Pictures tonight, words tomorrow

In order below:

Mike and me with one of the four striper I caught.
Crazy cliff diving kids.
Mike trying to do a shore start from the back of the houseboat (unsuccessfully).
Obligatory Lake Powell scenery.

Going with the flow

I'm still getting used to the logistics of belonging to a big family. Thinking in terms of six people when me, Mike and the kids are all together. And thinking in terms of two dozen +/- when the whole clan of sibs, their kids and grandma Sue are together. It's always a little crazy. Like when we were trying to figure out which of the three hotel rooms Mike and I would be sleeping in and with which roommates last night.

So I'm trying to go with the flow--something that I'm not very good at. I'm a planner. That doesn't always work well, whether it's the large group of people or the things that come up unexpectedly--something seems to gum up the plans one way or another.

So I'm practicing this flow thing. The flow currently has Mike taking Brad to an urgent care clinic to get his raging sore throat looked at, me having to roust the girls out of bed and have them ready by checkout time, and hoping that Mike and Brad get back before noon with the car so we have a place to put our 13 bags and the waterski. Oh, and figure out what we're doing for breakfast, now that the hotel's complimentary breakfast is shut down and there's only one place within walking distance.

Yup, the fun starts as soon as I'm out of the shower.

I Spy Chris Sligh

Actually, 17 and 14 saw the Season 6 American Idol contestant in a booth at Crown Burger in SLC this afternoon. It was 17's first Star Sighting. We teased them to ask for his autograph or ask him to serenade our table, but they didn't want to.

Since lunch for all six of us took three trays to deliver, we all walked by several times and peeked at him some more. Must be weird to have all these strangers looky-looing while you're trying to eat lunch.

After that excitement, we checked into our hotel and 20, 18, 17 and 14 all promptly fell asleep. Mike is in an adjoining room grading papers. I'm checking email and catching up on blogging; when I'm done, 14 (now awake) wants to use the computer. Then whoever is game will head to DI and REI with us to pick up some last-minute stuff and some throat soothing stuff for 18, who's feeling poorly.

Before that, however, yours truly is in need of a nap herself. With a tummy full of bacon cheese Crown Burger, fries and fry sauce, sleep won't be hard to chase down. Waking up again, that will be the bitch.

Skip the parting gifts, please!

We're gearing up to leave town. I have to pack still. Mike's revising a journal submission which I will proofread when he's finished. The cat sitter had her orientation tonight and (bless her) says she'll come twice a day (!) because we're on her way to work and why not keep the kitties on their regular feeding schedule?

Cosby was dropped off at the Pet Motel. He's been cornering PK and jumping him lately, so we couldn't leave them alone together.

The girls went into their room tonight and 14 discovered that one of the cats (probably Belita) had pooped in her duffel bag and there was a puddle of pee on top of a plastic bag on the floor. Last visit, we recommended they keep their bedroom door shut and didn't remind them this time. Plenty of access and opportunity.

All I can say is I'm DAMN glad we found it tonight--in time to wash everything that was sullied. 14 was grossed out, but a good sport, considering. Add several loads of laundry to the To Do list tonight and keep those bedroom doors closed!

Eleventh Hour Update

One more day in TX and we're off on holiday to Utard.

The haircut is sucking less. Almost everyone who's seen it has told me it's cute; can that many people be wrong? I bumped into Santos the other night while doing my Valley Girl column and he gave me a big old hug and I thought to myself, "Yeah, I've almost forgiven you."

I hung out with the stepdaughters 14 & 17 while Mike taught his weekend seminar. Saturday the girls slept until well after noon. When I got back from running errands for the trip, I took us out to get pedicures. Figured if our feet were going to be visible, why not have them look good?

After that, we trekked over to the outlet mall and met my friend, Minerva, there. I picked up 2 long sleeved T-shirts for Powell coverups and a pair of Sketchers I've been coveting that finally went on sale.

We went out for Mexican food one night and I made chicken pot pie another to use up most of the leftovers. Caught The Simpsons movie. Totally fun. Loved Homer's comments on the way into church and when disaster strikes, the folks at the church running into the bar and vice versa.

