Tie-ins

thehardyheyday.blogspot.com

I didn't realize it at first, but when Jacob and I went shopping upon our return to the states for a few essentials it occurred to me I've picked up a new responsibility: dressing my husband. I'm not saying he can't pick out his clothes, or that men can't dress themselves. But I've never participated in the opinion-giving process for guys' clothes.

I know what I like when I see it, I guess. I definitely know what I don't like when I see it.

I'm not bad at sweaters, dress shirts, polos, khakis, shoes even, blazers sometimes, belts maybe. But ties?

I have no idea.

Is this really my job? If so, I'm going to need some training.

Routinely out of schedule

There's a popular book for business people operating in the Middle East called, "Don't They Know It's Friday?", which addresses the confusion over scheduling snafus resulting from Eastern v Western schedules. Friday is holy day in many Muslim countries and, therefore, not a working day. Our weeks generally operated on a Sunday-Thursday schedule and our neighbors in Oman were mostly Saturday-Wednesday (I think). Back home in the states, a typical work week is...

dependent, I guess, on what you do. I've always worked jobs that are structured on the Monday - Friday, but required a bit more than that - as Jacob's job right now does. Bless than man's hardworking heart, he is killing it every day except Sunday and a couple of hours on Monday. And not just 9-5. Oh, no. He is out the door most mornings at 8 and comes back in 12 hours later, if we're lucky.

So I'm routinely out of schedule. Even when I spend a couple of hours every day slacking off or exploring or daydreaming or reading, I'm still left with plenty of time to get my work done and still miss the man. What's a girl to do? Not that I'm complaining, mind you, just super appreciative of everything he's doing and hopefully expressing just how proud I am of all his hard work.

G L A M O..r not so much

Today dawned beautifully, full of sun and clear skies - and such a relief after the last few days of grey. I was looking forward to my big household task of the day as I stepped outside to mow the grass. HELlo! Speaking of wake up call. It was like 45 degrees and WINDY! How can do they stand it up here? It should at least be warm enough to enjoy if you have to be outside doing yard work. C'mon!

Anyway, the real hilarity in all this is that, as I was sweating (in a fleece and patagonia tights) and toiling, pushing, pulling and coaxing the mower up hills of way overgrown grass and occasionally stepping in dog-dug holes in the backyard, Glamorous by Fergie came on my ipod.

Ha. Not so much.

Rainy Saturday

Jacob now works Saturdays at this new job and his 12 hour days (plus commute) and 6 day a week schedule are a lot different from what we've had in the past. We knew this kind of change would come and, in a way, it's wonderful. I love waking up and seeing him off in the morning and, even more, I love it when I see him pulling into the driveway.

But, I have this observation: I'm thankful that I have work - and work that is flexible enough I can take it with me anywhere. Because, I have to think that being a housewife sans kids would bore me to death.

Well, maybe not if I had oodles of cash on hand and just shopped and worked out and was groomed all day by a dedicated staff.

...

Nope, I think I'd still be bored.

Anyway, I was planning an exploratory trip to the West Side Market today and, while much of it is indoors, I was really hoping for some nice weather and photography ops. It turned out to be a rainy Saturday and I just wasn't feeling that for traipsing around, so I stayed closer to the house.

Thanks again for the casa, P& J!

I'll have to save that one for next week, so stay tuned, but in the mean time: a little sampling of the Ohio spring and our new (temporary - although, aren't they all right now?) digs.

Rice-in

thehardyheyday.blogspot.com

Remember when it was all the rage to send some kind of poisonous powder to some government office (and just for that line, I fattened up my FBI file for sure, just like all the little geniuses who joined that facebook group 'Dear Lord, this year you took my favorite actor Patrick Swayze, my favorite actress Farah Fawcett...yada yada, Barack Obama is my favorite president'. Don't you people know anything? If Al Gore invented the internet, Barack owns it - but I guess he is giving it away so, whatever right? Wrong. Add a page to all their files. Maybe two. And audit them).

Anyway. that was a major tangent and the point was, I made rice so bad the other day that it could have been poison. Thus 'Rice-in,' it's a play on words. Get it? Gah, what a waste. At least it's Saturday. It was, what I hope is a few-and-far-between black mark on my cooking record. It was rice porridge. It was rice soup. It was pure gluten in a pot. A pot which boiled over and spewed, well, I'm not going to describe it. I did take a picture of it, though. Mostly because it dried and peeled off the pan in these crinkled little rivulets that make you wonder just what is in the food you eat if this is what happens to it when you leave it alone for two seconds?! (Oh, and because my husband still did the dishes - even after being presented with that monstrosity for dinner)

So, I have been cut down to size once again. This is a sidenote that I think will inspire a new label called 'I was wrong'. This post is dedicated to my brother who, when he complained about not being able to cook rice, I teased. He has a rice cooker, now. And I am a sucker.

