Me vs. The Lawn Equipment

While I was out running the other day, I saw one of my young, female neighbors calmly and efficiently trimming the grass around her flower beds using my most feared yard tool: the Weed Wacker. She made it look so easy that I vowed this would be the weekend I would finally try to conquer the rest of the mysterious manly stuff in the shed that I've been avoiding.

I think I missed something...

So this morning I got up, opened the shed, put on my gloves, and got to work. I tried to ease into it, first mowing the grass with my nice, silent, non-gas-spewing manual mower. Today, it was okay that it didn't even pretend to cut the thicker weeds; the dreaded Wacker was following close behind to tame those reluctant tufts into submission. After going over the whole backyard a few times, I could no longer avoid it.  I got the Wacker off its hook, attached the extension cord, and pressed the button. And I was.....moderately successful. The edges along the walkway are clearly delineated if a little wonky, and I only wacked a few bare patches into the lawn. However, while the weeds along the edge of the path were severed, they were still stubbornly clinging to the center of the path.

After somewhat clearing the path, I turned to the weeds at perimeter of the house, and that's when things really went downhill. They should change the sticker saying, "no bumping required" to "no bumping into the side of the house recommended." Anyone know how to fix that little green thingy?

On the bright side, it does still wack things--just in a much smaller circumference.

Once I was sufficiently dejected by the Wacker, I turned to the Blower. This is much more my style. I might get some dirt on my face, but I won't chop off any toes, and there are less moving parts for me to break. It's also lighter and easier to carry around. Unfortunately, I am only as good with the Blower as I am with an iron, which is to say...not good. For every area I smooth out, I create more wrinkles in other areas that were just fine and dandy prior to my intrusion.

I tested my aptitude with this equipment from the shielded safety of my backyard prior to going out front, because I knew I was going to make an ass out of myself and wanted to limit the number of spectators as much as possible. But even with the practice, I did get quite a few strange looks once I finally tackled the front yard. It probably had something to do with the medieval torture device I was jumping up and down on. I speak of course of the Aerator. Our front yard is so dry and grassless and compacted that instead of rolling it to and fro like a normal person, I had to take a more series-of-swift-punctures approach. 

But having a raggedy yard will just make our house spookier for Halloween, right? And that'll be here before you know it, so it's probably a good thing that I start getting ready now...

Oh and did I mention that while all these festivities were happening, one of our dogs, Ollie, licked up some ant killer? Don't worry, I called the poison control number and he'll be fine. Turns out it's mostly ground up corn, and the pesticide is much more harmful to a microscopic ant than it is to an 80 pound dog. So today, it's actually a good thing that he's a bit of a fat-ass!

I think we all better stay inside for a while. 

Nom Nom Nom

With The Hubs gone, there have certainly been days when all I can rustle up for dinner is a fun-sized bag of barbecue potato chips and a box of lean cuisine eggrolls. Or an entire sleeve of Saltine crackers and a bowl of raw veggies with ranch dip. C'est la vie. But ironically, I've actually been cooking a lot more now that he's gone than I did when he was still here...probably because I don't have him to cook for me! I am also the Queen of Leftovers lately, which is kind of necessary since most recipes make enough food for at least four, and I am only one. If I didn't get inventive, I'd be throwing out a whole heap of food. For example, I made a big brisket roast with carrots, and then repurposed it as both enchilada filling and a breakfast hash (see below).

A while ago, I posted about a commitment to start planning meals and following recipes instead of throwing things together willy nilly, and I am happy to report that I have actually followed through. The potato, carrot, and leek soup was from a vegetarian cookbook, and the tuna steak with lemon and herbs was from a vintage New York Times cookbook that my wonderful mother-in-law got for me. The roasted beet and goat cheese salad recipe I got from the Epicurious app I have on my phone (one of my go-to resources). The dressing is so yummy and so easy -- just some extra virgin olive oil, balsamic vinegar, and frozen orange juice concentrate. Tangy and delish!

I've been meaning to post about my culinary adventures while I was in New Orleans for the American Library Association Conference. I mean, it was fun to learn about library stuff and all, but it was sorta all about the food. My roommates and I had the goal of "eating our way through New Orleans" and I think we put a decent dent in it. If I can ever find the camera that has all those pictures on it, I will be sure to let you in on my best finds from The Big Easy. Two words: Shrimp Creole.

