Tri’in my patience*

August 17, 2011

My husband, a newly minted triathlete, is completely obsessed with all things Tri.

MerryWife: How was your day?

Handsome: I saw a great bike on my way home.

MerryWife: What do you want to do this weekend?

Handsome: Speedy Rollins is from Greensboro and he biked down the entire Appalachian Trail unassisted in eleventy-four hours.

MerryWife: What’s my name?

Handsome: I want to cut my bike time by 10 minutes.

MerryWife: You’re sleeping in the garage tonight.

Handsome: Gymwad McIronman recommends eating his All Natural ChondrotinHydroxyUltraMacroProtein Sliders.


Handsome: What about garages? Oh, that reminds me, I was thinking we could build a workout room for me in the back yard.


[*In all honesty, I’m very proud of his hard work and dedication, and I’m hoping he’ll be able to push my wheelchair around really fast when he’s 90.]


A moving story.

August 17, 2011

I hate moving. HateHateHateHateHate it. The chaos, the losing of things, the needing of things that are in one of 200 boxes, the lifting (31 boxes of books, folks.), the shoving, the accidental breaking and damaging of Nice Things, the sweating (why is moving always an August activity?), the swearing, the contemplation of moving to a monestary, the unpacking and finding NEW places for things, and then the months of only being able to remember where something went in the last house.

Thus, it is with no small amount of emotion in my voice that I declare: We are moving! We are going to live somewhere different very soon. Peach is about to move into her third house. She’s 15 months old. Because we are moving to a NEW! HOUSE! It’s kind of a lot similar to our current house… And it’s…


Across. The. Street.


Oh, yes. We are moving across the street. Which I think should come with a little card that drops down from the heavens on a string and says “You’ve qualified for a free divorce! My, that was quick!” Of course, I’m really quite fond of my husband, so I would probably just laugh and kiss him on the cheek and then repin my chignon and adjust my apron before I fix him a cocktail. But I might also tuck it in my pocket because WE’RE MOVING!

So last week, I was a bit harried. Not sleeping much. A tad frazzled. I was racing around, trying to pack boxes, pick up paint for the painters, clean the new house, on top of all the other things on my normal to-do list (laundry, facebook, groceries, facebook, housework, facebook, inserting or removing objects from Peach’s oral cavity, facebook, TUMBLR!, facebook). You get the picture. I was busy.

I must have left my purse in the car, the doors wide open and a big lighted arrow pointing to a sign that announced “FREE! TAKE ONE! SUPPLIES LIMITED!” because my purse and our GPS gadget have vaporized. And consequently, I have learned a LOT this week. For instance:

You know what you need to set up utilities? A credit card.

You know what you need to find the utility company? The GPS!

You know what you need to have something notarized? Picture ID.

You know what you need to buy food? Yer wallet.

You know what you need to buy a really big bottle of wine? YOUR DAMN WALLET.

But! The best part? You know what you need to get a new Driver’s License at the DMV?




And finally, you know what you need to report the theft of your license to the DMV? Two forms of ID.

And $10.