i hear the secrets that you keep...

Apparently I talk in my sleep.
I wasn't made aware of this spectacular talent of mine until after I was married and shared a sleeping space with another human.
A light sleeping human.

Thank God for sacred wedding vows until death do us part, because without them, I might have frightened my bedfellow away and back into a bachelor's domain.

There was one night, when in a fitful slumber, I snatched my husbands pillow from under his sleepy head and yelled,
"That's MY pillow!"
Contentedly happy and dreaming my cares away on two overstuffed pillows, I slept peacefully, while my poor husband rested his head on a solid, cold mattress.

Another night, after a day of heavy cleaning, I crept out of bed in the middle of the night, walked across the room and started tossing clothes left and right. My tired husband woke to the ruckus and asked what I was doing. In a pissy, 'mind your own business' voice, I replied,
"I'M CLEANING!"
sigh, humph, mutter.
"Well, actually, I'm not cleaning, I'm organizing."
toss. throw. slump.
"You know what, just don't even ask."
And then I sulked back to bed, turning my back on him because 'he just didn't get it'.

During our bathroom remodel, after pulling out flooring, sinks, toilets, tubs, drywall, plaster, wallpaper, etc, etc, I had another sleeping 'moment'. We had the help of my little brother that day to tear down the plaster and lathe. He did a mighty good job, that boy. I must have thought so, because his great work made me dream and walk a fury that night...

At an ungodly hour during slumber-time, I sat up in bed, tore the covers off and stared at the wall. My husband, growing accustomed to this charade, sighed and asked what I was up to.

I turned to the wall, swept my hand across it's embossed wallpaper and said,
"I know. We'll have the kids do it."

Wiping sleep from his eyes, my husband replied,
"What??"

"We'll have the kids do it. They know how to do it right. You see? The last owners didn't know how to do it right and that's why we had to do it. We have to do it right this time."

"Honey, you're asleep. Go to bed."

"NO. I promise you, I am not asleep right now. Here, let me show you how to do it right. I'll just go grab the crowbar..."

"Um. No. You need to go to sleep, you're asleep right now, just lay back down..."

"NO! I. AM. NOT. ASLEEP. I PROMISE!"

"Go to sleep."

With a huge and overly dramatic sigh, I slumped back into bed and said with all the sass I could sleepily muster,

"Fine. But you're going to feel very silly tomorrow morning when you realize I am not asleep right now."

As you probably guessed, the next morning when I went downstairs to greet my husband and his steaming cup of coffee, he had a smirk like the Cheshire Cat himself.

With a light kiss I asked,
"How did you sleep, babe?"

Jaw dropping and walking away he replied,
"Well, I slept like crap, but I sure don't feel silly this morning."

And, in a rush, it all came back to me.

In conclusion, I think that my subconscious dream state is trying to tell me something.

I need two interchangeable pillows to keep my sleeping self satisfied.

I need to spend more awake time cleaning and organizing.

And the next time we plan a room remodel, I'll just leave it entirely up to the creepy ghost children, because, after all, they know what's best.



Oh, and also, in order to keep things spicy and surprising in the bedroom, I need to continue talking in my sleep because my husband says it's freaky.

Freaky in the bedroom is good, right?

dear veronika, please think before you speak...

During our bathroom remodel, I was in charge of picking up the new toilet from Lowes.

We had already picked it out, so all I had to do was convince my mom to drive me out there, show someone what I wanted, pay, and then load it into her car.

Easy.

I walked into the store, cool, collected, and savvy.

Every few aisles, a friendly store clerk would politely ask if I was in need of assistance.

"Why, no thank you, I know exactly what I need!" 

I would reply with confidence.

Once I crossed the store and reached the plumbing section, I quickly realized I was in need of assistance as there was no way I could carry the box of disassembled toilet all the way to the register and out to the car.

No matter. From around the corner, another friendly clerk sprang out in front of me to ask if I needed help.

