Wednesday, August 31, 2005
"Fine, I'll Make It MYSELF!"
Dontcha just love the willful independence of preschoolers? When said preschooler clashes head-on into an equally stubborn mother who hates to waste food, things can get downright dirty. The perfect example of this happened today at our house. It started when my cheerful tot affirmed that scrambled eggs with cheese would be a most-welcomed breakfast, and then decided that he no longer wanted them after only consumming one bite. He said he decided he wanted something else. He couldn't say what, exactly, but that doesn't even matter because Homie Don't Play That. I am NOT a short-order cook. You eat what I make you, or you don't eat. Period. Thems the rules at my house, plain and simple. Especially when the food made was something the child said they wanted in the first place. So, both of my kids essentially went without breakfast this morning. Fine. We had a playdate at a park today, so I packed up lunch for both kids (peanut butter and honey sandwiches, and choice of "side" included yogurt and/or cheese stick and/or granola bar). Stuff they normally like. Only they were too caught up in the fun at the park with their friends, etc. to really sit down and eat. I pack the lunch back home and offer it to them again. I'm met with the oh-so-frustrating response of "but I don't WANT that kind of sandwich!" and the ensuing fit that usually follows these sort of episodes. I don't cave, and instead announce that if they're not hungry for the yummy lunch I made them, then it's nap time. Fast-forward 2 hours. My charming son, plenty hungry, wakes up and announces his hunger. I tell him his lunch has been waiting for him and I'll be happy to get it for him. He asks what it is (as if he doesn't know - ha!), and gets really pissed off when he realizes I'm not caving and making him something he would prefer to have. Then, in a huff, he tells me, "Fine! I'll just make my own sandwich!" with all the indignity a 4 year old boy can muster. It was hard not to laugh. I tell him "OK, as long as you can do it ALL by yourself, and I expect you to clean up your mess". First mistake. He then starts a running commentary on the procedure to make a sandwich. Clearly he's been paying attention all these years. I got my camera and recorded this historic event: Nicholas's first sandwich making ALL BY HIMSELF.
First, he got out the bread and decided he didn't like the heel slice. He grabbed the first "normal" slice and put it on the counter. He slid a stool over to the toaster oven and said he needed a mommy to help with this part. I told him I wasn't going to help him at all, so he would just have to forget toasting the bread (sidenote: he NEVER has his sandwich bread toasted normally, so I'm not sure why he wanted to do that - ?). He then proceeded to move the stool over to the cutting board and then went to the fridge to get the rest of his "ingredients". It took him awhile to decide what kind of sandwich he would make. He opted for a cheese sandwich with Ranch dressing. He brought the fixin's to the cutting board and opened the cutlery drawer. He grabbed a knife (note: these are just the regular knives - butter knives - not the sharp cutting knives. He's *just* been allowed to touch this type but the sharp ones are still very much off-limits to him). He upends the bottle of Ranch and squirts out a fair amount. Surprisingly not too much - I expected worse. He carefully spreads the Ranch on his bread. This took a couple of minutes to do - it's tedious stuff, spreading. He's giving a running play-by-play as he does it, too.
"I'm going to spread some carefully this way... maybe if I sort of push it back a little... and I need a little bit more over here... I think I'm going to need more Ranch... ok, now it's moving on my bread..." It was at this point I decided to get the camera - it was too precious.
I was wondering what he was going to do about the cheese. He's obviously not allowed to touch/use/come within 10 feet of our sharp knives, which we actually keep on top of the refridgerator for safety. Clearly this was no obstacle for my boy - he simply proceeded to the cheese-cutting part of the sandwich making with the knife he *could* use: the butter knife. I mean, wouldn't you?? So without concern for my pretty and fairly new block of cheese, he starts trying to cut a slice with his Ranch-coated butter knife. And oh boy, this was slooooowwww going. He's trying to muscle a fat slice of cheese while sitting precariously on a bar stool, using the WRONG SIDE OF THE KNIFE. He asked me to help him and it was all I could do to say no. He was trying soooo hard to get some cheese - any cheese - off that block, and it just wasn't happening. So my budding genius thought, "hey! maybe it's the knife. I'm going to try a different one and see if that works better." And got another butter knife from the drawer and resumed his efforts. At least THIS time he was using the dully serrated side....
Finally, he managed to chunk off some cheese. He was disappointed that it was "rectangle and not a square like Mama makes", but kept it anyway. He meticulously put that oh-so-thick wedge of fought-for cheese on his bread and went back for more punishment. At one point he was making good progress, getting little bits of cheese with regularity, that he even gave some to Lauren, who was cheering him on. At long last, he felt he had enough cheese and moved into the final phase of sandwich making: cutting the sandwich. He was only making a half-sandwich (since I only allowed him 1 slice of bread), and cut that bread in half - sort of. Good enough. He put one half on top of the other and declared he was ready to eat. I declared I was ready to download my pictures I'd just taken and write up this entry. And just 5 minutes after I sat down at the computer he runs up to me and announces that he ate his sandwich ALL GONE and that it was delicious and waaayyy better than the icky peanut butter sandwich I'd made. So there! And? He even cleaned up his mess.
"First, you start with spreading Ranch on the bread." Notice how it covers the entire slice! And note the discarded heel slice - those are "gross!"
"Then you cut some cheese, like this"
Please note that he's holding the BUTTER knife UPSIDE DOWN. Yes, we're aware he's quite gifted... Love how he's getting Ranch all over the cheese (shudder)
Nicholas gets a 2nd knife from the drawer, thinking another one will bring him better luck. Nice to see he's practicing knife safety techniques... At least this time he's using the cutting edge and not the blunt one.
Voila! A bit thicker than usual, but it's the best he could do with the butter knife, not being allowed to touch the sharp ones and all...
Carefully placed on the prepped bread
He even cut a bit for his cheerleader!
"Now you cut the bread into two rectangles, like this.."
"... and it's the best cheese sandwich I ever made - all by MYSELF!"
First, he got out the bread and decided he didn't like the heel slice. He grabbed the first "normal" slice and put it on the counter. He slid a stool over to the toaster oven and said he needed a mommy to help with this part. I told him I wasn't going to help him at all, so he would just have to forget toasting the bread (sidenote: he NEVER has his sandwich bread toasted normally, so I'm not sure why he wanted to do that - ?). He then proceeded to move the stool over to the cutting board and then went to the fridge to get the rest of his "ingredients". It took him awhile to decide what kind of sandwich he would make. He opted for a cheese sandwich with Ranch dressing. He brought the fixin's to the cutting board and opened the cutlery drawer. He grabbed a knife (note: these are just the regular knives - butter knives - not the sharp cutting knives. He's *just* been allowed to touch this type but the sharp ones are still very much off-limits to him). He upends the bottle of Ranch and squirts out a fair amount. Surprisingly not too much - I expected worse. He carefully spreads the Ranch on his bread. This took a couple of minutes to do - it's tedious stuff, spreading. He's giving a running play-by-play as he does it, too.
"I'm going to spread some carefully this way... maybe if I sort of push it back a little... and I need a little bit more over here... I think I'm going to need more Ranch... ok, now it's moving on my bread..." It was at this point I decided to get the camera - it was too precious.
