home renovation

Ernest is the fat, lazy datschound who has been staying with us since Thursday. We are pet sitting for a friend of mine. He's been pretty good (with the exception of one four-in-the-morning fiasco, when he was sent to doggy time out) and is a very sweet dog.

He's quite quirky, which makes him endearing. His only toy is this blanket:


Even though he's quite a tiny fellow, he drags this thing around the house. I've been impressed by his ability to manipulate something so much bigger than him. Also, he creates a nest and burrows inside it. If you look closer, you'll see the tip of his nose and paw on the right hand side:


Mostly he just sleeps, but I can tell he's sad and misses his family. They are coming to pick him up this afternoon, and I'm sure he'll be excited to see them.

After tomorrow the summer officially begins for me, which means the start of my new job. I always have anxiety when I start new employment. I don't handle change very well, for starters. Plus, my perfectionist nature doesn't function well in a state of "I don't yet know what I'm doing, and that's pretty obvious to others."

This summer I have decided to become a writer. Some of you are laughing right now, thinking this is typical Katie sarcasm, but please try to stifle that giggle, because I'm being completely serious. I've always wanted to be a writer. I took a creative writing class at the end of my time at BYU, and got some positive feedback from my professor. I started a novel, and he volunteered to help me with it if I ever finish writing it. Since then, novel writing hasn't had a lot of room on life's agenda, which is why I opted not to get a summer job this year.

This summer I'm going to sit in front of a computer screen, and I'm going to try to write down one of the stories I've had swirling around in my head for the last few years. I've always wanted to write a book, and I feel like now's the time to give it a shot, before my future children come along and and are vying for my attention. What's scarier than me thinking I can accomplish this, is the fact that my husband has enough faith in my minuscule amount of creative writing ability to let me do this for the summer and be happy about it. In fact, he is encouraging me to do this. Bless his heart; he really does love me!

Anyway, over the last couple of weeks I've been having a tad bit of anxiety over starting my new state of "un-employment." I've been picturing myself staring at a blinking cursor for 2 months and ending the summer with nothing to show for it (except for the 20 pounds I will have put on after drowning my writer's block sorrows in hot fudge sundaes and Oreos). Part of me wishes I'd tried to find a position waiting tables at Chili's or Ruby Tuesday, so I wouldn't have to worry about it (then I reflect on my Ihop days, and realize that, no, that's a lie. . . no part of me REALLY wishes THAT).

Anyway, I figure if at the end of the summer I have a book, even if it's a book that no one will ever publish, and no one will ever read but me, I will have accomplished something great. I can cross "write a novel" off of my bucket list, and call it good. I'll know I'm just not cut out to be a novelist, and I can move on. But, until I try, I'll never know . . . so here's to trying.

A teenager had to burst my bubble. This is what our car looked like at about 6:15 this evening:


My Mazda Bebe is dead, and I am very sad. I loved this car. The good news? Chad and I are both fine. The kid has insurance. It was completely unavoidable, since we were stopped at a stop light and he decided to forget how to use the brakes. Oh, wait, I mean, his brakes "didn't work" even though the officer on the scene seemed to find nothing at all wrong with them.

Tragic.

I'm looking forward to a lot of phone calls with insurance agents, paper work, and hopefully a rental car until ours is either repaired, or, if it is deemed totaled, replaced.

Although, I've got to say, it was pretty funny to hear the kid on the phone, "Yea, I just hit Miss Reese's car."

What a way to start the summer.

Well, 64% of you voted that we should, indeed, purchase a puppy. And of course, we couldn't disappoint you, readers, so we went right out and bought her.

OK. So, in actuality, much as we love you, you weren't really going to make this decision for us. See, it's great that you want us to buy a dog, but you're not the ones who are going to be paying for her, or picking up her poop, or buying me a new pair of shoes when she decides to devour my turquoise heels. Which is why, even though 64% of you were in favor of the puppy, we are still without puppy at chez Reese.

We wanted her. We did. But, the more we started thinking about it, the more we realized that the timing just isn't right. With me not working all summer, which translates to no money all summer, adding the expense of a dog while we try to replenish our saving account (something that's not looking as smashing as it once did after renovating our money pit), just isn't going to be the wisest idea. So. Don't fear, 64%, eventually we will add a puppy dish to our family, but for now we are puppy-less. Plus, we're kind of leaning towards a male puppy, after doing a bit more research about the breed which suggests the females have a bit of a diva/stubborn streak that the boys don't. So, come fall we shall see.

Since I know you are now terribly sad because there are no puppy picture updates to satisfy you, I've got a bit of a consolation prize. Go make yourself one of these:

It's called a pizzookie and you can find the recipe here.

