle holders? Yeah, I probably won’t use those again. And I never once used the snowman muffin tins. Or the four bolts of fabric that were on sale but match absolutely nothing in my house…those can go too.

But do not touch the over one hundred white paint swatches scattered about every flat surface throughout my house. I’m definitely not finished with those.

But not to worry. I’ll find the perfect white paint yet. In fact, I’m almost there. Just a few more days.

Right…I’ll keep you posted.

Until the next time…I’ll be packing!

just put my life in a box, why don't you?

If it weren’t for the actual moving part, I think I might love to move. It’s exciting…like starting a grand adventure, where I get to decorate a new space. To pick out new colors and shop for all the accessories, spending money like it’s water and I’ve been walking through a desert, until my husband discovers what I’m up to and puts a stop to it right away! (Deep breath)

Well…I try to avoid detection, but he always catches on eventually.

But before I can get to the fun and exciting parts, I have to suffer through the not so fun or exciting parts. The actual moving part.

Mike and I spent the lion’s part of the day packing up everything in the pantry. I have no idea how I’d amassed such a large quantity of Rice A Roni…or when I was planning on cooking this stockpile of the San Francisco treat, but now that I’ve won the bet and I’m not cooking anymore, I’ll let someone else worry about that. Besides, it’s all packed now.

Once we’d made a dent in the pantry, Mike shifted his focus to packing up the books, and more than ten good-sized boxes later, they’re packed too. I’d like to say we’re well on our way to being done, but the truth is, we have a long way to go. Lucky for me we have three weeks to get it done.

If only I wasn’t a chronic procrastinator.

Until the next time…I’ll be packing!