I was wondering what he was going to do about the cheese. He's obviously not allowed to touch/use/come within 10 feet of our sharp knives, which we actually keep on top of the refridgerator for safety. Clearly this was no obstacle for my boy - he simply proceeded to the cheese-cutting part of the sandwich making with the knife he *could* use: the butter knife. I mean, wouldn't you?? So without concern for my pretty and fairly new block of cheese, he starts trying to cut a slice with his Ranch-coated butter knife. And oh boy, this was slooooowwww going. He's trying to muscle a fat slice of cheese while sitting precariously on a bar stool, using the WRONG SIDE OF THE KNIFE. He asked me to help him and it was all I could do to say no. He was trying soooo hard to get some cheese - any cheese - off that block, and it just wasn't happening. So my budding genius thought, "hey! maybe it's the knife. I'm going to try a different one and see if that works better." And got another butter knife from the drawer and resumed his efforts. At least THIS time he was using the dully serrated side....
Finally, he managed to chunk off some cheese. He was disappointed that it was "rectangle and not a square like Mama makes", but kept it anyway. He meticulously put that oh-so-thick wedge of fought-for cheese on his bread and went back for more punishment. At one point he was making good progress, getting little bits of cheese with regularity, that he even gave some to Lauren, who was cheering him on. At long last, he felt he had enough cheese and moved into the final phase of sandwich making: cutting the sandwich. He was only making a half-sandwich (since I only allowed him 1 slice of bread), and cut that bread in half - sort of. Good enough. He put one half on top of the other and declared he was ready to eat. I declared I was ready to download my pictures I'd just taken and write up this entry. And just 5 minutes after I sat down at the computer he runs up to me and announces that he ate his sandwich ALL GONE and that it was delicious and waaayyy better than the icky peanut butter sandwich I'd made. So there! And? He even cleaned up his mess.
"First, you start with spreading Ranch on the bread." Notice how it covers the entire slice! And note the discarded heel slice - those are "gross!"
"Then you cut some cheese, like this"
Please note that he's holding the BUTTER knife UPSIDE DOWN. Yes, we're aware he's quite gifted... Love how he's getting Ranch all over the cheese (shudder)
Nicholas gets a 2nd knife from the drawer, thinking another one will bring him better luck. Nice to see he's practicing knife safety techniques... At least this time he's using the cutting edge and not the blunt one.
Voila! A bit thicker than usual, but it's the best he could do with the butter knife, not being allowed to touch the sharp ones and all...
Carefully placed on the prepped bread
He even cut a bit for his cheerleader!
"Now you cut the bread into two rectangles, like this.."
"... and it's the best cheese sandwich I ever made - all by MYSELF!"
Tuesday, August 30, 2005
Damn You, Harry Potter
Yes, I realize that I'm quite behind on this latest craze. I'm the caboose of the proverbial bandwagon. I get that. But I'm catching up - quickly. I've read the first 3 Harry Potter novels in record time (they're quick reads, geared more for the elementary/pre-teen crowd), each taking me just 3-5 days to plow through. But then I got stalled on the 4th book, The Goblet of Fire. My local library has, like, 854 copies of the newest book, but only 3 (THREE) of the Goblet of Fire. What's up with that? And? They each have, like, 10 people in the "hold" queue for each copy. It would be next February before I'd be able to check out a copy. Thankfully, a friend of mine actually BUYS the books and was willing to lend me the one I needed. It's over 700 pages long, but I'm already on page 570 after 3 or 4 days. I'm seriously flying through it BECAUSE ITS JUST THAT GOOD. There, I said it. I'm a fan (hanging head in embarassment).
But what's worse? I've started my next crochet project since the booties have been wrapped up, and I decided to make a Harry Potter Gryffindor scarf for my 7 yr old nephew, who is also a big fan. I asked my sister if he already had one, and he doesn't. She tells me it will make his year. He loves to dress up and already has Harry Potter robes. So now I'm torn - keep reading the book during nap times, or work on the scarf (it's a Christmas present - it's never too soon to start getting gifts ready!). Regardless, my "free" time (aka nap time) is now completely and utterly devoted to Harry Potter. It's like I've adopted him or something. He's everywhere. I'm having an affair with a 14 yr old fictional character, for crap's sake! Damn you, Harry Potter!
Ok, back to the book... or the scarf.... maybe I should work on the scarf while watching one of the movies! Ahh! Harry Potter overload!
But what's worse? I've started my next crochet project since the booties have been wrapped up, and I decided to make a Harry Potter Gryffindor scarf for my 7 yr old nephew, who is also a big fan. I asked my sister if he already had one, and he doesn't. She tells me it will make his year. He loves to dress up and already has Harry Potter robes. So now I'm torn - keep reading the book during nap times, or work on the scarf (it's a Christmas present - it's never too soon to start getting gifts ready!). Regardless, my "free" time (aka nap time) is now completely and utterly devoted to Harry Potter. It's like I've adopted him or something. He's everywhere. I'm having an affair with a 14 yr old fictional character, for crap's sake! Damn you, Harry Potter!
Ok, back to the book... or the scarf.... maybe I should work on the scarf while watching one of the movies! Ahh! Harry Potter overload!
Sunday, August 28, 2005
The Smell of Home
You know how each home has it's own, unique smell? Like each family generates it's own blend of cooking odors, B.O., cleaning products, dirty kids and/or feet, pet smells, laundry, and stuff to create a unique aroma all their own. Often times you aren't even aware of your own homes' smell because you live in it all the time and you sort of don't notice it anymore. You recognize the smells - good or bad - of other homes when you go there, but sort of feel like your own place is odorless. Unless you've been gone on vacation for awhile and the smell of home sort of has time to evaporate from your nose's memory and is only refreshed upon your return, good or bad. No one wants their home to be associated with a bad smell - like the one that gets created if you let the dirty diaper pail get too full, or something in the garbage can begins to turn ugly, or your pet did a number on your carpet. Those are smells we all try to avoid.
The ones we like? Those are the smells of home. Of something yummy cooking for dinner. Or the freshly washed hair of small children. Or line-dried clothes. Or laundry still warm from the dryer. Or the heady aroma of your spouse after a day spent at the beach. OR, the smell of your home after it's been cleaned. I love that smell. Except, today I went to mop the kitchen floor and realized I was out of the cleaner I normally use for the job (Mr. Clean, usually). I had to use a 2nd tier cleaner - something that's been in the back of the cupboard for a long time - bought years ago when we lived in a different house (Murphy's Oil Soap). The label says it can be used for linoleum flooring, and without another option available, I used it. It worked just fine, except now my house smells unfamiliar. Not bad, per se, just different. It simply doesn't smell like home to me. Must remember to buy my regular cleaning product ASAP, because this simply won't do. My home must smell like my home to be truly happy. Is it just me??
