Shoe fetish. Or Hoarding. Whatever.

People think when you grow up with sisters your closet doubles because you can share clothes, shoes, and purses.

In high school, I loaned my older sister a pair of shoes that she lost out of a car window.

She got put on sister probation after that.

Today, I had THIS conversation with my little sister.

The little sister I have loved and adored for 30 years.
The same little sister I would give the shirt off my back for.
Who I would borrow, beg and steal for...

YES, that little sister.

Me: Where did you get those shoes you wore to P and L's wedding?

Little Sister: Off broadway

Me: Can I borrow them for a wedding in September?

Little Sister: What's the date?

Me: 29

Little Sister: I have a wedding that weekend and can't commit to lending shoes I might wear. =) You don't have dressy black shoes?

Me: Are you trying to shame me and my shoe ownership?

Little Sister: I just thought you would have dressy black shoes by now...you need to go shopping.

WTF is she trying to say here..."by now!" Like I'm so old I should have accumulated my fair share of shoes...We didn't NEED shoes when dinasours walked the earth. A club and a caveman were the only accessory you needed.

Me: I was trying to, at Little Sister's closet.

Little Sister: Um, sorry non-committal at this time when it comes to shoes.

OMFG!

This is coming from the girl who has over 500 pairs of shoes in her closet.

Badgley Mischka doesn't have as many shoes as she does.

I could lose ten pairs of her shoes out a car window and she wouln't miss them.

She is totally on sister probation right now.

Cutting the Cheese

My older sister is the only woman I know who was successfully able to make the roommate switch.

You know, switch mid-relationship from dating one guy to dating his roommate.

I didn't much care for the roommate she started dating, although he was post ass-hat which was definitely a step up. The guy she switched to was a MUCH better guy all around.

She ended up marrying that guy.

He is the closest thing to a brother I've ever known.

We are teammates in yuker tournaments, he set me up on dates with his friends, we make fun of my sister when she's not around, he's opened his home, his wallet and his heart to my family.

And up until two months ago I thought I knew him.

But clearly.I.Don't.Know.Him.At.ALL.

It took me 12 years to find out he does not like cottage cheese.

I'm certain he was hiding it and only just let it slip that he abhors the creamy goodness of curdled milk.

On top of that, he's brainwashed my older sister into not liking it either. And we all know, it's a short jump from cottage cheese to cocaine. She's on a one-way train to mainlining. Negativity like that spreads...like cholera and herpes.

(I just looked up mainlining and you don't mainline cocaine, you mainline heroin. You get the point. You're welcome for the chemistry lesson)

I suppose I should take the high road and simply worry for my brother-in-law's health. I mean how much protein is he getting?

On the other hand, he IS the father of my two amazing nephews.

AND he arranged a vacation at this place:

So you're probably thinking, Ashley, it doesn't matter if the guy eats puppies and dehydrated placenta for breakfast.

But it does.

It so does.

Prayer

When Kevin and I first moved into our house I replaced all the window screens.

I know, I'm practically Mike Holmes.

The thing about screens is, when you go to put them back, you could inadvertently pop them out of the runner. Causing you to start all over again.

And again.

And again.

Life has taught me a lot of patience.

But when I popped that screen on the fourth try of putting it back I. Lost. It.

I literally stomped like a petulant child through the living room and kitchen.

And I may have been cussing.

In front of my not-yet-soon-to-be-probably rethinking it at this point-husband.

It was a shining moment.

When I first found out I was pregnant with LB I started praying.

I'd like to say I prayed for "spiritually appropriate" things like his health, his development, ten fingers and toes. And I did. I really did. (Saying it twice like that makes it true.)

But what I really prayed for was that he would have my eyes.

It's not like Kevin has lizard eyes or anything. His eyes are perfectly fine. And they see through things. Like my bullshit.

Wanting LB to have my eyes is really a result of older sister having kids.

Boys.