My sister, Lauren, and I made these last night when I realized that the end of the school year is upon me and I have no grading to do at night. This means I can do irresponsible things that I only dream of doing during the actual school year (like make ridiculously rich desserts and watch a chick flick instead of grading or going to bed early).

After consuming one of these bad boys (Oh, who am I fooling? It was more like two due to portion size!) I'm pretty sure my blood sugar jumped a tad bit. In fact, I think I might now be a diabetic.

I made the hot fudge recipe that comes with it, but we used store bought vanilla ice cream and caramel sauce.

So there you go, chums, go mourn the loss of future puppy posts and tantalize your taste buds with this exceptionally yummy snack.

Should we add this little puppy dish to our family?

Reasons for:

Love
Companionship
Cuteness Factor
Memories
(Responsibility)Preparation for a Child
Safety
Exercise
Very little pet odor (a perk with this breed)

Reasons against:
Poop and Pee
Loss of Freedom (Can't go where we want, when we want)
Cost
Responsibility (Let's face it, that's a pro and a con)
Possible Collateral Damage
SHEDDING

We just can't decide. Met her today, probably need to make a choice in a couple of days before someone else buys her. She's a pure bred Pembroke Welsh Corgi. She will be completely red and white when her coat fully comes in. Vote in the sidebar and help us with this decision!

For a while now I have recognized that someone who hears my husband and I talking to each other in a grocery store might be slightly confused, and, in fact, will probably find us somewhat odd. A note we received from my sister, Lauren, solidified that what I thought was only a slightly odd thing about us has now escalated into a much bigger level of strange. Allow me to enlighten you, dear readers. This is how my sister's note to us began:

Dear Dishes,

Thanks so much for your thoughtful gift.

She then goes on to very sweetly thank us for the graduation gift we sent her way and closes with . . .

Love,
Lauren

To me, her salutation seems perfectly normal. To you, a feeling of befuddled puzzlement has probably come over you.

You may be feeling the same thing that my mom did when she recently visited. After a few days, she asked me, "Why do you all call each other dishes?"

Answer? I don't know why.

We just. Do.

Chad and I call one another "Bebe Dish," which I know is not your average term of endearment. It doesn't sound very romantic, and its origins stem from the documentary The March of the Penguins and a scripture in The Book of Mormon that describes a sailing vessel as "tight, like unto a dish." (It's a long story. Don't ask.)

"Bebe Dish" has evolved into a slew of other terms that mean nothing to the outside world, but do mean a great deal indeed to the Reese clan.

For example, it is now also acceptable to say "Bebe Fish Dish" due to a hasty text message in which Chad forgot to change the letter "f" to a "d." In fact, my homemade Valentine's Day card for Chad this year had a construction paper goldfish leaping from a purple dish, with the words "Bebe Fish Dish" announcing that the card was his. (I can't find it anywhere, or I would post a picture.)

Similarly, while a "Bebe Dish" is a term meant to address the one you have pledged to love for all eternity, a "Dish" can be anyone, or anything, doing something cute, or whom you love.

For example, on a spring evening, if I happen to drive up my in-laws driveway to find them romantically sitting together on their porch swing, I might exclaim, "Look at those cute, little Dishes!" A translation would be, "How cute that my in-laws have been married for 30 years and still sit together like crushing teenagers!"

Or, if I see Lauren, who I love to death, coming out of her house to meet me, I might say, "Hey there, little Dish!" A translation of this would be, "Hey, you're cool, I'm happy to see you, and I'm glad we're friends!"

What if we happen across a bunch of baby deer, frolicking in a meadow? Why, the remark, "Look at all the little dishes!" might be in order.

What I love about my family is the fact that our random dialect has leaked into our everyday language. I love how silly and fun we are. We are a family of nicknames. From Bear, to Duddins, to Puddins, to Booba, to Geeze, to Juuuuuuuuuu, to adding "wick" after everyone's name (due to the fact that my husband's first name really IS Chadwick . . . I'm not joking), unique and strange terminology is nothing new. A lot of families would probably look at a couple calling each other "Bebe Dish" and wish they didn't have the same last name. Ours has embraced us.

I know you are now shaking your head, wondering how you can possibly be friends with someone who is so random, and I don't blame you. But, try saying "Bebe Dish" aloud a few times, and I promise, you can't help but smile.

OK- Better late than never. Here is the Spring Break blog I started forever ago that wouldn't let me post pictures. . .

Alas, today, while I was at work, I realized an entire month has passed with no blogging. Shameful. In case you're wondering, we are now living in our house. (The stove might still be in the middle of the kitchen floor, and we may only be able to shower in one bathroom, but living in our house we are.) We managed to get in just before my parents arrived for a spring break extravaganza. (2 days before, in fact. Wow. Talk about cutting it close.) Here are the details of the spring break festivities (most of which involve the creation of new words):

There was aquarium-ing. We went to the aquarium at Atlantic Beach and had a great time. I hate zoos, but I love aquariums. There's something so soothing about the dark, cool exhibits. My favorite were the otters--I fell in love.

