March 18th, 2007 by Kateastrophe

I’m here, I’m here. Shhhh. Calm down, I didn’t leave forever.

My Mom and sister Meagan came to town on Thursday so I’ve been away from the computer and busy with them . . . but I’ll post pictures and stuff very soon.

And I’ve reset the Kateastrophe ticker, much to my dismay. I’ll explain that too. It’s gooooood.

Bear with me another day or so. I promise I’ll be back!

March 14th, 2007 by Kateastrophe

Last night we finally did it. The crowning moment in our home so far.

We installed the new toilet to make up for this little trauma.

And as of right now, it is still perfect, clean, undefiled and b-e-A-utiful.

I documented the whole process with photographs, then forgot to bring my synch cable to work with me today, so you don’t get to actually SEE the first flush caught on crappy lo-res video with our sweet little Sony camera (this is my plug for a new fancy camera, oh husband of mine) and you don’t actually get to SEE Matt with his hand down the hole . . . for no apparent reason.

A glorious moment indeed.

I’ll try to post that picture tonight, because really? My husband’s hand in the toilet hole is just too funny not to post for the internet to see. No one has to know it was a never used, just filled, clean enough to drink out of, toilet. They just have to know I have a picture of Matt’s hand IN a toilet.

March 11th, 2007 by Kateastrophe

March twelfth marks the three year anniversary of the death of my beloved Dad-and-a-half (Stepfather to most) Michael Lynn Harris. I have been thinking of him so much lately, remembering how wonderful he was and missing him terribly. I’m also noticing that the memories are getting fuzzy. His face is still there, but it’s not as clear. I have been scared that someday he might be completely fuzzy, but what is still there, clear as a bell in my head, is the sound of his laughter.

Mike did not have an easy life. Conceived during a short affair his mother had, he was always hated by his step-father. As a result of this and of the step-father’s sick, twisted mind, Mike was abused, physically and sexually, for most of his childhood. Then, just as he thought he would be able to serve a two year mission for the church he loved, he was called to serve in Vietnam. There he was caught in a trap set by the Viet Cong and buried alive in a tunnel. He escaped by digging himself out with a pocket knife. These experiences and others left horrible emotional scars, yet he carried on and continued to smile and laugh and trounce his 6′4″ jolly giant self through life. Oh the laugh. Big and robust, with just the slightest hint of a wheeze behind it. He’d throw his head back and let out a giant howl and then bend over and just laugh and laugh.

He was a chronic insomniac and for the first few months in our home, would scare us to death at night with his hourly security checks of the house. Once we figured out the pattern, we were no longer scared . . . in fact we felt safer than we ever had before! He had so many other darling little quirks. You couldn’t help but love them.

He called my Mom his sweetie. “Where’s my sweetie??” He’d shout when he arrived home from work or a basketball game. She had been single for the thirteen years since splitting from my father and hearing a man refer to her in such an affectionate was was like a ray of sunshine in our home every day.

When I was in London on study abroad, I discovered a GIANT Cadbury Dairy Milk Bar specifically made for Father’s Day. It was called a Dad-and-a-Half bar. I brought it home to him and the nickname stuck. He’d say “It’s better to be a Dad-and-a-half than a Half-Ass-Dad!”

The varsity football team that my brother Patrick played with practically lived at our house during his senior year. They all called him “Pops.” He knew all of their names and all of their stories. He loved them all, and they loved him back even more.

He called me Phoebe because he thought I acted just like the character in Friends. He had nicknames for everyone . . . Emily was Monica because of her black hair and because she hung out with me, Mike Palmer was Buddy Holly because of the weird glasses he’d been wearing the first time they met. He couldn’t ever remember Sheila’s real name so he just called her Veronica. Pretty much everyone had at least one nickname.

