Those Pants

We all have that pair of pants. That pair of pants you only wear in the comfort of your own home.  No, I'm not talking about yoga pants or pajama pants (but, for the love of God, please only wear pajama pants in your home!).  I'm talking about that pair of pants that are, or were at some point in time, the favorite.  I actually have several pairs.  Over time they either become too loose or too tight, faded or torn; thus being designated to the home only.  Today, being a snow day and not having to go anywhere, was one of those glorious days in which I could slide (ok, it's more like jump up and down a few times to get them over my thighs and hips) into one of my most comfy pairs of jeans.  I was truly distressed when I tore a small hole in the crotch of them two years ago while working in the woods putting up mainline and tubing.  There are a few other small holes in the legs where they got caught on something, but that's what gives them their character.  They are so soft and, besides having to jump my way into them, have a comfy waist band.  Gap sure knows how to make a good pair of jeans.  Unfortunately, I'm not always the brightest when wearing these fragile pants.  I had already done my morning workout, showered, got into these comfy jeans, and was in the process of cooking syrup to make some of our famous maple cream.  I have no idea what came over me, but apparently I was still in workout mode and decided to do sumo squats in front of the stove while I was waiting for the syrup to boil.  I was mid squat when I heard the ominous sound.  I knew right away that squats were a bad idea when wearing jeans, never mind ones that already had a hole in them.  I quickly glanced at the thermometer to check the syrup, and then bent halfway over to check out the damage.  The "little" hole that was previously in my jeans was now about two inches in length and a half inch wide.  I stood in shock for a moment; gone were the far off hopes that these pants would one day magically repair themselves and make it back to the hangers in the closet.  I decided not to do any more "exercising" and pondered what possessed me to do that in the first place.  I stood still until the syrup reached the designated temperature, and then poured it into the bowls.  I figured what the heck, they can't get any better, so I wore them out for another round of shoveling with no further damage.  I will still keep and wear these pants, but only in my home when no one else is around.  Good thing I have a few pairs.

Squeak, Squeak

It was a lovely Sunday morning.  My husband was outside pulling snow off the roof and shoveling. I had settled on the couch with my A&P book, attempting to do some reading.  I had read the first two pages of the chapter for the third time when I heard that unmistakable sound - "squeak, squeak."  I froze, listening for any noise.  Nothing.  Phew.  I hunkered back into my book, relieved that the noise was just in my head.  I flipped the page and heard it again. "Squeak, squeak."  I got up off the couch, carrying my book with me (you never know when you need something for defense), and went to the bedroom where I thought the squeaking noise came from.  I crept in the room, trying not to make a sound and hoping not to see anything.  "Squeak, squeak." There it was again, but coming from the other side of the house.  I tiptoed past the living room and peered inside the kiddo's room.  I couldn't see anything, but maybe it was in the closet....  I opened the door and jumped back, just in case.  A huge sigh of relief when I couldn't find anything.  "Squeak, squeak." A panic fell over me as I realized I hadn't seen our cat in a while.  Find the cat, find the mouse.  I looked in all the usual places: the bath tubs, her food dish, litter box, bed.... Nothing.  "Squeak, squeak."  The living room.  It was definitely coming from the living room.  What if all this time while I was on the couch Lily was right behind me toying with a mouse?  I shuddered at the thought.  I jumped on the couch, just in case, and cautiously glanced behind.  There was Lily, on the windowsill, no mouse in sight.  "Squeak, squeak." I raised my gaze out the window.  There was my husband, diligently putting up mainline on the wire we replaced out front.  "Squeak, squeak."  The sound of the wire ties being twisted to hold up the mainline mimicked that of a mouse.  I was both relieved and embarrassed, having let my imagination get the better of me, and also thankful that my husband had no idea I was going through the house like a crazy woman searching for the imaginary mouse.  He would have never let me live it down.  My distaste and fear for rodents had gotten the better of me this time, but I'm glad I can say they are not in my home. 

Boots

Being a woman, I have quite a few options for footwear.  Winter months limit the selection somewhat, but there are still plenty to choose from.  However, not all of these footwear options are really all that practical.  I suppose your profession also plays a part as to the functionality of your footwear choices.  Such as when I worked at the hospital I was most often seen in my Danskos, which I rarely wear now (let's just forget the fact that I live in my slippers now when I'm at home).  There are plenty of practical winter footwear choices: sneakers, muck boots, work boots, winter boots, snowshoes....  One I have yet to mention that I find no real functionality are the pretty boots.  All of us women have them.  Yes, they look cute with skinny jeans, skirts, dresses, etc., but they are just not practical in this winter weather.  They do not keep our feet warm and are no match for ice and snow.  So, after wearing my winter boots to shovel the walkways while my car warmed up last night, what was it that I grabbed to wear out to dinner with the girls? Yup, my pretty boots.  I threw them on (ok, really I took about 10 minutes unzipping and zipping about 7 different zippers to get them on) and marched out the door.  I started down the steps and immediately went down all four and onto my butt.  I yelled out a certain four letter word and then cursed my decision to wear skinny jeans thus requiring my pretty boots. I gingerly got up, dusted off the snow, and walked cautiously to the car. I debated calling to cancel.  My hip and wrist were throbbing, but I decided not to let my poor choice of shoes ruin a night out with friends.  I was glad I didn't cancel.  It was a great night- delicious food, fantastic drink (also my first scorpion bowl!), and fabulous company celebrating a dear friend.  I guess it is true that we learn something (new) everyday, and for me that was to definitely be more aware of the functionality of my attire!

