This way, that way

There are many things you do as a parent in the hopes of fun and creativity that come back to bite you in the rear when you least expect it.

Last Monday, a bunch of ice led to delayed federal government and daycare openings. And since Chad's sports car doesn't do anything on ice but slide around, we all carpooled to work together. Jackson's daycare didn't open until 11 and I had to be at the office for a meeting at 10:30. So Chad, wearing his creative parenting hat, decided to kill the half-hour in between by driving around the city and letting Jackson choose the direction in which they went. They had a jolly old time, and he thought it was hilarious.

Fast-forward to Tuesday. I picked Jackson up from school and he was ready to tell me how to get home. (Keep in mind he does know most of how to get places, and if you ever divert from that due to traffic or whatever else he'll start opining from the back seat: "Wrong way! Wrong way!")

In typical toddler fashion, Jackson wanted to take me on a joy ride when all I really wanted to do was get home from work. I swear he'd been planning this all day. And when I didn't oblige...here came the exasperation. The drama. The t-e-a-r-s! For the entire 45-minute drive home (because traffic is always particularly bad on the evenings your child decides to have a meltdown), Jackson was pointing and yelling, "Other way! Other waaay! I want other way!!!" ... except for the very rare occurrence when we were going to turn in the direction he was expecting.

I do love my child, but I could not get him to bed fast enough that night.

Fast forward to later that week, when I went out to lunch with a potential business partner. She mentioned that she had an 18-year-old son, and in the next breath talked about an upcoming vacation. I asked if she was bringing her son with her to the Caribbean. "No," she says. "He lives with his father. I don't see him. Sometimes he sends me a text."

I squinted my eyes and wrinkled my nose, which is what I always do when I'm trying to figure out if people are joking. She wasn't. I went on to hear about how there comes a time when your kids just don't want to spend time with you and that it comes faster than you think. Then I start thinking about how I could never in a million years imagine what I'd do if this happened to me. I might very well turn into a stalker.

After that uplifting conversation I counted the minutes until I went straight to daycare, and said a little "thank-you-and-I'm-sorry" prayer to the Man Upstairs when, at the sight of me, Jackson literally dropped everything he was doing and started jumping up and down with his daily exclamation of, "That's MY mama!" I was the highlight of his day, and he was mine.

I gave him an extra-long hug. And let him stay up late, too.

Lessons from the old guys on the field

More than ten years ago when Chad started his DC softball career, he was on the very best teams around. Over a dozen 20-year-old guys. Young. Nimble. In peak physical condition. Took the game seriously.

But they could never get to the championship because of all the old dudes. Old people ruin everything.

I remember back then, when I used to play in the occasional co-ed Saturday game, getting so frustrated when we'd consistently lose to the same group of old folks. They were sloppy. Out of shape. They showed up five minutes before game time and it was clear their bag hadn't been opened since the previous week's game ended. It wasn't out of the question for one of them to pull a hamstring, or need to sit down because they got too hot. They were a disaster! But they were unbeatable.

It's funny how things come full circle. Last night Chad's very-old team (by DC standards) won the Arlington men's softball championship with a two-run homer in extra innings.(That's Chad in the red hat - not wearing his knee braces, I see.)

Much like all those "old" teams in the past, they shouldn't have won. They've got 15 years on some of those players. Half of them have families. Most of them don't go to the gym every day. And all of their lives are consumed by something other than Tuesday night softball.

But they've been playing together a long, long time. They know the quirks of their own team and how to work around them. They know in advance how to compensate for the guy who tends to throw too short over to first base, and how to cajole their pitcher to lift his spirits if he's having a rough game. And they see the opportunities: how to place a hit right in the middle of a hole in the outfield, or when to stretch a double into a triple because that right fielder hasn't proven to be accurate and they don't think he would be again.

Maybe this season's champions weren't the most athletic. But you can be sure they were the smartest. So they eked out a win over those 20-somethings, proof that maybe there is something to be said for this aging thing.

Funny what age, and softball, and the importance of really knowing your team can teach us sometimes.

Like father, like son

Let's not get in to how or why Chad is playing football again, despite the fact that's how he blew out two knees. He is.

On Sunday night, Jackson and I had a few moments to spare before bedtime and went down to the football game at Jackson's future high school.

