Here's what's been going on...

Lots has been happening over the past few months since my last regular posts.*  


But before I get started again, I want to keep things a bit in order, here's the catch-up on the past few months----you can either read the bits or scroll through like a sort of flip book.  Some of the topics I've been thinking on and will revisit in the future, others are just bits....


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I've been culling.**


One of the items in the photo below went to Goodwill, the other stayed, just in case of emergencies.  Can you guess which one?  It all depends on whether or not you think it is more likely that my future self may one day:

a) work in a suited up corporate environment 

b) stay out all night dancing

I also went through boxes and boxes of papers, letters and one menu from a restaurant I frequented in college. I even found a handful of notes from my sixth grade bully.***

Elliot learned lots of things, like drinking from a cup,****  

Escape...

And all about fish...

We took family photos.

Elliot turned one. 

Husband and I went on our first trip away. He can drive with his eyes closed.  Yes, he is that good.

We flew to Key West where I was appalled by some of the sights, but enjoyed the chocolate covered Key Lime Pie anyway.

Husband stuck mainly to the more conventional seafood. 

Elliot and I went to the beach with the Jackalope and his mom.

We went to the Easter Beer Hunt.  

Elliot scored three pieces of chocolate and three beers. 

We went to a birthday luau pig roast.   It was awesome.  Seriously awesome. 

I got to try a bit from each section of the pig.  Even the brain.***** I have a new appreciation for pork. 

And somewhere along the way, I got pregnant.****** Two will arrive in late October.

See you next week...

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*And I want to get back to it.  It's good for me---it gives me a few minutes of amusement and creativity for myself, much like I imagine it is for a non-professional ballerina.  They may still work out just to keep their muscles in shape and to revisit their skills, but it's not what they do anymore.  That's probably the most concrete way I can explain it.  I like to write.  I used to be a journalist and probably one day I will be again, but in the meantime, I like to try to keep it all a little bit in shape...

**Everything happened so quickly when Husband and I got married and moved that I didn't go through anything.  It either went with us or went into storage here. So I've had LOTS to cull through, including giving more than half my clothes to the Goodwill. 

***I don't know why I kept them, but I'm glad I did.  Twenty-five years past, I have a much better perspective on the whole experience.

****This is a big deal.

*****It tastes a bit like savory marshmallow.

****** This is a big part of the reason for my absence.  We're really, really excited. (Well Husband and I are.  I'm not sure Elliot gets it yet.) But overall, we've been busy and I've been TIRED.  I feel better now.  And by Two, I mean that's its name in the meantime, not the actual number of babies.

We're back and no H is not my middle name

It's been more than three weeks* since my last blog post, and to be fair that one was pretty weak.**

(This is currently how we eat dinner.  We have no table yet and the pizza is frozen.  We are hobos.  Hobos with wine*** and nice chairs, but hobos nonetheless.)

Yesterday the plumber came and finished the repairs.  Over the past few days, we've had most of the cast iron pipes replaced as well as all the piping in the kitchen replaced, the damage which was found by the crew replacing our furnace and all the dusty dusty ductwork underneath the house.

I mention that because while it sounds boring (and it is) those pipes and ductwork, I suspect, are our anniversary trip.  Yep, a first-time-traveling-sans-the-little-man trip to somewhere that does not allow children**** may now be stuffed underneath the floorboards in the crawlspace.

But things are getting done, but it's been a transition.

Right now, as I type this, I am sitting in what most likely (in the not too distant future) will be the man-room*****/office.

I am surrounded by boxes, many of which are labeled "BOOKS/PAPERS."

When we got engaged, things started moving ultra-fast, so we could get all hitched up and move overseas.

In the process, (almost)Husband went to Norway to start work for a few weeks.

I packed up my apartment and moved things.  We were in such a hurry (packing, wedding planning, etc...) that, instead of sorting through much of it, I just tossed it into boxes and put it all into storage, intending to deal with it when we moved back.

In retrospect this may not have been the best idea, at least not completely.

I really don't need all those paperbacks including that unread copy of The Tao of Pooh, given to me by suitor whose name has long been forgotten, mainly because after that gift, there were no further dates.  But also because I abhor the vast majority of cartoon characters and especially loathe ones that lisp.******

But I do have every single one of my reporter's notebooks******* as well.

And on the top of the pile in one of the boxes was one of them with the notes from one of my favorite moments, in which I was confused with a major deity.