Weather Obsessed

This time of year we tend to check the weather a little obsessively.  Yes, we like to know what to expect for the next couple days, whether a storm is coming, what we will have to deal with.  With the cold weather and many of us with cabin fever, we are hoping for sun and soaring temps.  I could now care less about the amounts of snow we will get, unless it's a few feet and I have to go out and clear off the mainline. My main reason as of late to check the forecast constantly, even a month out, is because I am ready for sugaring.  When I say I am ready it just means I want to boil.  I've got the itch.  It has come to be one of my most favorite things to do, and there is only a short time frame in which I can. And, I want to use my new drill I got for Christmas.  We still have a lot to do before we are "ready."  We are in the process of getting a dry line put up, we have a few taps on the new 3/16" tubing to get out, and possibly adding more taps in another section of woods.  We are by no means "ready" to tap and boil.  I just want to.  Last year I would have been more worried about the weather for work reasons.  What would the conditions be for delivering the mail?  I still worry about that for my husband's sake, but I am more concerned about when the temps are going to raise enough, consistently, so we can start making syrup.  I'm ready for some sun and 40 degree temps.  It's hard being in an industry that is dependent upon the weather.  So, Mother Nature, what do you say?  Please don't let us have to wait too much longer!

Cone of Shame

Our puppy got spayed and is now sporting that hideous cone of shame.  And it is a sad sight.  She hated the cone since it was put on when we picked her up at the vets.  Her head hung low, as if the cone weighed a gazillion pounds.  It was hard for her to walk at first.  The cone would get stuck on the floor, my daughter picking up the cone so we could get her to the car.  Getting in the car was another ordeal.  Having a low sports car would have been ideal for this situation.  However, we have a SUV, which is not low and is hard for a puppy who just had surgery to get into.  Thank God I didn't have to take the truck that day.  After the kiddo and I were able to maneuver the cone, I was able to pick up Sadie's back legs and tuck her inside the car.  We must have been a sight to see in the parking lot.  The ride home was pretty uneventful (thankfully), Sadie holding her head low, unable to figure out where exactly to put it.  Getting out of the car was another task.  It was like Sadie was unable to figure out what to do with her hind legs.  The kiddo finally coaxed her out of the car and walked her over to the front steps.  The cone hit the step and Sadie froze.  The kiddo lifted the cone over the steps as I lifted her front paws and then back paws on each step.  Thankfully there are only 4.  I open the door and Sadie attempts to enter the house, her cone getting stuck on the door frame.  I push her cone over and lift it up, seeing the look of contempt in Sadie's sad glazed eyes.  We all finally mosey into the house and get Sadie into the living room.  She stands there, not knowing what to do.  I put her bed and blanket on the floor.  If she can't make it up the stairs, she is not going to get on her couch.  It takes a while, but she finally figures out how to lay down.  She is not impressed with any of this.  The kiddo laid on the floor next to her and colored her a "get well" picture.  Sadie gets back up and tries to move.  She's stuck.  Her head is on the floor, unable to move the cone forward on the carpet.  "Pick your head up," we tell her as we both go to lift her cone.  Sadie is having none of this and puts her head back down.  The kiddo keeps working with her to lift the cone and her head.  After a while, we try to get Sadie to eat a little.  She walks into the wall near the laundry room where her food is kept.  I straighten her out and try to coax her in with some food in my hand.  She eats it, but won't come any closer to her dish.  I let her out of my hand again, and push the bowl closer to her.  With the next handful of food, I bring my hand down to the bowl. Visions of hand feeding her for the next ten days went through my head.  "Please use your dish," I pleaded with her. She then proceeded to eat from her bowl. Success! I let her be for a bit.  Every time we heard her whine she was stuck.  Whether on the rug with her head down or on a wall or door frame, we would have to go rescue her.  Taking her out to do her business was another endeavor.  Sadie was used to going out without a leash, but we didn't want her taking off and pulling out any stitches.  I, apparently, was the designated dog walker.  It is January.  It is cold.  There is snow.  And I have a dog with a cone on her head.  Poor Sadie kept trying the sniff the ground unsuccessfully, getting snow in her cone in the process.  Every chunk of frozen snow we came across she somehow managed to get stuck on. Every little noise she would stop, not sure what it was or where it is coming from; lost without her peripheral vision. The longest, coldest 15 minutes of my life went by until she finally eliminated.  I thought that job to be finally done as we headed back inside.  Until we reached those dreaded steps.  Another five minutes until we were back inside.  Sadie spent the rest of the night trying to get comfortable and whining whenever she was stuck until she finally fell asleep.  As the days went on, Sadie learned to pick her head up and maneuver more easily.  The cone is in rough shape, banged up on all sides from her walking into things.  Our puppy loves attention and needs lots of loving.  Unfortunately, with a cone that is so much harder to do.  She will follow us around, banging into our calves with the cone.  Or if she is in front of us, she'll turn abruptly, banging into our shins.  I'm thinking about putting a layer of foam around the edge of it so my legs will have less bruising.  Our cat has been enjoying the cone head Sadie, as she is unable to reach Lily under the coffee table and beds with the cone on.  I think the rest of us are ready for the ten days to come to an end.  Sadie is getting used to the cone for the most part, figuring out how to get herself unstuck, making her way up the steps, and only slamming into my shins or calves a few times a day.  But I know she'll be just as happy as us when that darned cone can come off.