Good looking boys.

The kind of good looking mothers warn their daughters about.

For the record, my mother did not warn me about good looking boys and it probably would have changed absolutely nothing if she had.

This is a picture of my oldest nephew at four.

WARNING: be prepared to fall in love.

He is now the ten year old equivalent of Bear Grylls.
If you live under a rock and don't know who Bear Grylls is, click here.

I think it's obvious why I would want my child to have those big expressive eyes with lashes a mile long.

So I prayed for that.

Still think God doesn't answer prayer?

Spider lashes.

Here he is again with my other nephew:

Tell me you wouldn't warn your daughter about the one on the right.

Obviously, my prayers were answered.

An now LB is nineteen months.

You want to know what else he got from me? Would you like to know what I should have prayed for?

Temperment.

Training

I have said numerous times that training a child isn't much different than training a dog.

And then, I read in this book that very same thing.

So, obviously I will be publishing a book on parenting in the near future. Check back for publication dates!

For starters, neither one comes out of the womb understanding the English language.

I know. That's a tough one to wrap your mind around. Take a moment.

You can yell 'down' to a dog all day long or your can throw Burger King at him in an attempt to teach him to leave you alone. But all you will accomplish is either teaching him to love Burger King or that the word 'down' really means 'hey, come have some flame broiled food.'

OR, you can yell 'here' to your toddler and watch as he gives you the sly grin just before he runs straight for the duck pond and an impromptu bath in duck waste.

And while we're at it lets talk about potty training.

When you let a toddler run around without a diaper while you go run bath water, and suddenly you realize you don't hear cars crashing anymore, you only hear silence....you will come back to find your 17 month old eating his own poop. And hear me on this one, DO NOT SCOOP HIM UP. Because he will only want to put his hands on your face and in your mouth.

Same is true for dogs. If you leave them alone long enough and you hear that dreaded extended silence...in all likelihood they are either chewing your Jimmy Choos or pooping in them. 

Just go ahead and get the bucket and the Resolve.

Probably the most common attribute between training dogs and toddlers is the mind numbing repetition.

Over and over saying 'bottom down' or counting numbers or singing 'old mac donald had a farm...ee i ee i oh.'

There are moments when you wonder if anything is getting through to them.

If anything you try to teach them will stick.

And miraculously, in the midst of a melt down because the hairdresser pulled out the electric trimmer just to 'get around the ears' your little one will say, "tank ewe" without being prompted, and probably because he's glad it's over, but nonetheless he'll say it.

And you'll die from all the cuteness just after your heart explodes from all the love.

This is why we can't have nice things. Don't be surprised if you come to our house and everything is covered in plastic.

I don't typically do the dishes in our household. I don't know how things worked out this way, but don't feel too sorry for Kevin, he has clean laundry and a fridge full of food to eat.

Magic doesn't make that happen.

If I'm doing the dishes I make damn sure everything fits in the dishwasher. Even if it means spending ten extra minutes rearranging the dishwasher.

Kevin will just use those ten minutes to wash the dishes by hand.

And here is where that logic fails:

When you have paper thin ridiculously expensive wine glasses.

And lets say they break easy. Like all but one. Sure you still have all four of the white wine glasses, but three of the red ones are gone and if that last one breaks what are you supposed to do? Drink red wine out of a white wine glass like some commoner?

I watched as my last red wine glass slipped from Kevin's fingers and onto the tile floor smashing into tiny shards that would be impossible to entirely clean until we replace the tile floor with hard wood and then refinished THAT hard wood because our contractor is a pain in the ass.

I'm not bitter about any of it.

Maybe I was too busy reminiscing the many moments I shared with my sole red wine glass or maybe I was just shocked at the sheer velocity all that glass was able to travel, but at some point the man who watched me push another person from my body went completely white and down to the floor.

I had to fireman carry him upstairs.

Away from all the glass and blood.