It was late in the evening in a nightclub in New York, after an award show. My intended interviewee was a southern rapper redneck type, who is not actually one bit Southern, but has perfected the redneck act to a tee. At the time, he was rumored to be engaged to a large bosomed actress, who once favored red swimsuits and had always favored musician types.  My orders were to ask him about the wedding plans, to get any detail at all.

The club was dark and smoky.  The music was at top volume and every conversation varied between shouting and speaking close into each other's ear.  My target interviewee was well into his bottle and had commanded the deejay booth.********

I walked up and it went something like this:

ECD:  Hi

SouthernRapperRedneck:  Hey darlin.'  What's your name?

ECD:  I'm Elizabeth from NameOfMagazine. I just wanted to come over and say congratulations about your engagement.

SRR: Uh.  Thanks.

ECD:  (I am not quite sure exactly what I said here, I scribbled "Chatter about wedding, etc...")

SRR:  That's none of your f***in' business. Get the f*** out of here.

ECD:  Well, alright, thanks so much.

And I turn to leave. I asked the questions.  He declined to comment.  So at that point I consider that part of the evening done. Oddly enough, SRR does not. He grabs my upper arm, holding me tightly enough that I cannot move.

SRR:  Seriously, get the f*** out of here.

ECD:  I would sir, but you're holding onto me.

SRR:  Who do you think you are!!?!!  Jesus H. Christ!!?!!

ECD: No sir, I don't.

SRR: Smartass!  Seriously, get the f*** out of here.

ECD:  I would sir, but you're holding onto me.

SRR:  Who do you think you are!!?!!  Jesus H. Christ!!?!!

ECD: No sir, I don't.

SRR: Smartass! Seriously, get the f*** out of here.

This went on for a few minutes, in varying forms.

He got more irate, I got calmer and more amused.

Then his manager pried his fingers off me.

And while I did not get the details of the upcoming nuptials, I did have a hand shaped bruise on my upper arm for the next week or so.

And I had forgotten that until I just read it again and I still think it's funny.

So that's something.

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*Or thereabouts. I could figure out the exact number of days but that would require me to find a calendar, count the days, etc... and I just don't care enough to do that, and really, I'll bet you don't care enough either...

**Hilarious, but weak. 

***Dear PC Police, Let me explain. First of all, I think most hobos tend to have wine, so that's apropos. But I do not mean to be insensitive to the plight of legitimate hobos, both past and perhaps present, I merely mean to identify somewhat with the act of carrying around all of one's possessions on one's back, or in one's suitcase, if you will.  Sincerely, Elizabeth

****Listen, there's no offense meant and we adore our little guy (and also many of the children we know), but to be clear, we adore our little guy.  If we're going to spend some cash to go traveling without him for a few days, we don't really want to hang out with strangers' children.  

*****I suspect that if you are married and are reading this post, the term "man room" needs no explanation.

******Yeah, yeah, yeah...but even in light of this shocking fact, it's pretty likely that Elliot will have a pretty alright childhood anyway. 

*******Except for the drawerful from my last semi-fulltime job.  One morning I came in, sat at my desk, opened my drawer and found it completely empty.  The mail clerk, misunderstanding a request to clean out some old file cabinets, dumped out three of my key drawers, including files, notes, tapes, a calendar from that current month and all of my personal items.  I spent the rest of that day, not reporting, but climbing through the three dumpsters in the bowels of the AJC building.  No kidding.  It was two years' worth of notes and ideas, including loads of interviews I had conducted for upcoming stories.  It was a BIG deal. And so I dumpster dove, all in vain.  I did not find one of my own things, but I did find really interesting unshredded expense reports.  These did not make the experience worthwhile, but did make for some interesting reading.

********Hey, don't judge.  This was a publicity event.  The famous people who were there were mainly B-list and below and were clamoring for ink. Every single one of their publicists knew exactly which magazines were sending reporters and to a certain extent, what the content of the questions could be...And also, to be fair, I saw SRR perform at another magazine's celebration about a year later.  He killed.  No joke, it was an awesome show.  I did not interview him that time, so I cannot say for sure if he was still confusing reporters with deities or if it was just a one-time event.

Spanish Holiday

Last Saturday morning as we drove the 82 kilometers between the villa we rented and the Alicante airport, I counted 14 double decker buses roaring down the roads heading to the area we just left.

The windows on the fronts and the sides were almost full glass.*And every seat was filled with enthusiastic visitors of the geriatric sort.

