We Shaved The Kitty!

I've always been wary of cats. When my husband suggested we get one, I balked. Cats are fluffy. I hate fluffy. When we had a chow mix, I personally shaved her to the "needs sunscreen" level every three weeks. My aversion to wooly textures causes me much squirming and hand washing.

If cats came with reptile skin and ornate bumpy patterns, I'd own a fifteen acre kitty farm. But, they don't, so adding one to our houshold two years ago was a big deal. I took baby steps. I started with LOLcats. Fifty pages of cute captioned cats melted my heart. I began to look for the perfect companion.

I found her at the Petsmart Adpot-A-Pet Giardia Center. Pearl, aged five, was not the loveliest cat, but she had extra toes, snaggly teeth and a sweet disposition. When I met her for the first time, she shed clumps and handfuls of white fur. The Animal Rescue staff assured me it was due to stress. She'd been at the center for months. I loved her. Instantly. She purred and rubbed on me, and I shook off the hair without thinking.

So, the cat my husband wanted became the cat my husband complained about. Kitty Pearl does not excel at grooming. I brush her, but I cannot tackle the dense fur on her bottom or poochy tummy. Every morning, cottony clouds of kitty fur breeze across our wooden floor.  I prefer to groom Pearl professionally, but it is expensive. Saturday morning, a cup and a half of kitty hair clumps greeted us.

My husband and I bickered over what to do. We settled on a butt and belly shave. Pearl was sweet and compliant through the whole process. Egor held her as I shaved off two quarts of hair. We removed the bulk of her problem fur.  When she sat or laid down, you could not tell she's been trimmed. Otherwise, she looked as if she sported a scruffy tutu.

This morning, we woke up to find the same quantity of fur littering the floor. Perplexed, my husband speculated that she must have a plastic bag of fur she scatters just to vex us.

Das Trampoline

We've been pulling our hair out, trying to figure out how to cope with killer baby! He skips naps and seems so wired in the evening. We decided to pick up a trampoline to give him an outlet for his energy. So we haul the red beast home from Toys 'r Us, assemble it...
 

 
 


..and it immediately becomes a home for his letters!

 I'm pleased to report that after a half an hour of organizing letters, he went on a jumping frenzy and seemed much calmer afterward!

Our First Snowman!!!

Here he is!!!

E spent the greater part of Tyoma's naptime making a snowman for him. I believe that this is the second snowman of our married life, and our first here in New Hampshire. I waited down by the our glass patio door to catch the little one's astonished reaction to the real life snowman that papa made for him:

"Meh!"
It seems that the amount of effort you put into delighting your child is inversely proportional to their actual delight! However, he was delighted with the beany-baby snowman that my mom sent to him:





Tyoma's sharing some chocolate cake!

Trashcan Explosion

neighborhood kids trash

First Spring in New Hampshire

Ahhh Spring!!!
Today, Egor's mom planted flowers, while I distributed the vibrantly dyed mulch favored in New England to to the flowerbeds. It's a shock to the system to see workers rapidly blowing swaths of orange-red mulch from the bellies of huge green trucks. It's like they're airbrushing people's landscaping with Pine-sol scented granola.
 
Yesterday, the moving company hauled off a garage full of debris. Most of the trash was from our move--459 folded boxes, 24 trash bags of wadded up wrapping paper, plus a box or two of stuff that we should have tossed in New Mexico.

But the former owners left their legacy of odd stuff behind for us to discard. Almost all of the window treatments were dumped, along with a gargantuan refrigerator-sized brass chandelier which we kept knocking our heads into. We rid ourselves of three big boxes full of tacky Patriots memorabilia, primarily window stickies and strange outdoor decor items such as Patriots football-shaped stepping stones and a Patriots garden gnome.

Initially, I assumed that they were out of their minds, imagining that the new owners would be thrilled to find Patriots welcome mats at every entrance. But in reality, moves are a bitch, and they probably thought, "Screw it, we're moving to Florida and we'll have to change teams anyway to get along with the neighbors, so bye-bye Patriots wind chimes!" Heh. So, here it is! Our debris-free, freshly mulched home!

Last Wheelbarrow Ride in Las Cruces

*sniff* It's hard saying goodbye. Tennisfiend will be leaving in two weeks for New Hampshire. For-ever. Goodbye first home!