Those of you who know this kid know that he doesn't sit still for anything so I was bracing myself for the equivalent of a track meet to catch up with him. But God love him, this kid loves football.

To prevent future injuries, which came during the quick start-and-stop of the receivers, Chad was on the line - meaning that he needed to know how to snap and play center. Jackson was absolutely riveted by this concept, and stood on the field mesmerized as all the players ran around him to practice.

The best part: as the guys all moved their practice further down the field, Jackson was clearly trying to figure out what his dad was doing - and then figure out how to do it himself. The next picture I took looked like this.

On the way out of the stadium at halftime, we got stopped by a woman who was running the track. She asked which league was playing and how her husband could get involved. "I'm looking for something for him to play where he isn't going to get hurt," she said. For her husband's sake, I kept my mouth shut.

A 2011 recap

It's Christmastime. It's Jackson's birthday. We're all sick. NRF just upgraded its holiday forecast. The Senate just went down to the wire on some, well...important thing that Chad was working on. We still haven't unpacked our artwork. We leave for Illinois in four days.

The last thing I have time to do is print and cut and stuff a bunch of little pieces of paper into our Christmas cards. At a certain point, in the interest of actually mailing your Christmas cards before December 25, you say forget about it.

But since the letter was already written, and since I did put our blog address on the back of the Christmas card, I figured I'd paste it here in case anyone in this entire world cares what it said. 

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Hi to our family and friends:                                           December 2011

Happy holidays and Merry Christmas! After taking a hiatus on our annual letter last year (did you really need an update, other than the fact that we had a baby?), we’re happy to share the contents of this year – what we remember of it, anyway:

Ellen returned to work at the beginning of April after a long maternity leave (note: long, not relaxing) and shifted her hours so she can leave the office at 3:00 to spend some time every day with Jackson before he goes to bed. She’s still at the National Retail Federation in public relations, analyzing consumer trends, talking about the importance of retail to the economy, and encouraging people to shop.

In the event that you’ve heard of a little thing called the “housing crisis,” Chad is right in the middle of it. Several years ago, when he moved to the Senate Banking Committee to take over housing issues, no one imagined his position would become as crucial as it is today. He’s had an incredible year steering public policy and really loves going to work every day. A good thing, because he’s rarely home before 8 p.m.

We’re still in denial that Jackson turned one on December 9. For better or worse, he seems to have the personality – and energy – of triplets. Jackson’s grandparents consider this appropriate payback for the rambunctiousness of both his parents when they were little. He loves the dog, crawling up stairs, and absolutely anything that makes noise. It’s been such a joy to watch him learn new things every day.

We were fortunate enough to make several trips back home this year so that Jackson could see his grandparents (and meet seven great-grandparents!). After a few earlier trips to the farm, we all headed home in August for Ellen’s brother’s wedding. It’s bittersweet that the final Tolley wedding is a thing of the past, but we were so thrilled that Daniel’s amazing wife said yes we were all able to look beyond that. And Chad’s parents were kind enough to watch Jackson for a few days while the two of us took off to Lake Tahoe for a long weekend (Ellen went for work, Chad called it vacation).

Our biggest news of the year came in the fall, when we moved into a new house. Chad, who has been looking at houses every day for the last several years, finally convinced Ellen that it was time to say goodbye to our perfect little townhouse for a single-family home – and Ellen relented when he found a house that met all of her “there’s-just-no-way-he-can-find-a-place-like-this” requirements. We love the neighborhood, our big backyard, and the number of children on our street (14 houses, 30 kids!). As we sit here writing the Christmas letter by a crackling fire – one of Ellen’s necessities – purchasing our old brick colonial seems like a great idea. Never mind that we still have nothing on our walls and a porch full of boxes.

In the midst of the move – and the holiday season… and a big hearing at work for Chad – Jackson decided he had moved too far off our radar and brought the attention back with a bout of pneumonia. Kids apparently have a way of reminding you why you exist in the first place. After a couple weeks of R&R, he was back to his normal self – and we started getting sleep again.

Lucy continues to keep us on our toes. Our daily walks have turned into weekly outings, but she’s so excited over the backyard she has almost forgiven us. (Please don’t ask why she didn’t make the Christmas card this year. Chad still isn’t over it.)

