This morning as I am unpacking even more boxes in our kitchen, Chris comes in a says that he needs to run to Home Depot (otherwise known as “The Place I Go to Feel Superior”) to get some paint. While he is there he is going to pick up some new plates for our electrical outlets, and could I take a minute and help him out by letting him know which plates in the kitchen I want to replace. So I make a little list. He comes back a few minutes later and starts to go over my list, essentially taking off almost every plate I asked him to replace. Finally, I say, “Then why did you ask me?” to which he replied, “Because I need your help.”

What a load of crap.

It has been like this for the past few days and its really starting to piss me off! I have discovered that needing my “help” is needing me to stand next to him and tell him what a great job he is doing. I know this because when I offer help, he gets irritated. For years he has laughed and made fun of me for not pitching in. Its no secret that I am a bit of a lazy beast. I don’t like to be dirty, I enjoy a good pedicure, and I like to wear jewelry in any situation. But now that we have a house, I’m actually enjoying things like painting, moving furniture, and even cleaning (sometimes). I mean, it still sucks and its still 1,000 degrees in the house, but I actually like looking at something that I’ve finished and being proud of it. For Chris, though, I’m cramping his style.

Take, for example, dinner last night. We had just finished putting a second coat of paint on the living room (which looks beeeutiful, by the way), and Chris was cleaning up so I went to the kitchen to make dinner. For the past few nights we have been grilling because there is too much stuff in our kitchen right now to really cook and because Chris has been working on the fence, I have been doing most of the grilling myself. So I’m taking out hamburgers and all of a sudden Chris comes running into the kitchen.

“What are you doing?” he asks (this is his new favorite question and he asks it whenever I am doing something that he did not specifically tell me to do).

“I’m getting ready to grill these hamburgers.”

“Well, let me do it,” he says. “Grilling is my job and I don’t want you to take it over just because we are in a new house. Ever since we got here you’ve been doing all the grilling. Grilling is a boy job.”

I laughed and kissed him and told him, fine, he could still be the Grill Master, but inside I was seething.

And then there was the painting of the living room. Not our finest hour. Chris decided that he would cut in and I would roll the room, since cutting in is clearly very challenging and therefore not possibly something I could do. I didn’t mind really because I found this fun little attachment for my roller to keep me amused. Now, rolling is not rocket science, but Chris found every chance to “critique” me as possible. I was leaving paint lines (I was not), I was dripping paint (one small little drip in one small corner of the entire room), I was not getting close enough to the edges (which is a matter of opinion), or I was getting too close to the edges (again, a matter of opinion). He was driving me crazy. Every now and then he would throw in a “you’re doing such a good job!” out there to keep me from killing him, but he was on my last nerve. And then - karma. Two seconds after he finished telling me I needed to get into the tiny corners better with my gigantor roller, he walks right into our new couch with his bright green paint brush! I would have killed him if the karma of the situation wasn’t so perfect.

Here’s the thing about me not pitching in before. It has always been a choice. And choosing not to help out during the first 10 years does not mean I can’t help out for the next 10 years. I choose not to help out because I’m lazy, NOT because I’m incompetent. Any monkey can line shelves in the kitchen, but Chris somehow believes these precision details have his name written all over them and I should just keep busy with cleaning out lint traps.

I’m a patient person (lie, lie, lie…), but I’m over this boy/girl thing. I’m obviously strong/smart/capable enough of moving large pieces of furniture, of sandpapering an entire room, of building a fence in the backyard (which I helped with and felt uber-manly when I was finished). If I can do these things, I can help with just about anything in this house. I keep reminding myself of all those single women out there who take out their own trash, put together their own bookshelves, carry their own pink toolboxes. When did it become debilitating to be a married woman? Marriage doesn’t mean that suddenly I can’t do the heavy lifting or decision making on my own.

(Side Bar: While this is no new revelation for millions of married women out there, this is all very new to me. For 10 years I have relied on Chris for just about every dirty job there is.)

