Posts Tagged ‘Maine Coons’
I’ve been awake since 4 am, thanks to Thunder, my boy cat, who insisted on having the first of his several breakfasts at a rawther ungodly hour. If he weren’t such a stunning example of Maine Coon rescue-kitty beauteous-ness, I would be sorely tempted to open a big ol’ can of whup-ass on him.
And yet I’m not tempted to open a big ol’ can of whup-ass on him.
Because I’m happy.
In previous blog posts, I referenced – directly, obliquely, sideways – that I had an intense summer. And by intense, I kinda mean awful. And by awful, I kinda mean a-cuss-word-that-shall-not-be-uttered-here.
And here’s how I made my cuss-word-awful summer even worse: By “saving” all the agita and angst that piled up during office hours and bringing it home to Hubby. Ostensibly, I guess, so he could listen to it all and then charge in on his white horse and fix it.
Guess what? That didn’t happen. Because even if Hubby could have fixed the work angst, he didn’t want to. Well, maybe he started out wanting to, and even tried, but when he caught a glimpse of the futility of that exercise, he totally mentally bailed and went back to obsessing over his precious St. Louis Cardinals.
At some point, maybe after the 10th bitch-fest or so, I was hit by a relationship bolt of lightning: Why should he have to listen to all this?
A) He can’t really help.
B) When he’s already home, and happy (and maybe watching the Cards on his laptop because not all the games are televised and he’s got all kinds of weird apps on all his devices that keeps him dialed-in, 24/7, creepily Big Brother-like), why should I sail through that front door and wreck all that?
C) Don’t our families deserve the happy stuff? Aren’t our homes supposed to be the respite from all the blech work drama?
I think you know where I’m going with all this: That being happy – and shelving the work-related bitchfest – is the very, very best gift you can gift your family.
And on that note, here’s where else I’m going: Out the front door, for a nice run along the Hudson.
P.S. There’s a great sit-down with Oprah in this week’s New York mag that I highly recommend. In it, she says: “You have to be responsible for the energy you’re putting out into the world.” Bingo, babe. Love that.
This is when all my Nate Berkus-watching comes back to bite me in the ass.
Actually, that’s not entirely true.
For any party I’ve ever thrown – and there was many a Champs-fueled blowout at my St. Marks Place pad in the Nineties – I have worked by fingers to the bone scrubbing and zhushing right up until that first doorbell rings. And that’s when I maybe, at most, had about 900 square feet to contend with.
My post-swingle, all-grown-up dwelling is considerably bigger, and spread out on three floors. And there are two other people who share it with me, plus Thunder and Lightning, the world’s cutest Maine Coons. (Okay, so maybe they’re not literally the world’s cutest – they haven’t won any prizes or medals or anything – but they are so adorable that you just want to squish ’em.)
So tomorrow night we’re having a fairly substantial holiday bash. And there are several people who will be seeing our home for the first time. Thus, I’m in a tizzy.
I already went into overdrive getting my office tricked-out – a new navy rug, that murky teal “accent” wall, that stunning Jodi Cobb ‘ocean off the coast of Alabama’ image I told you about. And then just this week, I decided that the new navy slipcover I bought for the loveseat needed “texture” in the form of a dark teal chenille throw I rush-ordered from Overstock.com. I’m such a nut that I spent almost as much on shipping as I did on the throw itself.
And now it’s on to the rest of the house. The Wee Lass picked out a festive Hello Kitty comforter for her bed, and I nabbed this Martha Stewart quilt at Macy’s for the bed in the master bedroom. And now I’m sort of kicking myself that I didn’t pick up the pillow shams to go with. Although I already have really great shams, expensive ones from ABC Carpet, including a pale-teal matelassé set with embroidered bees that remind me of Napoleon.
A fun fact about Momover Lady: She’s obsessed with Napoleon and Josephine. Have you guys every read those fantastic faux-ish Josephine diaries by Sandra Gulland? They are beyond beyond.
Anyway, I keep telling myself that my imaginary bestie Nate wouldn’t want the bed in my master bedroom to be too matchy-matchy, and he’d strongly urge me against running back over to Macy’s and picking up the Martha pillow shams. We’ll see if I can hold off; I’m so compulsive that it’s almost certain I will in fact be making a mid-afternoon sham run.
But first the Wee Lass and I have to make several dozen frosted Xmas cookies. They won’t be the gourmet numbers that my pal Rebecca Giles is whipping up for Cookies for Kids’ Cancer – prefab dough is involved – but they’ll be yummy nonetheless.
Alrighty, I better get moving. I need to meditate so I won’t go too too too bananas with the party-prep. After all, I’ll need to have some energy for my guests. Guests who I very much hope won’t be checking closets for dust-bunnies and tsk tsk-ing my pillow sham situation. TGIF, my lovelies.