Minuscule drops of blood shed from his tiny scratch...but lets not get sidetracked by details okay?

Kevin insisted I check the "wound" for glass. A wound that barely met the diameter of dental floss.

Turns out Kevin's hand is fine. He is still washing dishes by hand though which means I'm drinking wine out of a plastic cup like a hobo.

What you will learn during a kitchen remodel, after losing access to your house and your will to live

1. Everything will take longer than your contractor says it will. When he says, "I'm almost 100% sure we can get that done today" he is full of shit. Don't be fooled.

2. Don't go online, look at Sherwin Williams' room optimizer and decide that marigold is a good color for a half bath. It's orange. Not brown/orange not burnt orange...bright WAKE UP I'M ORANGE orange.

3. When you decide to repaint the half bath, don't go back on the Sherwin Williams' room optimizer and pick another color. In fact, just stay away from the the Sherwin Williams' room optimizer. LEARN YOUR LESSON!

4. When the contractor says not to walk on the new hard wood floors that took five days to install, sand, stain, seal and polyurethane, for the love of God, DON'T WALK ON THE FLOORS...not even to get the ball your toddler threw in the dining room...not. even. then.

5. Buy a rug to go in the dining room to cover the footprint mark.

6. When you move all of your belongings out of two rooms and cram them into two OTHER rooms, you will have to own up to the fact that three years ago you broke the leg on your storage cabinet because you were too lazy to empty the cabinet before dragging it across the carpet. Telling your husband that your father did this exact same thing to your mother's storage cabinet will NOT stop him from rolling his eyes.

7. You can NOT heat up Stouffers meals in a toaster oven. You're welcome.

8. When your toilet starts running and your husband doesn't know how to fix it, ask your contractor to do it. What the hell else does he have to do all day while he's NOT finishing your kitchen and figuring out what lie to tell you to make you believe he IS going to finish your kitchen so you can get out of dust hell.

9. When the Russian counter top guy comes to template the counter for your island, DO NOT ask him if he is coming back the next day with your counters. You will learn through broken angry English that Victor is on "vacation" and apparently he holds the keys to getting counter jobs done.

10. When your Mother-in-law tells you she will "never paint the f#@%*ing spindles" on your staircase again, and you refinish your banister and have to touch up the spindles on your staircase, you will learn why your Mother-in-law will never paint them again. 

11. You may think you love Mexican, but walking to the Mexican restaurant three nights a week WILL GET OLD. There is only so much Mexican one person can eat and by that I mean, beans will make their way through your toddler and you will have first hand knowledge of this. Literally.

12. Anyone who ever asked a mother with a toddler to keep off the floors in over half her living space NEVER HAD A TODDLER!

13. When your contractor tells you they marred the wood when they moved your refrigerator back meaning the floors in the kitchen will need to be entirely re-done, you will wonder if your neighbors will balk at a contractor roasting on a spit in your driveway. (Richard will care. That old nosy pain in the ass.)

Was it worth it? You be the judge:

Before

After

It is the best job in the world

I had to watch this twice to get the full impact. I'm slow. I cried both times.

The FDA says it's really ok to eat ramen noodles and bread for three weeks....really

I thought it would be super fun for us to play a game called "I'm right, You're wrong."

I'll give you an impartial description of two sides to a disagreement, and you pick the one you think is right.

FUN!

Disagreement: Should you tell family members that you'll be out of a kitchen for three weeks and invite them to invite you to dinner.

Disagreers: Ashley and her Mother.

Position One: Of course you ask family and friends when you need a hand or dinner or a kidney or an alibi or that you need a surrogate. Family and friends LOVE to help. And how would they know you need help if you don't ask. They are family after all.

Position Two: Only hillbillies and harlots invite themselves to dinner.

Now remember, it doesn't matter who is right (yes, it does) and don't spend all your time trying to figure out whose position is whose (if you pick wrong, you are dead to me). This is just an impartial (and FUN) look at two opposing sides to an argument.

