Sophie Sunday

So, Nick and I are in the process of selling our condo to buy a house (thus why I haven’t been posting much lately and probably won’t for awhile…BUSY!). I am worried that the condo will be on the market for a long time—mainly because I’m already exhausted from following after Nick and Sophie to keep everything just so (and the listing hasn’t even been published yet).

Apparently, neither of them are sensitive to even the smallest of messes (like I am). I realize it’s an illness, I do, and I tamp it down most of the time. The game is different now: other people will be coming in to scrutinize everything. I’ve handed over the reins to the perfectionist for the time being.

Nick, noting my toil, said jokingly, “Maybe Sophie and I should live with my mom until the condo sells?”

I rolled my eyes, “Nobody would buy the reason for that—your mom would wonder if we’re having relationship issues.”

(Nick) “Like she’d believe that you would let me keep the cat.”

(Me) “Good point.”

Sophie Sunday


I work from home on those rare occasions when I do not have meetings. I assume I will have less distraction working from home, but I have this gray fluffy thing to contend with.

I worked from home last Friday…and to mitigate the risk of Sophie-Jo (what I call her when the impish side of her personality shines through), Nick folded a chenille blanket over the old (read: well-loved) recliner in our living room.

WORKED LIKE MAGIC…bless the ADD that afflicts all of cat-kind.

I can’t even think of a title for this.

Happy Anniversary/New Year!

Hey, guess what? It’s really stressful taking a week off from work…or, I should say, it’s really stressful returning to work after taking a week off. (The above picture was from the week we spent in Chicago for our anniversary.)

So, I am actually spending this evening at home, and I’m not even going to log into work! I told myself, “Self? You should probably come up with some drivel about the last week to add to your blog.”

Well, I leaned my head against the couch and thought about the week…I really did try to think. Unfortunately, my brain must be operating in a sort of safe mode since it crashed at the end of the day on Friday. The only details I can think of call on proprietary company information, so they are sort of off limits.

I have nothing else to offer, but the drive to blog was apparently strong enough that I wrote about not having anything to write…but it’s drivel nonetheless. So, in review, “                                                            .” The end.

Sophie Sunday

Nick’s mom took care of Sophie while we were in Chicago. I stupidly left out tubes of tuna-flavored hairball remedy paste on the kitchen counter with a note explaining that Sophie has been getting sick lately (hairball season). I was trying to make the task convenient for Joan and in the process forgot that I have a non-discerning glutton for a cat.

We returned to a note explaining that the tubes were in the refrigerator and to “…guess why.” I opened the door and saw the tubes riddled with indentations and holes from Sophie’s teeth. I growled and muttered to myself while I covered the damage with tape.

Nick tuned out my tantrum…Sophie wrapped herself around my ankles and begged for food. Vacation was definitely over: life had returned back to normal in one fell swoop.

The Carpenter’s Daughter

On the way back from a visit to Chicago, we stopped at IKEA. I feel like I am always on the lookout for organizational solutions to use in our condo. The floor plan isn’t cramped really, it’s just that it supports more of a minimalist lifestyle than we (I) lead.

My biggest source of consternation is the upstairs bathroom (now that my closet has been properly established). The upstairs in general tends to be the last area to get my attention since we spend most of our time in/visitors only see the entry-level rooms.

Now, IKEA may not have the highest quality furniture, but those Swedes know how to deal with tight spaces. I was very excited to find a piece of furniture narrow enough to work in the bathroom. Of course, IKEA stuff does not come already assembled. The box of shelf guts sat upstairs for about a day before I decided it was time to break out the tools.

Some Assembly Required

I grabbed what I needed and headed to the stairs. Nick called out, “Do you need me to put that together for you?”

“No, I have it,” came my reply.

“I can do it, I don’t mind,” he continued, his disbelief at my statement obvious.

“No REALLY. I have it.” I continued up the stairs.

“Okay…well, just call when you need me to come up and help.”

I bit my tongue, but that last one bothered me…as if I needed help to assemble a piece of manufactured furniture! It was the “WHEN” I needed help instead of “IF” that irritated me most.

My father was on kid-detail in the afternoons during summer vacation, so we spent our time watching him do stuff…like build houses. Plus! I was put to work by Brenda when I lived with my aunts (that woman is scary with a power drill). Point being: I’m nowhere near inept! I wanted to snarl and hiss, but I refrained and went to work.

When I emerged after the successful completion of my DIY project, I found Nick lounging on the couch. With proud indignation etched upon my face, I made sure to advise him never to confuse “I don’t want to” with “I can’t” (being that I am liberal with the first and conservative with the second).