If you want to keep up with the general chaos that has become our lives, feel free to visit our blog at thedavisden.blogspot.com. Don’t get too excited because it isn’t updated as often as it used to be, though we do get the big stuff up – even if it’s late.

We wish you a very happy holiday season—and a wonderful New Year!

Our new normal

After Janice spontaneously took pity on me and literally forced us out to dinner, Chad and I found ourselves at one of our favorite restaurants last night with time to kill. There was a long list of people in front of us, so we cozied up to the bar with a glass of wine to wait it out.

Heading out to dinner by ourselves, which used to be just another weekday or weeknight for us, has become very rare - and quite a production. We schlepped more stuff over to Janice's than I take for a weekend away: a Pack n Play, blanket, diapers, milk, toys... The idea of getting everything around to go anywhere could turn me into a hermit pretty easily.

As we were sitting in the middle of the very crowded restaurant, I found myself anticipating the days when we can drop Jackson off at his aunts' and uncles' with nothing more than a pair of pajamas, send him over to play with his cousin or a friend down the street at a moment's notice, or even bring him with us to a restaurant (since of course he will always be well behaved and polite).

I was thinking the rest of this year might be challenging but that by this time next year Jackson would be easier, on a more set bedtime schedule and not so unpredictable from a temperament standpoint. Short answer: definitely by the age of three but I'm banking on two.

Curious what Chad thought of this timetable, I asked him when he thought we'd be at the point where it will be easier to go out to dinner again.

He paused. He looked at me.

Oh for heaven's sake, I said. Be optimistic.

"Probably when he's old enough to stay home by himself."

The infant and the invalid

There are times in our lives that both Chad and I are too ambitious for our own good. So when we made the decision to have Chad's ACL surgery right before Christmas, and right after our family had gone home for the holidays, we were definitely wearing rose-colored glasses. In the past 24 hours I imagine both of us have wondered, "What on earth were we thinking?"

The good news is that every millisecond is easier than the last and I really am happy that the surgery is over. But in the moments when I was trying to figure out if I should take Lucy for a walk, feed Jackson, get Chad his pain pills or move his equipment around the house, clean up from last night's dinner, or finish laundry, I have revised my "one day at a time" mantra to "one minute at a time."

And, as is always the case, today has been better than yesterday. Lucy and I headed out on a much-needed walk this afternoon and the two least self-sufficient people in our household stayed home to keep each other company. I think they look quite content, in fact.

DC's power couple

Chad reminded me this morning that it's been nearly a month since I blogged. Mom reminded me - publicly - as well, though I will say I've blogged since she has.

So, here's our biggest news from the last month.

Remember this? Well, it's happened again.

In a football game a couple weeks ago, Chad tore his ACL and meniscus on his left knee. He also has been having some lingering pain and swelling in his right knee, and an MRI showed that he tore the meniscus in his right knee as well. We were hoping for good news and preparing for bad news. Unfortunately, we got the latter.

Between my ever-growing belly and Chad's hobbling, we are quite the pair. It's actually comical.

So, Chad needs a scope on his right knee and reconstructive surgery on his left (ie: crutches for a month). The question around here is, when should we do it?

Should we try to get the ACL done before the baby is born so that Chad could start his recovery during a slow time of year and I'd only have to deal with taking care of one child at a time? (Sorry, couldn't help it...) If we went that route, in a perfect world the worst of his recovery would be behind him before Buster's grand debut, even though he'd be on crutches during the delivery and through Christmas. We wouldn't have to dread any upcoming surgeries since it would be out of the way and it's a slightly better option from an insurance standpoint. In a not-so-perfect world, the baby would come while Chad was still doped up on pain meds and unable to drive, though fortunately we have lots of friends and family who have already offered to chip in.

Other options: Wait until later on in my maternity leave, even though Chad will be busier at work. Wait until next summer even though the baby will be more mobile, I'll be back at work, and in the meantime Chad may injure his knees even more. (I don't personally see any of this as a good thing though this is what the surgeon seems to think makes the most sense.) Do both surgeries at the same time, even though the immediate recovery would be more difficult... Decisions, decisions. And not a single one of them is a no-brainer.