Don't worry, your responses will be kept anonymous (no, they won't.)

Enjoy!



*I totally stole this idea from the brilliant Marinka. She knows stuff.

Thank goodness I look great in orange jumpsuits

It all started with a light.

One of those awful fluorescent lights with the plastic cover.

In a fit of impatience, I gently pulled my leg free from a cord.

So gently in fact, that my shoe came right off my foot and flew to the ceiling, breaking the plastic cover of our kitchen's overhead light. 

Sometimes I don't know my own strength.

Normal people would just replace the plastic covering and move on with their lives.

Apparently we are not normal people.

In our defense we do hate that light.

Is there a stronger word than hate? Because that would describe my feelings for the light.

But I can't just replace the light because I want to put in an island. If I'm going to replace the light, I should replace it with what I would put over an island.

I know. I baffle myself sometimes with my superior intellect.

Most husbands would say: "That's crazy! We aren't paying to put in an island just so you can fix a light!"

MY husband said: "While we're at it we should replace the cabinets, I hate these cabinets. And we might as well do the floor too. I hate this tile." He also probably said something about how amazing of a wife I am.

And then the world ceased to revolve on it's axis because I didn't know what to say.

I didn't want to do an entire kitchen remodel.

But it's happening people.

On Monday.

All because of a light.

My sister has an uncanny ability to keep things alive...this bodes well for her husband

When we were kids my older sister had a gerbil named Buttercup.

He lived a freakishly long time, like twice the life span of a normal gerbil.

I was there when he died. Along with my sister and a neighborhood friend.

I remember getting choked up at Buttercup's last moments and my sister looking at me with all the heartbreak a ten year old can muster and saying, "What are you crying for, you didn't love it?"

Truth be told I was crying because she was crying.

It took her twelve years to recover and get another pet. That or the asshat she was dating did something stupid and made it up to her by giving her a kitten.

At twenty-two a kitten works. At forty, it takes a trip to the Caribbean and lifetime supply of spicy Cheetos.

Since she never could settle on a name she just called it "Kitty" or "Pretty Kitty."

With that kind of creativity you'd expect her kids to be named boy 1 and the second one.

Kitty only liked fresh drinking water, so early on my sister started running the faucet for her. And just like a Brazilian bikini wax or horseback riding you got to be committed to that shit. Because as she got older, and less able to jump, she had to be lifted to the sink.

There were times when I would walk into my sister's house and random faucets would just be running.

As she got older, she lost her hearing. Only she didn't know she lost her hearing. So she told them she was hungry at 5:30 in the morning by progressively yowling.

I do the same thing to Kevin.

She lived eighteen years.

I talked to my sister the day she lost Pretty Kitty.

She got choked up telling me about it.

And then I got choked up.

And then I got quiet cause I didn't want her to know I was getting choked up.

And then she asked me if I was okay.

And then she started to encourage me cause I felt bad. That's what big sisters do.

I realize it is extremely hard to believe I'm not a counselor for trauma survivors.

I think the worst part of it is that my oldest nephew found her. I can visualize his ten year old sadness from losing the family pet. On the one hand he's old enough to understand life and death. On the other hand, he is just young enough to want to turn Old Yeller off two minutes before it ends.

I offered my older sister one of our cats to console her. The dumb one.

I know, it was really generous.

Kitty, aka Pretty Kitty, aka Katyana, aka the Russian Spy
1994-2012

It's exactly like the Hunger Games

I entered a lottery.

Not a lottery where you have to kill everyone else in order to survive.

This isn't Real Housewives.

It happened like this:

In mid-December decide you need a little inspiration.
(Needing a break from all the holiday obligations will help with this.)

Get good and tired of dreaming about that one thing you've always wanted to do and finally do it.

You know, like moving to Rwanda to be accepted by gorillas in their natural habitat.

Which is probably way easier than being accepted in junior high.