The ones we like? Those are the smells of home. Of something yummy cooking for dinner. Or the freshly washed hair of small children. Or line-dried clothes. Or laundry still warm from the dryer. Or the heady aroma of your spouse after a day spent at the beach. OR, the smell of your home after it's been cleaned. I love that smell. Except, today I went to mop the kitchen floor and realized I was out of the cleaner I normally use for the job (Mr. Clean, usually). I had to use a 2nd tier cleaner - something that's been in the back of the cupboard for a long time - bought years ago when we lived in a different house (Murphy's Oil Soap). The label says it can be used for linoleum flooring, and without another option available, I used it. It worked just fine, except now my house smells unfamiliar. Not bad, per se, just different. It simply doesn't smell like home to me. Must remember to buy my regular cleaning product ASAP, because this simply won't do. My home must smell like my home to be truly happy. Is it just me??
Dawn
I saw it today. My crusty eyes were open in the wee, ungodly hour of DAWN this morning. I'm not sure why - methinks it may have been the not-so-gentle snoring emanating from my life's partner (again!), or perhaps the annoying-yet-somewhat-comforting sounds of a faraway freight train that is often heard in our neighborhood. More so in the summers when the windows are open, inviting the noise under the covers with you. That train whistle - it tends to sound sad and forlorn in the pre-dawn hours, and I think the asshole driving the train must get paid for every blast. He's a bit heavy-handed there. So I did what any normal girl would do: went to sleep on the couch, of course.
Only I didn't sleep. I couldn't shut my brain off, for some reason. Don't you hate when that happens??!! And then my charming daughter decided that dawn was a good time to hang out with me, so she joined me in the living room. I'm still trying to sort of keep my distance from the kids so they don't contract my pink-eye, and so far it's working, only my daughter must not have gotten that memo and wanted to snuggle down in the covers with me. Too hard to resist her chubby, soft body so I conceded. I protected her side of the pillow so no nasty virus-types would invade her baby eyes, and we cuddled. It sort of made the whole dawn experience worth it.
But even better? Mr. Chick woke up and sent me back to bed. I slept for another 2 hours - full drool and all - while he fed the kids and took them to the park. The park! BEFORE 9am! So I could sleep! Yes, I love this man. I'll probably temporarily remove the body-contact ban I've instituted due to the damn pink eye and give him some good lovin' tonight as a nice thank you. If I can convince him to actually LOOK at me, that is. I'm still not exactly easy on the eyes (ha!). But? Somehow I think he'll manage just fine. He's good that way.
Only I didn't sleep. I couldn't shut my brain off, for some reason. Don't you hate when that happens??!! And then my charming daughter decided that dawn was a good time to hang out with me, so she joined me in the living room. I'm still trying to sort of keep my distance from the kids so they don't contract my pink-eye, and so far it's working, only my daughter must not have gotten that memo and wanted to snuggle down in the covers with me. Too hard to resist her chubby, soft body so I conceded. I protected her side of the pillow so no nasty virus-types would invade her baby eyes, and we cuddled. It sort of made the whole dawn experience worth it.
But even better? Mr. Chick woke up and sent me back to bed. I slept for another 2 hours - full drool and all - while he fed the kids and took them to the park. The park! BEFORE 9am! So I could sleep! Yes, I love this man. I'll probably temporarily remove the body-contact ban I've instituted due to the damn pink eye and give him some good lovin' tonight as a nice thank you. If I can convince him to actually LOOK at me, that is. I'm still not exactly easy on the eyes (ha!). But? Somehow I think he'll manage just fine. He's good that way.
Friday, August 26, 2005
Musing
Upon reflection, I've come to the conclusion that my kids watch too many movies when it dawns on me that my 21 mos old daughter can say "Shark Tale" more clearly than just about anything else in her (limited) vocabulary. Gee, you think? Way to go, MP - another proud parenting moment.
Like A Fish
Well, my eye is essentially the same, although I have started to use the antibiotic drops again - just in case. I must be getting used to it as I'm rather enjoying the revolving selection of pillow cases upon which I sleep each night. Last night was a rather faded Snoopy pillowcase, circa 1975. Very soft and comfortable.
I'm venturing out, refusing to let my disfigurement prevent me from enjoying the last days of August. The big, outdoor pool will be closing after Labor Day, and Mr. Chick didn't work today, so we decided to take the kids for a morning swim (plus, I can keep my sunglasses on and no one needs to actually see my hideousness). Mr. Chick worked with Nicholas on some swimming lesson stuff, and Nicholas was actually accepting instruction from a parent (gasp!). So we both went with it and were happy with the stuff he was willing to do. And did! We had him diving for rings in the 3 foot water, which is sort of deep for him. Just his head is above the surface at that depth. We started in the "shallow" 2 foot depth, which was easy for him, and gradually threw the rings into deeper water, until he was diving completely under the water for the rings. It was awesome! He wouldn't wear the goggles or mask we brought, preferring to just open his eyes under water unprotected. Must be a macho guy thing...
After lunch Mr. Chick took Lauren and I worked some more with Nicholas in the "fun" pool. He can touch the bottom, but I had him push off the wall and try to swim to me, a short distance away. He struggled and struggled with this, getting very frustrated. In a flash of inspiration, I told him that I wanted him to put his face in the water like he did when he dove for the rings, and just pretend that *I* was a ring. For some reason, that imagery worked. He swam!! And swam and swam and swam. I kept standing further and further away from the wall, and he would swim to me. Really swim. With his face in the water and his arms and legs moving with a coordination only a 4-yr old can manage. I was a beautiful thing to watch. I would just hold my hands out, just under the water, and he'd swim to me. I told him that if he felt like he needed to take a breath to just lift his face out of the water, take a breath, and keep going. And bless his trusting heart, he did it! He swam a short way, lifted his head and took a breath, and then put his face back in the water and kept on going. Without putting his feet down to touch. What a breakthrough!! He was swimming maybe 10-12 feet all by himself. To me, it was better than any Olympic swimming event because MY SON was swimming! I was totally geeking out. I'm sure the other parents there were like, "what's the big deal? My 2 year old can do that." but to me, it was amazing. Stupid swimming lessons didn't hardly teach him a damn thing - what a waste - but Mr. Chick and I, in the span of 1 hour of concentrated focus, got him swimming on his own. Granted, it's not like he's able to swim across the pool or anything, but he was dinged on his swimming report card for not being able to hold his breath under water for 5 seconds or swim 5 feet unassisted. Hello??!! They never even TRIED to get him to swim! And he's been able to put his head under water in our hottub to the count of 20 for months now. Stupid group lessons with teenagers teaching them - sheesh! So much for repeating the baby "Tots" session again, as advised. We're sooooo signing up for "Advanced Tots", thankyouverymuch.
Of course, we pushed our luck and he tried to take a breath and instead of air got water, which resulted in a coughing fit and a small upchuck on the side of the pool. No biggie - it got handled and nothing got in the pool itself. The poor lifeguards - teenaged boys - who had to do the cleanup came out dressed like they were going to be handling nuclear waste or something. Nothing like drawing attention to it.... At that point we called it and packed up our gear, praising our new swimmer to the high heavens. Mr. Chick is out with him right this very minute buying him a Slurpee for being able to swim like a fish. I'm so proud!
