Yesterday was another one of those banner days. My husband is still doing renovations. We both are, but usually not together without the threat of physical violence. (we work at two different speeds)
So, husband is busy in daughter's room. The same small room he's been working on for months, and I'm taking a break from cooking dinner by dancing with my son. I'm showing him "big band dancing" so it's quite a disaster since I am neither agile nor willing to be serious.
Husband comes out, looks at timer on stove, and sits in his chair. As if this will rush the cooking process along. As if I will wave my wand and say, "Oh, 9 minutes? Piffel. I shall serve fully cooked meat and side dishes now!"
Then I hear the familiar annoying buzz of a phone that's been left off the hook. I check on the vegetables and shout, "Cooking here! Someone needs to find the phone and hang it up." Hubby just sits there so my obliging son begins to look. Of course, son's sense of direction is just as good as his hearing so he doesn't find it. I am now slicing meat, husband gets up, finds phone UNDERNEATH my pug dog, and says, "Oh my God, the last number called on here is 911."
Just as soon as he gets it out, we hear a truck coming down the driveway. You guessed it. It's the police. My husband rushes out to tell them everything is fine, but of course, they've heard this story before ... and probably from husbands who ran out to cut them off.
My pug is smug. Yes, it rhymes, but is absolutely true. She's now leisurely napping on a blanket while family is trying to prove they are normal and non-violent. That'll teach me for ignoring her during the dance lesson!
So, the cop comes in and wants to physically see me. Unfortunately, he also sees the mess of Sunday and renovations. I can't help but feel ashamed of the hovel I am living in and wondering WHY anytime someone just happens to pop in (including cops responding to 911 calls) they can't see a nice, clean, orderly home. Instead, my home looks like something you would see on "Cops" and I'm glad he understands the mistake ... although he was quite perplexed with how a dog could actually call 911.
The officer kept just looking at my dog as if to say, "She doesn't look THAT smart. Something's amiss," but he did finally leave me to my shame. Not before saying, "They heard a bit of a ruckus here, a tussel." The cop is telling me this while speaking into his rather cool shoulder phone thingy. I do not know how to spell either of these words since I have never heard them in polite conversation before.
I look around and then realize it. Just another layer to my shame, "Oh, that was my son and I. Um, big band dancing. I'm not all that graceful. Strong though." Oh dear, "strong though??" Am I trying to enter a lumberjack competition. Cop nods, presses cool phone thingy button and says, "ruckus was due to mother and son ... dancing." May stab myself with carving knife and end it all. May serve pug for next week's Sunday dinner instead.
Today it's 60 degrees out. 60 degrees, the middle of November, upstate NY. It's just weird.
In preparation for seasonal blizzards and cold snaps, hubby bought a wood stove and actually put the sucker in a couple of weeks ago. Oh joy, oh rapture! Free heat! Free because we live in 7 acres of forest so the wood is ours and has been seasoning for about a year now.
Thankfully, I have my father's wood splitter, but getting wood in for the year is still a hard task. The chopping, the throwing, the wheelbarrow full of wood I push up to the stacks, back down again, back up full. We have only one more full cord to get and we'll be done. Done!
Now I know why my father had his done by August with the help of his children, of course. You don't want to worry in November about the snow flying before you have all the wood in for the year. It's become a constant source of stress for me and one of my main outdoor activities. Shrubberies and plantings be damned!
For those of you who are too good for wood heat, this will make no sense. For those of you who aren't, cheer for me! A Herculean task is almost complete.
I'm not big into TV. In fact, there are only two shows I consider "must see" and I'm not even really dedicated about those -- "Lost" and "House, M.D.". So, when I saw the previews for the season premiere of "Trading Spouses", I felt uncomfortable by how much I wanted to see it.
The plot: Take your wife and send her to live with another family while that family's wife becomes yours. Give them each $50,000 at the end of the week, but let the other spouse tell them how it'll be spent. Simple, right? NO! Oh, it seems that way.
The show is clever though. Say by taking a devout vegetarian and have them live with a family who doesn't just eat meat, they adore it. Or take a woman who is Mommy Dearest strict and send her to live with a family who doesn't even believe in wearing shoes. A germaphobe goes to a pig sty. You get the picture. It's just fun to watch other people squirm and be miserable. You feel so good about your life and your parenting. ;)
Then there was last night and Marguerite Perrin, who is affectionately now being called "the crazy lady" of reality TV: (she's the big gal on the left)
This picture doesn't do this woman justice. She is a die hard and quite mental Christian who was sent to live with a new age family. A wife and husband (the D-Amico-Flishers) who recently met on Match.com and married shortly after. They're not weirdos, per se, in fact, they are the shows heroes:
The crazy lady kept mocking their lifestyle. She thought garden gargoyles were imps of the devil. A star painted on the back barn became a sign of the devil to her. The husband who had long hair was "okay" because he looked like Jesus. Marguerite the Insane even became physically ill from smells and would wobble outside to gag (let's face it, she's a big big lady) then throw up all the time saying it was the spirit moving her.
She's lazy, self indulgent, and judgmental. Forcing her husband and children to wait on her hand and foot while she lounges in a chair having ice rubbed on the back of her neck. Drop a glass? No problem! She barks at her husband, "Go pick up that glass I dropped on the porch." He works full-time, does all the chores, etc., and all because as he phrased it, "I was just a skinny white kid when I met her. She's my only sexual experience. I'm not bragging about it."
Hello! Television gold, right? Oh no, we're not finished. This family, The Perrins, were so messed up, FOX is doing a two-parter on them. Next week we get to see the pious and oh-so-wacky Marguerite scream at the camera crew, "Get the f&ck out of my house! In Jesus' name I pray."
Give the casting director an Emmy. He/she deserves it for finding this amazing jewel in a sea of stones. :)
(P.S. Still living healthy and going strong. 7 pounds down in a little over two weeks.)
