One of my most favorite Catrow Family Customs is our Taco Bell - Big Love Sunday night dinner. After church (which is at 4 because we know that lazy-ass 20-somethings *need* to sleep in) we go to the Taco Bell drive thru, I order Cheesy Fiesta Potatoes and a Chicken Quesadilla, Ross orders something with way too many adjectives (such as the Spicy Chicken Crunchwrap Supreme), we go home, feed the dogs, and watch Big Love On-Demand while we eat dinner. I’m not sure why we watch Big Love almost 6 days late, but it’s just how it worked out. I love this weekly ritual and I wouldn’t trade it for anything.
Friday: Got home from work. Read and napped a bit. Went to Viva Mexico for dinner. Came home and read some more. Met up with Susan and Justin at Ipanema. Chatted it up. Came home to read more and then go to bed.
Saturday: Hung out with Remus. Went to the gym. Watched The Last Kiss while eating homemade pizza. Ate everything in site. Did some laundry. Watched a few episodes of The Hills. Read and off to bed.
Sunday: Gym. Home to shower. Walked around at the Watermelon Festival for a while. Came home to nap. Went to church. Enjoyed post-church popsicles with friends. Customary Taco Bell - Big Love Sunday dinner. Just took a bubble bath. To bed soon to read and sleep because I have to be at the dentist’s at 7am to pick up my Night Guard (finally!)
We have had two major developments at the Catrow Estate. 1: Our new air conditioner allows up to keep all inside doors open at all times (we used to have to contain the heat into various rooms) and 2: We now corral the dogs into downstairs hallway when we are gone on short trips, rather than putting them in their crates.
Apparently those two changes have convinced God that we are worthy of a miracle. Our dogs now spend most of their days lounging around, sometimes wagging their tales in response to each other, but no longer wrestling on every surface of the house. Someone came to the door yesterday and Shooter just trotted over to see who it was, gave an obligatory alert bark, and then trotted off somewhere to rest up for his evening of being cute and sleeping. Zapp seems to have suddenly calmed down altogether and would rather sprawl out on the floor than stick her face in your ear and then beat you up with her tail. Sometimes she’ll disappear into the bedroom, only coming down when you say, “Girl! Dinner!” She’ll flop downstairs, eat, and flop back up to gab with her friends about High School Musical or something, I’m sure.
I. am. so. happy.
*Please note, however, that I have no clue how they will react when guests actually come *into* the house. The compulsory “hugging” and slight leaking on the floor might still happen. You have been warned.
I spent the afternoon with our good friend Remus today. Remus is 17 months old and amazingly cute. His parents are kind enough to always drop him off with his necessary equipment (which in the heat of the summer does not include shoes) so I was able to do normal Saturday errands with him in tow. After tooling around the house for a little while, Remus and I took a short trip to Ellwood Thompson’s to pick up some thing Ross needed to make dinner. He did such a great job - no crying or grabbing at things. Instead he held every item over his head like he was being Rafiki in the Lion King and then gently handed them back to me after they had been sufficiently blessed, I suppose.
We came back to the house and had a lovely snack of a banana, some orange juice, and a roll. Then we ran around like crazy and managed to get in a quick and very snuggly nap before his mom came to get him. Seriously, if you don’t believe in God, you will once you have a child fall asleep on you from sheer exhaustion after an afternoon of playing and giggling. And the hugging. This child can hug - full on, face tucked in the crook of your neck, arms squeezing hugs. You can tell he gets a lot of love at home and loves giving it to people in return. Praise the Lord for his parents for letting us be recipients of that.
Right now I’m sitting in my office, looking out on to the street I love, feeling extremely grateful. I just got back from the gym and managed to pull myself away from my latest read to write this. Ross is putting together a homemade pizza (complete with homemade pizza sauce) and there is sure to be some relaxing and puppy-playing tonight, too.
Today has been a beautiful day. Nothing spectacular about it, but wonderful all the same.
I’m currently reading Elizabeth Gilbert’s Eat, Pray, Love. And by reading I mean devouring every chance I get and on those chances when I need to do pesky things like work and bathe, I’m in constant anticipation of the indescribable feeling of sitting down with a book that gives you nothing but joy to read - sad how those feelings are so few and far between as we get older.