So I leave it up to you:

How should Chad approach surgery?
Just scope the right knee before the baby is born. There will be time for the "big" surgery later. Have surgery on the left knee ASAP. Get it over with already and hope Buster doesn't come early! Have both knees done at the same time sometime after the baby is born. Wait until next summer to do both, separately. Babies are hard work!
	Results

(Let's say it in unison, "Hopefully Buster gets Ellen's knees.")

Testing...1, 2, 3

I've been thinking ahead to September 13 for the last several weeks. This is the one-year anniversary of Chad's total knee blow-out. And I thought about it even more yesterday when I watched a player on the other football team Chad's guys were playing likely blow out his knee, too. [cringe]

In retrospect, much of that experience was awful: it was a test of patience, expensive and led to a lot of unplanned finagling and rearranging of our life. The half-hour I spent trying to get a woozy Chad into our house and up the stairs when we came home from the hospital after his surgery was definitely a low point. But at the time, it certainly didn't seem tragic.

The whole "knee" incident was another example to me of how sometimes you just have to put your life on autopilot and take things one step at a time - sometimes literally. I actually think back on that lesson a lot when I'm feeling like something is just too overwhelming or unfair or frustrating. You deal with it, you learn from it, and you get past it. And one year later, thankfully, Chad's knee is as good as it's ever been. Well, almost.

And this year, our Sept. 13 was much better. Why? Because the doctor's office called this afternoon and my glucose tests came back normal. That experience was a social experiment like no other, by the way. And I'm glad it's over. (I will take you up on that cake now, Robert!)

All's quiet on the Western front

It's been a weird week.

We're calling it The Week of Chad. (Actually his phrase, not mine.) What this means is that Congress is in recess. And what that means is Chad's schedule is completely and utterly up to him. He might as well be retired. This partially makes up for working all those crazy hours, for sure.

So this week Chad has headed into work for a couple hours each day, gone golfing at least three times, been to the gym on a handful of occasions, stayed up late to watch movies then slept in, organized a happy hour, and cleaned out our utility room.

He has also walked the dog every. single. day. For me, this has been paradise - not only because walking the dog is one of my least favorite chores, but also because it's topped 100 degrees for the last three days and just the idea of leaving the air conditioning makes me feel kind of sick.

But as I sit here at 6:00 at night with no husband (golfing) and no dog to walk, I'm trying to remember what I did all those nights I lived by myself. I've already unloaded the dishwasher and gone through the mail, it's not a "gym" day, and my house is clean - save for that pile in the study I really must get to before we transition it into a nursery.

So, I sit. And I marvel at the peace and quiet, which I am acutely aware will not be the case about five months from now in this house. I think about which pavers we're going to buy when we redo our backyard, and what I'm going to wear to work tomorrow, and dinner.

And then I realize I have to go find something to do because this sitting around is making me crazy.

Hey dad...surprise!

The list of what we need to do to get ready for baby is longer than my arm. Now I know why God lets it cook in there for nine months!

We haven't done a thing - except put Baby Davis on a few daycare waiting lists - and since we've just got five months left, it's probably time to start thinking about the rest. One of the places we decided to register is Amazon.com - free shipping over $25 and they're cheap with a good selection. (Don't look at our registry yet - there is literally nothing on it. More on that in a future post when my mind is not all melted.)

I put Chad on the registry too, since he's obviously got a vested interest in this and I wanted him to be able to add or delete items as well. Shortly after signing up, I get a gChat from him:

Chad:  "Ellen Davis has asked us to let you know that you have been named as Ellen's joint Baby Registry partner at Amazon Baby"

me:  Aren't you flattered?

Chad:  um...is it just me or does that read like a way at least one guy has found out he was going to be a father?

All clear!

Seven months to the day after ACL and meniscus surgery, Chad got the "all clear" from the surgeon this morning. No more restrictions, no more physical therapy, no more medical bills. All he has to do is wear his custom-fit knee brace for a year when he's playing sports.

This means two things to Chad: football and basketball.

He's only disappointed that they don't have a game this weekend. The Galloping Ghosts play next Sunday, when I'm going to be out of town. "You're going to miss my debut!" he said.

That's probably for the best, because my stomach would be in knots the whole time.

Six things I'm thinking right now

6) My husband is a rock star, ifIdosaysomyself. He’s been busting his buns at work on an amendment to the financial regulatory reform bill. As of last night, he had already clocked 47 hours in the office this week. (Most nights, I was long asleep by the time he came home.) He was excited when the amendment was introduced yesterday, and this morning we saw a too-good-to-be-true editorial in the Wall Street Journal about why it is so needed. (Read it, but if it makes your head hurt, don't worry. You can join my club.)