I'm venturing out, refusing to let my disfigurement prevent me from enjoying the last days of August. The big, outdoor pool will be closing after Labor Day, and Mr. Chick didn't work today, so we decided to take the kids for a morning swim (plus, I can keep my sunglasses on and no one needs to actually see my hideousness). Mr. Chick worked with Nicholas on some swimming lesson stuff, and Nicholas was actually accepting instruction from a parent (gasp!). So we both went with it and were happy with the stuff he was willing to do. And did! We had him diving for rings in the 3 foot water, which is sort of deep for him. Just his head is above the surface at that depth. We started in the "shallow" 2 foot depth, which was easy for him, and gradually threw the rings into deeper water, until he was diving completely under the water for the rings. It was awesome! He wouldn't wear the goggles or mask we brought, preferring to just open his eyes under water unprotected. Must be a macho guy thing...
After lunch Mr. Chick took Lauren and I worked some more with Nicholas in the "fun" pool. He can touch the bottom, but I had him push off the wall and try to swim to me, a short distance away. He struggled and struggled with this, getting very frustrated. In a flash of inspiration, I told him that I wanted him to put his face in the water like he did when he dove for the rings, and just pretend that *I* was a ring. For some reason, that imagery worked. He swam!! And swam and swam and swam. I kept standing further and further away from the wall, and he would swim to me. Really swim. With his face in the water and his arms and legs moving with a coordination only a 4-yr old can manage. I was a beautiful thing to watch. I would just hold my hands out, just under the water, and he'd swim to me. I told him that if he felt like he needed to take a breath to just lift his face out of the water, take a breath, and keep going. And bless his trusting heart, he did it! He swam a short way, lifted his head and took a breath, and then put his face back in the water and kept on going. Without putting his feet down to touch. What a breakthrough!! He was swimming maybe 10-12 feet all by himself. To me, it was better than any Olympic swimming event because MY SON was swimming! I was totally geeking out. I'm sure the other parents there were like, "what's the big deal? My 2 year old can do that." but to me, it was amazing. Stupid swimming lessons didn't hardly teach him a damn thing - what a waste - but Mr. Chick and I, in the span of 1 hour of concentrated focus, got him swimming on his own. Granted, it's not like he's able to swim across the pool or anything, but he was dinged on his swimming report card for not being able to hold his breath under water for 5 seconds or swim 5 feet unassisted. Hello??!! They never even TRIED to get him to swim! And he's been able to put his head under water in our hottub to the count of 20 for months now. Stupid group lessons with teenagers teaching them - sheesh! So much for repeating the baby "Tots" session again, as advised. We're sooooo signing up for "Advanced Tots", thankyouverymuch.
Of course, we pushed our luck and he tried to take a breath and instead of air got water, which resulted in a coughing fit and a small upchuck on the side of the pool. No biggie - it got handled and nothing got in the pool itself. The poor lifeguards - teenaged boys - who had to do the cleanup came out dressed like they were going to be handling nuclear waste or something. Nothing like drawing attention to it.... At that point we called it and packed up our gear, praising our new swimmer to the high heavens. Mr. Chick is out with him right this very minute buying him a Slurpee for being able to swim like a fish. I'm so proud!
Thursday, August 25, 2005
HIDEOUS
I think the picture below says it all. This is the image that should show up when you Google "pink eye", don't you think? If you look closely you can even see a nice, single yellow-tinged tear falling from my swollen, disease-affected eye. Nice, huh? Wanna make out? Day 3.5 and counting with no change whatsoever....
EWWW!!
EWWW!!
Wednesday, August 24, 2005
Pink (eye) Booties
Since I'm in a self-imposed quarantine due to the hideous case of VIRAL pink-eye (saw the doctor - no drops will help. Have to just gut it out for another few days. ICK!), I whipped out these cute baby booties for a friend who is due in a week with baby girl #3. Fast and easy! Each one took me only about 2 hours to make. Of course, I made them for an older baby and they look huge! I just hope the baby can wear them before she's walking or she'll be slip sliding away in these. Seriously, the 9mos size ended up being something Lauren would have *just* outgrown, and she's got enormous puppy feet for her age (wearing a size 7 shoe at 18-20 mos). Oh well, they're cute and hopefully useful. I'm thinking I might need to make sometime similar for ME to wear around the house when the cold weather sets in....
Tuesday, August 23, 2005
Gah!
Just when I thought I'd mostly kicked the cold I've been battling for over a week now, I wake up this morning unable to open one of my eyes. It was sealed shut with a glue of the most disgusting eye goop I've ever seen (or produced, for that matter). Yes, I have pink eye. Thanks for sharing, Nicholas! I've never had this shit in my life, and it ain't pretty. My eyelid is so swollen I can hardly open my eye, even after removing the crusty goop. It's weeping yellow-tinged nastiness, for Christ sake! I've had 3 round of the antibiotic eye drops, and they tend to sting a bit. I look like I was on the losing side of a mis-matched fight. Mr. Chick joked to me this morning, upon gazing at my disfigured eye, "you look like I finally told you what's up." Nice. No, he'd never be violent with me. No worries there. But I do look like I've been punched in the eye and it's all red and swollen as a result. I had him take Nicholas to school and pick him up, too. I don't want to be seen (a), and (b), I don't want to expose my nasty self to kids.
I slept like crap so I'm going to go take a nap. On a towel laid over my pillow. Don't want to cross-contaminate or anything. This sucks.
I slept like crap so I'm going to go take a nap. On a towel laid over my pillow. Don't want to cross-contaminate or anything. This sucks.
Monday, August 22, 2005
The Booger Catcher
Kids with colds can be so gross. All that sneezing, coughing, and runny, drippy noses. The sick stuff that comes out of kids can be so revolting, especially because they aren't the most hygenic of creatures - yet. I have Nicholas pretty well trained to cover his mouth/nose when he sneezes or coughs, but he's not the greatest nose-blower, left to his own devices. It's like it doesn't occur to him that, gee, rivers of snot are about to let loose down my face, maybe I should go to the bathroom and take care of this. Kids! They'd rather let their noses drip endlessly from their noses and create a river to the top of their lips, where they periodically lick it with their tongues, than take the 30 seconds to blow their noses. Perhaps I was like this as a kid as well, but mercifully my memory of that era is blank.
Kids with colds wake up in the morning with vast quantities of nastiness built up from the long night left unchecked. Sure, cold medications help keep things to a minimum, but they usually don't alleviate all symptoms all night long. In our house, monster boogers join us for breakfast. I continue to be amazed and completely grossed out by the boulder-sized boogers that take up residence in my sons' nose overnight. They are a by-product of the ever-present cloudy snot that exists by day, stirred gently all night long by his insistence of nose-breathing, which has the effect of drying the snot and congealing it into semi-hard boogers the size of which you've never seen in your own nose - ever. So when he comes skipping into the living room for his daily dose of PBS cartoons in the morning, he's not alone.