Apparently, in the non-summer months**, the Costa Blanca region of Spain, where we took a little holiday last week is the European version of Palm Springs and most of Florida all wrapped into one.

And, in this area, if you weren't a local or an imported retiree snowbirding, you were a family with small, younger than school-age children who were doing the exact same thing we were.

This is not a bad thing, if you are us. We wanted a bit of a break, in the sunshine and because we travel in a pack of three, it was important that Elliot was welcomed in places that Husband and I wanted to be, like restaurants that served tasty local food and once a pub.

And without a doubt, he was. We couldn't walk down the street without being stopped with a "Guapo bebé."*** And when he occasionally made a little noise when we were out eating, that was completely fine.***** Someone would say, "Oh oh that is what babies do. Guapo, guapo."

And it was a great week, full of good things like fish:

Two headed fish

Two fish that turned into

This:

(I promise you, one day, you should come over and eat what Husband cooks. When he has the time, he's good. And when I say time, I mean time. He is also slow. But that's okay. We like to visit.)

We had lots of good food out as well...here we will soon have paella***** on our plate for lunch. Elliot started out asleep, but when he heard the main course arrive...

He woke up.

Who could blame him really? So eventually, everyone ate.

We spent a happy afternoon at a place called Munda Mar, which is no kidding, awesome. It's a small-ish zoo with great exhibits and hilarious access to the animals. Elliot loved the fish, especially. When we go back to the US, whether it's for good or for a visit, we're going to hang out at The Georgia Aquarium.

And it was just right. There was just enough sunshine. So we'd sit out every single day.

And eat out in the sunshine.

And then visit all day.

And visit all evening.

And that was our holiday. It was just exactly right.

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*Once, when my brother and I were little (in the pre-dear sister days), the BigD and our dad took us to Florida to ride the glass bottomed boats. These buses were like that, but different. Not boats, not bottoms, but still noses pressed against glass, totally excited about the view.

**In the summer months, it is more akin to Panama City and Myrtle Beach, all wrapped into one.

***Also, in a pottery shop, when the owner admired Elliot, she also told me in great detail that he needed to have some time on the beach because he was too white. That it was okay to be worried about the sun in July, but not in September, that we should leave immediately and go to the water. He would be fine. I'm pretty sure that's what it all meant because I know blanco, bebe, la playa, julio, septiembre, various verbage of tengo, tiene, guapo, etc... This went on a long time, then she shooed up out, all the way to the door and pointed up to the sun. But never once stopped clucking and smiling at Elliot. The Spanish are multi-taskers.

****Not grumpy noise, he rarely makes those. The noises are squeals or laughing or just general babbling. He likes to visit. Shockingly enough, my son is social.

*****For which we were mocked when Husband pronounced it (paella) on an installment of HKS a few days ago...I cleared it up with a Spanish friend of mine who is from the Basque region and apparently there are five (maybe more??) regions of Spain, each with a slightly different accent, which in over-simplified terms translates into different stresses and uses of the "ll" and "c." Trust.

Mornings

From the beginning, Husband and I have had very different schedules.

Much like our personalities, his is much more regimented and mine is much more loosey-goosey.

When we first met, I was a journalist.

I spent half my time as a part-time reporter at a newspaper and the other half as a freelance reporter, which means that at any time I could be scooting off, then would go underground until the deadline was met. Then on to the next assignment or maybe a few days at the dog park training Lillie.* Or even an entire day at the movie theater watching three in a row.**

In any case, every week was different, but unless there was no way around it, I did my best to make sure I never had to be anywhere, dressed and ready before about 10am.

I am not a morning person.

Husband worked for a big company doing big company things on normal big company hours.

But there were several constants. Whenever we could, we'd always meet up in the evenings and every morning, unless I had been working overnight*** I'd pack breakfast for Husband.****

While the fanciness of it all has varied from time to time, it is always the same. Always a food. Always a little pack of vitamins and always a cartoon, not one that found somewhere, but a cartoon, starring us that I draw.*****

In the beginning these breakfasts were a little bit elaborate. I packed protein shakes in special plastic cooled mugs with straws so it wouldn't spill, with egg and cheese sandwiches and little cartons of orange juice. Then over the past year or so, it has settled into a menu: a toasted PB&J, a container of orange juice, a napkin and a cartoon.