5) There's a downside to all that work. The running around this week wreaked a bit of havoc on Chad's knee, so when he went into the surgeon today for his final appointment there was a bit of swelling. This means no football for another six weeks but all the softball his little heart desires. Fortunately, he plays on a Thursday league so he was all packed and ready to go tonight… And don't tell him, but I'm kind of happy that he's going to ease back into these sports.

4) ...And this is what a farmer’s wife feels like. Chad said he’d be home between 8-9. Great, I said, I'm going to make chicken parmesan to celebrate the end of your crazy week of work. I got home from a haircut. Took Lucy out for a good walk. Got to work in the kitchen. At 8:42, everything was trimmed and breaded and ready to go in the oven. I called his cell. No answer. Called his work cell. Nothing. Called his office. He picked up on the first ring. "The Senate is still voting," he said. "I'm not sure how long I'll be." "Well then I'm making a snack," I said. "And, by the way, when were you planning to tell me this?"

(To all the farmer's wives I know...at what point do I put this in the fridge and decide to make it tomorrow night?)

3) Parting is sweet sorrow. Today was my CEO's last day at work. She's been at NRF for over 30 years and made the decision about a year ago to retire. We've hired her replacement, who starts Monday, and she had her office packed up and ready to go today. I've known this was coming for a really long time, but I still don't totally believe it. She's been such an incredible mentor to me (not to mention an amazing, thoughtful person) that seeing her retire is like having a member of my family move away. You know the family member who always keeps you honest - the one you really don't want to screw up in front of and still knows how to make you squirm? That one.

2) Happy birthday to my Grandpa Howard. He's 87. Or 88. (When you get past a certain point, can't you just stop counting?) Regardless, I love that I called tonight to wish him happy birthday and the answering machine picked up. He was probably out having dinner with friends or "day-tripping," as Grandma calls it. Earlier today he may have stopped by one of the farms just to see what was going on, or try to offer his assistance. I hope when I'm 87 (or 88) that I'm still lively enough to celebrate my birthday. And I hope Chad's around to do it with me. Surely he won't be working by then...right?

1) Was that just a week ago? Last weekend, about a dozen girls got together and went out to a cabin in the Shenandoah wilderness for Janice's bachelorette party. (I use the term "cabin" loosely - this place had seven bedrooms, leather furniture, a hot tub, pool table, a giant firepit and the world's most amazing kitchen.) Two of our cousins made the trip from California and we legitimately could not have had more fun, or better weather. Janice was a good sport despite all the tricks we had up our sleeves, no one managed to fall out of the canoe on Saturday when we went out on the water, and I ate so much I had to wear elastic pants on the trip home. It was one of those perfect weekends that no amount of pictures could do justice. Even though there are pictures. And videos. Call it blackmail.

And in a case of perfect timing, the phone just rang. Chad will be home in a half-hour. It's going to be a late dinner - again - but I'm channeling my inner farm wife and telling myself that old adage about eating two hours before bedtime is a load of hooey.

Hop to it

It's been a long eight months for Chad and his bum knee. From tearing his ACL and meniscus in September (fortunately, after our trip to Paris) to surgery in November, Chad's been learning to walk again, run again, and even squat again. He's been a diligent patient, not doing more than he should - except for that time in December he shoveled the driveway after it snowed six inches.

We've spent more on physical therapy in 2010 than we have on a lot of other things - and the bill we got in the mail a few weeks ago was 23 pages long. (Fortunately, we had to pay a small fraction of the $15,000 or so the insurance company has had to fork over.) And he's still been going to physical therapy bright and early every Monday morning. They've got him doing everything from standing one-legged on a ball (the bad leg) to build up strength and learn how to accommodate sudden movements to working on the rotation of the knee so that it really can bend all the way back, and hopping, skipping and jumping.

Chad has passed most of his tests with flying colors, but one continues to elude him: the hop test. It sounds simple enough - hop forward three times as far as you can on your good leg. Then go back to where you started and hop forward three times on your "bad" leg. If the hop on his bad leg is 80% of what it is on his good leg, he passes. The first time he tried it a few weeks ago, I think he was at like 45%. Not good.

