Category Archives: Family Kels

The Long Weekend

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It actually happened that this past weekend started off just about perfect.  Brad and I met Suzi for breakfast at Huckleberry, where we ate about a million incredible pastries and hung out with Moo, our friend Kristin’s dog who Suzi watches on Fridays.  Moo and Gibson met, and although they definitely weren’t instant friends, Gibson was interested enough to go on a pretty decent walk.

Gibson hates walks.  Win #1 of the weekend.

So afterwards, Gibson was tired and Brad and I decided it was time to get our Christmas tree.  We walked to two tree lots where we discovered Santa Monica trees are ridiculously expensive, and then drive to two more lots before just giving in and buying one from a lot that Brad says was run by “a bunch of ex-cons.”  They were really, really friendly and nice ex-cons, though, and profits from our tree went towards their continued education.  So it was worth the $90.

Ugh.  $90. Serious.  This was the most reasonable price we could find.  Other than Home Depot but we were NOT getting our Christmas Tree from Home Depot.  Ex-Cons are way more holiday appropriate.

Anyway, got home. Decorated the tree.  Christmas has begun!!  And we even got to hang our “First Christmas” ornament from Pat & Ed.  Our first married Christmas!  Win #2 of the weekend!!

Nap time, then off to downtown for the soft opening of “Artisan House”, which is a restaurant that Brad’s friend is the executive chef at and was trying for months to get Brad to be his sous chef.  Incredible dinner.  Awesome place.  Most definitely win #3.

See?  Pretty much perfect.

Fast forward to the AM.  Like, 2AM.  Brad’s pancreatitis starts acting up.  Fast forward again to 11AM.  He is still doubled over in pain.  I am completely freaked out, Brad is really hurting.  We have slept about 2 hours all night.  We head to the ER.

By about 4PM on Saturday we are home and Brad is on some nice drugs.  I am trying to figure out how we can get our new insurance (that goes into effect Wednesday…  arrrgh) to cover what is sure to be a crazy hospital bill and Brad is sleeping.

At one point the apartment was totally quiet and I went in to check on him…

Win #4.  Brad is home, resting and Gibson is sleeping at his feet, keeping him company.  That is true puppy love.  My heart melted a little.

 

And then after all that, the next morning I forced Gibson to get out of the house with me and get a little exercise.  We walked all around the neighborhood.  Her tail didn’t wag once and it wasn’t the most normal dog-walking experience in the world, but for Gibson it was amazing.

She was especially interested in all the palm branches that were down from the Santa Ana wind storm last week…

Taking Gibs on an actual walk and having her be super tired afterward?  Win #5.

Oh, AND that silly “Bark-Off” contraption that I bought to get Gibson to stop barking at everyone who walks by is actually working.  Win #6.

Looks like Gibson and I are starting to get each other.  Am I on the way to having a normal dog?

 

So its been a terribly long weekend and I was still so nervous about Brad as he went back to work this morning, but overall I am still a very lucky girl with a lot of wins on my score card.  I am so blessed and grateful to have a husband who is on the mend, a crazy but lovable dog, and a health insurance plan that starts this week so we can get Brad in to a doctor and get him looked at without another crazy bill on the way…

As my mom has told me many times before, just keep breathing.

xoxo

The Worst Day For Garbage Disposals

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So back in October when I was in Maryland visiting my family and I attempted to write a blog a day for ten days, I was taking notes on anything that could possibly become a blog idea. If you sneezed and I thought it was interesting, I probably wrote that down. My mom at one point said she had to watch herself because anything she did could become “Key of Kels” material. It was true. I was often heard saying, “I might blog about that.”

One of these said notes was probably a piggy back conversation to our dish washing OCD conversation (see Bylsma Dishwasher Rules). We got to talking about garbage disposals. My dad had the quote that kicked it off.

“You know what the worst day for garbage disposals is? Thanksgiving.”

Genius.

Other disposal words of wisdom?

  • Never put celery down there. It seems harmless, but it acts like string and just ties the blades in a big knot.
  • Always run water when it’s on. Cold water is best.
  • Sometimes I just fill up the sink after I use it a lot and let it drain through.

Yep. I think we had been drinking.

Now Brad did not grow up in a house with a garbage disposal. He is only starting to know the wonders of the machine. He told me that once, in Orlando, he was talking to one of his housemates about what was ok to put down there. His housemate started listing foods that were ok. Leftovers, egg shells (I don’t know if I agree with this one), cereal, even a whole pizza.

