The Bee

This weekend I made a realistic to-do list, and Matt and I did nearly everything on the list. Even though it was "realistic," the tasks were not small ones.

I had to tutor a student, go to my office for a couple hours, cash checks at the bank, and jog a couple miles. Check, check, check, check. Matt and I cleaned the kitchen, used 1/2 of all the ground cherries from Thorncrest Farms in salsa, and rode 21 miles on the Cannon River Trail. I know, impressive, right?

On top of all that, we followed through on eating one of the three melons we got this week, fixed the screen that our beloved Bernie busted through, and made banana bread cupcakes for 31 teenage boys.

So, when late afternoon came around, and I wanted to take a break, I did. I got myself a beer and a book, and I went outside to sit on our patio. I hooked the dogs up so they could enjoy the weather too --- winter's coming to Minnesota very soon, and we want to hold onto every moment of late summer. Immediately, a bee started hovering around my Corona (probably the lime's fault). Thinking I was smarter than him, I sprayed myself with bug spray and opened my book. Happily, I took a swig of my beer...

... and found myself with the bee in my mouth. He panicked, I'm sure, and stung me inside my upper lip.

So much for a well-deserved rest!

When I posted this as my status update, a friend of mine responded. She and I recently and unexpectedly lost a very good friend, a friend who was well-known for her mishaps. Andrea simply wrote, "that sounds like a Kristen story."

And then I smiled, and I didn't really mind having a swollen lip anymore because I knew Kristen would have just toasted her Corona and enjoyed the moment, mishap and all.

Reality Sets In

Welcome Home, Courtney! (Boarding School Edition)

The bathrooms are so orange that when you turn the lights on, you risk being blinded. Strangers from hockey camp plunk their lawn chairs down in front of your front door. The toilet in the "master" bedroom doesn't work, and there are ants. The previous tenants removed three windows to put in air conditioners and took out all the screens. You can't use two utensil drawers because the stove and the fridge partially, just enough, block them. The kitchen faucet shoots water out when you use the cold water. There is a corner or three that smell like cat pee, and your dog has already christened a spot in retaliation. There are 4 pink rooms, one of which has a pink ceiling too, and there are rooms for 30 teenage boys next door!

But, the previous tenant planted beautiful flowers, and there are several big, old trees surrounding the building. You can stop using your car and walk to work every day, even on the coldest Minnesota winter day. You found the three windows and all the screens in the basement, and the first painting crew is coming on Monday. The stove and fridge are almost new, and you love making cookies for multitudes of kids. You have an office all to yourself and a whole other room for your sewing machine and quilting stuff. There's a lovely little patio out back, with a view of trees instead of buildings. And, perhaps best of all, for the first time ever since you left your parents' houses to go to Wesleyan, you'll have your own washer and dryer and they won't require quarters!

Moving

If ever there were something I didn't want to do often, it's move. My husband and I have almost completed a move .5 miles away from our apartment at the boarding school where we work into a bigger school apartment.

A bigger apartment in a dorm full of 30 teenage boys.

But more about that another day; I'm sure dorm life will provide endless fodder for blogging.

Moving sucks.

No matter how hard you try to start "early," the last day is always filled with rushed packing that consists of throwing everything left in a room in a box and labeling it "misc" (the full word is way too impossible for someone in the final hours of packing to spell correctly).

No matter how much you've worked on learning how to fight nicely with your spouse, the bitchy side of you can't seem to stay put. My poor husband has been moving boxes and furniture for days in the heat in hopes of reducing the cost of the movers, and I've felt the need to tell him to change his sweaty shirt many times. Now that's Saturday and I have a Smirnoff Ice Mango, I don't really see why I felt the need to comment on his shirt so much. But the sweet thing is, he didn't nag back at me. He just kept his sweaty shirt on and kept moving boxes.

Now that we're here, and 98% of our belongings are with us, I'm starting to feel human again.

Next project: throwing out/yard sale boxing 100 things. The list will be posted, of course. I promise I won't ditch any wedding presents, but I may ditch the leftover invitations....