I’m over this crap. If I want to grill, I’m going to grill. If I want to change the plate in one of the sockets, I’m going to change the plate. If I want to cut in a room we are painting, I’m cutting in. I’m a wife, dammit, not an 8-year old!

Now I’m off to drill a hole in something…

(NOTE: I don’t often stand on soapboxes. But every now and then its time to pull it out, dust it off, and climb on up.)

Are you proud to be an American today? I am, and I’ll tell you why.

I’m proud to live in a country that allows us to elect our own government officials and then complain about them. I am not a Bush supporter and there are many things I disagree with our current government about, but I’m ALLOWED to disagree and that is what makes this a great country. I’m tired of people complaining about the President or the government or the politicians as if they have been chosen out of a bag of random names. We elected these people. And then we did it again! I’m tired of my country walking around like victims of their own government because let me tell you about being a victim of your own government. Being a victim of your government is having a leader chosen for you and put into power for as long as they feel like it. Being a victim of your government is not having the freedom to say that you ARE a victim of your government. The fact is, right or wrong, elephant or donkey, we elected our government for better or worse. So stand up, hold your head high, petition your legislators for the change you want to see, and then vote.

Forget for a moment the terrorists threat or the rising gas prices and falling economy, the greatest threat to our country right now is my generation. We’re a generation of people who have grown up hearing people bash their government and country. We’re a generation of people who have not been taught that disagreeing with your leadership does not mean you hang your head in shame of our entire nation. It took 200+ years to create this nation of the free and the brave and in an 8-year span we have come close to tearing that down because we’ve created a generation of people who equate politicians with patriotism.

There are many things that concern me about our government and about our country’s position in the rapidly changing world, but through all those doubts and disagreements, I have remained a patriot. I have never been prouder to be an American because I’m proud to be a citizen of a country who allows me to blog about my mistrust of my President, who allows me the chance to vote for a new President, and who allows me to take ownership of my government.

So today, as we shoot off fireworks and burn ourselves on the grill, lets put aside our political parties, our governmental disappointment, our pointing fingers and blame. Lets celebrate those that are fighting for our country today and, above all, lets celebrate the country that they are fighting for because we are a country that was founded on the principle that we are bigger than our politicians.

My hope today is that we all celebrate not just our independence, but the greatness that is our country. Happy 4th of July.

What is the one thing in my entire new house that doesn’t work?

THE FREAKING WASHING MACHINE!  The timer is broken on the dyer, so it doesn’t cut itself off.  I put a load in the other day and 3 HOURS LATER it was still going!

It figures. Laundry is destined to be my nemesis in life.

The Chronicles of My Laundry Battle:

The Great Laundry Crisis of 2008

Breaking Down and Breaking Up

Everybody Breathe!  The Washing Machine is Fixed

The Laundry is Back

While I am adjusting to our new house magnificently, the dogs are having a tough time.  They love the house, but they are glued to my side.  Normally, this isn’t a problem and I would be more than happy to have them shadow me around the house while I unload Waterford crystal still in its original gift wraping from our wedding.  The problem is that we have very narrow stairs in this house, so trying to make it up or down these with two dogs literally underneath me has been tricky.  I tried just running faster down them, thinking I could pass them up but they’re quick little boogers.  So far we have all crashed and burned in a giant heap of paws, elbows, and moving boxes at least three times.

And then there is the attic thing.  We don’t have a finished attic here.  Its just crawl space in the roof.  For some reason, my closet in the master bedroom opens directly into this area, with no wall or blockage of any kind.  This morning as I was hanging clothes up in my closet, Molly happened to wander into this area and disappeared into the dark pits of our attic.  I called her and she (thankfully!) came hopping out.  So I close my closet door to keep her from getting back in there.  As soon as I shut the door, she starts barking at the closet like a beast.  I yelled at her and told her to shut up and happily I moved on to finding the perfect arrangement of Chris’ boxers in our dresser.  About 15 minutes later, I hear this faint little whimper coming from my closet.  I open the door and there stands Lucy - covered in insulation and spiderwebs.  Good Lord, dog!  Don’t you know that heat in those kind of places can kill you?!?!