“Why would you want to put a whole pizza down the drain?” Brad said. Obviously, he would much rather EAT a whole pizza than pulverize it and flush it down the drain.

“I don’t know, but if you ever wanted to, you could definitely do it.”

Sigh.

I, however, have always had a garbage disposal. The only time I scrape my plate before rinsing it is if there are bones on it. Pretty much everything else is fair game.

Brad and I are still recovering from a really bad garbage disposal experience recently. In our old apartment, nothing worked all that well. Especially the garbage disposal. One night I was cleaning out the refrigerator and getting rid of food that had been sitting just a bit too long. I had some leftover homemade chicken noodle soup. Nothing in there can’t be ground up pretty easily, especially after sitting for a week or so.

But all of a sudden the water stopped draining. The disposal just whirred and hummed. The sink filled up with murky leftovers water. Then the other sink started to fill. Oh and THEN the dishwasher started to fill. And overflow.

Awesome.

We will just call this the Great Flood of Kansas Avenue, 2011. Not only was this disgusting, but it actually took two days for someone to come out and even attempt a repair. Imagine living with a chef for two days with dirty water coming out of your kitchen sinks and dishes you can’t easily wash.

To make matters worse, the guy the landlord sent over to snake the drain snaked right on through into the neighbors apartment and busted a hole through their pipes. This is when our property manager informed us that we shouldn’t even be putting lettuce down the drain. What were we thinking?  This was also when I informed Brad that I would be looking for new apartments ASAP.

Wtf.

So after all of that, you would have think we had learned. Our new apartment is amazing, but its still old. It was built in the 1940s. The piping wasn’t then what it is now. You just have to treat it with a little respect.

Which is why we should have known, last night, on our version of the “worst day for garbage disposals”, that it was not a good idea to put the potato peels down there. We should have known that the red reset button just wasn’t going to do the trick. And I should have known when I Googled clogged garbage disposal (trying to fix it before Brad came back in the kitchen and freaked out. He DID tell us not to put the peels down there…) it would come back and tell me that potato peels are the WORST thing to put into a disposal.

Well of course.

So we ate our incredible day after Thanksgiving feast with the Toasts (coffee rubbed rib roast, cranberries, sweet potato skewers, stuffing, braised greens…) and then made a few trips down to Walgreens for Drano and when that didn’t work, to Rite Aid for a plunger.

Brad said the girl in front of him in line was also buying a plunger.

Turns out Dad was right. Thanksgiving really is the worst day for garbage disposals. And I bet Rite Aid sold a lot of plungers yesterday.

My Dog Gibson

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I decided last night that there are many reasons that I love our new apartment.  But reason #1?

Gibson likes it.

And not only does she like it, she likes to be outside of it.  And this, my friends, is a HUGE deal.

If this confuses you in any way, let me introduce you to our dog, Gibson.

Gibson is a very special dog in the most sarcastic of ways.  Brad and I found Gibson (then Truffles) on Petfinder.com, where we had sort-of-kind-of been looking for a dog but not really.  Then we came across this picture:

I mean, seriously.  Isn’t she adorable?  I even still have the link saved because those pictures are so freaking adorable.

The only thing that scared us a little was #1 the mention of St Bernard in the mix and #2 the size of our one bedroom apartment.  But we were in love – with each other and with this “Truffles” – so we called and made an appointment to go check out this adorable little mutt.

We drove out to some house in the middle of the woods way out in the middle-of-nowhere Orlando (yes, that exists), and were greeted by this tiny puppy who was absolutely terrified of us.  Kim, the woman who runs In Harmony With Nature Animal Haven, practically had to drag her over to meet us.  She explained that the whole litter of puppies had been to three or four different puppy mills and had been miraculously saved each time.  In their 4 months of life, they’d had a pretty rough go of it.  “Truffles” was one of three of the puppies left at her shelter to be adopted to good homes.  She was the smallest of the litter and definitely the most shy, but she seemed to perk up a little around her brother.

Then a woman in a full spandex bicycling suit (I will never forget this detail – wtf?!?) came out with another puppy who looked exactly like “Truffles”, but had long, shaggy hair.

Meet Mr. Freeman, whose hair was even more ridiculous than this picture in person.