This test has been giving him fits for weeks, and every now and then I'll see him standing in our hallway at night, concentrating intently on his hops. While much of this is physical, some of it is mental. (If I'd torn my ACL to smithereens, I'd probably have a hard time getting over it, too.)

But the clock is ticking: it's almost D-Day. Chad goes back to the surgeon for his monthly check-up this Thursday, and has been hoping to get cleared to play his favorite sports. But after failing his hop test last Monday in physical therapy, he was discouraged that he might have to go another month playing only golf and watching football from the sidelines. He asked his physical therapist if he could work on it for a week and do his final hop test on the Monday before his appointment.

Last night, when the opposing team hadn't shown up for football, Chad's team decided to scrimmage. I had to squint - twice - to confirm that Chad, who has spent the last month "coaching," was lacing up his cleats. Even though he played quarterback for both "teams" and didn't get within three feet of an opposing player, I think I held my breath the whole time. He said it was great to get out and "play" again, and was nice to see him running around as his nearly-normal self.

When Chad called me this morning to tell me he passed his hop test, I almost jumped out of my chair. Not only did he pass it, the "hops" were so close that his physical therapist didn't even measure them. To prove that he wasn't just half-hopping on the good leg, he did it again with the same result.

For both of us - Chad more than me, of course - it's almost the end of a really long road. We're both optimistic that Chad will be cleared for full activity when he goes to see the surgeon on Thursday, so our summer of football, softball and basketball is about to begin. And while Chad's back on the field, I'm going to look for ways to spend all that money we've been allocating to rehab. Let the fun begin!

Bottle it up

We've had the most incredible five days of weather here I can remember, and we had such a fun weekend!

Friday night, Chad and I hung out in the backyard, watched Lucy chase a ball (as much as you can chase anything in our tiny backyard) and then walked down to a new pizza place a few blocks away for dinner.

On Saturday, Chad got up at the crack of dawn - actually, before dawn - to golf with some friends and I went to kickboxing. In the afternoon, we took Lucy swimming at her favorite dog park. That evening, we had Janice and Nick over for shish kebabs - my summertime favorite - and played pitch until Chad fell asleep holding his cards in his hand.

Yesterday - Easter - we tried a new church (we gave it a 9 out of 10 with the only downside being that it's 20 minutes away) and celebrated our Easter traditions at Rachel's house with some incredible appetizers, ham, twice-baked potatoes and angel food cake. And Easter baskets! (She also made spinach, but that was kind of a dud...no offense, RT.) I brought Grandma Davis's rolls and a prosciutto, pear and walnut salad (my "new recipe" for the month of April - not bad but the dressing was a little too oily). The six of us sat outside until it got dark, all decided that the day after Easter should most definitely be a federal holiday, then went home and took Lucy for a walk.

What an awesome weekend. I wish I could bottle up days like these and bring them out when it's rainy, cold, or life has me stressed out.

Happy birthday to Chad!

We had a really fun weekend celebrating Chad's birthday. Or at least I had fun.

On Saturday night, we took Chad's new car up to Baltimore to a restaurant called Roy's. The restaurant, which began in Hawaii, specializes in seafood (and an amazing molten chocolate cake!). They really went all out for Chad's birthday - they even took a picture of us and let us bring it home. Fortunately, our chocolate cake had a candle on it, which I'm nearly positive gets me off of the hook on a birthday dessert. (Right?)

Last night Chad got his present - an iTouch. He's already filled it with apps and games, so I'll likely never be able to get his attention ever again. Let's just say the odds that he'll spend his birthday money on something for his car or his iPod are pretty good.

And then tonight we're doing something totally different - going to see Bon Jovi. What are the chances that they'd be in town on the same night as Chad's birthday? It was almost meant to be. (Thanks to our friends Mark and Brigid for the tickets! I look forward to rocking out with you in about...umm...four hours.)

I've never been to a Bon Jovi concert - in fact, I don't think I've ever seen anyone in concert except Celine Dion, Amy Grant and Phil Vassar - so this is bound to be an experience. Fortunately, my ability to provide a blog update tomorrow will not be dependent on whether I can hear, because that part might be a problem.

Happy 30-something birthday, Chad!

