Beyond stress

There is nothing like the impending arrival of house guests to suddenly bring on a boost of energy to do major home renovations. I know that if there was no pressure, things just wouldn't be done. Therefore why not take the 10 week notice and turn it into an opportunity to work our asses off. Mind you that 10 weeks has actually turned into the 4 week scramble, starting off with last weekend when Carpenter and I ripped apart our one and only bathroom. You guessed it. There were some interesting challenges for 36 hours until we reinstalled the toilet. We were graciously allowed to use the neighbors', then, during the night it was a toss up for the kitchen sink or the back lawn. Seriously folks, I do not recommend ever ripping apart one bathroom, unless you have another to use. But it can be done, and I have to gloat;I love my marble tiles and my new deep soaker tub. Even while we were still grouting around tub and floor I would sneak in and lay in my tub, and just lay there. I love my tub, almost as much as my coffee mug. Yes, that bathroom door is about to have a sign on it saying "Mom's room".
There were times though during this process that it tested our marriage, I handed him the wrong tool and drill bit, 3 times. I was utterly "Painful to watch" while grouting. But I know better than to ever question the Carpenter when it comes to building, I just stay out of his way and crack open the odd Corona with Lime and Tabasco sauce for him, depending on the time of day.
Now in less than 3 weeks, we have to build a new vanity, paint, finish the tree house, clean the yard and house. Apparently Gran views these relatives as kin to the freakin' queen, because she's on my ass almost daily to come over and clean my cupboards. Of course because they are coming to see them. The countdown has begun. Where did I put that broom and dustpan?

My cousin and his family fly over a big blue ocean and arrive here for a10 day holiday. They will be spending time with us, and then we are all off to Vancouver for a few days. I am in charge of booking a van, tours, a means to Vancouver, and hotel accommodations.The hotel has to be somewhat central to all the places they would like to see. I'm having trouble finding a place that is central to all the sights on their wish list. All I know is, I'm stressed, I promised my self I wouldn't be, but I am. It has been almost 10 years since I have seen him last. He is my cousin, actually he is my second cousin, but we are pretty close. I want it their vacation to be perfect and wonderful. They are only here for 10 days and I want to enjoy that time to the fullest. I know that it doesn't matter that the treehouse isn't done- just a safety rail would do, I really don't care about new paint or a vanity. Just clean and tidy. That's all I need. I think. I don't know how I should cope. I'm starting to feel like the rabbit in Wonderland!
So I have a question for all you readers out there , How do you cope with stress?
Do you sit in Starbucks and people watch, wondering what her life is like behind the til?
Do you grab your favorite copy of Old English lit, say Chaucer's Canterbury tales and sit in the middle of an open field and read it out loud?
Or, like me, do you wake up at 4:45 am, because you can't sleep, strap on your water bottle, tie up your favourite runners, and hit the pavement, for a long run. No kids. No Phone. No Computer. No Ipod. No talking. No traffic. Just me. Just my legs. Just my feet hitting the pavement until I can't run any more. And it feels good.
Later in the morning, over coffee I literally fall apart explaining to Ferf why it is that I NEED to wear waterproof Mascara. Go figure. Guess I didn't need a good run. I needed a good cry.

Things neighbours do.

