blame the dog? nah, it was totally the window.

Cody’s little (well, 24 year old) sister came out to spend the holidays with us.

She’s single. Quite the catch.

Before she left for Indiana she slipped her number to a hunk at her gym.

He ended up texting her last week and they chatted on the phone each evening.

Things seemed to be going well.

And then my window farted.

You see, for some reason when it’s really windy outside the something happens with the seals on my windows and they make very flatulant, floppy (sometimes squeaky) farting noises.

The window farted while Olivia was on the phone with Gym hunk.

How do you explain something like that without looking like a TOTAL liar?

I don’t care how old you are, the age old saying “he who smelt it dealt it” is totally true until proven otherwise.

So Gym? I noticed the calls dropped off after my window tooted into the phone.

I’m here to set the record straight.

It was my window. Promise.

Olivia would NEVER do something like that, especially on the phone.

(me too for that fact, nothing but sunshine and rainbows emit from me as well.)

So give her another chance okay?

I can’t live with myself knowing that you may be calling her the “phone phart girl from the gym” when it was really just my ill mannered window.

With Regards,

Casey

perry the turkeypus (plataturkey? plataturkeypus?)

I made my first turkey and there is an entire (painfully detailed) Wiki page dedicated to Perry the Platypus.

So our Christmas this year involved a turkey and a platypus.

Perry and Turkey

I never did get to make a turkey for Thanksgiving, you know, living in a hotel and all. But for Christmas? GOBBLE. So here you go. How someone who has never cooked a turkey cooks a turkey after going to turkey school and learning every possible thing there is to know about turkey.

Except. Here’s the thing. I panicked. I had to call the Turkey Talk Line. (And I wasn’t even paid to, nor am I being paid to write this post (SUCK IT FTC.))

My fancy thermometer said the thigh meat was done. It also said the breast meat was done. But the cavity was filled with nasty looking stuff (like turkey blood, which, ew. (Also? I don’t stuff turkeys, something about cooking something in the butt of something…)) BUT! According to the turkey talk line all was well. I was done! I DID IT!

And it was delicious.

But what I did learn at turkey school? Get the turkey up off the bottom of the pan. Don’t have a fancy rack? IMPROVISE!

turkey prep my first turkey.

And like I said before. Use a darn thermometer. Okay?

After doing the “I cooked my first turkey and didn’t screw it up” victory dance I turned the oven off.

It was only three o clock.

When your kid wakes you up at 5 am on Christmas morning the day goes by verrry slowly.

ENTER TURKEY SCHOOL!

I wrapped that turkey up in foil, wrapped the foil wrapped turkey in towels and kept that turkey food safe toasty for two hours. (Or you know, until the rest of dinner caught up with the turkey.)

So there. I’m done gloating about the turkey success.

Wait, just kidding. THE GRAVY FROM THE TURKEY DRIPPINGS? BEST. GRAVY. EVER.

Okay. Now I’m done.

Did I mention Perry?

perry appears.

Or how my kid insists in dressing up in everything brightly colored from her closet to go out?

My Fancy Nancy.

I don’t post videos very often, but this is her. Opening what she asked for from grandpa Santa for  Christmas. I can’t decide which is my favorite. When she kisses it, calls it “My Little Pony Get Your Hair Done Spa Day”, thanks Santa profusely at the very end or squeals one of four different times. (Don’t forget the total Utah “OH MY GOSH” at the very beginning.)

It was a good Christmas, in my house. With my family. Very cheery indeed.

You?

wherein i pretend to give decorating advice.

Heh. Just the title of this post makes my inner voices giggle.

I don’t decorate. I’ve been living with bachelor pad furniture for the last 9 years. (Still am!)

But I got so many emails asking “HOW DID YOU DO IT?” in regards to the before and afters of my dining room that I’m now writing this. To prove that I am flying by these, the seat of my pants.

1. I got lucky with the referral of a darn good contractor. His company deals mostly with high end renovations so “crappy” to him was “fancy” for our budget. He was able to suggest things that I would have never thought of. If you’re renovating or remodeling in Indianapolis? Call Gene at Indiana Renovations. Guy is a miracle worker. And he won’t even judge you when you cry. Or call him at 9pm on a Saturday freaking out. (But still, you probably shouldn’t do that…)

2. I’ve always subscribed to Better Homes and Gardens. For the last five years or so I have ripped out all the pretty houses that I liked and filed them away folder named “someday.” There was a definite pattern to what I liked. Lots of delicious textures and colors that could be named with food, like “chocolate” or “carmel” or “brulee.”

Living Room Before

somersaults

(somersaulting preschooler optional)

3. I stick to one color scheme in everything I do. It is both safer and cheaper this way. For example. 90% of the time I wear warm browns and/or deep jewel tones. This does two things, A) everything goes with everything else and B) It keeps me from buying that hot pink sweater no matter how cute it is because it won’t go with anything. I did this with everything I picked for my house. Everything is a warm neutral so everything goes with everything else no matter what room it is in.

(I picked out the carpet, wood, paint, vanities, fixtures, lighting and the tile all separate from each other without a sample of any to refer to when picking out the other. Keeping it all “warm” and “in my vision” has caused it all to come together very nicely at the end.)