As a mom, it's your job to deal with this. I mean, you simply cannot ignore the green growth rimming each of his nostrils. It's impossible - I've tried. So you put on a happy mommy face and suggest we blow his nose. He protests, of course. Is there anything worse than blowing your nose when you're a kid and there are cartoons on the TV that you might miss one micro-second of if you allow the wicked mommy to follow through? So then you are forced to insist on the nose-blowing, fearing for the upholstery on your couch, which is in danger of becoming a handy Kleenex. It then becomes an aerobic exercise of trying to swipe at your kids nose, coaxing him to blow, and save your furniture at the same time. While not daring to block the view of the TV or all hell might break loose. After the first attempt, winded, you realize that the tissue is no match for the monster boogers still clinging to life in your childs nose. They're mocking you. How can a child happily co-exist with all that foulness in their noses?? It boggles. And then, in a fit of desperation/inspiration, you ask if you can use the booger-catcher to get them out of his nose. Intrigued, he sits up, tears his eyes from "Dragon Tales", and asks, "what's a booger catcher?" Gotta love the natural inquisitiveness of 4-yr olds. You tell your snotty offspring that a booger catcher is magic and that it will get all the boogers out of his nose. He's on board - you said "magic" and that's irresistable. So you grab a couple of the magic booger catchers from your bathroom and say you're ready. He willingly drapes himself across your lap, eager to participate in the magic about to happen. You carefully insert one into the first nostril and start the extraction. He wiggles - it tickles. You say it's working! He squirms some more, but you're able to keep him still with other promises of nonsense and a death-grip between your thighs that would make Suzanne Sommers proud. Finally, he's freed and you're left to dispose of two Q-Tips with the sickest boogers you've ever laid eyes on, convinced they weigh 10 pounds each they're so big. And gross. You shudder to even look at them. Yet you have a sick sense of satisfaction for having actually gotten them out of your child in the first place. Without a tantrum or bloodshed.
Don't call me Mama, call me The Booger Catcher (tra-la-la!) I think I've just found my Halloween costume for this year....
Kids with colds wake up in the morning with vast quantities of nastiness built up from the long night left unchecked. Sure, cold medications help keep things to a minimum, but they usually don't alleviate all symptoms all night long. In our house, monster boogers join us for breakfast. I continue to be amazed and completely grossed out by the boulder-sized boogers that take up residence in my sons' nose overnight. They are a by-product of the ever-present cloudy snot that exists by day, stirred gently all night long by his insistence of nose-breathing, which has the effect of drying the snot and congealing it into semi-hard boogers the size of which you've never seen in your own nose - ever. So when he comes skipping into the living room for his daily dose of PBS cartoons in the morning, he's not alone.
As a mom, it's your job to deal with this. I mean, you simply cannot ignore the green growth rimming each of his nostrils. It's impossible - I've tried. So you put on a happy mommy face and suggest we blow his nose. He protests, of course. Is there anything worse than blowing your nose when you're a kid and there are cartoons on the TV that you might miss one micro-second of if you allow the wicked mommy to follow through? So then you are forced to insist on the nose-blowing, fearing for the upholstery on your couch, which is in danger of becoming a handy Kleenex. It then becomes an aerobic exercise of trying to swipe at your kids nose, coaxing him to blow, and save your furniture at the same time. While not daring to block the view of the TV or all hell might break loose. After the first attempt, winded, you realize that the tissue is no match for the monster boogers still clinging to life in your childs nose. They're mocking you. How can a child happily co-exist with all that foulness in their noses?? It boggles. And then, in a fit of desperation/inspiration, you ask if you can use the booger-catcher to get them out of his nose. Intrigued, he sits up, tears his eyes from "Dragon Tales", and asks, "what's a booger catcher?" Gotta love the natural inquisitiveness of 4-yr olds. You tell your snotty offspring that a booger catcher is magic and that it will get all the boogers out of his nose. He's on board - you said "magic" and that's irresistable. So you grab a couple of the magic booger catchers from your bathroom and say you're ready. He willingly drapes himself across your lap, eager to participate in the magic about to happen. You carefully insert one into the first nostril and start the extraction. He wiggles - it tickles. You say it's working! He squirms some more, but you're able to keep him still with other promises of nonsense and a death-grip between your thighs that would make Suzanne Sommers proud. Finally, he's freed and you're left to dispose of two Q-Tips with the sickest boogers you've ever laid eyes on, convinced they weigh 10 pounds each they're so big. And gross. You shudder to even look at them. Yet you have a sick sense of satisfaction for having actually gotten them out of your child in the first place. Without a tantrum or bloodshed.
Don't call me Mama, call me The Booger Catcher (tra-la-la!) I think I've just found my Halloween costume for this year....
Friday, August 19, 2005
Pink-Eyed Monster
oh boy, have we been sick. And then some. Our whole family has been decimated by some evil cold that has wiped us out. Mr. Chick and Nicholas have both had fevers. Mr. Chick slept 18 out of 24 hrs the other day. I felt bad for him, but then again, I felt BAD, too. Zero help from him that day. We came up to Portland so I could visit with my friend, but I didn't take Nicholas with me. I quarantined him at my parents and just took Lauren. You see, that morning Nicholas woke up with a pink eye. No goop or watering, but pink where it should be white. Not pretty.
Oh how I debated and wavered about even coming up. I put a call in to my doctor to speak with them about this dilemma. I know pink eye is very contagious, but he didn't seem to have the usual symptoms (not that I've ever dealt with pink eye before). I decided to go and left Mr. Chick behind, useless as he was, to field the call from the dr's office and let me know if I needed to return the next day for an office visit. They said no. My mom, a nurse, said otherwise. She was able to get her hands on the precription antibiotic necessary to treat this ugly disease. I've been having to put drops into Nicholas' eye every 2 hours. He's being pretty good about it. But add to that the fact that he still has a nasty cold, and now Lauren has it, too, and I can't shake it either, and we're not a pretty sight. Needless to say, Nicholas was one pissed off preschooler when he found out we wouldn't be going to Chuck E. Cheeses. I'm washing my hands so often they're raw.
It's both a relief and a nightmare being here at my parents. They're very helpful, as much as they can be, but we're just not on our home turf, y'know? My parents aren't overly judgemental, but I feel like it reflects badly on me when my kids don't behave well. Or when it appears I have no control over them. And when they're sick, they DO NOT behave well. Nicholas is a monster. Very hard to deal with. He's whiney. He's sassing me. He's not listening. He's throwing fits and making life even more miserable than it needs to be. I KNOW he feels like shit, but so do we all. Lauren is so much more well-tempered, even when she's under the weather. It's hard not to compare. I feel like I'm fighting him at every turn. Nothing comes easy with him when he's like this, and I hate it. My temper grows shorter by the minute. My own mother essentially sent me to my room for more "rest" because I was getting too grumpy. You know it's bad when...
So anyway, I've been battling my pink-eyed monster for the past few days and I think I'm starting to win the war. Today is better. My dad is taking him fishing at the local duck pond, and I'm taking Lauren with me to meet a friend for lunch. Then I'm going out for happy hour and appetizers with some fun friends this afternoon. I think a few cocktails will help me get a fresh perspective on things, don't you?
Off to do more battling...