During our honeymoon trip to Saint Martin, my main focus was on eating as much delicious French food as I could....it seems as though the older I get, the more my life revolves around food. Cooking and eating has replaced partying and at least some of my wild adventures. It's a good thing I run marathons, or else I might be a little rolly polly.

Happy eating,
Sarah

p.s. When in doubt, put an egg on it.

A Self Righteous, Passive Aggressive Moment

The next time my neighbors decide to throw a loud, obnoxious party until 3 a.m., I just might have to wake up at 6 a.m. the next day to do some yard work. In particular, I might have to mow the non-existent grass and blow around all of those leaves that are in my side yard. You know, the side yard right outside my bedroom window where all their drunk friends were parked, and thus where their drunk friends kept slamming their car doors all night. Apparently, a prerequisite for attending an obnoxious party is the ability to enter and exit things emphatically. I might also have to scream expletives while I'm doing said yard work, but that shouldn't bother them because it seems to simply be the way in which they communicate with one another.

Seriously though, I live in a really nice, family friendly neighborhood. If they want to throw down like that, they should have chosen to live on campus in the Greek Village. I realize I'm sounding like an old fuddy duddy, but people's complete obliviousness (or plain lack of regard) for how their actions might effect other people gets under my skin and drives me crazy. We've had parties here until the wee hours of the morning...but we keep the noise inside the house, not outside right next to where our neighbors are trying to sleep. Even in my college heydays I tried to keep the volume down whenever I had parties. Be young and fiesty, do whatever you want. But don't force the whole rest of the neighborhood to listen to your idiocy. It's just rude.

Sink or Swim

I am now officially a geo-bachelorette. We knew this day was coming, but despite all of our best intentions to "prepare" ourselves we didn't really succeed at that. I was taking an intense summer class, spending all my nights and weekends doing schoolwork. The Hubs was packing up his stuff and hanging out with all of his SC friends for a last hoorah. And then, suddenly, he was gone. The days had been so full of stuff to do that the reality of living apart for nine months didn't finally sink in until his Uhaul was pulling out of the driveway.

For the first week, I couldn't sleep. I would lay in bed until 3, 4, 5 in the morning until finally lulled into an infomercial induced coma. It wasn't because I was worried about him; I knew he was safe and settling in. It was just different. There was something missing. It's a good thing he still has a lot of clothes and other things here, because it allows me the illusion that he is just gone for a short trip, whenever I need to fool myself. If his half of the closet was completely empty, I have a feeling I would be much more of a basket case. Even more of a basket case than using his bath towel that he left hanging on the hook instead of putting in the laundry hamper, just because it's his. (Don't judge me.)

Fortunately, I have slowly been forced back into a regular schedule by the demands of work and my final semester of grad school. And it's quickly become apparent that staying busy is going to be my primary coping mechanism for this separation. Between taking a research class, working three jobs, playing on a kickball team, training for a marathon, and doing all the house and pet stuff on my own, I don't have all that much time to sit around and pine for him.

Speaking of house and pet stuff, I am pretty proud of myself for not letting things immediately turn to rubble. I've been keeping up with the always-necessary vacuuming, dusting, mopping, etc. I have not allowed dishes to accumulate in the sink, despite having a broken dishwasher for a while. I've shuttled the dogs back and forth from the vet's office (although I do have to stagger the visits because I can't wrangle them both at once--especially since one becomes panicky and irate whenever coerced into the exam room). I've done yard work--and not just mowing! I actually trimmed all of our overgrown trees and shrubbery! (There is an inappropriate alternate meaning there as well, but I will gracefully leave it unsaid.) I also took a solo road trip with both dogs, which, believe me, requires acrobatic-like skills during potty stops.

However, I am still afraid of the weed-wacker and the power washer. And I have not yet had sufficient initiative to drag the mower onto the other side of the house. And I borrowed The Hubs' friend to come install the new dishwasher instead of figuring it out myself. And now the vacuum cleaner is broken, with pet hair swiftly accumulating as I figure out what the heck to do with it.

There was no gradually acclimating to this scenario. We just had to jump in--I like to imagine cannonball style, with a dramatic splash--into the deep end. And while I'm not sprinting through the waters, neither am I clinging desperately to a raft. I'm figuring things out the best I can, moment to moment.

I'm doggie paddling.

Ollie has not yet embraced the "sink or swim" mentality. He's a clinger.