OR, you could be like Roz Savage and row a boat across the Atlantic Ocean, leaving behind a marriage, job, home, and little red sports car after being inspired by writing two versions of your obituary: one where you live a conventional life, and another where you live the life you've always wanted to have.
(This paragraph has 253 characters, not counting spaces. Go with it.)

I hate to be the one to break it to you, but Charles Goodwin already discovered vulcanization and led the way to the effective use of rubber. I'm sure there are other things you can discover.

Read the qualifying standards and lottery rules for the Ironman World Championship in Kona, Hawaii.

Realize if you enter and are selected you will have even less time than you do now to meet family obligations.

Download the entry questionnaire for the lottery.

Realize that 250 characters or less is not that many words. See?

As you fill out the questionnaire, realize you've referenced your older sister a lot.

Be reminded of how thankful you are not to be in the same age group as your older sister in case they decide to pick both of you.

Remember to use that as your "I am thankful for" in two years when you are back at your mother's house for Thanksgiving.

Realize in two years when you are back at your mother's house for Thanksgiving, you'll be in the same age group as your older sister.

Silently curse your mother for making you write what you are thankful for.

Really put that you "brush your teeth in the shower because it's efficient" as the interesting fact about yourself.

Submit your lottery application.

Look at your calendar in case you have a conflict with the race dates.

Realize you have a work conflict with the race dates.

Pray.

The Ironman World Championship is considered the Super Bowl for triathletes. The race field is limited to 1,800 athletes. Only 100 are selected through the lottery. Another 100 are selected through a Legacy program. Beginning in 2012, athletes were given an increased chance of being selected based on the number of years they have entered. For each year an athlete registers, their chances increase accordingly. By 2022, I might get in...

Faith is taking the first step even when you don't see the whole staircase. - Martin Luther King

Follow your dream, whatever that may be.

I was robbed

It happened in the Bed Bath and Beyond store.

They got over $200.

I was relatively calm. Which is more than I can say for the elderly lady and the mom of three fighting over the last 75% off ceramic Santa.

You know, because they'll never find another one of those...

OKAY, if you have to get all technical about it, I didn't leave empty handed. I may have left the store with new sheets and pillows.

In my post traumatic stress induced state, I knocked over an entire display of bic lighters, chewing gum, nutella and neosporin on the go sticks.

And aren't we all glad I didn't pick the aisle with the marshmellow snowmen and glass candles on display.

I haven't slept for more than four hours straight in two years. I wake up every morning with a neck ache or a headache and a glowing attitude about it.

One night on the Isotonic Indulgence* and I feel like a new person. So what if it cost me a car payment? There are two things you should spend your money on people:

1. Bedding
2. Your wife

The sheets. Oh the sweet Eucalyptus Origins* sheets. They are produced from the wood pulp of Eucalyptus trees and I have NO idea what that means. They thought they could dazzle me with all this environmental talk like "renewable resource" when little do they know, all I care about it is soft. And they are that. Softer than a baby's bottom.

I know. I tested it out on LB.

When I had that little bottom in my hand I thought about how it won't be long before my cupping his bottom in my hand gets awkward for both of us.

Not unlike this conversation with my mother, which subsequently explains why I had to get new sheets.

Me: You aren't going to believe what I did.

Mom: What's that?

Me: Apparently, I am getting out of the bed so much, I've worn the sheets so thin that my foot ripped a hole straight through the sheet last night on my third time out of bed. I didn't have the heart to wake Kevin, so I slept with my foot halfway through the hole and on the mattress pad.

Mom: Is that really how you ripped a hole in your sheets, Ashley?

Pause.

Really? Is my mother asking me if wild jungle sex caused the rip in our sheets?

Me: You got me. Kevin's like a wild boar in the bedroom. I really think he prefers for people call him Tarzan. (No he wouldn't) (Yes he would)

*I have in no way been compensated by Isotonic or Eucalyptus Origins for my comments here. However, if they WOULD like to compensate me, I take cash, credit, paypal deposits and gift cards. Heck, I might even take a thank you.