I have one more day to tie up loose ends at the office, get something together for the Sunstone session I'm moderating, orient the new cat/house sitter, and oh, PACK. Which I haven't begun to do yet.

WOn't have cell coverage or Internet access the first week we're gone--so it will be a true vacation. Hoping to do some fun reading and play in the sun without getting burned as red as the Lake Powell rocks. Wish me luck.

Valley of Bad Haircuts

Saturday, I get a bee in my bonnet for a haircut before we go to Lake Powell. I had scoped out a salon/stylist who seemed like a good bet--takes time to chat with each client, works with their hair's natural tendencies and is all for low-maintenance, stylish cuts. I called and there was an opening Saturday afternoon.

I took a seat in the cramped waiting area and grabbed a couple of magazines. Initially, I was looking for a more stylish bob than the shoulder-length one I had on, but I also found a cute shorter cut I liked.

When Santos sat me down for the pre-cut consultation, I showed him the bobs first and the shorter cut--maybe for down the road. He showed me another cut that was between the bob and the shorter cut. He was all excited about this chin length cut--I have the face shape for it, it would look great, etc. So I agreed to go for the shorter cut thinking it was more medium than short.

Well, guess what? On my first go with a new stylist, I should have gone with my original intentions to just update the bob.

This is what it looked like when I left the salon yesterday:




And this is what it looked like today, sans product and me NOT blow drying it for an HOUR.




It's low maintenance, but it's almost as bad as the stupid Chachi haircut I got in 1999 when I couldn't get in to see David the Hair God.

Which begs the question: Will I have to go back to Cali EVERY TIME I want a decent haircut?

Week In Review

We started off the week with a thunder/lightening/rain storm Monday. The storm parked over central McAllen and dumped 4-5 inches of rain just in time for the morning commute.

We took the Pathfinder instead of the lower-slung Honda and Toyota minivan and drove it through two massively flooded intersections before cutting over to another northbound road. Two SUVs had skidded off the road into a church marquee, but otherwise the route was clear and without flooding. A mile or so west of us, a tornado kicked ass on some buildings, ripping off roofs and facades for a couple of blocks.

Tuesday is kind of a blank. More rain. I sent out my second run of reports Wednesday, which will be due the week after I get back from vacation and will give me one week to make sure all the corrections have been made. Awkward timing, but it couldn't be helped.Wednesday evening brought another torrent just after we pulled into the driveway after work.

All this rain is even cooling things down. Into the 80s, that is. I'm not accustomed to summer rainstorms and keep getting caught at work sans umbrella and with weather inappropriate footwear.

Thursday night, the book group came over and we picked some upcoming selections more demanding than this month's Harriet the Spy. (I love Harriet, but I could really go for something more challenging). As with previous months, I coordinated the refreshments with the book, which left me with the options of cake and milk or tomato sandwiches. I opted for bruschetta and a sun dried tomato and feta spread instead.

Today was an improvement over last Friday. Mike got caught up in a long conference call, so I walked laps around his building and talked to his mom. She filled me in on some Lake Powell details that were helpful.

We came home for a quick bite then went to Barnes & Noble. On the night before/of the Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows release. Whoops. It was a madhouse--in-store promotions, photo ops with characters, crafts, adults, kids dressed in character garb and a teenage boy with shoulder length red hair who looked like he could easily be a Weasley.

I saw one girl with an irreverent Harry hearts Ron T shirt on. Underneath it read "Roommates for 7 years. It was bound to happen." That's one alternative ending I haven't heard bandied around before.

My copy of HP should arrive via UPS tomorrow--the perfect present for our paper anniversary on Sunday! Yup, a whole year of married life under our belts. Doesn't seem like that long.

Friday the 13th

Typically, no hiccups. But today? A different story.

Twas the Day of Unpleasant Discoveries at work. Painfully slow computer. Compliance officer suggests a process change for updating my database. I CANNOT wrap my head around what he's asking me to do or why the new method is preferable to what I'm doing.