"Why, yes thank you. I'll be needing someone to load this into the car!"

Quick as a whip, we were at the register and ready to pay.

As I was swiping my credit card, the nice boy manning the register asked,

"Now, where are we putting this?"

Feeling very proud of myself at this point, I matter-of-factly replied,

"Oh! We're going to be putting this in the bathroom!"

Silence.

Wait...did I hear crickets?

Why is he looking at me like that?

Is he confused?

What did I say?

Doh.

"Ohhh...you mean which car are we putting this in?"

He nods. 

Then smirks.

"Right. Okay. It's the white Vibe parked out front. But, just for the record, we were thinking of putting this sucker in the living room. You know, make things easier...less distance to travel when we gotta go? Erhm, please just forget I said that, okay?!?"

Red as a beet and dragging my pride behind me, I darted out of the store without meeting the eyes of anyone in my path.

Savvy.

Real savvy.

the coolest bathroom in the world...

Wow. 

Is summer break really over already? 

Where did it go?

How did it happen so fast?

Did I accomplish anything in the past three months?

What was I doing all summer long?

Oh yeah.

Now I remember...

Teamed up with my trusty, handy, super-hot, husband,

We turned this...

Into this...

Okay, seriously...scroll back up and look at that disgusting-ness again.

Dis.freaking.usting.

And it's not like we just didn't clean it. We did! A lot! It wouldn't get clean!

The floors were damaged from water and the super-cute-blue-checkered-linoleum was curling at the edges. We could only go two days after a good, deep clean before mildewy grossness started creeping up in all the corners because there was no air flow whatsoever. Unless you count the exhaust fan that, when you flipped the switch, would do nothing, not even turn on, for at least a good ten minutes. When you went to turn it off however, it kept running for maybe an hour. 

And our toilet seat...uffda! 

What an embarrassingly noisy cushioned disaster that was...

*Sit*...Poof! fsssssssssshhh!

But this...ahhhhhh...

Can't you just smell the lavender from the bath salts you know I'm gonna toss in there tonight??

So, anyway, before I make you too jealous...

That was our summer. 

We literally tore out our bathroom. Top to bottom.

Floors, walls, ceilings, plumbing, electrical, all completely redone, and all by ourselves with help from family. It was so much work, and I was so not expecting it to be that hard. In retrospect, I have no idea why I didn't think it would be that hard. But when the insulation and plaster were falling down into our eyes, and I was dodging hundred year old nails because I haven't had a tetanus in twenty years, I wanted to cry and wish it all away. I wanted to just close off the unfinished room, forget that we even started it and live with the fact that we would have to continue using this as our restroom...

(This is a toilet that is located in our freaky, creepy basement. We had to use this for almost three weeks.)

It really was miserable.

But, now it's over, and I'm happy.

Stay tuned for pictures of our temporary "shower" and a few embarrassing moments starring yours truly.

How the heck was your summer?

a ghost story...

I have decided that our house is haunted.

Rattling windows

Creaky floorboards

Doors that squeak and open unexpectedly...

Yes, all of those spine tingling freakish occurrences clued me in on the possibility, but, it's an old house...right? Explainable, right?

Well then, riddle me this:

One cold night, a dark, eery night, we sat together on the couch, conversing about our days.

The house was quiet, empty, void of life and noise aside from the two of us huddled on the sofa.

Our soft voices shared stories and secrets.

Nothing but the two of us. And a dog.

And then we heard it. A solid thud from the ceiling.

Our eyes met.

We searched the floor to make sure Lena was still beneath us, and not playing tricks on us in the empty rooms upstairs.

There she lay, still and asleep at our feet.

Quickly, ours eyes met again, we drew sharp breaths.

Looking up to the ceiling, we heard something worse...

The unmistakable sound of someone running.

From directly above us, to the opposite side of the house.

From our master bedroom, down the stairs that lead to the foyer.