After such an adventurous day in the house with the dogs, I was so ready for our backyard to be fenced in so I could just let them outside and get some work done.  I practically met Chris in the driveway when he got home from work today, kissed him, and put a drill in his hand.  He finished the fence and we let the dogs go this afternoon.  They were so happy!  They have so much more room to run here, and they really, REALLY needed to get it out of their system.  Stairways and attics just don’t always do the trick.

After 5 days of moving, packing, unpacking, painting, decorating, redecorating, cleaning, complaining, and wallowing in the happiness that is my very first house - I’m baaaack!  As I write this, I am sitting in my very new club chair in my very new living room contemplating on the importance of yellow-green verses olive green paint.  I’m in heaven!  My feet have never hurt so much in my life, but I’m in heaven.  

I haven’t found my camera cable to upload picture to my computer yet, but the minute I do I’ll post pictures of the house.  In lieu of pictures though, let me see if I can describe it to you:  Perfect.  Yep, that just about sums it up.  Perfect.  

We spent Thursday, Friday, and Saturday moving our things from New Haven to Stratford and building a fence in the backyard for the dogs.  The fence is almost finished now, with just a small section missing that Chris has to custom build.  I think it should be done tonight.  Saturday, Sunday, and Monday were spent unpacking boxes, putting things in closets, and trying to get this odd smell out of our finished basement.  Today it was cable, internet (finally!), phone, and furniture delivery.  And we are no where near being finished.  But I don’t care because it is literally a labor of love.  I have never really understood that expression before, but I truly love this house.  I love it.  And so throbbing feet (the only shoes I have been able to find are flip flops - not so great on the ol’ arches when you’re carrying lumber and moving boxes) and funky smells are not even a problem.  

My favorite part so far has been watching Chris.  It’s like this kid was born to be a homeowner.  He looks so natural out in our backyard, sawing and drilling on that big fence.  And at night when he’s showered and I let him sit on the new furniture, he looks so relaxed and happy.  Truly happy.  That is what your first home is for, I guess.  It’s the place where you learn what pride in yourself really is.  One look at Chris and you’re blinded with pride.  Kinda makes me want to, you know, clean a kitchen or something.  

Well, I’m off to cook our very first dinner in our new house.  After days of fast food, I’m not sure I’ll remember what to do with a chicken breast, but I’ll figure it out.  Pictures tomorrow…

What are you doing today?  I think I’ll GO BUY A HOUSE!!!  That’s right, people.  In T minus 15 minutes I leave to go close my first house!  Chris and I are so excited we can barely speak.

I’ll be out of commission until Tuesday when the Internet Man comes to give me back my life line.  Until then, think happy thoughts for me and have a great weekend!

This morning I am home packing by myself while Chris is at work.  Which explains why I am taking the time out to blog, because no one is here to stop me and say, “Kate!  Get off the computer and help me pick up this enormously large box of your shoes!”  So this morning, I packed up my winter clothes.  I had my first box full and taped up, but when I went to label the box I thought, “Shoot!  Where am I doing to put all my seasonal clothes in our new house?”  And then I found the joy.

I HAVE SPARE BEDROOMS!!!

No longer do I have to stuff my winter clothes into bins under my bed.  I have a whole extra two rooms with closets for them to go in!  I was so darn excited to write “2nd Bedroom” on that box, I had to take a minute to sing loudly, jump around, and take a picture.

Ah…what a rush!

There are several things I have discovered while moving these past few weeks. I thought I would share them with you in an effort to dissuade you from moving ever again in your entire life:

1.  I am a dirty person - Now, I clean as good as the next person.  I vacuum.  I wash.  I dust.  I mop.  But when you start moving your furniture around its a different story.  There are dust bunnies the size of small animals under my couch.  Its disgusting and I’m repulsing myself just writing about it.

2.  Marriage does not make all things fun - Nothing on this earth can make moving fun.  Not kisses, not tickles, not funny songs.  Nothing.  In fact, I would go so far as to say marriage makes moving even more awful because unlike a roommate, you jointly own everything you are moving.  Its not like you can say, “Oh, that’s not mine” and then just not pack it.  You are obligated by vows to move everything in your house.  Check your marriage license.  I’m sure there is a moving clause in there.