Like father . . .

like son . . .

Charleston-ing, which included plantation-ing. We went to Boone Plantation. Life would be pretty hard if this was your house,


this was your driveway,

and this was your yard.

The grounds were beautiful and we had a great time. It was also fun to watch The Notebook again and see all of the places we recognized from our trip.

Jared and me on the ride around the plantation.

Of course, Charleston-ing wouldn't have been complete without some longing to live there because of houses like this:


And gardens like this:

Of course, I've always loved old houses, so a town like Charleston feels like the perfect fit for me. I called Chad the day we got there and informed him that we will be living there some day. It feels old and quaint, but still has this trendy, hip feel about the entire city. I think I could grow old there. Sigh . . .

Of course, a trip to Charleston wouldn't have been complete without a bit of ghost-touring:

I'm quite sad that mom didn't get a shot of our tour guide's face, so this one of his hands will have to suffice. I was petrified by the idea of a ghost tour. I don't do well with scary movies (picture me scared to walk across a room in the dark for at least a week after viewing), and one of my main causes for rejoicing about getting married was the realization that I would never again have to go to one of those stupid haunted houses/corn mazes on a date. My imagination is WAY too active to endure those kinds of things, so the thought of a ghost tour--not so appealing. They dragged me along, and the minute I saw our tour guide, I wanted to back out. He was one of the strangest looking ducks I've ever seen. Luckily, it turned out not to be so bad. It was mostly just interesting history about the "ghosts" who haunt the city. I kept waiting for someone to jump out at us, like they do in those corn mazes (that cause me to question--how do I KNOW this is an employee of this establishment, and not some loony who wandered in here with a REAL chainsaw?) but no one did. Phew!


After enjoying the city of Charleston (complete with some of the BEST Italian cuisine I've ever tasted), it was time to do some Cypress-Gardens Touring:



These beautiful gardens were the site where Noah takes Ally for a rowboat cruise through swan-filled waters in The Notebook. Warning: If you are an animal right's activist, I would not suggest going here. You'll find yourself realizing the probability of no swans being killed during filming in these alligator-infested waters is pretty much zero to none. That's probably why there wasn't a swan in sight. Reality is never as grand as the movies. We did spot a white egret, which was a bit of a treat:

You had two options: a self-guided, free boat tour, or a paid for tour guide to row you around. We opted for the free one. Dad and Jared agreed to row us. This proved to be hysterical, and I'm pretty sure mom and I should have been doing the rowing, as we were very bad back-seat rowers. "You're not doing it right! Jared, move your oar this way! No, Dad, THAT way!" I couldn't stop laughing, and the look on the face of the other boaters as we turned in circles and attempted not to run into trees was priceless. Once they got the hang of things, it was a peaceful ride.



This creepy critter was one of the ones we spotted on our cruise:

There were also beautiful walking trails, swings where you could sit and enjoy the scenery, and lots of wild life.



After a few days in the Charleston area we were able to meet Chad for the weekend at Myrtle Beach. There's nothing like some beach time. If only it'd been warm enough to play in the water. Oh well, maybe next time.



After a great week with Dad and Jared, they had to head home. We were lucky enough to have Mom stay for an extra week. Festivities while she was here, included lots of shopping. First thing on the list: rugs. With all the hardwood in this house, our footsies are going to get pretty cold without something more plush to walk on. We managed to find some great steals at a place my sister, Lauren, found called Ollie's. The only problem, the rug I wanted was at the VERY BOTTOM of a huge pile. My sister, Meredith, was with us at the store and the employees had us in stitches. They were hilarious. Here's a photo of them retrieving my rug.


I love how Meredith is helping them roll it up while I stand there and watch. Sorry, Geeze!

Mom and I also went to do a historical house and gardens tour in New Bern with Lauren and her mom, Beth. My favorite house, which wasn't actually part of the tour, was this one:



After renovating our house for the last seven months, I swore to Chad I had moved on from my fantasy of buying an old house and fixing it up. New Bern changed my mind. I've decided I could still do it. As long as we paid someone else to do all the work! I just love the charm of old houses. Either we're going to live in an old house, or we're going to have to build a new house that looks like an old one. It's just a given.

We also took Mom, along with Chad's family, to a Kinston Indians Game, courtesy of the little bank. It was a great night for baseball and there were even some killer fireworks at the end of the night.

Even in the midst of all of the two weeks of excitement, we still had time to do fun mother-daughter stuff like rent pointless movies and watch them. It was great having my family here for a while, even though it was very hard to say goodbye.

All this reminiscing about spring break is making me long for a longer vacation. In case you were wondering, Monday is now over. 17 days until summer!!!