He had to have a giant plates, bowls, cups and spoons. “It’s a MAN’S cup” he would say as he picked up a vase. Clown sized spoons and mixing bowls were what he preferred for cereal. “This here is a MAN’S bowl with a MAN’S spoon.” We had to purchase all new kitchenware to satisfy the beast! Plastic cups were not allowed because he liked the sound of silverware against the glass of a “real cup.” And of course he always had to hit his silverware against all the cups. ALWAYS.

Three years ago, Brigham Young University was playing a basketball game, and Mike settled down to watch it on TV. He asked my Mom if she would mind going to the store and getting him some chocolate milk. Oh how he loved chocolate milk. She said she would be happy to run to the store down the street for him. This was rare because she always had him on some strict diet or another, trying to make sure he was healthy. But this night, she decided to go for him.

When she came home, he was sleeping on the couch with the game still on . . . or at least that’s what she thought. She put the chocolate milk in the fridge and carried on whatever it was she had been doing before her trip to the store.

Two hours later, she tried to wake him to get him to bed, and he was gone. He had died peacefully in his sleep, watching his beloved BYU basketball team, happy, knowing cold chocolate milk was on the way in a giant vase.

Our family was so blessed to have this amazing man as part of our lives. We had a living example that a hard life doesn’t have to ruin you . . . that you can carry on and be happy and successful and loving, that the abuse cycle can and does end, that life and people are, in fact, good.

Dad-and-a-half, I miss you every day and I know you are up there, still doing those security checks for us, keeping us safe. I don’t think I ever told you I loved you, but I hope that you know that I do, very much. The images of you may get fuzzy around the edges, but the joy you brought my life will be with me forever. And that, as you used to say, is “more gooder anyway.”

March 9th, 2007 by Kateastrophe

For those of you who don’t know me, I have ridiculously.long.hair. I was blessed with the thick hair gene and blessed/cursed (depending on how you view it) with STICK STRAIGHT hair too. So, if I have a decent haircut with some minimal shaping, I can pull off getting out of the shower, putting some smoothing products in the mane, running a brush through it and going. I don’t usually do this, as “mi esposa” prefers it when I “DO” my hair (which includes a blow dryer and curling iron) but today the lazy in me took over.

So I did just what I described above and off I went to work.

I just took a little trip to the ladies room and whilst washing my hands I glanced in the mirror.

“HOLY CRAP!” Said my inner monologue “I look like one of those little white trash elementary school boys who have never met a comb and use soap to wash their hair!”

The gently mussed look? So not for me.

Messy bun . . . meet Kate’s bad hair day.

March 8th, 2007 by Kateastrophe

So I made a goal to eat better and lose some freaking weight. I got a healthy diet outline from the director of a boot camp that a girl I work with is attending.

I’m supposed to spend the first seven days ridding my body of toxins by not eating any processed foods, sugar, caffeine, carbs or red meat.

Day 1: Mission Accomplished

Day 2: Thwarted by big boss man as he handed me an ENTIRE CASE of girl scout cookies. And not just assorted girl scout cookes. Thin Mints and TAGALONGS (aka the BEST COOKIES EVER CREATED.) I didn’t eat the whole case . . . just a WHOLE BOX.*sob*

Day 3: Thwarted by Diet Coke and my long standing addiction to the juice of life.

Day 4(today): DAMN THOSE GIRL SCOUT COOKIES AND THE DIET COKE!!!!

Ok but I must give myself credit where credit is due . . . I have done SO much better. Cut way back on the cheese and the bread and the french fries and MOST of the chocolate. I’ve been drinking bucketloads of water (and peeing buckets too). And I’ve been eating lots of fruit and vegetables and nuts and yogurt . . . now I just need my thighs to start shrinking ASAP. My comfy jeans aren’t seeming so comfy anymore . . . Anyone know someone I could trade wit and sarcasm for liposuction?

March 8th, 2007 by Kateastrophe

So, yeah.

Schnozz turned me on to Jurgen Nation and I officially LOVE her in general, but I especially love THIS POSTasking for beauty tips and secrets. And let me tell you there is some fab stuff and suggestions. We should all go there. NOW. And read the gloriousness. And pick up a few beauty tips.