Instantly, “Truffles” perked up a little and started sniffing around and playing with her brother.  It was like she forgot that scary strangers were trying to pet her.  And Mr Freeman, besides having a really fantastic name, was hilarious.  We wanted to get them both, but couldn’t afford it and REALLY didn’t have the space for two St Bernard mixes.  And just to seal the deal, because I am a terrible impulse buyer, Mr Freeman got heart worm pretty bad in one of the puppy mills and was not up for adoption until he was all better.

Sigh.

We may have been a little leery to adopt such a shy dog until right before we left, Gibson built up some courage and gave me a little kiss on the face.  I was hooked.  (Nice work, girl) We left a check with Kim and rushed off to Target to get all the necessary puppy things.  Oh and “Truffles” had to go.  Brad named her Gibson,after the guitars obviously.

When we got Gibson back to our apartment, she was incredibly shy.  Her favorite place was under the coffee table and she was terrified of the busy city street that we lived on.  It was almost a shame she was so cute because everyone wanted to pet her and play with her, but she was so scared.  We started prefacing everything with “Sorry, she’s really shy” so people wouldn’t feel bad about themselves when this cute little puppy didn’t like them.

We took her to dog parks, we had a lot of people over to visit, I took her on runs, we socialized her every way we knew how and every way Google told us to.  But our dog went outside to do her business and come back in.  And when anyone other than Brad or me was at our apartment, she would do her own thing.

Gibson is four years old now and has lived in as many apartments (7) and states (3) as Brad and I have together.  It was a lot to ask of a shy dog to get on a plane and fly to California, but she did it.  And she was even delivered to us at LAX in her crate on a forklift.  True story.

It’s taken a loooong time, but Gibs is definitely starting to come out of her shell.  Inside the apartment, she is neurotic and hyper and loves to play with anyone who will play with her and one of her toys. She’s still cautious around new people and afraid of almost everything, but she tends to trust who we trust and will get into a good game of tug-of-war wherever she can with whoever is willing.  She barks at and chases reflections of lights on the walls and ceiling, she loves Brad’s cooking and the dog park, she keeps my feet warm in bed every night, and she even has a few tricks up her paws.

But she still hates walks.

Which is why last night, when she walked confidently ahead of me down the block in front of our new apartment building, I just followed and let her do her thing.  Maybe Gibson has found a neighborhood that suits her.  Maybe this block has a good vibe.  Whatever it is, I immediately knew I was in love with this new apartment when my scared little Gibson felt like exploring.  It was worth every stressful minute of moving the day after getting back from vacation and every penny we’ve had to (and are going to have to) pinch to make this work.

Oh, and Mr Truffles?  We actually went back about a month after getting Gibson and decided if he was still there we were getting him.  When we got there, a mom and her son were packing him up to take back to Tallahassee and renaming him Reilly.  It is probably our biggest regret, especially because Mr. Freeman is a WAY cooler name than Reilly.

PS.  And she’s totally NOT a St Bernard.  WTF??

The Annual Pumpkin Carving

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“At Publix. Going to buy a pumpkin to carve tonight”

“Mind if I join?”

That’s how it all started.  So romantic, right?  A couple of texts, and then Brad came over and we were on our first date.

Brad and I started off extremely passive.  Our friend Sarah can tell you how we drove her crazy with our texting before we started dating.  She’d be out with me and I’d be texting Brad the whole time.  Then she’d be somewhere with Brad and he’d be texting me the whole time.  But we never all hung out together.  And Brad and I had never hung out outside of work.  As much as Sarah tried.  We just had our texting affair.

Until those two texts.

His mom was in town for the week, and I think he at least waited until she went to bed to come over and carve pumpkins with me.  I bought the pumpkins, he brought the carving materials.  Which turned out to be a couple of steak knives and a pirate hat.  We made it work.

And that was kind of it for us.  He even braved downtown Orlando Halloween and came out with us the next night when I painted myself and our friend Sarah green.

Best. Halloween. Ever.



Oh, and Sarah was very happy the texting affair was over.

So every year since, we’ve carved pumpkins on October 30th for our first date anniversary.  It’s usually the day that we realize Halloween is coming up, we are way behind and we should probably have a pumpkin.

And of course once we got Gibson, she got her own pumpkin every year, too.

We’ve gotten pumpkins from grocery stores, farmer’s markets, fancy pumpkin farms, and city corner pumpkin patches with Pony rides.  In Florida, New York, and California.  In four different apartments.  And last night we basically stumbled off of a flight from Elmira to LAX and carved pumpkins on half an hour of sleep.  Whatever the situation, we carve our pumpkins.

Five pumpkins strong and counting.  xoxo

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!