4. Steal from the rich and make it your own. Pottery Barn. Restoration Hardware. Williams-Sonoma Home. Crate and Barrel. Nothing like a $3,000 couch to get the renovation blood lust flowing. Dude, just take what you like and find it cheaper. Big deal. Buy me something pretty with what you have left over. You wonder why I was so bent on getting my curtains from JCPenney? It’s because they have these perfectly wonderful faux silk insulated drapes for $26 (on sale) when Pottery Barn wants to charge you $119 for the same thing (only real silk, and not insulated, whatever.)

Living Room After

-Stole the sheer in the back/drape in the front look from my friend Megan, who stole it from Pottery Barn. Double drape rod from PB? $200. IKEA? $16.99.

-LED candles in the fireplace? THANKS FOR THE IDEA RESTORATION HARDWARE! About $20 each at their store, Kohls? $4 each. The mirror on the mantle? Williams Sonoma Home $1,295. Overstock sale at University Loft? $15.

-Chandelier and Kitchen lighting? IKEA, less than $50 each. If you’ve ever priced lighting? Then you know what I’m talking about. Also? The chandelier I picked out was black steel. $4 can of spray paint and it’s now brushed nickel. Somewhere an interior designer just died.

dining room after

Is this all stuff people already know? Eh, if so, sorry. Maybe one person will find it handy. Because let me tell you, trying to pick out stuff you have to live with and someday maybe have to sell to other people? Kinda tricky. But whoo. Fun.

(Also? Our Christmas tree is upstairs. The last of the carpet downstairs was just laid today and we were too impatient to wait. Also? Did you notice that the first thing Cody moved into the living room was Monstro the TV? Yeah. Talk about bargaining. Also, let’s talk about what paint colors go well with a 60″ TV. Exactly none. So you just make do. Also? This is my last also.)

bamboozled.

Ding dong the bamboo’s done. (And the lighting and the paint.)

Kitchen Before.

dining and kitchen after Looking out from the Dining Room Before. dining room after

entryway after

6 months.

1 trip to Ikea.

17 breakdowns.

842 sq. feet of cootie free bamboo flooring.

At least 20 gallons of paint.

My furniture isn’t pretty enough to live here.

Heck, I’m barely pretty enough to live here.

Big Three (Five) by Cody.

You, Moosh, turn Big Three today!  My little girl is growing younger today.  No kindergarten next year.  No learning to ride your bike without training wheels this year.  No learning to play the piano this year.  You are turning Big Three today and going to preschool again next year.  Thank goodness you decided to grow backwards this year.

I know you think you are turning five today and that that makes you “almost an adult,” but you will always be my little girl.  I tease you relentlessly because I love you.  Your mom gets emotional when she thinks of the number of words in your vocabulary now, and she wants you to stop growing.  I want you to stop growing as well, but I am so glad that you have all those words in your vocabulary (even if they don’t all make sense when they are put together in a sentence).  You have become so smart and I swell with pride when you retort what I say with a simple sentence based on some logic that actually makes perfect sense, but that a four year old should never be able to think of on her own (I think you would make a great law student, but your mom would make me sleep in the man cave if I wished law school on you).  Some of my favorite times with you have been when we drive places and make up stories to tell each other, or when we work on a project together and you carry on a conversation with me.  I loved coming home the other night to you watching the BBC News; and when I asked what you were doing you looked at me like I was naive and you said, “I’m watching the news.”  You have become one of my best friends and one person I love to hang out with.  I never get tired of being woken up by a playful punch in the face from you, or your constant jumping on my stomach while I’m napping on the floor.    I get excited and proud when you constantly ask me to show you my toys from when I was a kid.

You are no longer just my daughter, you are my buddy and I hope that never changes.

Cody and the moosh.

So, happy fifth birthday Moosh.

P.S. Thank you for playing with my He-Man toys for a few days even though they were, as your mother says, “creepy boy toys.”

ladybug ladybug, fly away and die somewhere else.

Whoops.

You move into a new house and time just flies right by doesn’t it?

It may be that I’m drowning in boxes.

Or that my downstairs ceiling is leaking upstairs toilet water.

It may be that I am completely consumed with the fact that I have five light switches that control nothing.

Perhaps it’s because my baby, my one and only offspring TURNS FIVE TOMORROW.

I’ve also been concerned about the heating vent RIGHT above the head of my bed that bakes my boogers as I sleep leaving me a stuffy crusty mess each morning. (You’re soooo welcome for THAT visual.)

Also? There’s a lot of room in big houses for funny noises to happen. Funny noises bother me almost as bad as light switches to nowhere but not nearly as bad as residual toilet water dripping on my head.

And dude, the ladybugs? Seriously, I was always all “LOVE THE LADYBUG” growing up but apparently I moved to the one place in the country where all the ladybugs go to die. You can only have so many crispy ladybug carcasses jump out at you from every crevice before you begin to rethink the ladybugs purpose here on Earth.