Accounting director is out today. Labor Distribution/Correction Goddess is taking a late lunch. I took a walk w/my supervisor (who saw I was distressed) and we tried to figure out the data runs and how we can get accounting people to verify the changes are made in Oracle. Instead of ME.

By then, I was Too Far Gone to be of much use. And while my day is imploding over corrections to fall's reports, I'm supposed to be prepping to run Spring reports to distribute next week. Gah. Supervisor shoos me home, so I gratefully grab my keys and leave.

I pull into the driveway, grab my stuff and check the mailbox. Out of the corner of my eye, I see something flying toward me. A bee. I wave it away with Mike's bank statement (successfully, I think) but it regroups, flies back at me and lands on my back.

I run into the garage and try to use the reflection in the Pathfinder's windows to scrape it off me. I twitch and wiggle and realize: I don't want to be IN the garage with an angry bee,do I? So I drop my bags and run back outside to check the bee in the mini van's windows. The little bugger is STILL ATTACHED to my shoulder and making progress toward my bare neck.

Of course, I completely lose it.

The meltdown I'd been trying to fight back all afternoon can no longer be contained. I shut the garage door because I don't want anyone to SEE me in full-on hysterics. I tear down the hall to the bathroom to see if the bee is still on me. I don't see it, but I'm so wound up I can't stop wailing.

I strip and hope the bee isn't in my tangled hair. I blow my nose and take a few deep breaths. Feed the cats who have been pacing hungrily since my contorted, shrieking arrival. And go to bed for a few hours.

And wake up to blog about it.

My First 39th Birthday

I hear thousands of couples got married on my birthday, thinking the luck imparted by marrying on 7/7 would bolster their love and commitment. If nothing else, it makes their anniversary easy to remember.

The girls were here for a week, so they came along on all the birthday fun, which included:

• First shift at the ward service project, painting Peggy's house inside and out
• Surprising me with batches of cupcakes and milk and rounding up all the toilers to sing Happy Birthday
• A quick lunch at Subway while we were sweaty and paint-covered
• Cleaning up so we could go to dinner at the good Chinese buffet
• Catching a performance of The Fantasticks--my all time favorite play--at the university
• Heading home for cake, ice cream and presents

We also had a celebration at the office Friday. My supervisor and I have the same birthday, and three other women in the office have birthdays within a few days of each other. So we went to lunch (Mexican buffet) and had strawberry tres leches cake (totally snagged the recipe).

I wasn't sure what to expect my first birthday away from home and family, but it pretty well rocked. Friends sent cards and lovely gifts.

Mom sent me a sumptuously decorated jewelry box and the original setting to my grandmother's wedding ring, thinking I could have it refashioned into a wedding band. I'm a sentimental boob, so I'm thinking of getting it set with another stone so I can wear it and think of Grammy.

Coming soon: highlights from the step kids' visit

Let's go on an Update!

It's Tuesday. We had a second day of thunderstorms and torrential rain midday. Coming from So Cal, I'm not used to summer rainstorms or being mindful of whether I've chosen weather appropriate footwear.

Thankfully, it cleared up by the time we had to drive to Harlingen to pick up the girls. Seventeen and 14 are here for a week's visit. They arrived hungry, so we drove around trying to find a pizza place.

I'm not that familiar with Harlingen and ended up driving the wrong way on a one-way street. When I realized there were nothing but headlights coming at me, I dropped the F-bomb and pulled over until the traffic cleared and I could turn around and beat it out of there.

Mike started calling me a potty mouth (thanks, kettle). I'm afraid it will be one of Those Moments I Will Never Live Down, like going to a choir rehearsal with curlers in my hair so I could change in the bathroom and drive to Claremont for graduation. Eight years later, I still have people reminding me about that.

After the world's slowest service at Pizza Hut (and sitting next to a mom who made me want to call CPS), we drove home. The new kitties trotted out to greet us. Cosby and Belita are a big hit with the girls--cuddly whereas PK is not. We still had to break out the squirt bottle for a few dust-ups between Bel & Cos, but overall the family felines are getting along better.