Of Mice and Men

We live in the sticks. There are spiders, snakes, rodents, bugs. None of which I am particularly fond of.  It has been nice to not see any of those creatures since the cold weather and snow have come.  Last night my husband and I had settled into bed, drifting to sleep, when the cat started racing around erratically.  My whole body tensed.  Was she chasing a mouse?  God, I hoped not.  My husband rolled over and asked if I had locked the door.  "Umm, no." I laid still hoping he would get up to lock it.  He asked if I could get it.  I shot straight up.  "No!  There could be a mouse! Lily is running around all crazy!"  He groaned.  Told me I was being ridiculous and I should get up and lock the door.  "Grab your phone for me! I need to see!" My phone was out of reach, as was the light switch.  My husband mumbled something and gave me his phone so I could use it as a light.  I quickly scanned the room for both Lily and the potential mouse.  No sign of a mouse.  I ran to the light switch and rescanned the room with the light on.  Still in the clear.  I ran to the front door, locked it, and ran back to bed.  My husband poked fun at me.  "Remember what happened a couple years ago?" I asked him.  He nodded and laughed. 
A few years ago we were in bed, sound asleep.  I woke when I heard the cat, but didn't think anything of it, and rolled over with my back to the door, falling back to sleep.  Apparently Lily was playing with a mouse, tossing it around and then retrieving it.  Well, she threw that mouse pretty forcefully and I felt it hit me with a thump in the middle of my back.  I freaked.  I screamed.  I sat straight up, waking my husband.  He jumped out of bed asking what was wrong. "A MOUSE!" I screamed.  "IT'S ON THE BED!"  Like a good husband, he started ripping the covers off until the mouse fell to the floor.  He told me it was just a little mouse. I shivered.  It didn't matter how big or small it was,  "It hit me in the back!"  My husband just laughed.  I made us change the sheets and blankets before we went back to bed, my husband quickly falling asleep as I laid with one eye open all night. 
Needless to say, my husband doesn't let me live that down.  But, somehow, I feel this incident justifies any irrational behavior if I suspect a mouse around....

Baby, It's Cold Outside!

It's January. We have subzero temps and a two hour delay from school.  This is New England.  We should all be used to this yet we gripe about these weather conditions every year.  That being said, I am not a fan of the extreme cold.  I've lived in New England all my life, but I think living with my grandparents for a couple years with the thermostat set at 74 and then having a third floor apartment where it was 70 without having to turn on my own heat has thinned my blood a little.  Don't get me wrong, my home is not currently a balmy paradise where one would mistake for being in the tropics. We try to keep the thermostat down in the winter, only keeping it raised if there's a threat of lost power or frozen pipes. I have learned to dress appropriately, layering up and loving my wool and flannel this time of year.  This cold makes me appreciate that I can work from the comfort of my warm home.  This time last year I was working the streets, delivering mail no matter the weather.  With cold weather, layers were imperative; both thermals and under armour, neck warmers, hats, toe and hand warmers all in place before going to the route.  Often told by customers "At least you have heat in your vehicle" and "I'm sure there's four wheel drive in that thing," causing a suppressed laugh because the defrost gave little "heat" at all and the LLV is a sled in the snow or ice.  It's chilling weather like this that makes me appreciate my husband that much more as he works delivering mail, allowing me to stay home to do what I love (well, paperwork for the business is not quite what I love, but it still has to get done) and spend that extra time with the kiddo before taking her to school.  Cold weather like this makes me appreciate our local farmers who have farm chores to do regardless of the temperatures so that we can have eggs, milk, meats, etc.  This kind of weather that makes me appreciate anyone in an occupation that requires them to be outdoors.  So if we happen to venture outside on this frigid day and see someone who is working in this glacial weather, thank them and let them know we all appreciate their dedication and hard work.