Oh how I debated and wavered about even coming up. I put a call in to my doctor to speak with them about this dilemma. I know pink eye is very contagious, but he didn't seem to have the usual symptoms (not that I've ever dealt with pink eye before). I decided to go and left Mr. Chick behind, useless as he was, to field the call from the dr's office and let me know if I needed to return the next day for an office visit. They said no. My mom, a nurse, said otherwise. She was able to get her hands on the precription antibiotic necessary to treat this ugly disease. I've been having to put drops into Nicholas' eye every 2 hours. He's being pretty good about it. But add to that the fact that he still has a nasty cold, and now Lauren has it, too, and I can't shake it either, and we're not a pretty sight. Needless to say, Nicholas was one pissed off preschooler when he found out we wouldn't be going to Chuck E. Cheeses. I'm washing my hands so often they're raw.
It's both a relief and a nightmare being here at my parents. They're very helpful, as much as they can be, but we're just not on our home turf, y'know? My parents aren't overly judgemental, but I feel like it reflects badly on me when my kids don't behave well. Or when it appears I have no control over them. And when they're sick, they DO NOT behave well. Nicholas is a monster. Very hard to deal with. He's whiney. He's sassing me. He's not listening. He's throwing fits and making life even more miserable than it needs to be. I KNOW he feels like shit, but so do we all. Lauren is so much more well-tempered, even when she's under the weather. It's hard not to compare. I feel like I'm fighting him at every turn. Nothing comes easy with him when he's like this, and I hate it. My temper grows shorter by the minute. My own mother essentially sent me to my room for more "rest" because I was getting too grumpy. You know it's bad when...
So anyway, I've been battling my pink-eyed monster for the past few days and I think I'm starting to win the war. Today is better. My dad is taking him fishing at the local duck pond, and I'm taking Lauren with me to meet a friend for lunch. Then I'm going out for happy hour and appetizers with some fun friends this afternoon. I think a few cocktails will help me get a fresh perspective on things, don't you?
Off to do more battling...
Tuesday, August 16, 2005
Husband Training
Must remember to coach husband on the proper response to wife when she comes back from a good workout and announces,
"I must be an idiot. I thought the parking meters painted green were the ones that people with parking permits didn't have to plug. I got a parking ticket."
Wife says this hoping for the following reply:
"oops! That CAN be confusing. I'm sorry that happened."
Instead, received this response:
"Yep, you're an idiot!" and then mumbles under his breath to innocent 4 yr old, yet loud enough for me to overhear, that he "hopes Mama has enough money in her account to pay for her parking ticket."
Like I have income or something.
Clearly, there has been a lapse in my proper husband training that needs to be addressed ASAP. This pissed me off even more because it was on the heels of me making dinner AND doing the clean-up (when we both know the deal is s/he who cooks is absolved of dish-duty), and following an enthusiastic round of bumping uglies during naptime. Oh yes, someone clearly stepped out of bounds and needs a reminder of appropriate wife handling. I mean, I didn't say anything derogatory or intellect-insulting when same husband got a traffic ticket a few months back, did I? NO! So, I think a simple parking ticket should be chalked up to "life happens" and let go, don't you? I'm so glad you agree.
Now back to our regularly scheduled programming.... playing Martha Stewart to husband and preschooler with nasty colds. I'm not feeling too hot, either, but *someone* has to function around here....
"I must be an idiot. I thought the parking meters painted green were the ones that people with parking permits didn't have to plug. I got a parking ticket."
Wife says this hoping for the following reply:
"oops! That CAN be confusing. I'm sorry that happened."
Instead, received this response:
"Yep, you're an idiot!" and then mumbles under his breath to innocent 4 yr old, yet loud enough for me to overhear, that he "hopes Mama has enough money in her account to pay for her parking ticket."
Like I have income or something.
Clearly, there has been a lapse in my proper husband training that needs to be addressed ASAP. This pissed me off even more because it was on the heels of me making dinner AND doing the clean-up (when we both know the deal is s/he who cooks is absolved of dish-duty), and following an enthusiastic round of bumping uglies during naptime. Oh yes, someone clearly stepped out of bounds and needs a reminder of appropriate wife handling. I mean, I didn't say anything derogatory or intellect-insulting when same husband got a traffic ticket a few months back, did I? NO! So, I think a simple parking ticket should be chalked up to "life happens" and let go, don't you? I'm so glad you agree.
Now back to our regularly scheduled programming.... playing Martha Stewart to husband and preschooler with nasty colds. I'm not feeling too hot, either, but *someone* has to function around here....
Monday, August 15, 2005
A Bird In The Hand
Well, it seems all my artful "staging" paid off: the lesbians announced utter glee at our layout and claim they'd like to be first in line to buy the house when we're ready to sell. So, we could essentially consider our house pre-sold if we'd like to, assuming they'd be able to qualify for the financing and all that jazz.
Getting the house ready to show was laborious to say the least. I truly had no idea we lived in such filth, yet when I dared to peek into the corners long (too long) ignored, I came face-to-face with the truth: we're disgusting. At least when you bother to scratch the surface. On the face of things, we live a relatively orderly and tidy - clean - sort of life. But in the dark recesses of our home, filth, muck and grime flourish. It took me hours to breathe new life into the master bedroom and half-bath. And the kitchen? Another couple of hours. I cleaned like a woman possessed. And I never even made it to cleaning out the refridgerator or oven. Or got around to getting brownies in the oven to give the house an alluring aroma of home. Instead it smelled faintly of Pledge Orange Oil.
We had arranged for them to come see the house around 12:30. I was done with the bulk of cleaning by noon. That left me with at least half and hour to fret and obsessively walk from room to room, looking for imperfections. I checked my email and read some blogs, sitting on the floor rather than perch on the side of my bed for fear of rumpling the oh-so-carefully-made bed. Thankfully Mr. Chick had taken the kids out to the park so I could have some time to finish up and show them the house. Then the doorbell rang.
The whole family showed up to see the place: the two ladies and their two daughters. One from each, by all appearances. A 15-yr old and an impish 4 yr old. Clutched in their hopeful hands was a small bouquet of flowers for me. A total butt-kissing move that I saw right through and yet appreciated anyway. It's just nice to get flowers regardless of the motivation behind them. I invited them in and told them that the house did not require a guided tour and that they should feel free to look about on their own. It didn't take long - it's a small house. They were eager to see Mr. Chick's office, which is an addition off the back of the house. I guess one of them works from home so this is a perfect spot for their office as well. The yard scored many points. They were pleasantly surprised by how spacious it felt, despite it's small square footage (1340 sq ft). It's funny to notice what sorts of features each responded to. The teenager? She seemed quite tickled by the dimmer switch controlling the light over the dining room and the fact that there would be enough space in the backyard for her trampoline. One of the ladies liked the fireplace and the cupboard that is built to hold vertical-types of things like cookie sheets and cutting boards. The 4 yr old made herself at home in the backyard and promptly removed her shirt. The other lady was more business-focused, quizzing me about timelines and prices, etc. I was very up-front about our plans, or lack thereof. We just simply cannot offer any sort of timeline for when we'll be ready to move at this point. Trust me, I wish we could. Nor are we able to really state an asking price - it seems to be a perpetually moving (read: raising) number. I told them that we were well aware that the house is in a good area and we won't have any trouble selling it. I said it would likely be priced between $200k - $225k (bwahahah! ridiculous!) and they just kept nodding like bobble-heads as if what I said was completely reasonable. And without much conferring on their part it was announced to me that they would love to buy the house. Without knowing a proposed closing date or firm price. I'm quite a sales lady, yes? Shortly before we concluded our mutual love-fest Mr. Chick and the kids came back and everyone was introduced. They told us that they would continue to check back with us and would love it if we could let them know whenever we're able to firm up our plans. Will do.
