And I can go home now!...

It’s happened again: I’m stuck at work with very very little or nothing to do, but I have to stay and “look busy” because work could pop up again at any moment — gracious, no!

The thing is, I actually have many things going on, but they either are awaiting the supervisor once-over or otherwise rely on someone else contacting me (i.e. a contact deciding when they’d like to be interviewed, etc). So I’m working on many projects…but can’t do any of them.

At least I have a moment to practice my blogging. (after surfing the web for…at least an hour and a half now. I swear there is real work that goes on here…)


Movin’ Out!
Against all odds and defying all logic, my parents (read: mom) said I could move into the apartment! Wooo!!!
It was very weird. I’d brought up the “apartment situation” after dinner a few nights before, with my dad present as my strategic ally. We actually (finally) discussed it seriously for the first time ever, but my mom kept making up reasons why it wasn’t a good idea, which my dad and I always readily countered. I thought I was still doomed and that she’d dig her heels in for no good reason and was just going about my life when, *bam!* my mom asks me when I can get the lease.
Afraid that I’m in an alternate universe or in a really nice (but remarkably less bizarre than usual) dream, I proceeded with all the caution of an impala in lion country. Sure, says I, I can get it from the apartment complex no problem…
I bit back my cheering when I realized she wasn’t kidding! Hurray!
Later that same weekend, she starts asking me about things I’ll need “when I move into the apartment.” Further confirmation that it really happened! Now I have the lease at home (we’re waiting to have a lawyer friend look it over on Sunday before I’m allowed to sign it) and my mom and I have, quite amicably, started a box of “stuff I’ll need in the apartment.” So far it has a new first aid kit and a bottle of Jane’s all-purpose salt (that I lurve!), but we’ve talked about such things as a new comforter, blinds, and starting a recipe book.
It’s REAL! I’m really going to be allowed to move into the apartment!

Here’s the interactive part: What things might I need that I don’t already own? The beds – full-size or queen? Special spices we’d like to have? Is Kelly going to be taking anything with her that it would be good for me to replace (pots, pans, etc)? Do I need to get utensils and plates? What stuff do I need for new apartment startup?

Squee!


The Beasties
Hopefully by now you have seen the kitten pictures. Aren’t my babies precious?!? The problem is they are also quite unintentionally ferocious. Going to bed, for instance, is dangerous work. Human feet, you see, are lovely when they are in shoes or bare; they are good for licking, rubbing against, occasionally petting you, and other simple pleasures. But a bad thing happens at night: the instant a human feet slide under the covers, they become horrific monsters that must be crushed by all the kitten powers of biting and clawing!
Needless to say, ow.
The only practical solutions for this are a) locking them out, which is just said because they cry and paw at the door, or b) sleeping under thick comforters where, while you’ll still be attacked, at least you will only feel the thumping of kitten-pounces and not the scythes they keep in their paws.

They’ve gotten a lot bigger; the vet said they’d doubled in weight. 4 whole pounds. They are so beautiful; the vet, who sees cats all day every day, marveled at how pretty our girls were. They are! And they were fairly well behaved at the vet, all things considered. They just lay down in their carrier/tent and meowed a bit in the car, but they were quiet at the vet and kept each other company.


Happy Fourth
Happy post-Fourth o’July, everybody. I hope you had a good time.

I did. I was off of work (hel-lo federal holidays!) and it was 98% sunny, where it has been 98% rainy lately. It was great! My mom and I slept in for the morning (bye-bye 6:30 a.m., I’m still snoozing), fed the dogs we are charged with and got supplies for the mid-day celebration at our friends’ house, including this curve-hugging dress that reminds me of a cross between Marilyn Monroe’s famous white dress and WonderWoman in a toga, makes me feel like a million bucks and was super cheap. (score!)

We went to our friends to swim in the pool and eat her wonderful stuff-your-face food and played a game called Farkle. (It was silly, simple and involved dice). Then my mom and I went home for the block party at our street, where we arrived just in time to grab a watermelon icee and watch the fireworks display. It was great.

I missed my dad and brother some, because they are off on the pinnacle of Boy Scout experiences hiking up a mountain and it was weird being without them. While I was watching the fireworks, I kept thinking about how weird it is that we celebrate the signing of the Declaration of Independence with fireworks.

Fireworks, meant to symbolize the “rocket’s red glare, bombs bursting in air,” are looked upon as a beautiful spectacle. A symbol of war, made kid-friendly. Does anyone else think about this?

I guess what fireworks remind me the most of, though, is “The Sandlot.” One part of the summer montage includes the only night game the boys could play, on the fourth of July. It was beautiful. (For some reason, I have a deep weakness/love for baseball movies. LOVE “The Sandlot,” “The Rookie,” “A Field of Dreams,” “A League of Their Own.” Can hardly sit through an actual game, though.)


Are You My Mother?
Now I realize several of you are of the opinion that my mom is too protective/hard on me. I know at least two of you have told me that, were you me, you’d be looking to escape the house forever and never look back. While I wouldn’t go that far, it is a fair assessment, based on what I have given you as a description. It’s true that she can make my life hellish and digs her heels in for reasons I can’t understand. It’s absolutely true that we have bitter fights that often leave me in tears (never to her face), and that she fights ‘dirty,’ with lots of guilt-tripping and holding of mistakes over my head and unreasonable expectations.
But it is also true that most people that know me here wouldn’t know that. Publicly we are always civil and a working mother-daughter relationship. This is partially because of her reputation as an everyone-motherer and the impression I work to give off as the perfect student/daughter, absolutely. But it is also true because, interestingly enough, my mom and I get along fantastically — as long as we don’t talk about anything involving me.
It’s true. As long as we can avoid any conversations about my life/how I should run my life/the choices I make, we’re peachy. So that means we don’t discuss the apartment (thus my shock when she broke the taboo on her own!), Adam, my grades, my classes, my career, my future job opportunities, etc. With that in mind, however, we are great. We can go shopping together (we spent 9 hours shopping on Saturday, bleah!), watch movies, play with the kittens, cook, go out, whatever and we are wonderful. Haven’t had a fight in weeks.
What’s more, right now it’s just us, with my dad and my brother having been gone for a week now. No fights anywhere in sight.
Interesting, no?