Pounding and then fading.

Someone running.

I kid you not.

Un-mistake-able.

And then it stopped.

We looked back at each other and, in unison, said:

"That was weird."

And then we watched tv.

After doing some research on our home and neighborhood. We discovered ours was probably built in the late 1890's. The first owner, named Mr. John, was a coachman and he had a wife.

At some point through the years, someone must have decided to utilize a room, nay, a cellar type thing, in the basement. It has one single light bulb, a medicine cabinet with a mirror, exposed electrical and plumbing, and a doorknob splashed with childlike colors to the tune of a sunset.

Oh, and a padlock. From the outside. All the way at the top, out of reach.

Creepy.

Do you want to hear something even creepier? Do you want to know John's wife's name? the first woman to ever reside in our abode?

Lena.

Yup. Lena.

This piece of information alone affirms my belief in the haunting. 

Here is my theory:

Mr. John must have been evil and locked her up in the basement room. Without anything to eat, Lena must have trained her body to digest unnatural things. Things like sticks she would find in the yard, kleenex that Mr. John tossed away, and the boots he would kick off at the landing by the basement staircase.

One day, he found this out and chased her around the house. She ran upstairs from the master bedroom to the stairs that lead to the foyer, running and running, trying to get away!

But, it's not that big of a house, so he eventually caught up with her and killed her.

So, Lena waited, hovering in the afterlife until she could return once again.

After Mr. John passed away, the spirit of Lena moved back into the house. She tried to keep company with the newlyweds, the families, and the students who moved in and out. But everyone that lived there was too afraid of the noises. Some would move out quickly, others tried to be brave, but that would only end in divorce.

Over the course of a hundred years, Lena started liking her peace and quiet. New couples would move in, Lena would shake and stir the house. New couples would move out, Lena would be calm and comforted in her solitude.

And then came us.

Lena rattled the windows,

creaked the floors,

and slammed the doors!

What she didn't realize though, is that Mr. Todd and I watch scary movies all the time, a little bit of noise and clamor wouldn't shake us.

Lena was mad, it wasn't working,

she ran through the house,

up this way and that,

she reared back, prepared to lunge at us,

but tripped and landed on Lena the dog!

At that very moment, Lena's haunting spirit entered Lena the lazy dog. BAM! Just like that.

Now Lena lives through Lena the dog. I know this because of both of their diets.

Sticks

Kleenex

Boots

It's obvious.

So that is my theory. 

Either:

A. Lena the dog is possessed by a really old ghost

B. Lena the dog is Lena reincarnate

C. Our house is haunted by something else entirely

D. It's all in my head

E. It's all in my head, I came home from work early today and I have way too much time on my hands

Who knows, but I did snap this picture today via mac...

You decide.

we failed our soil test...

I am terrible at tests. Any test.

I guessed all of the answers on my SAT's (except English, which I miraculously scored 100%). I failed my motorcyclist test by getting the first four answers wrong, I refuse to take blood tests, and I wince every time I go to the eye doctor, worrying they might not believe I can't read the last line.

I am dreadful at science, history, and above all, math. I literally had to use a calculator today to determine how old I am. I'm 23. Apparently.

But, I guess I had high hopes when someone approached us wanting to test the soil on our property. I mean, soil and gardening is my thing. I love it. Whenever I'm in the garden, I feel like a woodland fairy creature , galavanting among the roses and perennials. I send secret wishes to the seeds I've started over winter, telling them to grow, and live, and produce. I gently place them in the ground and coax them into adulthood waiting for the day I can pluck their ripe fruit and toss them gingerly into my mouth.

Students from the university came by a few months ago, snatched a sample of our soil, and then sent it off somewhere to be tested. A few weeks later, the results were tucked between our front door, and I was shocked. Mortified.

Normal amounts of lead found in soil are around 400 ppm (parts per million). In the city, where all the older houses are, like ours, it's normal for them to be as high as 800 ppm.