So, without having to do ANY marketing, we have some buyers if we want to sell. It's still early - it may not work out - and we've not committed to anything. But they would have signed a contract on the spot had we had one. Apparently removing your coffee maker and toaster over from the counters, and finally scrubbing a toilet can really pay off! Who knew?
Getting the house ready to show was laborious to say the least. I truly had no idea we lived in such filth, yet when I dared to peek into the corners long (too long) ignored, I came face-to-face with the truth: we're disgusting. At least when you bother to scratch the surface. On the face of things, we live a relatively orderly and tidy - clean - sort of life. But in the dark recesses of our home, filth, muck and grime flourish. It took me hours to breathe new life into the master bedroom and half-bath. And the kitchen? Another couple of hours. I cleaned like a woman possessed. And I never even made it to cleaning out the refridgerator or oven. Or got around to getting brownies in the oven to give the house an alluring aroma of home. Instead it smelled faintly of Pledge Orange Oil.
We had arranged for them to come see the house around 12:30. I was done with the bulk of cleaning by noon. That left me with at least half and hour to fret and obsessively walk from room to room, looking for imperfections. I checked my email and read some blogs, sitting on the floor rather than perch on the side of my bed for fear of rumpling the oh-so-carefully-made bed. Thankfully Mr. Chick had taken the kids out to the park so I could have some time to finish up and show them the house. Then the doorbell rang.
The whole family showed up to see the place: the two ladies and their two daughters. One from each, by all appearances. A 15-yr old and an impish 4 yr old. Clutched in their hopeful hands was a small bouquet of flowers for me. A total butt-kissing move that I saw right through and yet appreciated anyway. It's just nice to get flowers regardless of the motivation behind them. I invited them in and told them that the house did not require a guided tour and that they should feel free to look about on their own. It didn't take long - it's a small house. They were eager to see Mr. Chick's office, which is an addition off the back of the house. I guess one of them works from home so this is a perfect spot for their office as well. The yard scored many points. They were pleasantly surprised by how spacious it felt, despite it's small square footage (1340 sq ft). It's funny to notice what sorts of features each responded to. The teenager? She seemed quite tickled by the dimmer switch controlling the light over the dining room and the fact that there would be enough space in the backyard for her trampoline. One of the ladies liked the fireplace and the cupboard that is built to hold vertical-types of things like cookie sheets and cutting boards. The 4 yr old made herself at home in the backyard and promptly removed her shirt. The other lady was more business-focused, quizzing me about timelines and prices, etc. I was very up-front about our plans, or lack thereof. We just simply cannot offer any sort of timeline for when we'll be ready to move at this point. Trust me, I wish we could. Nor are we able to really state an asking price - it seems to be a perpetually moving (read: raising) number. I told them that we were well aware that the house is in a good area and we won't have any trouble selling it. I said it would likely be priced between $200k - $225k (bwahahah! ridiculous!) and they just kept nodding like bobble-heads as if what I said was completely reasonable. And without much conferring on their part it was announced to me that they would love to buy the house. Without knowing a proposed closing date or firm price. I'm quite a sales lady, yes? Shortly before we concluded our mutual love-fest Mr. Chick and the kids came back and everyone was introduced. They told us that they would continue to check back with us and would love it if we could let them know whenever we're able to firm up our plans. Will do.
So, without having to do ANY marketing, we have some buyers if we want to sell. It's still early - it may not work out - and we've not committed to anything. But they would have signed a contract on the spot had we had one. Apparently removing your coffee maker and toaster over from the counters, and finally scrubbing a toilet can really pay off! Who knew?
Saturday, August 13, 2005
First House Showing - God Help Me!
Mr. Chick and I came home from a family outing this afternoon to yet another message from the persistent lesbians who are interested in seeing our home. They love our neighborhood and would really like to live on our block, specifically. They're nice ladies (I've already met them when I caught them leaving a note on my car indicating their interest), and I've since learned they have a 4 year old little girl and a 15 year old. Another daughter, I believe. They've heard me give the run-down of the features of the house, and they've seen the backyard. They expressed some concern over the size, or lack thereof, of the house. But they must like it enough to really want to see it because they've called several times, asking to see the layout inside.
Mr. Chick and I talked it over, and while it's nice to have a potentially interested buyer without having to do one lick of marketing, it's early still. The market around us is HOT HOT HOT and the price seems to change (aka go UP) on a daily basis. Therefore, we don't even know yet what we'll ask for the house. Also, we don't know yet when we're moving. Could be September, October, November, or next summer at this rate. It's hard to lock in on a closing date when we're so up in the air. These people have mentioned a bunch of times just how flexible they are - blah blah blah - that's great, but we don't want to "pop our cherry" too early and then end up having to rent back at a higher monthly amount than what we pay now and miss out on the ability to have sold the house for even more had we just been patient. Mr. Chick also thinks that if this is such a desirable house and price-point, a bid war is possible and we could end up getting MORE than we ask for the house. If we end up selling it without even really putting it on the market we could end up foregoing that possibility. Good for the buyers, bad for us. Hell, we're greedy. We need every red nickle out of this house for a fat down payment on the next place. We'd be lucky to even afford what we have now in Portland, and what we have now is too damn small. So, yeah, we're gonna milk this for all it's worth.
Anyway, these nice, eager ladies left another message and I just looked at Mr. Chick and he just looked at me and we both shrugged: why not? Let's let 'em come look at it, as is, and be done with it. They might not even like it once they see inside. So I called them back and arranged for them to come take a peek tomorrow. TOMORROW! Yeah, I know I said they'd see it "as is", but who am I kidding?? OF COURSE I'm going to try to get it more show-ready than it is today! I already steam cleaned the living room this morning (gotta love it when your baby spills an entire cup of milk on the carpet and then stomps on it like it's a mud puddle), and mopped the kitchen floor. The kids rooms aren't *too* bad, and the bathroom will need a quick once-over. It's the master bedroom and half-bath that make me want to skewer red-hot pokers slowly into each eye. The master bedroom and bathroom are PIG STY's and should not be viewed by anyone, much less someone looking to buy the house. That's a deal-breaker right there.
"The living room is a tad small, but lovely. I like the fireplace. The bedrooms are OK-sized - cute paint in the girls room. The kitchen works - nice cabinets. I like the colors... very neutral but warm. Bathroom is functional. But holy hell - did you SEE that master bedroom? A disgrace. The shit-brown carpet made me want to gag, but not nearly as much as the disgusting dust-ball collection growing in the corners. And did you see the bathroom? Oh, you didn't make it that far? Well, I did and I was repulsed. I think I might have even thrown up a little into my mouth. Don't these people know what a cleaning sponge is for?? Clearly not. There is more hair on the floor than on my dad's entire head! We're outta here!"