March 7th, 2007 by Kateastrophe

Never mention the subject of babies in a blog post unless you are:
a) pregnant already or
b) planning to make yourself that way very soon.

Sorry for the fire drill folks. I am not, nor am I planning on being pregnant any time in the forseeable future. Here is a list of people you can talk to if that’s what you’re looking for:

Those to convince to become pregnant:
My sister and her husband (hehehe she’s going to kill me)
Brother-in-law and his wife (they are going to kill me too!)

Those already “with child”
Jewels
My good friend Sara
Hannah
Lindsey(who I don’t know personally, but I do know she’s having a baby soon.)
This random girl

. . . and pretty much EVERY woman I go to church with.

Just not ME. My uterus is closed for business until much further notice.

March 7th, 2007 by Kateastrophe

Our home . . .

Our blasted piece of wonderful awful property that we have spent so much dang time tearing apart and putting back together. At first it was for us, fixing up our first home, making it ours and making it beautiful. Making it the kind of place where we might just bring home the first mini-Murphy . . .

[Insert sound of scratching record here]

We made the life changing decision to build a newer, (no, BRAND NEW) bigger, more beautiful, more perfect home. Where (despite my adamant opposition to discussing the topic right now) we will, most likely, bring home the first mini-Murphy (deep breaths, Kate, deep breaths) and most likely (if I survive the first one and decide to procreate again) the second mini-Murphy (don’t get excited all you Grandparents out there. I’m stopping there until much, much further notice.).

The downside of this decision is, obviously, the additional cost. It’s been a worry since day one, but regular prayers and many blessings have made it seem like the right decision and fiscally possible for us.

Then yesterday, our Realtor came over to look at our house for the first time and give us an idea what to list it for and look at comps, etc. She asked to see our floorplan for the new home online, and you know what I saw?

They reduced the base price of our new home. By kind of a lot.

And the market here has dropped enough that we will most likely not be able to sell our house for quite as much as we thought.

I was FREAKING OUT. We were both freaking out. It was hard to see the equity we thought we had already built up . . . gone. The appraisal vs. amout paid? Not good. It was a very stressful night. The problem of not as big of a down payment? Stressful. We started crunching numbers again, stressing out again, praying again.

Today I called the builders office, left like five messages hoping to talk to someone about what they planned to do for us in this new precarious situation. No one called me back.

I was pretty upset.

This evening at about seven-thirty, I got a call from our original salesperson at the builders office. Note, she is on MATERNITY LEAVE, having just dropped child three weeks ago. So having her number pop up on my phone worried me more than just a little.

Then, she said the magic words:

DROPPING.

YOUR.

BASE.

PRICE.

TO.

MATCH.

NEW.

DISCOUNTED.

PRICE.

And here is probably the coolest part ever. And why there is no doubt in my mind that God knows what’s up with all of us little peeps down here — The discounted we get is almost exactly the same amount as what we think we have to drop the selling price of our current house. Granted the hit on the market put a dent in our equity earnings, but I am confident we will earn it back.

So we are back to being exactly where we thought we’d be. Back to almost the exact same delta between the selling price of our house and the purchase price of the new one. Back to where we decided we would be OK.

But the other cool part? That’s being conservative. There’s a pretty good chance we’ll be able to sell our house for more and be even better off.

I need to remember this and never complain about my life again.

March 5th, 2007 by Kateastrophe

I want to go back to high school.

OOOH texture!

And a little bit of this:

OOoh tile borders!

And some of this:

Ooooh demolition

March 2nd, 2007 by Kateastrophe

So Petey (my favorite techy) and I spent like an hour creating my cool new banner today.

Then I realized we misspelled “Kateastrophe” — well, at least according to my blogger URL AND the URL that I’ve purchased.

I guess I have to reset my “days since the last Kateatsrophe” back to zero. It was at 11.

I was doing so great.