The flames!!

This is one of the new things I've discovered on my house after a month of "official home ownership".

I'm intrigued and terrified all in one. Should I be truly concerned about being engulfed in flames by my water heater? (At least, I think it's my water heater...still trying to work the specifics out.) I feel like the person should have a little speech bubble with "Aieeeee!" to really capture the essence of the moment. Am I allowed to draw on my own water heater, or does that void some sort of warranty? Also, how do I get a job illustrating all the horrible shit that could go wrong on items? I feel like I would do a real bang up job at it. In fact, this post is to be continued!

Who moved the lightswitches?

Does anyone really enjoy moving? I'm not sure I completely minded it up until recently. Having to move my office location twice in a year turned me off of it. Aside from the obvious issues of packing and unpacking, there's always that sickening realization that I have way more shit than I ever could need. I'm trying to take it slow and organize as I pack. I have the pile for charity and garbage bags ready. But, jeez, how many different types of lotion does one person need? If I throw one out, I'll be looking for it in a year. It never fails.

After the packing and unpacking is finally finished, there still is the unfamiliarity of the new digs. I can't find light switches, and when I do I'm not sure which turns on what. I don't know where I put my dishes. The sounds here are different than my old place (one of which is Peanut rolling out of bed. He has to get used to the new set up as well.)

The comforting fact is that this is the last time we're moving. I'm just looking forward to be completely moved in and settled.

The newest members of the clan

I've been keeping this mute because...well, I don't know. I'm an odd type I guess.

When we lost Pez, we lost a member of the family. I was torn between missing having a cat around and not wanting to "replace" him. The husband had threatened to bring home a cat to get rid of the mice that moved in the second that Pez was gone, but he wouldn't really do that until he knew I was ready. Even if I was ready, I didn't want to rush Phoenix into another cat situation until he was ready as well. Then the day came when he said he wanted another cat, so I decided to entertain the idea. I've heard some people go years without getting another pet after losing one, and others who get one immediately to help with the healing process. I tend to gravitate towards the latter, but not so immediately. I need a bit of time to get my bearings first.

My friend Emily let me know that she had some kittens available for adoption. We took the family up to an adoption event that weekend to possibly pick one out. Note that I said one and yet the title of this post is "members". Yep.

We met two kittens - litter-mates, brother and sister. Phoenix picked up the boy, Colt, and said he made his choice. Peanut picked up the girl, Fawn - later to be renamed Zoey, and said he wanted her. I stood there like a deer in headlights. Both kids had lost a cat just 2 months early; how could I possibly say which one was going to be their new cat and risk the other one feeling cheated? One of the volunteers mentioned at that moment that there is a discount with 2 cats. The husband was for it immediately, but all I could think of was "I'm already at my pet limit. How the HELL do I hide two cats??" Eventually, I yielded and decided not to separate the two. They needed each other as much as we needed them.

The integration into the family was almost seamless. Bella, while interested in the new creatures in her house, essentially shrugged it off. She'll cuddle with them on her bed, but growl if they get too close to whatever she's chewing on. Juliet on the other hand is enamored by the kittens. She spent that first day with her head under the couch, tail wagging, just staring at them. She plays with them and they with her. Zoey will cuddle with her and Colt will rub up against her. I'm almost certain that Juliet thinks the cats are hers. The first time I've heard Juliet growl at Bella involved Juliet standing by the cats. She's not the alpha dog, so even she looked shocked that the growl came from her, but she loves those cats!

Zoey (left) and Colt (right)

The Happy Ending

A week later and I'm finally sitting down to finish up the house tale. Priorities, you know? The signing went faster than I expected, but the entire time I was fighting off the urge to get sick. It wasn't buyers remorse or anything like that, just this ridiculous fear that it would be snatched away at the last minute. It wasn't, of course. Afterwards, we brought the kids and the dogs to check out the new digs. Juliet even helped christen the yard, which was surprising considering that dog's hangups about where she relieves herself. (I'm not kidding - it took her a year to feel comfortable enough to go at the dog park and she never goes on walks. Leave it to me to have a dog with mental hangups.)

The last couple days have been all about the painting. Phoenix has opted to not paint his room, which is fine by me, but Peanut has gone with a yellow and blue color scheme for his room. Honestly, I think it was because the yellow color was named "banana split". We all chipped in with painting, but the husband is making awesome progress on his own. I think he actually gets more done without the rest of us pitching in. One thing I've learned is that painting and carpal tunnel most definitely do not get along. After our first day painting, my hands were incredibly sore and swollen for about 2-3 days, which makes my day job a bit more difficult to do. I can't help it though; I really enjoy working on my house.

MY house. That still sounds so surreal to me. I filled out a form today and could check the "Own" box instead of "Rent" and giggled with delight; the little things like that just tickle me right now. It's so awesome to have met this goal already.

Countdown Time

It's happening. In a few hours, I will be a homeowner. I could barely sleep last night due to the excitement. I'm trying to remain cool and calm and not think about all the things I need to do between now and moving day, but it's not easy.

The other day, I was remembering my feelings a few years ago - that we just would never have a house, or at least not until Phoenix was graduated from high school. I felt so down that my kids would have a house that they grew up in but various memories of places we rented. This is almost surreal to me at this point. I may get emotional at some point.

The Tipping Point

Friday began as cluster-effy as a Friday could be. Our house-to-be is in a flood plane - a hundred year flood plane, but a flood plane nonetheless. This requires a flood insurance premium which is all handled by FEMA or some such shit. Personally, I think FEMA is still sore about that whole Hurricane Katrina thing, because the rates just don't seem reasonable. Still, it's required, so I had to suck it up, go on a field trip Friday morning and drop off a check. When I finally got to work, I barely had enough time to settle down before running off to a meeting. When that was over, I was off to a doctor appointment.

Sigh. That damn appointment.

To be honest, it wasn't the appointment so much as the scale involved during the appointment. I hopped up on it, completely oblivious to what I was in store for: I had gained weight. Not a pound or two, but about 15. My eyes bugged out of my skull. I felt a crash of emotions that went from "I'm sad for me" to "I'm positively disgusted with myself". Naturally, my blood pressure was up afterwards. They really need to take it before the weigh-in. As I sat down with my doc, I admitted that I had not been eating healthy nor had I been exercising regularly (although I had just started back up that week). It would seem I was letting the whole home buying stress get the best of me in the disguise of donuts and overpriced fancy coffees. Normally, I would respond to such a personal failure by locking myself up for the weekend and having a pity party for myself. And I did have a pity party, but only for the time it took me to get back to work. I knew I had no one to blame but myself. So from that moment I made changes. No more sodas. No more crap food. Lots of vegetables. And I haven't missed a day exercising. I feel better, on a very basic level. I just hope that I won't require yet another wake up call to get my shit straight, cause this is already the fourth one, and frankly, I'm tired of needing one.