I have neighbours who are retired and spend quite a bit of time on their yard. Yes, its beautiful. The grass is meticulously cut exactly every three days. I'm sure I've seen Mr. G out there with a pair of nail clippers and a ruler. Thea's flower boxes on her deck are filled with huge flowers, I've asked her if she spikes her water with Miracle Gro, but she insists that its just water. Right. Part way through the summer she hands over cukes and other veggies that they don't want anymore. It sometimes makes me wonder why I should plant a a garden of my own. The years I did have one , Thea would look out from her balcony and remark on how something was growing particularly well almost everyday. Most recently, she has been remarking on how beautiful my petunias are looking.
My petunia bed borders the lane that separates Thea's house from ours. When we first moved to the house , it was just a strip of lawn with enough of a mound, that teenage boys could perfectly catapult their bikes through our carport and down the driveway and back down the lane. After catching them, Carpenter and I decided it was high time we re-landscaped that part of our yard. It was a slow process, and everyday or so Thea would remark on how it was coming , or asked when would it be finished. I had decided to plant tulips in it for the spring, acquired 140 bulbs and planted them. That was an excruciating job, after I was done, Thea said,"Did, you remember to plant them all tips up? Because they won't come up otherwise."
Thea spent the spring watching for the tulips to come up and every few days counted them. One day, as I came home from walking Gem school she said, "I stopped counting at 79."
Thea and Mr. G. are pretty good neighbours for the most part,they are friendly, and watch over our place when we leave on holidays. In fact they will give us the make and model of every car that comes to my driveway, if they think its necessary. Once a couple of summers ago, we had the blinds up and windows open because it was hot. The next day Thea comes up to me and says," I see you had your sewing machine out last night, what were you sewing?" Carpenter and I decided we would one night leave all the blinds up, windows open, and have an orgie on the dining room table, to really give them something to talk about.
Most recently however, they have pushed the boundary of "friendly neighbour". My petunia bed was filling with weeds and I really didn't have the time to weed it. Let's face it, who really likes to weed anything? I am not a Green Thumb by any means, in fact, my entire philosophy on gardening is "If I happen to forget to water or fertilize a plant, it just shrivels and dies quietly." Ironically, most of my flowers do quite well, and so do the weeds. While I was away, last weekend, Thea and Mr. G. took it upon themselves to be my "weed fairy" and weeded my entire petunia bed. When I returned home, Thea was standing on her balcony, and said, "I see you had a visit from the weed fairy."
I thanked her for doing the job, but, I became irked by the whole thing when I saw weeds dying in the grass I had planted next to the petunia beds. The evidence was clear that they had not only weeded the petunias, but had sprayed the lawn with "killex ".

It's a Mug thing.

About a year ago I was having lunch with my Aunt and my Mom when the subject of "favorite" mugs came up. I understand that everyone has favorite things. Julie Andrews sang a song about it in Sound of Music. I just didn't realize that it included the realm of coffee mugs. My Mom and Aunt went on about how they were perturbed if someone took their mug out of the cupboard, family member or house guest, and used it. Not that they would say anything to the one who stole their mug. They would just stew about it, and let it grate under their skin, and then breath a sigh of relief when they were finished with it. I was thinking "are you kidding me? "
My mom has a favorite mug, a pottery one, that fits perfect in her hand and holds just the right amount of coffee, because she only has one cup per day. In fact she's pretty particular about her coffee as well. She has an Actual saying on the kitchen wall that reads "hand over the coffee and no one gets hurt."
Once when I was visiting I put a little Cinnamon in the coffee grounds when I was asked to make it, just for something different. That went over like a lead balloon.When my Mom tried it , her immediate reaction was "What did you do to the coffee? " My Dad informed me that you don't mess with the coffee. Ever.
So at that I had learned two valuable lessons, which shall ever keep me safe and alive while visiting my parents: Don't mess with the coffee, and by all things sacred, and holy, Do not under any circumstance touch the favorite mug.
So while out at the ranch last weekend, I came down for breakfast and went to pour myself a cup of coffee. I said to my mom," Where's your mug?"
Just to cover myself from grabbing the wrong one, and she said, "Here, you are." she had handed me an identical pottery mug. "I really like this one, she continued, "that's why I have 3 of the same." I began teasing her about her favorite mug.
But then I had to confess something. "I have a favorite mug too." I said.
This mug, my Mom bought me when I finally had my own apartment and we had been out shopping together. It was on a sale rack, the store was closing out and was discounting most of their stuff. I use it all the time, because it reminds me of that day, 10 years ago. I love the way it fits in my hand. It holds just the right amount of coffee, or other hot liquid, and probably most importantly, It gives me a gauge as to how much milk to sir in to make the coffee the way I like it. It's the first mug I grab, no matter its location in the cupboard. Its the mug Carpenter brings me coffee in bed.It's my mug.
But I didn't realize how important this mug was to me until one day when a guest was in my house and used it. I couldn't believe how perturbed I was. My mug was being used, and it wasn't by me. It was like an itch I couldn't scratch. I could handle it okay if it was broken by me, but certainly not someone else. But I would never say anything to a guest in my home. I would never, ever, make my guest feel uncomfortable by any means. I would sacrifice my mug before that happened.
As my Mom listened, a knowing smile spread across her face. She handed me the egg flipper and told me to watch the pancakes. She disappeared and when she came back she held a box in her hand and gave it to me.
Inside was another mug that matched my mug. She had bought two that day.
"I meant to give this to you when you moved into your house," she said,"Now you have two."
I was surprised, shocked and delighted. I couldn't believe it. She had bought another mug and had kept it all this time.
And, then it hit me like a ton of bricks: When it comes to coffee and mugs,
I'm like my Mom?????