Wednesday, August 4, 2010

Little things...

This weekend was our yearly trip up to DH's relatives' house up north. We go there every July for his Aunt and Mother's birthday, as they're twins, to celebrate. We were planning to come back on Sunday, however DH decided he'd rather stay an extra day and come back on Monday. I must admit I was a bit apprehensive about this plan, as I'd only brought enough of my vitamins and morning sickness pills to last until Sunday morning.

"Oh well," I said cheerfully (as we were out shopping, which puts me in a grand mood... unless it's for clothing, as I can't wear anything nice anymore and nothing seems to fit these days), "I can always take a Gravol in the morning if I feel sick."

Sure enough, I woke up Monday morning feeling like death was lurking around the corner. I gulped down a gravol greedily and tried not to move too much, for fear of being sick. The drive home was hell. Being nauseous in a bumpy car is never fun.

However, I managed not to get sick for the whole 2.5 hr drive. I made it through the entire day as well, slipping in a nap in the afternoon.

Everything seemed to be ok. That is, until it came time to take my nightly vitamins and pills. As soon as I took them, I threw them back up. Ick.

The next day (yesterday), turned out to be even worse. I spent the better part of the day getting sick and laying in bed, trying to avoid doing ANYTHING.

DH came home from work and had to go to Walmart for his diabetes medication, and asked if I wanted to be brave and come along. I thought, "Why not?"

So off we go to Walmart. While we're there, I'm trying very hard not to be sick and put on a brave face, all the while feeling like death and carrying around this belly that feels like it's going to burst (I had a grape float before we left, as I was hungry. Shut up, don't look at me like that. If I'm gonna puke anyways, I wanna eat something tasty).

While DH was looking for "Kick Ass" on DVD (their shipment didn't come in, so we had to go to Future Shop for it. He even brought the Walmart flyer to be "that guy" and get $2 off their price), I stumbled upon the reduced section for cell phone paraphernalia. I spotted the cutest little case that actually fit my BlackBerry, and lo! It was on sale for ONLY $10!!! I had to grab it. I know I just bought one on the weekend, but that one was gaudy and only $5, so if I don't use it, it's not such a waste.

This one was white leather, with a flip lid. It also has a carry strap, a cute dangle thing, and 2 pockets (one inside and one outside) for credit cards or ID. I could probably even fit a little bit of cash in the outside one! It would be perfect for those nights out at the bar when all you really need is your ID, some money, and your phone. Not like I'm going out to the bar anytime soon, I'm sure. But still. AWESOME DEAL.

So we get to the counter to pay for our items (while DH shakes his head that I'm spending money on something I don't really need), and the new case is scanning in at $20. Of course, I tell the girl on the register that it's supposed to be $10. She has to call the department and wait for someone to confirm this.

As she's doing that, I notice a laminated sign in front of me saying that if an item scans in at the wrong price, the customer gets it for free (if it's $10 or under), or gets $10 off the price. So of course, I say to her, "Does that mean I get it for free?"

"If it's actually only $10, then yes," she says.

Of course, I'm right, it's $10, and therefore I get it for free!!!

In the car on the way home, I glow with pleasure at not only having a fancy new case, but the fact that it was free. I say to DH, "Sometimes, the smallest things make me so happy."

That's when he decides to torpedo my mood and say, "And sometimes, the smallest things make you so angry."

I let that one slide.

Cats and kids

As Noah tears around the house in a wild frenzy of his own making, I am still amused by the fact that I talk to him like a child.

He darts into the kitchen where I'm sitting, reading someone else's blog, and meows loudly at me.

"What?" I ask.

"MEOW!" he responds.

"What are you doing, you nut job?" I ask affectionately.


He flips onto his back and starts licking his foot.

"Do you want some catnip?"

"Meeeooowwww!!" he cries as he follows me to the cupboard I keep it in. I've learned that when he starts sucking his foot like that, it's his way of saying he wants catnip.

I reach up and grab the little baggie with the loose catnip in it, and shake it at him. He jumps up and tries to claw my fingers to death while attempting to steal the whole bag.

I fish out a little finger-pinch of it and bend down to give it to him. He grabs onto my fingers with a death-lock and tries to eat them. I sprinkle it on the floor and put the catnip back in the cupboard.

Now he'll lay there for at least a good half hour, rolling in it, chewing himself, and eating it.

Cats are like babies. Sometimes, they go on and on and you have no idea what they want, or why they just won't stop crying. Other times, it's blissfully obvious and makes my life a whole lot easier (and quieter). I'm so glad I've had my cat for practise... I've gotten quite good at reading his subtle signs.

Let's hope it'll be that easy with Marshall!

WHAT is that smell?!?

I was sitting on my couch last night, (which isn't so much a couch as a futon that folds down into a bed, but is functional enough to serve as a couch) when every time I leaned forward, I smelled something awful. I know it wasn't me that the smell was emanating from, so I kept asking DH if he had farted.

"No hun, it wasn't me. I don't smell anything. I think you're crazy."

This is a typical phrase during my pregnancy. Smells that I think are there, are usually not. Tastes that I think I taste, are usually in my head. Very occasionally, I'm proven right though. Tonight was one of those times.

After 2 hours or so of continually smelling this terrible scent, I finally got down on the floor on my hands and knees and sniffed the couch in different areas. Finally, I came to a spot that made me nearly wretch.

"There! Smell RIGHT THERE!" I gestured wildly to the noxious spot with a mixture of triumph and disgust. DH leaned forward and put his nose right into the spot I pointed to and almost gagged himself.

"Ok, yeah, I smell it too."

Now the question became, "What the hell IS that smell??" We turned on the lamp and checked the spot for cat poop, on the off-chance one of them had tracked some onto the couch (which never happens). Nothing.

"I guess we should wash the cover," says DH as I lift up the sheet we have covering the futon mattress. Another sniff of the same spot reveals that no, it wasn't just the cover. He smells it again too. So we lift up the second sheet underneath, and I proceed to sniff the mattress itself. I recoil in disgust and say, "Apparently it's the mattress!!"

So what does DH do? He takes the sheets off and lays down a thick blanket to try to mask the smell.

I have no idea how we'll get that smell out, or where it came from, but my question is this:

WHY does my couch smell like poop, when there's no poop to be found?! Argh. I suppose I shall have to get used to strange smells once Marshall arrives. What better time to start then now? *sigh*