We also bought a couple of new gummy hands to replace the one Cosby chewed to bits. The green one lasted less than two hours after installation. The pink one we put up tonight has fared better--but only because Cosby is locked up for the night.

The rain brought an influx of winged antlike insects in the guest bathroom. If they're termites (entirely possible), this would rearrange our home improvement priorities for the summer. Reupholstering the clashing flowered wing chairs will have to wait.

Feline Trifecta

Here they are: all three kitties in one room not killing each other.

Sadly, the collegiality is short-lived. If Cosby isn't picking fights with the other two, PK and Belita fight with each other while Cosby is confined. Sigh, three is more work than two.


There is one thing they all agree on (besides chorusing to be fed): the stretchy gummy hand one of the kids left behind makes a great cat toy.






We hung it on the utility room doorknob for all to enjoy. Cosby would bat it around, then grab the hand in his mouth and back up as far as he could stretch it (about 6 feet into the dining room). Then he would gnaw on it until his grip loosened and it would snap back to the door with a resounding whack.


After a few entertaining nights of this, he gnawed the hand off. Mike tied a Beanie Baby to the stretchy stump and Cosby gnawed that off, too. Now he'll bat at the remaining four-inch stump, but it's not as fun. Which means a trip to the Evil Store (WalMart) to restock.

Texplanations

Last Saturday, the Ward toiled again at Peggy's house. The fellows were outside in the rain scraping paint and the women/youth were inside painting. I ended up pulling ceiling duty. I pooped out by the time they got to the fourth room, so I only did a little stripe of paint in there.

We ended up taking a young guy and his ladder home. He grew up in the area and is headed to grad school and eventually for work on a Navy submarine. I kidded him about getting as far away from the RGV as possible. He laughed, but didn't confirm or deny.

So far, he offered the best explanation/description of this part of the world: The RGV is not Mexico, but it's barely Texas. And that the RGV is what Mexico would look like if the U.S. invaded and solved all its problems.

To which I would add, this is what Reynosa would be like if it had better shopping, slightly better drivers and four Applebees.

Since Mike and I carpool to work most days, we've seen a lot of the RGV's bad drivers on their way to work. My biggest peeve is the kamikaze/ill advised left turn, especially when a driver noses out of the Stripes/Vallero parking lot through stopped traffic on one side of the road to get to the median to complete the turn. My next biggest peeve would be median drivers. Every time I want to make a left turn, I have to check for drivers barreling down the median at 45 mph before I can safely enter to make a turn.

Mike's biggest peeve: the aggressive, high speed lane changes made by folks who, for all their efforts to get ahead of cars going the speed limit, end up waiting at the same stoplight with everyone they passed.

Those assholes don't peeve me as much as scare me. I'm actually more scared of drivers here than of Los Angeles drivers, LA freeway shootings, street racing, overpass rock droppers and some unpredictable Asian drivers notwithstanding.

The Eyes Have It

It being pinkeye. Blech!

I woke up Monday morning with a left eye that looked like it had been on a three-day bender. I applied Visine last night with no discernible effect, so this morning I started calling doctors. Seven doctors, in fact, before finding one whose number wasn't disconnected, who wasn't a surgical specialist, who wasn't out of town, who wasn't already booked solid for weeks.

I've been feelin' poorly the last couple of days, too, so the Dr. wrote me a note to stay home from work until Monday. I don't know if I'll be out that long, but it's nice to have the option. Given all the things I need to do this week (step kids arrive next Tuesday), it's not a bad time to be out. I dragged a couple of thick policy manuals home with me so perhaps we can call this respite "working from home."

I don't know where or when I got exposed to the dreaded pinkeye. Church, maybe? It's the largest concentration of people I'm ever around at once. Dr. said it can take up to a week to show up after being exposed.

I just hope I won't be felling others at the office.

Wish We'd Known Sooner

Mike and I had one of those NPR driveway moments tonight--you know, when you get home but are too engrossed in the story to turn off the radio?