But over the past few months, it's been sporadic at best. Occasionally when Elliot has had a late night, I sleep through it all. When I have been awake there have been times that I have sleptwalked to the coffee and that was the best I could do. And, worst of all, there has been more than one occasion when I have opened the bread and it's been moldy. Not a little bit moldy, but enough that I should be ashamed.******

So I resolved to resolve this.

And, for anyone who looks to the left side of the page you may have noticed that I follow my dear friend Anne's blog A Good American Wife. She writes and cooks and a few months or so ago,******* she posted a recipe for the Unstoppable Bacon Egg and Cheese Muffins.

When I read it, I thought, "This only has five ingredients. I can DO this." I even got a little fancy and switched out the bacon and scallions for sauteed ham and onions.

(If you are making the bigger muffins like I did, it takes it a bit longer to get brown on the top.)

And they were good. But I spent so much time watching them to make sure I didn't burn them that I lost track of time. So we had them for dinner, too.

Mmmmmm muffins. And there were still ones left for breakfast for the next few days.

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*This did not go well.

**I LOVED these days. Wherever we go next has to be a town with a matinee movie showing. That was one of the hardest transitions when we moved here. No more afternoon movies.

***This happened occasionally, but even then sometimes I would stay up to visit for breakfast.

****Okay, for those who are counting, Husband was not technically Husband at that time. Sorry BigD, but I was 99% certain that he would be eventually, so hopefully that counts.

*****We have hundreds around. Some in a book from the first year we were together. Some in drawers around the house and always a few tucked in his wallet. Those are probably good luck.

******And I am.

*******Oh my gosh! Has it been this long ago?

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

I was thinking all day about what to write, wondering if I should say something about yesterday, but I couldn't. Even eight years later, it's a little too vivid to talk about it all. I can't even say the name that people use to refer to it...it just doesn't seem big enough. And more than that, if I feel this way from my own personal experience of being there and seeing and watching it all from my West Village vantage point, it's really too much to consider the people who were really really there. So not this year and maybe not next year either. I do think about every detail like it was yesterday.

How's Milo?

Occasionally I'll get a note saying, "We see you, Husband and Lillie all the time, but what about Milo. How's he doing?"

And the answer is, "He's fine."

For readers who don't know, Milo is my step-dog.  He'll be seven on his next birthday, which he shares with me as well as my sweet nephew James (if you believe the date on his adoption papers.)

He's been living with Husband since he was about 6 months old.  So clearly he's been around much longer than I have been, but we've been fast friends since the very beginning. 

We became The Pack about four months after Husband and I began dating when we decided that we needed one more. So we added Lillie, who we (meaning mostly me) refer to as our first daughter. 

(She came home with us on February 16, 2007, which is exactly one year before our wedding.)

 

So while Lillie is my constant companion and dear household clown, Milo is well and happy, too.  

He appreciates you asking of him, though. 

We went to the dog park a few days ago.  

Both of them spent some time running about and making new friends.

Then the hunds were parched.

(Milo first because he's lead house dog or as Lillie might say, "Age before beauty.")

Then sweet Lillie, but Milo had some more as well...

Then we all posed for a minute before it was time to go home. 

One of the Few Times I Will Ever Discuss Bodily Functions

Our sweet Lillie is an American Bulldog. 

(American Bulldogs have occasional skin issues.  This is one of those times.  She is wearing a cone until one of her paws heals. Poor sweet Lillie.) 

For those that aren't familiar with the breed, those dogs tend to be overwhelming good-looking, fiercely loyal, slightly clownish and just smart enough.  

They also often have slight issues with flatulence.  

When we lived in Atlanta and (Not Quite Yet) Husband worked from his home office, Lillie and Milo would lie at his feet and slumber peacefully all day.

But Lillie just can't help herself.

I would often get a text from (Not Quite Yet) Husband that would read simply, "Ack, Ack. Am choking on Lillie fumes. xo."

But Lillie is an integral part of The Pack, so we (meaning me especially) tend to overlook her few flaws, including the flaws we (meaning me especially) would find repugnant in almost any other creature. 

We (meaning me especially) even tend to think of the small "pffffsssstttttts" that escape from her hind regions as special little fragrant blown kisses. 

We even find them amusing when they are slightly louder and she'll spend several minutes startled and befuddled, wondering where did that come from???

We (meaning me especially) tolerate because this because we love her. 

These days, because I do not currently have a J-O-B, often I am at home much of the day.  And while the sweet dogs slumber (punctuated by Lillie's air kisses), I sometimes keep the television on in the background. 