Kitchen Kid

I broke down and babyproofed two-thirds of the kitchen today. The re-organizing helped to clear out some clutter and gives Tyoma a place to play while I cook. The unfortunate part of the re-organization is that I need to use the playpen to block off the kitchen segment where the stove is. The area is too wide for a portable gate and we won't be installing anything until we know more about our situation.

Air (Conditioner) Emergency!

You know those dramatic National Geographic Air Emergency programs--a shocking and tragic story about poor design, questionable maintenance and pilot error; all of which combine into a tragedy costing hundreds of lives? Well, here we have Air Conditioning Emergency.

The story begins--a cheap outdated swamp cooler, designed by goofballs, with parts supplied by unscrupulous internet-based companies. The technical crew responsible for adequate operation of the bleed-off valve (ehrr, me) neglects routine maintenance due to an industry culture rife with brain cramps. Leading up to the final crisis, the pilot (Egor) leaves the bleedoff valve on full throttle overnight. He believes that he is cleaning the system, when instead he is flushing calcium build-up into the water lines, leading to devastating and misleading water-line clogs.

The next morning the bleedoff valve is not working, leading the pilot to assume pump failure. The pilot replaces the pump with a speedier model, which only exacerbates the debris problem. Alerted by a seriously stinky house, the technician makes repeated trips to the roof, equipped with a pointy object to clear the line. The technician is sorta clumsy, tripping over additional support gear (garden hose) and handling the heavy, smelly pads causes additional heart palpitations and irritation.

The technician realizes that the pilot, should have replaced/cleaned the old filter basket when he replaced the pump, since unfiltered gunk jams the new filter and pipes. Her quest for an appropriate filter part finally lands her in the labyrinth that is the garage of Mom and Dad.

Armed with the pointy object and fresh filter basket, the technician heads to the roof for the fifth time. The house is smelling foul again, will she succeed? Will the house ever feel as fresh and clean as it did last night?! Can the technician cope with the conflicting suggestions of her well-meaning mother and the perplexed pilot?...... *commercial break*

Nah. The Technician did the best she could with the clogged lines, clearing them repeatedly. She had a half a glass of wine and attended to the fussy passenger squalling for yogurt and peaches in fussy-business class.

The house still smells bad. The pilot will need to disassemble the water distribution pipes and listen to the technician complain. Perhaps the outcome can still be inspirational and the crew can celebrate with a nice dinner. Stay tuned....

E.T.A. After receiving the above message in an email, the pilot not only left work early, but he also bought a new AC motor (so we don't have to hand-start the existing motor if the power fails like we did last week). The craft is working swell and the house smells like baking salmon and couscous...

Das Trench Becomes Das Landscaping Feature?

Well, it rained just enough on Das Trench to cause Das Erosion, so Tennisfiend took off some precious time from his US Open vigil to pick up some flagstones. For fifteen bucks, we received an impressive stack of rocks. As I watch TF embed the stones in the gravel lining Das Trench, I am skeptical. I suspect the rain will still wash away the gravel, leaving the stones looking sorta naked next to the bare landscaping fabric.

We shall see. Flagstones are always cool looking. I dug up two of out dying rosebushes and have great plans for those stones....

Das Trench

I haven't posted "The Final Straw" yet, but we are taking steps to eradicate our "drainage problem." Check this out:
 
 We haven't figured out exactly how the finished project will look, but we are doing what should have been done looong ago. Ewbliette told us that we could have sued the former owners for not telling us about the sunroom problem. Since we might well be selling our house soon, we refuse to leave the next owners in the same bind. I dare it to rain now!

The Contraption

To cope with the seasonal escalation of floods in the sunroom, Tennisfiend has devised The Contraption.

The contraption consists of an extra-large plastic trash can with a two-inch hole drilled on the bottommost side. Secured into the hole with silicone, a short length of pvc pipe is connected to a twenty foot length of remnant vinyl pool hose. The vinyl hose extends from the trash can and past the east and south sides of the house where it reconnects with a four foot length of pvc near the driveway. 