With a cupcake.

Thank yous are always better with cupcakes.

We're moving to Utah!

Just as soon as I win this:

The HGTV Dream Home

Kevin is super excited. He thinks by moving to Utah he can marry more women.

I told him if he wants to take on more than one mother-in-law so be it. But these women need to come in to this marriage knowing they get to do all the shit I don't want to.



the Challenge

I worked three jobs in college. One of which was waiting tables.

Probably the most physically demanding job I've ever had. Unless you count the time I organized a "rock a-thon" fundraiser for my sorority on the campus square. Which technically I didn't get paid for and ultimately was asked to leave because I failed to get permission for my entire pledge class to bring a rocking chair to the school's most popular corner and "rock" for twelve hours straight.

It took a whole hour before campus officials kicked us out.

We didn't raise a single dime.

BUT, it was for a good cause and I may have become a legend. Or a teaching tool for what not to do.

I like legend better.

Kevin often remarks about the fact that he has never waited tables. And, as many times as I tell him he should do it....just once....for the experience....he resists.

And then... we heard about this.

Kevin and I saw an advertisement for it and verbally sparred over which one of us would beat the other to the top.

Naturally I would.

Just ask the Internet.

Which is what I'm doing...

I presented Kevin with a challenge. If I make it to the top before he does, then HE has to wait tables for a night at a local restaurant.

He hasn't thought of anything for me should he make it to the top first.

Probably because he knows he won't.

But I'd be willing to kick a soccer ball around for an indoor game...I mean really, how hard can THAT be?

My little sister can do it and she can't even make to spin class regularly.

I say...if you read this blog, all two of you, and you know Kevin, that would be the same two of you...give him a little nudge for me willya?

What's a little healthy competition among family?

I hope 2012 is the same, but different...with fewer decisions.

Yesterday, in the car, amid a blustery snow storm, I happily reminded Kevin that he made it through the whole month of December without having to scrape the driveway.

And while my skill set extends beyond pointing out the obvious, I was very happy for Kevin and this small, albeit noteworthy, accomplishment.

You might think he joined me in this celebration. Popped a bottle of champagne. Toasted mother nature. Oh no. Because according to Kevin, this just means winter will extend into April and he will still have to scrape the driveway for three full months.

Maybe four.

It was here I lamented the fact that a small box filled with puppies wasn't close by so he could drive over them.

I considered writing a 2011 wrap up post.

In some ways 2011 was like that conversation.

Excited in one breath and harsh in another.

It was the year for decision making. Lots of it. And then some. And then some more.

...the year my ability to shower or go to the bathroom alone officially ended.

...the year little sister finished 23 seconds ahead of me in a road race.

...the year I held my breath for a smile, roll, crawl, walk, hugs and kisses.

...the year I said this prayer, alot:

...the year I blew out my back on Christmas and didn't tell anyone. The upside: no one knows you threw out your back getting out of a giant inflatable toy meant for a two year old. The downside: no one knows you're in excruciating pain.

...the year I decided older sister needs this, because you can't put a price on awesome:

...the year I learned that anything over 4 hours of sleep is just plain gluttonous. 

...the year Kevin said and did the most amazing thing. Ever.

...the year little sister would cancel on spinning class more than she would show up for it, because she.is.a.CHUMP.

...the year I became intimately acquainted with the waiting room at the E.R.

...the year I learned that when your husband asks you if this guy is good looking, you say "no" or "hell no" or "nowhere near as good looking as you, sweetie" (Um, your welcome):

...the year the same person gave me a donut maker and a scale for Christmas.

...the year I learned the immense joy of motherhood and the debilitating fear that accompanies it.

It was also the year my little household of three (five if you count grouchy and dum dum) became a family.