This was maybe a two-minute piece on adding cats to your household. The vet/narrator explained that if you want a mainly trouble-free household, just have one cat.

If you have two cats, be prepared that they might not always get along, even if they're reared together from kittenhood.

And if you have three cats, the vet said to be prepared for increased "inappropriate elimination" and/or urine spraying.

Check.

Wish we'd known that three weeks ago.

Alas, Poor Uric

We've discovered two kitty accident sites in the past week--one on Saturday when I found ancient turds and recent urine in the spare room closet and and a pee puddle on the seat of Mike's TV watching bean bag thingy from his bachelor days.

We aren't sure which cat is responsible for the latter, which makes evasive/corrective action that much more difficult. Belita has peed outside the box before. So has PK, but his accidents seem to be directly related to the cleanliness of the litter box.

PK never had litter box misses until we moved here, which makes Belita look like the likeliest culprit for last night's unpleasant discovery. And if she's pissed (pun intended) about having a new sibling, this could get increasingly destructive.

We haven't let the other kitties mingle much with Cosby. These latest discoveries will likely draw out the introduction process even more. Was hoping we would be able to leave them alone together by the time we leave on vacation in July, but I'm not sure where we'll be by then. Cosby can be pretty destructive to papers and he keeps overturning his water dish. Sigh.

Star Struck

After an impromptu status meeting with the Provost this afternoon, my supervisor and I waited for the elevator to whisk us back to ground level.

When the doors slid open to admit us, I did a double take. There stood the president of UTPA. My supervisor greeted her and introduced me and explained I was the person keeping the time and effort process on track (with a 94% return rate as of this afternoon, thank you very much!)

The president smiled and said "Oh, I've heard about you!" My supervisor gushed about how well I've handled things so far, so I assume the president has heard good things.

I got all star struck at the notion that the university president had heard about little old me. My supervisor said my work would have visibility; I just didn't know it was that visible.

Hoping this means the outstanding 6% of the certifications will come back by tomorrow afternoon.

Buggin'

Spring has sprung in the RGV and this means the insects are in the house. Literally.

I've found silverfish in the cats' water dish, ants in both bathrooms, winged ants which stormed the living room en masse after a rain shower, fruit flies hovering around the to-compost pile and the dreaded roaches, most recently discovered in our closet. Ugh.

We came back from an overnight to Corpus Christi and found three dead roaches in the living room and kitchen. This shreds my theory that if I don't SEE roaches, they aren't really there. At least I have a good set of hunting cats to keep the indoor population out of sight/out of mind.

Spring means a lot of creepy crawlies outdoors, too. Like the massive caterpillar chowing on our lemon tree, an orb-weaving spider that looks like a spiky black crustacean. And the ants. I don't go looking for them, but lordy, do they ever find me.

A few weeks ago, I was trimming some brush along the back fence when I felt the first sting. I look down and my shoes, socks and cropped yoga pant legs are covered with ants. I started stomp dancing around to dislodge them but got a few more bites before the end of the dance-off.

Later, I unwittingly stepped on another nest while watering and ended up with six bites on my left leg and two on my right. Ant bites itch and eventually blister, turn a vivid scarlet on my gringa skin and take upwards of three weeks to heal. Oh, and they look ever so attractive when I wear a skirt, too.

So I'm spraying up before I leave the house every day and wishing there was something that effectively repelled the little blood-vacs that smells less chemical. Sigh.

Settling In, So To Speak

Things have calmed down a bit at the office. We're slaying errors, having meetings and generally getting a handle on how the process will work for spring semester (which just ended and needs certifying).

Our move to the third floor is on hold. Most of the furniture is out of storage and arranged in the new space, but there's no wall/door in the are where I am likely to sit; until we can secure the area, it doesn't make sense to move. And my supervisor said if we move before the wall is built, they won't do it.

Meanwhile, I'm getting used to campus practices and quirks. Like the relentless use of "ma'am" in the workplace. I don't know whether it's a Southern politeness thing, a deference to the gringas thing or both.