When it rains, The Contraption is swiftly positioned under the most problematic roof corner, to catch rainwater. Unfortunately, this position varies according to the intensity of the rain, often requiring numerous trips through one of the sunroom windows (the back door is taped shut during serious rainstorms) to place it correctly. The Contraption actually works just like it is supposed to, filling up with rain water which exits through the vinyl hose and is drained down the driveway. For the first several rainstorms, The Contraption worked quite well, but these were the insignificant storms of June, incomparable to the deluges of July and August.

The first big rainstorm revealed that to adequately transport the roof runoff to the driveway, we would need a Contraption about the size of a Ford Expedition. The Contraption was so swiftly overwhelmed by the flood that it floated away and had to be held in position with a broom stuck through a window until it filled with enough water to stay put. Tennisfiend and I were briefly at odds over how much of a difference it made, but frankly, when the water is two inches above the back door, the 39 gallons circulated by The Contraption is trivial.

Of course, the next day we considered gutters for the roof, even taking measurements with some optimism. Despite our sad financial situation, and possible move to another state, we will not leave the next owners of our house stuck with this problem, like the previous owners did to us. Unfortunately, we discovered that a downspout is required every thirty feet, which still doesn’t solve the flooding problem! We will keep you posted about our next genius plan.

Buttcracks and Bruises!

Back to posting pics. With the advent of hot weather, we've been wanting to introduce our wee one to the pool. So, compliments of Tanya, we are starting with baby steps, or rather a baby pool:




The plumber's butt is pretty obvious, but can you see the constellation of tiny bruises on baby? Much to my horror, the poor little devil has been knocking himself about the head and limbs trying to stand up.


 
Those stars look way too freakin' cheerful.

Sunroom Horrors

“Men should stop fighting amongst themselves and start fighting insects.”

—Biologist Luther Burbank

Spiders are creepy, black widows in particular are sinister, and nothing will whip me into an insecticidal frenzy like a thick, greasy trail of ants. Yet, I have recently become impervious to the horrors of creeping and crawling things. While Fontessa visited us, I spent thirty days sleeping in the sunroom.

The sunroom hosts six oversized and under-insulated windows, a leaky door to the backyard and the grand entrance for all living things with more than two legs—the dog door. The dog door combined with following my mother’s example of shunning pesticides has made our sunroom a resort for the six and eight-legged crowd. I never thought much of the scattered insect carcasses in the sunroom until I began sleeping in the room itself.

When I arose in the mornings, a collection of black, lifeless rice-size bugs speckled the sheets. Initially I was alarmed, assuming the tiny bugs were mouse droppings. But their daily accumulations soon made their appearance mundane.

 

An incident with a scorpion occurred during the full moon. From the corner of my eye, I saw it scrabble from Misty’s water bowl to the middle of the room. I stealthily fetched the dust mop to whisk it safely out the back door, but my efforts were useless. After a brief, squeal-inducing excursion over my left little toe, I mashed it repeatedly before it could scramble for the safety of the adjoining library.

 

The sun spider episode required husband intervention. Sun spiders are big, gangly devils that move like the wind. I’m not certain if they are poisonous, but they certainly look deadly. Anyway, a four inch sun spider zigzagged across the sunroom floor while I tried to coax it out the back door with said dust mop. It whizzed up a wall, I smacked at it and it fell on me. I shrieked. And if sun spiders could shriek, I am certain it shrieked too.

Tennisfiend removed it with a tissue. Brrrr. Another night as I read in bed, a rather largish wolf spider skittered up the side of the bed, over the blanket covering my knees and stopped mid-mattress, as if to contemplate  the mystery of not making me scream aloud. He then dashed away to the wall where he disappeared behind some blinds. I laughed. I was becoming tougher. When he returned three days later for the same sojourn and vanished under the mattress, I rescued the little bugger from certain squashing, liberating him in the garage. Go figure.The above image is from Wayne’s World. Click for a larger image. I dare you.

Cactus Garden

Yep, it's that time of year again! My favorite cacti are blooming!



These blossoms are the size of tea cups!





A slightly wider shot.




It's difficult to see, but a total of five cacti are blooming.




Photo by Fontessa. Scan by Wonderwarthog.

Despite a difficult winter, I still babied my favorite specimens, covering them up like children on cold nights and giving them plenty of food, sunshine and water during the day. Unfortunately, I was less attentive to my cactus family portraits, but you get the idea.