I favor a mix of CNN and Norwegian Children's television. That way, I am either learning about what's happening in the world, or subconsciously adding to my meager Norwegian vocabulary.

Right now, this is the commercial that is on practically every single second and it drives me nuts. 

Imagine it dubbed into Norwegian, if you can.  

First Day at the Beach

This Sunday we went on our first pack outing.

Husband is a surfer.

He started dabbling in it in South Carolina when he would visit his friend Matt in Foley Beach. Then, after moving to Norway the first time, took a few weeks at a place called Surf Experience in Portugal. And on clear days, in his last Norwegian incarnation, he headed out to Solastraden (which means Sola Beach), which is a few miles out of Stavanger.

He's been watching the weather, refreshing the webcams and longing for the water, even though it is still well below freezing.

So last Sunday, we loaded up the surfboard and Lillie and Milo and piled into the car.

When we got there, there was not a wave on the water. At least not nearly enough for Husband to put on his wetsuit and wade in...


(Oh no, Husband. Watching really really intently will not make the waves come.)

But it was okay and we hung out for a while anyway.





No Lillie is not lounging. She just fell down.


Then when it was time to go, Husband grabbed the poo. Gotta love that.

How the Pack Began (and A Small Life Lesson)

I'm still in Gainesvegas where Big D is starting to feel just a smidge better.

She's still connected to tubes and won't be able to lift anything that weighs more than about ten pounds, with the exception of her arm, which does not weigh ten pounds but cannot be lifted either. The bruises have changed from a deep purple the color of grapes to a lovely mottled rainbow.

The meds are tapering off slightly and she's started sneaking out of bed. Her orders are a little less meek and much more bossy and she's been a little sassy. So, while we wait for the pathology report, all is about as well as it can be...

I worry about how my sister will handle it all alone, but am working on a plan for that. It will all be in place before I take off on Thursday afternoon, which brings me to the next bit...

I am so excited about going home. Not only will Husband be there to pick me up at the airport, our sweet fur peoples, Milo and Lillie, have arrived.

Milo has lived with Husband for the past six years or so, since he was a pup. This is his second arrival in Stavanger.

Milo in his best fancywear



Then there is sweet Lillie ...... AKA The White Menace AKA Lillie von Hundenberg AKA Princess Sassypants AKA the Poot Factory AKA My Very Favorite Furball in the Entire World.

Lillie, almost a year old



We had been dating about three and 1/2 months and Husband started talking about getting another dog. We visited the Atlanta Humane Society several times and almost settled on an adult dog named Dora. She had been returned several times for being untrainable and anyone who knows Husband knows he believes in order, so there were no worries that we could deal with her.

But I wanted a puppy or at least younger dog.

And while I think Milo is handsome and dignified, I was longing for a solid square faced monster. But on every single visit, there were none. And we believe in getting shelter dogs, so we weren't going to go to a breeder.

So after one fruitless visit, we stopped by the PetSmart, who hosted dogs from the Georgia Humane Society. And there she was, squirming with a few of her brothers.

They told us that she was a purebred American Bulldog, which is a cousin of the English Bulldog....In any case, she was sweet and clumsy and the cutest animal ever; I loved her instantly, but knew it was up to Husband.

So I deposited her into his lap and sat back. And he sat and visited with her. And we deliberated a bit. And then he was silent for a while. After an hour or so he looked up and said, "Okay, what next?"

It is one of the few snap decisions I've ever seen him make.

This is from the very first afternoon.

Lillie's baby picture


For a while she would travel with me between Husband's home and my apartment. Then my mean crankypants downstairs neighbor* decided that she didn't like having a dog around, so she got sweet Lillie evicted. So Lillie moved into Husband's full-time. I didn't want to put the double dog burden on Husband, so I would pop around more often.

And that is the story on how The Pack began. Exactly one year later, to the date, The Pack became official when when Husband and I got hitched up...

Milo and Lillie have been living in a kennel waiting since February 10, waiting for their blood tests to come back. They flew into Oslo last week by way of Amsterdam. Then this morning were driven around the country to our front door.

And after months of waiting on the two of them, now they're all waiting on me.



*A small life lesson: Being a crankypants downstairs neighbor gets you nowhere except your own little dark apartment where you can sit and think your mean crankypants thoughts. But, having a crankypants downstairs neighbor sure did work out for me. So, thanks Jody! I didn't appreciate it then, but do now.