You know how you pick up expressions and speech patterns from friends? If I hear it constantly, how long before I start "ma'am-ing" people around me? Perhaps that will be around the same time I start answering people's questions in Spanglish.

None of the gringas in our office are fluent in Spanish. I've never said how much (or how little) Spanish I speak, so I'm not really included in the conversations the native speakers carry on. They go too fast for me to pick out more than a few words, pero since I hear them mixing Spanish and English I'm sure it's only a matter of time before I start doing the same--albeit con my pequeño vocabulary.

The other fun thing is trying to pronounce all the Spanish surnames. My tongue gets tied up over Guajardo; I want to say it right but I don't want to sound like I'm straining to enunciate, so I end up getting it mostly right if a little mumbly.

At least I don't mangle names as badly as the university's voice mail system. It flattens all the music out of Spanish names. Take Alicia Villareal. Properly said, it should come out like Ah-lee-cee-ah Vi-ya-rey-ahl. But the voice mail system asks me if I want to leave a message for A-li si-ah Vil-la-ree-al and puts the stress on all the wrong syllables.

I have fantasies of chiming into a conversation with impeccable Spanish, surprising my colleagues (and making them wonder how much I understood all along, although I'm fairly sure they don't say much about me. Then I remember that in Spanish, I have the linguistic prowess of a four-year-old and they'd have to be asking where I live, what my name is or where's the nearest toilet for my fantasy to play out as imagined.

Crew Shot

One of the worker bees took pictures at Saturday's service project. Homeowner Peggy is in the purple shirt kneeling on the front row of the big group shot. I won't identify anyone else to preserve the privacy of those described in unflattering terms in previous posts about my weird ward.

It's a toothsome little cottage. The bottom pic is the "before" shot; we scraped all the popcorn crap off the ceiling and found rich, dark hardwood under the cream colored paint.

_____________ Dominion

As a service project, the ward has decided to rehab my friend/VT partner Peggy's house; today was the kickoff.

The menfolk did yard work, cleared brush, trimmed trees and scraped paint off the front porch. Next week, they'll take down the listing brick facade. The women were inside on ladders wetting the ceiling and scraping that popcorn crap off the ceiling. (It was so easy, it got me psyched to scrape the popcorn crap off OUR ceilings!)

After the ceilings were done, I chipped at a corner of paint on the mantel and discovered the top layer peeled off rather easily. I scraped further and found a layer of wood grain contact paper, which also pulled off in sheets. Under that was a coat of mustard yellow paint, and below: the original 1920s hardwood.

At the same time, some other women were scraping the paint off the woodwork and hit hardwood, too. The RS pres & others got all excited and wanted to strip all the wood and leave it exposed. They'll have to scrape whether they paint the wood again or not, so why not rehab the wood to add value?

Restoring the woodwork went beyond the original scope of work the ward planned to pay for. The ceiling scrape revealed more areas that need new drywall, too, and that will cost more. The RS Pres also has designs on redoing the hardwood floors once the walls are done and the carpet's up. Scrape a couple of ceilings and we all turn into Ty Pennington.

The bishop walked into the house and overheard our Woodwork Fever and He. Freaked. Out. Went all Nazi/authoritarian on everyone: This is for The Bishop to decide! (along with Sister Peggy, he allowed). Additional work HAS to be approved by The Bishop!

The bishop actually told Peggy, the RS Pres and a handful of nearby women NOT TO TALK TO EACH OTHER while he dragged the contractor guy into the bedroom to discuss the additional work. When they emerged after sorting it out Man to Man, the bishop dragged the RS Pres off to sit in the cab of his truck for 15 minutes, I supposed to rein her in on the creeping scope of work.

Despite my bitching, there are some good-hearted folks in this ward. At our high point, there were 30 people working on the house and yard. But the sudden transformation of the bishop, from mild mannered to throwing his weight around as reigning ecclesiastical authority was nothing short of WEIRD. In fact, maybe I'll start calling it that: McAllen First Weird.