Skimming stinks

I'll make this long story short.

About a week ago, I was contacted by our bank about a few potentially fraudulent transactions. Thinking that they were calling about the huge deposit we transferred from savings to checking as a down payment for Chad's new car, I didn't think much of it.

Did I withdraw $400 from an ATM on Saturday, they asked? Hmm...I didn't think so. But with everything going on with the car purchase, I guess I couldn't be sure.

Did I withdraw $500 from an ATM in Maryland on Sunday? Umm...no. Considering I wasn't in Maryland on Sunday.

Damn.

And that began the long saga of figuring out how someone stole not only my ATM card number but also my PIN while one was in my wallet and the other was tucked away securely in my brain.

It all seemed like one great mystery until today when the City of Alexandria put out a press release on a new investigation about a skimming scam. This isn't my normal ATM, but of course I deposited something there one Saturday while we were taking Lucy for a walk at the park.

So, here's my public service announcement of the week: Pay special attention to ATMs when you use them. Skimmers can look like little bookmarks (like this) or big mammoth card readers (like this). And if you see one, trust me: don't use it.

Fortunately our bank has been great. They refunded us about $920 that was stolen and told me they plan to prosecute whoever did this. Other than some time on the phone and irritation that I have to give up the PIN I've had ever since I opened my checking account in 7th grade (sniff...), I'm relatively unscathed.

PS: I mentioned Chad's new car as a complete afterthought. Here's a photo. This car was a process with a capital "P", but he loves it.

My pitch list, Part 1

I mentioned a couple weeks ago that I'm on a tear to de-junk our house. Part of that motivation has come from my second-favorite book, Throw Out Fifty Things. Excited to get started, I had set aside several hours this afternoon to go through our bedroom, drawer-by-drawer and hanger-by-hanger. (If you want to join in the de-cluttering, download the official worksheets and rules either as a pdf that you can print out or a Word document that you can use to keep track on the computer.)

Before getting started, I had to keep in mind the four "Rules of Disengagement":

#1. If it—the thing, the belief or conviction, the memory, the job, even the person—weighs you down, clogs you up, or just plain makes you feel bad about yourself, throw it out, give it away, sell it, let it go, move on.

#2. If it (see above!) just sits there, taking up room and contributing nothing positive to your life, throw it out, give it away, sell it, let it go, move on. If you’re not moving forward, you’re moving backward. Throwing out what’s negative helps you rediscover what’s positive.

#3. Don’t make the decision—whether to toss or keep it—a hard one. If you have to weigh the pros and cons for too long or agonize about the right thing to do, throw it out.

#4. Don’t be afraid. This is your life we’re talking about. The only one you’ve got for sure. You don’t have the time, energy or room for physical or psychic waste.

Now, here's the drawback: each item does not count as one "thing" to throw away. Instead, each category counts as one thing (ie: I only get to count socks as one thing even though I purged 8 pairs).

By the end of the afternoon, here was my list: 6 sweatshirts, 9 dress shirts, 4 skirts, 1 pair of pants, 1 suit, 1 pair of overalls (why, oh why, did I still have those?!?), 10 t-shirts, 2 pairs of gym shorts, 8 pairs of socks, 7 pairs of shoes, a pair of pjs and 2 necklaces. Total: 12 things.

(Side note: You should see my closet. It's amaaaazing!)

Chad also went through his stuff. What went into the pile: 3 pairs of jeans, 2 sweatshirts, 2 sweaters, 5 dress shirts, 2 suits, 6 ties, 2 pairs of pants, 9 t-shirts, 3 pairs of shorts, 4 pairs of socks and 6 pairs of boxers.

TOTALS - Bedroom
Ellen: 12
Chad: 11

The extra bonus? I just plugged all the stuff we donated into ItsDeductible, which tracks our charitable contributions, and our "junk" is worth an $1,100 tax write-off! As Chad said, "That's free money." And not too bad for stuff that was literally just taking up space.

Next week: Bathrooms.

snOMG

My smugness on being prepared for the snowpocalypse was short-lived. Chad did not make it to Atlantic City (by the time he left work, the roads were getting bad and he wisely decided not to risk it) so we spent Friday night with Janice, making a nice dinner and watching movies. We were having so much fun, the idea of being snowed in all weekend was somewhat appealing.