I’ve also been writing my official life list in my head. When going over it with Cody last night I realized we’re not quite equal in the life list scheme of things. For example. I have jumped out of a plane however I have never won a trophy.

I really want to win a trophy. Plaques, ribbons and silver plates? Check. Trophy? Fail.

We were given a fake Christmas tree to enjoy which is actually pretty awesome, it currently has a stuffed poodle, a picture of Jesus and a 1994 piano competition trophy underneath it. (Obviously not my trophy.) We spent the evening last night searching out a candle that smelled like a real tree. (You must understand, Cody resorting to a fake Christmas tree is the equivalent to PETA chowing down on a tasty tasty cheeseburger.) Which leads me to this observation, I have never owned a Yankee Candle. $21 for a candle? And they have their own freestanding stores? Who loves candles that much? (We went with the much less expensive White Barn essential oil option…)

As for my Christmas list? It currently contains one item. A very pretty cutting board. I feel like I already have so much that there’s not much else I want/need. I mean hello, your first house two weeks before Christmas? Kind of hard to outdo that. (Except with maybe a trophy?)

the ugly lupron truth.

For the last several months I have undergone Lupron therapy as a followup to a a laparoscopy I had back in June for infertility/endometriosis.

Knowing what I know now I would have never agreed to the Lupron therapy. I knew that there was a definite possibility of emotional/mental side effects which is why I chose to do the month to month shot, in case something went wrong I could stop after the first shot.

I could handle the physical side effects of Lupron without much trouble, who doesn’t enjoy a good hot flash now and then? But the feelings that came with Lupron were so subtle that I didn’t even realize what had happened to me until the drug had swallowed me into a black inky devastating fog, and by then it was too late.

To put it mildly Lupron has destroyed every aspect of my life in one way or another.

I would never suggest Lupron to anyone if they had any another option of treatment. Especially someone who has been dealt the depression card.

I feel that the effects have finally begun to wear off, although I know I’m still not 100% myself. Those closest to me noticed a difference, that I wasn’t myself. And those who know the me who suffers from depression knew that the Casey that sat in front of them was even worse off than Casey with just depression. And me with ‘just’ depression is bad enough.

I am ashamed that I withheld and avoided friendships because of how the Lupron made me feel. I was not the mom Addie deserved while on this medication. And as far as being a wife? Fail. Fail. Utter epic fail. To go back and say “Oh sorry I’ve ignored you for the last few months, it was the medication overtaking my life.” seems like such a lame excuse. But when I look back over the last five months? I was simply an empty shell walking around, void of any and all hope. When I looked in the mirror I saw nothing. Nothing worth fighting for, nothing worth loving, nothing worth living for.

I tried faking it. Pushing through with a smile. For the most part it was all a lie.

I wish I could have those months back. I know I wanted a baby, and was ready to do almost anything to get one, but knowing what I know now? Babies can wait, babies can come other ways, babies aren’t necessarily worth risking your entire life for. (Coming from the lady who tried to kill herself while seven months pregnant? I know what I’m talking about.)

I know medication affects so many people in so many different ways, I also know a lot of you read my blog because you see some part of you in some part of me. And the part of me that has been beat by this medication says to that part of you, don’t risk it.

I almost lost it all in several different ways and all I have to show for it is a pit in my stomach and a black fog over the last five months.

I haven’t been a good friend (or even human being) the past few months, I was so concerned with making it out the other side of this in one piece. To those of you who have stuck it out with me? Thank you. Thank you a thousand times over. To those of you I lost or hurt? This is my apology, I’m so sorry.

I move into my house on Tuesday. A fitting new start to the old me that is coming back around.

solace.

I’ve missed me horribly.

our! first! house! (during. part III.)

I was told to ‘CHILL’ in all caps tonight from my contractor.

I can see why the moosh is so smitten kitten with him. (Truth be told she’s moved onto Keith, the do everything and anything man that works for Gene, he has a charming Midwestern drawl.)

I can also see why home renovations can easily lead to divorce. Or at least leaving you wishing you had built a separate bedroom for that toad that insists on calling himself your husband who thinks you have crappy taste in wood flooring. (Note: We have two extra bedrooms plus miss moosh will have a bunk bed, and no I don’t want him to sleep in either of them, he’s not a toad and he loves my taste in fine bamboo flooring.)

With the (possible) toking subcontractors, fantastic curtains from JCPenney and walls with pain colors like ‘Urban Putty’ ‘Studio Taupe’ ‘Whole Wheat’ and ‘Enchanted’ I’m about to fall on my face with excitement.

Naturally this is where I would show you pictures. BUT HA! I HAVE NONE! I’m so busy making kissy faces at my floors and sniffing the paint fumes that I keep forgetting to bring my camera.

Appliances will be delivered Monday (ZOMG APPLIANCES THAT I PICKED OUT AND THAT ARE MIIIIIINE!)

And if all goes well? I get to move out of the hotel on the ninth and into my home on the tenth (or something like that.)

Pictures are coming. This whole thing will be the best Christmas present ever. EVER.

Now tell me, have home renovations almost lead you down the path of destruction? Also? Is it natural to want to kiss your contractor on the nose?