cat named pig

Matt weighed in and posted some stuff about sports. You should read it (I did . . . mostly. I guess he wants Timberwolves tickets for his birthday. Or something. I didn’t read it that closely, since I already know what I’m giving Matt for his birthday: I’m hiring a painter to repaint the trim in the basement bathroom white instead of creamy, buttery, yellow-y Buttercream.* This gift is also known as staying married.)

*Yes, we actually purchased trim paint in a color called Buttercream and then were dismayed to find that it looked buttery and creamy when painted on the trim. (It turned out we actually wanted it to be white, like it will be after Matt’s birthday. White like my wedding dress, or like the invitations we will one day send out for our fiftieth wedding anniversary celebration, which we will be celebrating because we hired a painter to get rid of the Buttercream.)   

HOW much do we love Christmas?!?  

SOOOOO MUCH!!  

And HOW much do we love messy biscuits?

SOOOOO MUCH!! 

Happy Holidays from catnamedpig.com. 

At the end of the day on Friday, below is a list of things we will be able to do in our basement that we weren’t able to do at the beginning of the day.

I know you must be rubbing your eyes, double-checking that you are at the right website and saying to yourself, “Who is this writing on the main blog page, why isn’t he funny, witty or talking about kids and where are the parentheses?” We’ll, it’s only for a quick update, so here’s the list: 

• Walk without shoes on, for the carpet, indeed, was installed, does not smell like smoke and feels quite soft under our feet.
• Go in our newly finished bathroom.
• Wash our hands after going to the bathroom (not sure on what to dry them, though, as towel racks still need to go up).
• Take a shower, if we decide to clean it out.
• Get a drink of water from our bar sink.
• Grab a cold one from the bar fridge.
• Heat up frozen dinners in the bar microwave.
• Sit (on the ground) in front of our new fireplace with a cold one and eat dinner.

Actually, I know the last one won’t happen. Who really thinks Laura will let me eat anywhere near the new carpet until after we’re done hosting Christmas Eve?

Also, just a quick plug that you can now post comments on the “Matt Weighs In” page, so start ripping away.

Our basement is close to being done, and I am NOT RELAXED. I’m second-guessing all of our choices and worrying that things are all wrong, or taking too long, or both. The carpet is being installed right now, and I can hear the workers talking but can only make out a few words here and there. My anxiety and paranoia are filling in the rest. (Although, “So, what are we doing here?” is an actual sentence I heard a few minutes ago; let me just say that is less than reassuring.)

Carpet Guy: So, what are we doing here?

Other Carpet Guy: I don’t know; let’s just stick it down here somehow and get it done so we can go to lunch early. 

CG: Yeah, we could go smoke, too.

OCG: Or we could just smoke in here.

CG: [Muffled. . . .]

Me: OMG, please don’t let them be smoking in my house. They wouldn’t really smoke in the house, would they?? But people who smoke probably smoke in their own houses. And it’s cold out. Maybe I should go to the top of the stairs and listen. And start coughing.

CG: Wow, this is some cheap carpet.

OCG: Guess it doesn’t matter if we do it right. It’s probably gonna look hideous no matter what.

Me: I know, but we’re on a budget! And we still went over budget! Carpet within our original budget has the texture of synthetic Christmas trees, or Barbie hair that has been “styled” too many times!

CG: Why do you think they painted the trim that color?*

OCG: I know, that color sucks. No one chooses that color.

CG: These people obviously have no idea what they’re doing. All the more reason to throw this stuff down as fast as possible and get outta here — it’s not like they’ll even know if we do it right.

OCG: Exactly. Do you have a lighter?

—-

*I hate our trim color. I hate it so much I am probably going to give my kids away on Craigslist just so I can have time to repaint it myself, since I don’t think we can afford to have the painter redo it. And then I will steal my kids back and raise them happily in a beautifully-trimmed basement, because I like my kids. I just can’t get anything done, including brushing my teeth, when they are both around.   

