Okay, so my one remaining grandmother has made two very interesting comments to us. The first was that she said something about she "could have gone either way," that was a year or two ago, and the other was that she "should have been born a man." That was Friday.
So, that's a little odd to hear from your Grandma, in particular one who hails from a huge German farming family -- not the most liberal folk to be found.
She also told my cousin, when she heard that we were expecting a baby, "Well, I see how that Rosie O'Donnell adopted a baby and that seems to be going okay, so I guess it'll be all right." I, for one, had no idea that Grandma even knew who Rosie O'Donnell was... or that she was a lesbian...
She dotes on the baby pretty well so I guess it really is all right. :)
In other news:
We have a new dog. He's of course from J's sister Amy (the veterinarian) who needed to find a new home for him. She had to whittle down her dog population because they had too many and if you get too many in one place, you get a pack. Then they start doing dog pack things, in this case one of her dogs killed one of her cats. A cat she'd had for a long time. And it was a dog she'd had for a long time too. That dog had previously killed a cat but she wasn't sure it was him til this time. Now she's pretty sure. So the dog had to be put down... It was all very sad.
So we ended up with Petey. He's a black pug, sort of a hairy little meatloaf on stubby little legs, with a curly pigtail and a lower jaw that just won't quit. His lower teeth stick out 24/7 which is pretty charming. He's young, only 5 months old, and spent much of his time outside so "potty training" is a newish concept. Yeah, great... But he's pretty adorable and very energetic and the fat dog seems to like him, though the nervous second-in-command isn't so sure. The one thing he needs to learn (aside from Don't Pee on the Rug) is that We Don't Chase Cats.
Petey has tattoos... He had to have surgery on his nose (occupational hazard of being a pug) and while he was unconscious, Amy practiced her tattooing skills. She has to know how in order to tattoo animals for ID purposes, mostly horses and the like I imagine but some dogs too. He has Pete tattooed on one side of his belly and a smiley face on the other, in sort of turquoise blue. So we don't get to change his name. Actually I don't mind the name Pete, and what's even funnier is that Jim, Amy's burly flannel-wearin' John Deere tractor gimme cap sportin' truck-drivin' son of a gun husband, calls him Peter Pan!
Yet more news: We're movin' on up... we are buying the house in Vancouver, across the street from J's sister, contingent on the sale of this house. I have spread the word amongst my friends and associates just in case one of them is in the market or knows someone who is -- that's how we got lined up with the new house. We will probably involve a realtor but I don't know for sure. I at least want J to talk to my brother's wife's mom who is a realtor. She would help us decide if we really need one -- and if we do, we could use her and she'd give us a good deal, and everyone benefits. She's got a lot of experience.
The house needs new siding, it was part of that LP siding thing, so I will contact my cousin Cindy. She and her husband run a business doing siding and decks, so why wouldn't we give them our business? They are licensed, bonded, etc, have lots of experience, and would give us a fair shake. We'd rather give our business to family if we can (provided they are professionals, like I don't want Uncle So-and-So to slap any old thing up on the walls of my home...). And we aren't going to ask for any favors, just a fair deal. Simon's time is valuable.
So it's a ten year old house, the owner is the only owner the house has had and in fact had it built. She opted for some extras like vaulted ceilings in the family room and master bedroom, and these really goofy shaped windows in the family room, and an extra gas fireplace so it has two. We may replace one with a woodstove. Eventually.
It has a black and white motif in the kitchen which I am dying to get rid of -- replace the linoleum (which luckily needs it as it was damaged by a leak in the fridge when she was on vacation one summer) and also replace all the black knobs on the white cabinets with metal -- brushed nickel or whatever.
I'm so excited about having an attached garage -- no more lugging groceries from the curb! No more parking on the street because our garage is in a dark, gravelly, overgrown alley -- we have room for BOTH cars, although we really won't park them both in there as we want some workshop space, plus we have two motorcycles to store (which I want to sell but J does not).
Plus we will have some other things like a coat closet and a linen closet -- which this house does not have -- and TWO bathrooms.
And, truth be told, I sort of like to move. I've done it enough -- I once counted up how many times I'd moved since I had my cat. Let's just have a look:
1. Lived on Belmont when he came along as a stray.
2. Moved to Madison.
3. Moved to Main.
7. 11th Avenue.
8. 19th and Killingsworth.
9. Broadway Drive.
10. That place over by the University which I can't remember the street.
12. West Linn.
For the record, my cat is 15 and a half years old. The longest I've lived anywhere was here, about 4 years now. Davis was 3 years. Most of the others, a year max, in some cases less than six months. Evidently there is some nomadic blood somewhere in the family... I don't love the whole moving experience or anything, but I do like unpacking and putting things in a new space. I want to have an organized home... and an organized garage... with space for J and for me to have our hobbies, and rooms for the kid(s). So we may have to move again if we have another kid, once that kid is old enough to want its own room. Or we could add on.
Once when we were in the market for this house we toured a place out sort of on the edges of the sticks -- a weird shaped lot -- with a derelict, half-finished barn on it. The woman showing it was all sad she had to give up her "secret garden" (which looked like a motley assortment of trees and such, even to my untrained eye) and other "amenities." Her daughters insisted they move, she said, because they were teens and wanted their own rooms. They were sharing a bedroom that I swear is not even as big as my bathroom, which isn't that large even by bathroom standards, and sleeping on these bizarre built-in homemade bunkbeds. That looked like they were constructed by chimps. (No offense to chimps.) The parents' room was the attic, accessed by a ladder in the middle of the hallway directly in front of the bathroom door. The kitchen was primitive at best. There was a very strange, and very scarily unsafe looking, "solarium." Really it defied description...