PS-I was so excited to read notes from people who know the GIANT EAGLE personally! Love it!

Giant Eagle to the rescue

I've shopped in lot of different places in my time. I always enjoy open air markets, and then there are the places like a true butcher shop or "chicken guy," who kept live chickens inside his store and slaughtered them in front of you. I've done the mini mart for essentials, supermarkets (American, French, Moroccan) and boutique gourmet shops. 

What I had never done, before today, was "Giant Eagle." Yes, that is the name of the leading supermarket up here. GIANT EAGLE. What?!

But it's true. And sort of glorious.

On a side note, today was the first time I've been grocery shopping for us in FOUR MONTHS! That's what you get, kids, when you live with family for months on end: spoiled. Which, is a clue to what's coming tomorrow here on thehardyheyday. 

Baby, it's cold outside

Have I mentioned Cleveland is cold?

Because it is.

The upside?

We get to see spring again, yay!

But it still stinks when you wake up and the floors are cold.

Baby Time (NO, not ours)

I was so excited to get to snap a few shots of Josie during a laid back afternoon up here in Ohio (Cuyahoga Falls, to be precise). She and Phillip are expecting in just a couple of days, and she's barely had a shot taken of her pregnancy, so it was such an honor that she asked me to be a part of capturing this special time! 

Since both Phillip's and Josie's families are abroad (Josie is Swedish and Phillip grew up between Lexington and Brussels), it's important to have photos so the family can be a part of things. 

As you can see, and I already knew, Josie is absolutely gorgeous and I swear she hasn't gained an ounce of weight except baby. It's unbelievable. 

We're so happy that we'll be here to welcome this little one to the world and experience this wonderful time with our friends. 

I'm no professional, but I'd have to say that she'd make this an easy job for anyone. 

The plank...

There's a passage in the bible that discusses taking care of your own issues before getting up all over other people. It's in Matthew 7:3-5. It's familiar to parochial school kids, Sunday school grads (and dropouts), churchgoers, churchhaters and pretty much every kid/grown up who wanted to give an end-all reason some sibling/parent/significant other/friend/frienemy should mind his or her own business. I'm not about to go into the true theological thoughts on the depth of this biblical statement against hipocrisy, but I am going to tell you that's sure what I was thinking this morning...

But about myself, not someone else.

The verse basically says, 'you see a splinter in your friend's eye and you want to get it out for him, but you need to check yourself first because you're sporting a plank' and, hey, that might just affect your own eyesight.

So, back to this morning...or perhaps back to a couple of months ago when I started mining my mom's attic for some of my clothes. I pulled out a bunch of my old clothes - my 'old' clothes that are pretty and voluminous in the amount available and sometimes expensive and that scream SINGLE! FUN! GREAT JOB! 

One of the selections I gingerly selected to remove from its protective plastic and begin wearing was a gorgeous pearl-gray Lewis Cho skirt made of so many layers of translucent silk chiffon. I cautioned Jacob as I carefully placed it, buffeted by tshirts, in the suitcase - that he must MUST be careful. Those layers get away from you, I said. It's silk. I love it, I said. It cost a half month's rent on our apartment, I said. Be careful.

So when I squared my shoulders and asked him, yesterday, if he remembered when I told him about that skirt, he looked at me - terrified - and said, 'Yes. I was careful. I didn't do anything. What did I do?'

And do you know why I love that man? Because when I told him I'd zipped it up in the suitcase (all by myself, in a rush, not being careful, not watching the layers) his first response was to ask if it was ok, not to be relieved that it wasn't him and, mercifully, not even to laugh at me (I totally deserved it).

You'll be happy to know that, after a good half an hour, I managed to extricate my skirt from the suitcase zipper - and they both came out no worse for the wear unlike, perhaps for the better, my attitude, which was better for the adjustment.

The Party Time

thehardyheyday.blogspot.com

For those of you following the saga of our car search - oh, wait, I haven't posted anything about the search because it's been a regional, tri-state area, budgetarily constraining, time consuming stressball (my mother in law blames cash for clunkers for taking all the used cars off the market so, like UK's loss this year, I blame this on Obama).

I'm going to pause to let that last one sink in. IT WAS A JOKE, KIDS.

But seriously, I've been trying to hide my utter desperation to be in full time possession of a vehicle because I didn't want to stress Jacob out even more. But now that things are settled, I can officially introduce you to...the Party Time.

What? What did you think PT stood for? Ok, I wasn't sure, either, but I figured with this kind of coloring, it had better be something peppy.

Here's to celebrating my new wheels and the fact that I will never ever lose it in the parking lot. Ever.

And now, it's Party Time!