The Order In Which I Neglect Things:

1. Blogging (sorry folks)
2. Anything and everything that could be considered a "domestic art"
3. Exercise
4. Sleep
5. Personal hygiene
6. Sanity

Only seven more days until the end of the summer semester.

Whatever Gets Me Through The Day

I read an article in Shape magazine a while ago, talking about how different people motivate themselves to push through hard workouts by using different tactics. Some meditate, some try to distract themselves, and others respond better to Zena Warrior Princess-esque battle cries.

As I've begun training for my next marathon (and particularly now that I am not yet back in shape and even my short runs are a struggle) I've been thinking about all the little mental games I play with myself just to make it through my workouts. I have quite a few up my sweat-wicking Under Armor sleeve, so I thought I'd share them with all the other reluctant runners out there, as well as anyone else who often finds themselves in...unpleasant situations.

First there is mentally declaring war on whatever poor soul happens to be using a machine nearby. I believe this is pretty common, but I am the champ! It doesn't matter if it's the peppy sorority girl on the elliptical, the 500-pound guy walking two miles an hour, the track-star-looking guy with legs longer than my whole body, or a sweet little old lady. It. Is. On. And I will not stop my machine before they do. This usually gets me past the first 20-30 minutes, since that's about when most normal people stop and move on to greener pastures. Oh, but not me.

Once I've exhausted my supply of unsuspecting opponents, but it's still early enough in my run that I have a little pep in my step, that's when I start performing "Shoop" by Salt-N-Pepa. Not outwardly of course; my legs are a little busy. But in my head, I am starring as both Salt AND Pepa in a kick ass music video a la the Fly Girls from In Living Color. Added bonus: I will be prepared with an awesome routine if The Hubs ever gets me drunk enough to do karaoke.

When I'm dripping sweat and my energy starts to drain, I imagine Jillian Michaels screaming in my face. KEEP GOING! KEEP GOING! DON'T YOU DARE SLOW DOWN! I DON'T CARE IF YOU VOMIT ALL OVER YOURSELF, YOU WILL FINISH THIS WORKOUT! RAWWRRRR!!!

Well, Jillian is a very busy gal. She can't stick around all day. So when I'm out from under her watchful eyes, I start bargaining with myself. I'll make deals like, "I'm going to slow down for two minutes, and then bump it back up again." Or, "I am not going to look at the treadmill screen again until I count to 100." Or, "I am going to keep this incline until that guy outside walks to his car, gets in it, and drives away." You get the idea.

But when my body really starts to panic, and I start questioning whether I can make it even a tenth of a mile further let alone three miles, this is the mantra I always come back to: "Of course I can." It's this simple little reality check that snaps me out of questioning myself and looking for excuses to give up. And it works, because it's true. Because I've done it before, and I'll do it again. Because my mind can show my body who's boss. Because whether I finish by sprinting, walking, or dragging myself by my fingernails, I will finish. Of course I can.

Here I am with my pops after the Marine Corps Marathon.
I'm currently training for this same race--only this time The Hubs is doing it too!

The Storm Before The Calm

Getting ready to go on vacation is always a little crazy. There's trying to make up extra hours at work, doing laundry, packing, paying bills, figuring out petsitting arrangements, and generally doling out all the information anyone might need to take care of things in your absence. For us, it also usually includes a deep cleaning of the entire house, since The Hubs is singly focused on the joys of returning home to fur-free floors and fresh sheets. I have to admit, it is pretty nice. There was so much running around this time, however, that all we could manage was to mow the grass, do the dishes, and clean out the litter box. Our friend is staying at our house while we're gone to watch Ziggy and Tweeder, and he'll have his dog with him too, so I suppose the floors wouldn't be fur free when we got home, even if we had done the usual swabbing of the decks.

On Thursday, we drove the eight hours up to my parents house to drop off our other dog Ollie. Friday was filled with running errands and my sister's surprise 30th birthday party, and this morning we woke up bright and early and are currently sitting in Dulles airport waiting for our flight to beautiful St. Martin. Well, we're flying to St. Maarten, but then staying on the French side, St. Martin.

That's right. After seven months of marriage, we're finally going on our honeymoon! So all of the crazy preparations were totally worth it, because my reward is to spend a whole week alone with my honey, right here:

(photo from villavillas.com)

Cheers,
Sarah