3.  Dogs will bark at anything resembling a box - Its like they just know that you’re on you’re last nerve and that you’re about 2 bubble wrap squares away from murdering something.  They bark in happiness (”We’re moving stuff around!  Yay!”).  They bark in fear (”We’re moving stuff around!  Oh my God!”).  They bark in anger (”Stop moving my stuff around!”).  And mostly they just bark because they can (”We’re moving stuff around!  I’m barking!”).

4.  Everyone loves to give advice - The next person that tells me how to take care of hardwood floors or how to pack a box of PEZ dispenser correctly is a dead man walking.  I know they say it out of love. I know they probably know more because they’re older.  I know they are just helping.  But give it a rest people.  I can barely dress myself right now, so there’s no way I’m processing what you are telling me.

5.  Nothing is free - Or cheap, or inexpensive, or discounted, or affordable.  About the only thing I have been throwing away during our Big Move is money.  There are utility connection fees, inspector fees, moving expenses, furniture, area rugs, cars, down payments, insurance, and all the alcohol I can drink and still physically function.  I balanced our checking account this morning and I needed a sedative immediately after.

6.  Husbands do not like being told how to correctly pack a box.

7.  You will always need the last thing you packed - Its like a law of Nature.  The pack of 15 post-it notes that have been sitting in their wrappers in your desk for 10 years will suddenly be the only possible solution to your dilemma of how to mark fragile boxes immediately after they are packed.  The same goes for kitchen twine that is only used once a year at Thanksgiving and the book on feng shui you’ve had since college.

8.  Things multiply when packed - Riddle me this:  How come the contents of your entire house fit so comfortably there for 3 years, but when you put it all in boxes there is suddenly no room for things like walking, sitting, or laying down on your bed?  Where did all this crap come from?  And why does it suddenly seem to take up so much more room?

9.  There is no way to defend keeping pom poms.  Unfortunately.

10.  Moving is the low point - I keep reminding myself that this is the hardest part.  This.  Moving.  And I’m in it, working through it, and almost past it.  Once this part is over, its paint samples and rainbows from here on out.

Moving is the Devil.  I’m convinced.  Its about as much fun as a root canal.  Outside my window right now there is a drunk bum sleeping on a park bench.  I’d rather have him do a root canal on me than move.  So, we all understand that I can’t stand moving, right?  Good.  Lets move on.

The fun part of this whole messy, crazy, stressful process is buying new furniture.  Man, that’s a rush I’ve never had before.  We have had hand-me-down furniture our entire adult lives.  We have really great stuff, but its nothing that we have chosen ourselves.  Its whatever our parents were getting rid of at the time or whatever was on sale at Ikea.  Now though, we get to go into real furniture stores and pick out things we actually LIKE!  Until a few weeks ago, we didn’t really even know what our style was.  And we still don’t really know because every time we go look, we change drastically.  But its so much fun to even have the option to change.

The problem we are having is picking out our living room couches.  Couches look like large lumps of fabric when they are taken out of context.  But once you get past that and use your imagination, there are a million different styles, and one of them is bound to fit our new house.  Here is the one we really like:

Sadly, it doesn’t match anything we own.  I mean, if we change the paint on our walls and cross our eyes, it could possible work…in the dark…after a few beers.

Oh, these are the dilemmas in my life.  These are the things that literally keep me awake in the wee small hours of the morning.

And speaking of things that keep me awake in the wee small hours of the morning (that’s just a fun phrase to say!)…  Have I mentioned the weather report for this weekend?

That’s right - hot and rainy.  Just what you want when you’re moving.  But I’m trying to stay positive and think about how exciting it will be when we’re finally in our new house.  I’ve got a little mantra I keep repeating to myself:  Happy heart, happy heart, happy freaking heart…

Send help!  I’ve been eaten alive by moving boxes!

4 days until the Big Move…