Matt wrote about my attempt to hide a gift for him in a “fort” in our living room, since there were no available closets to hide it in when I came home from shopping. Of course, Siena noticed immediately that the pile of junk in that particular corner of our living room looked slightly different, and I was busted before I could move it to a real hiding place. Matt did not, however, mention that this was my second attempt at surprising him with a Christmas gift this year.

A few days ago, I took the kids (yes, both of them, but WHY?? I don’t know, but I did it) to Target thinking (again, WHY??) it would be “fun” to “buy a gift for Daddy.” And it was not particularly fun, but we did buy a gift. We bought a guitar game to use in the new basement (a cheaper version of Guitar Hero) which Matt had pointed out to me several times at Target, mentioning how fun it would be to get something like that “for the kids.” (Yes, for the kids. I’m sure the nine-month-old will enjoy the heck out of it.)

And then we came home from this ill-conceived shopping expedition and everyone was crying, and clamoring for things to eat and drink, and not taking off their wet, snowy boots, and it was loud and unpleasant. I dropped the Target bag by the door as I kicked off my own snowy boots and ran to gather snacks and beverages before the unpleasantness crescendoed further. 

OF COURSE, I never remembered to go back and move the bag, with the guitar game sticking out of it and basically blocking the entrance to our house. So OF COURSE, Matt came home, tripped over it, and the surprise was ruined.  

Another memorable failure in the giving of gifts to my husband would be this story:

•  For his first Father’s Day, I went online and ordered a T-shirt that read “Proud to be Awesome” (the perfect gift for an awesome dad) and it arrived in September. Seriously, September. With Father’s Day being in June. This shirt (rarely worn, as my husband is a modest awesome dad) recently played a role in the Great Paint Debacle of 2007, when Sara needed a T-shirt to wear while scrubbing hot pink paint off our wood floor. And then she wore it home and spilled butter or something on it, which didn’t come out in the wash, so basically this shirt continues to be the worst Father’s Day gift ever. It mocks me with its worst-ness. 

12.2.06

Dear Santa,

Siena has been a very good girl this year. She does a good job saying “please” and “thank you” and cleaning up. She also takes very good care of her babies.

Siena says please bring her some treats, maybe some beans, and some toys. She would also like a purple bathrobe. She wants “some two toys and some three toys.” We hope you will bring something on Christmas Eve!

Love,

Siena, Mama and Daddy

[Most of this letter came from Siena’s responses to questions I asked as I wrote the letter, whereas this year she dictated the whole thing and knew exactly what she wanted to say. Last year she seemed fairly baffled by the whole Santa thing, but we appreciated her practical request for a bathrobe and the totally unexpected request for beans. We weren’t sure how to interpret that (pinto? garbanzo? refried, from Pepito’s?) so we gave her jelly beans, and that seemed to go over pretty well.]

[As dictated by Siena on 12.18.07] 

Dear Santa,

I wish you a Merry Christmas.

Were you looking for your reindeer when you were outside?

I want a Belle bracelet for Christmas, please. And I want Croc shoes. For the summertime. And I think that’s it.

Love,

Siena

[Seriously? Crocs? I know they are brightly-colored and fun, but where did that come from, especially in the middle of winter? And why do I have a sinking feeling I’m going to spend the rest of the winter negotiating detailed policies regarding the wearing of Crocs in and out of the house, and explaining millions of times that shoes with holes in them are NOT GOOD IN THE SNOW.] 

We love this snowsuit because when he’s in it, he can barely move — it’s the only time he takes a break from pulling himself up to stand and then crying when his legs get tired of standing.

The abundance of hair before the DIY Haircut, in a particularly untamed early-morning photo.

The Infamous Thanksgiving Haircut

(To give some sense of the extent of the damage, I am holding one of the shorter chunks of hair, although there are many pieces too short to even grasp with my fingers.)

And here’s Elliot saying “Whoa! Did you see what Sister did to her hair?!?” Or maybe “Holy crap, that flash is blinding and lasts for half an hour,” which is what he hears me say every time my picture is taken with our camera.