Until the power went out.

From about 11 p.m. Friday until Saturday evening, Chad and I were two little refugees: We dug out the Jeep and then drove to the gym (not only to work out but to shower), went to Rachel and Paul's for the afternoon, and then went to Janice's for ham and cheese soup. Two other friends were power-less refugees as well, and we all headed home when we found out the power was back on about 9 p.m.

I've got a lot of snow photos, but here's a sampling of our 25-plus inches:

Friday morning, before snowmaggedon arrived...

Starting to stick around 5 p.m.

Coming down hard and fast at 11 p.m.

Pay special attention to those two trees in the back

Time for bed and thinking that this snowpocalypse was
perhaps just a bunch of hype

...Until we woke up
9 a.m. on Saturday morning (yes, it was supposed to be daylight) -

note that there's no power at the stoplight
Nick came over to pick up Janice after his shift ended, stopping her Jeep right in the middle of the street (& it still got stuck)

Chad tries to un-dig us so we can seek some warmth
Lucy thinks she has hit pay-dirt

On the plus side, the sun is shining brightly this morning, proof that this, too, shall pass. I just hope that some of this melts before our next snow arrives on Tuesday.


Remember those two pine trees that used to be behind our fence?

Chad is our neighborhood Samaritan, shoveling three sets of sidewalks, one extra driveway, and helping a woman when she got stuck.

Though we'll probably wait until tomorrow to dig out Chad's car...

Snowpocalypse

The word "snowpocalypse" is being used far and wide to describe the great impending storm that will hit DC over the next 24 hours. (This website pretty much sums it up.)

This is not only the most snow I've seen in my seven years here; we're also on track to have the snowiest winter DC has seen in a century. (We need 18.7 more inches to have the snowiest winter in 100 years, and 27.1 more inches for the snowiest winter ever. Believe me, people are counting.)

And, of course, no one around here has any idea what to do about it. You'd think we were going to be stranded for a month. For example, this was the line at Harris Teeter last night when Rachel and Paul went to stock up on last-minute supplies:


The bread aisle, as captured by my friend Rob:


And the meat aisle...lovely, isn't it? (Remember how I said grocery stores around here can never keep things in stock? This is an entirely new level.)


Me? I steered clear of the store last night. (This, my friends, is why I buy in bulk. I have lots of frozen meats and veggies and sodas around here. No "stocking up" needed at this house.)

Instead, I just stopped to get Lucy more dog food and am working from home today so I don't have to deal with the roads. Chad is still planning to go to Atlantic City for guys' weekend, though he did consider my concerns enough to pack an extra bag of warm clothes and a shovel in case he gets himself stuck. (I'm secretly hoping he'll be home in four hours from work as planned, though he sits still about as well as Lucy and the two of them in this house while stranded may be too much.)

And Lucy, who apparently cannot sense when storms are coming - unlike other animals - seems perfectly unfazed.

To each his (or her) own

Chad and I each got some money for Christmas, generous gifts from grandparents who gave us cash to choose our own presents. (As an extra bonus, money takes up no space in the car on the way home!)

So we each had a little chunk of change of our very own to purchase something we really wanted that we never would have bought ourselves. This is rather unusual at this point in our lives, because each purchase of $40 or more that's not food-related generally requires some consensus from the other person so we're at least being fair in spending our money.

But when it comes to Christmas cash, all bets are off. We each look at the money we have, and buy what we want.

And one month later, our money has been spent.

Chad researched and planned, spending a lot of time thinking about what he wanted to buy. He is perfectly giddy and is tracking his purchases like kids track Santa on Christmas Eve.

With this year's Christmas money, Chad bought a new softball bat (and, let me tell you, those things are expensive) and a new sports bag. So instead of using three different bats in the three different leagues he plays in, Chad can "learn" one bat, leading to even more home-runs. (I also think these sports-related purchases give Chad some hope that there is a light at the end of the tunnel after his knee surgery.)

Me? Well, I haven't committed to anything quite yet. On the list are really nice headphones for my iPod and an annual subscription to People magazine. (What a splurge!)

Though, for the record, I did this same thing last year. I thought and thought and thought so much that I never made a decision and still have the money sitting in an envelope in a drawer at home. [cringe] My New Year's resolution is back to bite me.

Some things never change.