One of my favorite parts of the books is when the author is in Rome discussing the nature of the city with a friend of hers who happens to be a local. He suggests that every city has a single word that defines it and identifies the people who live there. He declares Rome’s word as SEX and Naples’s as FIGHT. The authors then claims ACHIEVE for New York and SUCCEED for Los Angeles.
It got me thinking about this city that I love so much. A city with so much promise, but with so many issues.
What would you say Richmond’s word is?
I had an ultrasound today to confirm and follow up on the source of
last weekend’s horrific pain. During the ultrasound, I was told that
I that I have “beautiful” uterus. My ovaries are also “wonderful.”
I promptly wrote the following thank you note (well, email) to my mother:
Dear Mom,
I suppose you’re the one I need to thank.
I was told today that I have a beautiful uterus.
This weekend I apparently had an ovarian cyst that ruptured. An
ultrasound confirmed that today. I’m fine, at work, and apparently
well prepared for the pain of childbirth after experiencing that.
Just wanted to let you know and to thank you for your contribution. I
would have put the image in a frame for you, but they wouldn’t give me
one to take home.
Love ya!
Val
I don’t want anyone to feel left out, so Dad, I thank you, too.
Ross and I have a wonderful marriage. Part of it stems from our understanding that we just cannot do certain things together. At the top of that list? Moving furniture. Ross is in the middle of The Great Office Move of 2007. After a very, ahem, shall we say “heated” discussion over the corralling of our selective things, it was decided that some things needs to be rearranged (and our systems for doing certain things need to be altered - but that’s another post entirely).
I was sitting downstairs when Ross asked me to come upstairs to help him with something. I got to the top of the stairs and realized that he wanted me to help him move his desk down the hall. Keep in mind that hallways in rowhouses are about the width of an adults arm span - not ideal for maneuvering cumbersome furniture.
I look at him and said, “Do you really want to do this to our marriage?”
He paused. Looked at the desk. Looked at the hallway. Looked at me. Then he sighed, “Bring me the screwdriver.”
He is currently dismantling the desk so he can move it 10 feet and put it back together again.
That, my friends, is love.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, SISTER!!!!!!
It is currently 92 degrees at 7pm. The forecast for tomorrow is 101 degrees. That’s before the heat index. Holy. Lord.
I need to vacuum and do laundry, but I’m scared that running any electrical appliances will add to the house’s stifling conditions. The current soundtrack to my life is the constant panting of our two dogs.
Tomorrow marks the start of project HVAC at the Catrow estate. We are getting a new furnace, new air conditioning, and new water heater. Hopefully the new AC will be connected by the time we get home - otherwise I’m moving out.
Basically there is no update. Sort of.
I had settled in with my original diagnosis when the folks at Patient First called me and said that there was evidence of kidney stones on my X-ray.
$%^^&$#@%$%&(&()&(%%$#$#@!!!!!!!!!!
They might as well have told me that Tiny Tim is my birth father and he was seeking out a reunion. From beyond the grave.
They also informed me that they had notified my primary care physician who promptly called me and suggested I come in this afternoon, just to be safe.
So I did. I had to leave work early today after being out yesterday. Awesome.
Anyway, by this point I had developed a good attitude about it, in a way. I mean, why wouldn’t it be kidney stones? I have great insurance so if it had to happen to someone, it should happen to me. I know, I’m so positive.
I went AAAALLLLL the way to Brandermill to see my doctor (who is soon moving out to the West End - hallelujah because seriously, I can’t handle going that far into the Southside anymore). The wait wasn’t bad and I especially liked what he said when he came in to see me. He had gotten the X-ray over the course of the day and said he wasn’t convinced. The lack of conclusive proof on the X-ray and the fact that I was able to have a coherent conversation with him without having to mainline Percoset was probably a good indication that kidney stones weren’t the issue. Just to be sure, you got a urine sample (I am now a pro at peeing in cups, considering I’ve had to do it once a day since Sunday). It showed absolutely nothing.
So, I have been instructed to keep my follow-up appointment with my “other” doctor to confirm the original diagnosis and check my progress. Luckily, that appointment is scheduled for noon on Thursday and won’t cut into time at work, or so they say.
So to sum it up…
Money spent on co-pays and prescriptions since Sunday: $90
Kidney stones: 0
Doctors seen: 3
Urine samples given: 3
Hours of worked missed: 9
SIGH…..