Our levels are 2,156 ppm.

We have been advised to wipe our shoes extremely well, and take them off right away. No extended periods of playing outside, especially for dogs and kids. And definitely, don't eat the dirt!

I knew we were supposed to be careful with an older house, you know, don't eat the paint off the walls and such, but now we have to be cautious in our own backyard?

To quote some google search results:

"Soil with lead levels of 1,000 ppm or more is considered hazardous waste"

"Fetuses and small children, because of their rapidly developing nervous systems, are more sensitive to and suffer the most harm from lead exposure. Adverse effects include damage to the brain and nervous system, lower I.Q., behavior problems and slow growth. Adults may suffer cognitive decline, hypertension, nerve disorders, muscle pain and reproductive problems."

"By growing spinach for three months, researchers at the University of Southern Maine lowered the lead count in one garden by 200 p.p.m. Of course, the lead-leaching crop cannot be eaten or composted and must be disposed of as toxic waste."

Whoa, whoa, whoa. Spinach is my all-time favorite vegetable, and suddenly it's been turned into a "lead-leaching-crop"! 

What are we going to do!?

I really did not anticipate to fail this test. Mother Nature is my friend, not foe. But, I guess there are only a few options for us. 

Either we sell the house, move to the country, and have soil tests performed on every potential home.

Say, "Oh well!" and risk the health of our unborn babes.

Or...

play like this:

(Future family cavorting in anti contamination suits, a space helmet, and a bubble.)

Any suggestions?

say 'hello' to my little blog...

I've been wanting to start a blog for awhile now, which is strange for me. I used to own a shirt that said, "no one cares about your blog". I thought it was hilarious.

Now however, I am intrigued by this online world of journaling, spilling your guts for the world to see, sharing stories, photos, opinions, or what you had for supper last night. A whole little community brought together by wires and electricity to share what matters to them most. There are a few blogs I ''follow'' written by strong, stunning women, and I've been overwhelmingly inspired by them, so I decided to try it myself.

Plus, I can't find that shirt anywhere, so it's as if I never even owned it.

I was so excited all morning to write my very-first-ever post. I tried all day to pay attention to little details so I would have something to write about when I got home. But, absolutely nothing interesting happened today. Nothing. After I walked home, I let my puppy outside, plopped down at the computer desk, turned on some 'thinking' music to get my creative juices a-flowin, opened blogger.com, and stared at a blank screen. What to write...what to write...My fingers shied away from the keyboard and I thought to myself, "great. you spent all night setting this up, and now you can't think of a word to say. way to go failure." I let mind wander to my dog, outside hopping around in the piles of leaves, burying her nose deep, and chasing after the walnuts I heard bouncing off the roof.

I started to think that I should put this off for another day, a day when something actually happens. Something cool. When my phone rang.

"Hi, ummm, we have your dog..."  said the voice on the other end.

"What?"  says, you guessed it, me.

"We have her on our leash, we're on blankety-blank-street"

"I'll be right there!"

I flew out the door, leash and collar in hand, muttering curses along the way. I crossed one street, not it. I crossed another, a busy one, still not it. I went five blocks, crossing two busy streets to find my puppy on the end of a stranger's leash.

Now, five blocks might not seem a long way, but when you live near a downtown, almost any downtown, with busy streets and crazy people luring stray pups into their cars and homes (hey, you never know...) you kind of freak out. Especially us first-time puppy parents.

There she was, my little runt of a dog, wagging her tail ferociously, looking like she just went on the biggest adventure of her life. And, that she did, because she's not going to be left alone in the yard ever again.

So now, puppy is tucked away in her kennel, crying, howling, in fact, and here I sit with something to write about.

I'm Veronika. I have a handsome, wonderful husband, an amazing family, a big old house, and one little puppy.

This is me. And my ordinary life.

Pictured: Blog t-shirt.