Some Garden Pictures

Fontessa took some phots of our garden to show off to the folks in Moscow:


I think these are "Love" roses or perhaps the hardy "Lincoln." My favorite!



Yep. The nearly indestructable "Peace" rose stuggles to survive. I am not much of a Rosefiend.



A variety of blue sage that Fontessa was much enamoured with.

Move to the Sunroom

Heh. My all-consuming passion, the project of pimping out the bedroom is complete. Then what happens? I move back in with my dear husband for three nights only to have three major problems arise:

1. Sleeping with the baby monitor disrupts our sleep. Tennisfiend doesn't like to be woken up by random squalls from the baby and I can't sleep soundly while I subconsciously waiting for baby to wake to prevent TF from being disturbed. 
2. We are both so accustomed to having more sleeping space that we crowd each other. My sweet husband is an angel in his waking hours, but at night, he is the bed hog from hell. 
3. Before my pregnancy, hip problems were never recurrent. Now, my pelvis is more particular. The cramped and worn bed causes lingering aches and pains.

How do I solve this problem? I inflate our camping air mattress and place it in our sun room. With my superfluous supply of pillows, plus the lovely ones that Fontessa made me, it looks like this:




Very pretty and surprisingly comfy! I love sleeping between a big bookshelf and sunny windows. :D

Another angle since I am so proud of my camera.

Couldn't Help Myself

I'm feeling a less anxious now, so I'm enjoying some time outside with my little supervisor. Gardening at last seems like a realistic pursuit. I couldn't help but post the full size pic since Tyoma is so adorable!  I seem to have little time or mental energy for long posts, so this will be the blog for now.

We Broke the Bed!

It is not what you think! Exhausted, Tennisfiend dramatically flopped down heavily on my bed in the nursery. This melodramatic gesture was accompanied by a loud THUNK, which was the back of Ewbliette's bed breaking. We stuffed some wood blocks under it for support and although it creaks, it's functional. I'm thinking of putting it on the floor tomorrow.

Black Widow Nursey

I haven't finished this entry yet, but it's all about how 500 baby black widow spiders hatched in our sunroom.

No E for Me

Forgive me while I catch up a bit.

A few disappointments on Friday left me feeling a bit depleted. First, E was indefinitely delayed in Casper. He would not be home until after the weekend. I was dejected, especially since I had officially began to Really Miss Him the night before. Then my car stereo began to act up. Driving without a soundtrack is simply not as much fun. To add to my woes, the digital cable installed on Thursday worked for only one channel. My frantic four-fifteen phonecall was fortunately acknowledged and a cable guy brought me a new box before they closed for the weekend.

I wrestled with the new cable system briefly, but the sheer number of stations overwhelmed me, so I put on a DVD. This feeling was reminiscent of my first visit to a Super Wal-Mart. The lights were bright enough to be dazzling, and the rows of goods seemed to never end. I was so stunned by the possibility of what I could buy that I could not actually put anything in my cart. These days I am quite friendly with our local Superstore. Hence, I’m optimistic about digital cable, especially since I discovered that Willard is in heavy rotation on the Encore Mystery channel.

Saturday I visited with the folks. Dad chatted jovially with me about our shared enthusiasm for graphic artists from the seventies. He sent me home with the graphic novel Pigeons from Hell, beautifully adapted by Scott Hampton and with an introduction by Ramsey Campbell. Lucky me! Mom eagerly related her adventures in computer shopping, inundating me with technical jargon and complex buying strategies. Despite her Dell Computer Mania, I was grateful that she was still Mom enough to send me home with some food--I had been subsisting on Cheerios and rice milk for most of the week.

In the evening, I fiddled some more with the digital cable, exclaiming “Wow!” and "Gee!" at irregular intervals. Despite the nifty selection of movies, I wound up glued to the computer until it was time for Saturday Night Live. Since last season was rather poor, I was morbidly curious about this season’s premiere. My already low expectations prevented disappointment. After fifteen minutes of watching, I was astonished to find myself strangely attracted to the host, Steve Corell. His elegant suit and well-groomed appearance certainly reminded me of E. I was so disconcerted that I popped off the TV and spent the next few hours back on the internet (not googling Corell once, mind you).