Obviously, I don't clean up my bedroom and bathroom as often as I should. It's the last place I tackle, and usually I run out of steam before I get to it. Now, I HAVE to get to it. PEOPLE are coming over to SEE it specifically. I'm so screwed. Mr. Chick and I already agreed to not worry about totally cleaning out closets and under sinks and such. Believe it or not, those are already pretty organized and not horrible. I'm going to de-clutter a bit, of course. Stuff like remove all the unnecessary items off the kitchen counters (all about the illusion of space, baby!), and off the top of the refridgerator (WHERE am I going to put that crap??) I'm going to clean away the baskets on top of our entertainment center that hold most of our movies and DVD's (which now number more than said baskets can handle and are therefore stacking up and spilling over. Hence the need to address the area) I'm going to wash some windows but not worry about the touch-up paint the baseboards so desperately need. I'm going to do my best to tidy my laundry area (located in the garage - gak!) but you can only do so much in this heat. Maybe, just maybe, I'll even have something baking when they arrive (at 12:30, after their church) so the house smells good and homey. But probably not, because I'll still be running around de-cluttering, cleaning, and pulling my hair out.
All this and the house isn't even officially on the market yet!
But, on the bright side, it will be good and clean for our friends who are coming for dinner tomorrow. It won't all have been for naught. Maybe I'll even let them finally see our master bedroom! Most people have never laid eyes on it and have no idea we have a whole other half-bath.
PS - At this point I've decided to put the larger diamond into my wedding/engagement ring as originally planned. We'll save the smaller diamond for another ring, purchased at another time. Of the two rings, I'd like my wedding ring to be the stand-out, most beautiful and impressive. So the bigger diamond goes there, and my smaller-yet-still-really-pretty diamond will be set in a fun, right-hand ring down the road. Mr. Chick is negotiating with the store so see if there is any wiggle room on the price and/or getting a new appraisal thrown into the deal. He's good at stuff like that - after 3 years of law school he better be! Negotiations, unless with a small child, are not my specialty and make me nervous and uncomfortable. So we'll see where we come out after he talks with the manager tomorrow. We're told it will essentially be a entirely new ring - same design and diamonds, but completely rebuilt. Hence the high-ass cost. That's what I get for choosing a rather intricate design in the first place, huh? Serves me right. Nothing is ever easy.
Mr. Chick and I talked it over, and while it's nice to have a potentially interested buyer without having to do one lick of marketing, it's early still. The market around us is HOT HOT HOT and the price seems to change (aka go UP) on a daily basis. Therefore, we don't even know yet what we'll ask for the house. Also, we don't know yet when we're moving. Could be September, October, November, or next summer at this rate. It's hard to lock in on a closing date when we're so up in the air. These people have mentioned a bunch of times just how flexible they are - blah blah blah - that's great, but we don't want to "pop our cherry" too early and then end up having to rent back at a higher monthly amount than what we pay now and miss out on the ability to have sold the house for even more had we just been patient. Mr. Chick also thinks that if this is such a desirable house and price-point, a bid war is possible and we could end up getting MORE than we ask for the house. If we end up selling it without even really putting it on the market we could end up foregoing that possibility. Good for the buyers, bad for us. Hell, we're greedy. We need every red nickle out of this house for a fat down payment on the next place. We'd be lucky to even afford what we have now in Portland, and what we have now is too damn small. So, yeah, we're gonna milk this for all it's worth.
Anyway, these nice, eager ladies left another message and I just looked at Mr. Chick and he just looked at me and we both shrugged: why not? Let's let 'em come look at it, as is, and be done with it. They might not even like it once they see inside. So I called them back and arranged for them to come take a peek tomorrow. TOMORROW! Yeah, I know I said they'd see it "as is", but who am I kidding?? OF COURSE I'm going to try to get it more show-ready than it is today! I already steam cleaned the living room this morning (gotta love it when your baby spills an entire cup of milk on the carpet and then stomps on it like it's a mud puddle), and mopped the kitchen floor. The kids rooms aren't *too* bad, and the bathroom will need a quick once-over. It's the master bedroom and half-bath that make me want to skewer red-hot pokers slowly into each eye. The master bedroom and bathroom are PIG STY's and should not be viewed by anyone, much less someone looking to buy the house. That's a deal-breaker right there.
"The living room is a tad small, but lovely. I like the fireplace. The bedrooms are OK-sized - cute paint in the girls room. The kitchen works - nice cabinets. I like the colors... very neutral but warm. Bathroom is functional. But holy hell - did you SEE that master bedroom? A disgrace. The shit-brown carpet made me want to gag, but not nearly as much as the disgusting dust-ball collection growing in the corners. And did you see the bathroom? Oh, you didn't make it that far? Well, I did and I was repulsed. I think I might have even thrown up a little into my mouth. Don't these people know what a cleaning sponge is for?? Clearly not. There is more hair on the floor than on my dad's entire head! We're outta here!"
Obviously, I don't clean up my bedroom and bathroom as often as I should. It's the last place I tackle, and usually I run out of steam before I get to it. Now, I HAVE to get to it. PEOPLE are coming over to SEE it specifically. I'm so screwed. Mr. Chick and I already agreed to not worry about totally cleaning out closets and under sinks and such. Believe it or not, those are already pretty organized and not horrible. I'm going to de-clutter a bit, of course. Stuff like remove all the unnecessary items off the kitchen counters (all about the illusion of space, baby!), and off the top of the refridgerator (WHERE am I going to put that crap??) I'm going to clean away the baskets on top of our entertainment center that hold most of our movies and DVD's (which now number more than said baskets can handle and are therefore stacking up and spilling over. Hence the need to address the area) I'm going to wash some windows but not worry about the touch-up paint the baseboards so desperately need. I'm going to do my best to tidy my laundry area (located in the garage - gak!) but you can only do so much in this heat. Maybe, just maybe, I'll even have something baking when they arrive (at 12:30, after their church) so the house smells good and homey. But probably not, because I'll still be running around de-cluttering, cleaning, and pulling my hair out.
All this and the house isn't even officially on the market yet!
But, on the bright side, it will be good and clean for our friends who are coming for dinner tomorrow. It won't all have been for naught. Maybe I'll even let them finally see our master bedroom! Most people have never laid eyes on it and have no idea we have a whole other half-bath.
PS - At this point I've decided to put the larger diamond into my wedding/engagement ring as originally planned. We'll save the smaller diamond for another ring, purchased at another time. Of the two rings, I'd like my wedding ring to be the stand-out, most beautiful and impressive. So the bigger diamond goes there, and my smaller-yet-still-really-pretty diamond will be set in a fun, right-hand ring down the road. Mr. Chick is negotiating with the store so see if there is any wiggle room on the price and/or getting a new appraisal thrown into the deal. He's good at stuff like that - after 3 years of law school he better be! Negotiations, unless with a small child, are not my specialty and make me nervous and uncomfortable. So we'll see where we come out after he talks with the manager tomorrow. We're told it will essentially be a entirely new ring - same design and diamonds, but completely rebuilt. Hence the high-ass cost. That's what I get for choosing a rather intricate design in the first place, huh? Serves me right. Nothing is ever easy.
Friday, August 12, 2005
Frivolous Fretting
You might remember a few posts ago I wrote about my wedding/engagement ring and how I had dropped it off at our jewelers in Portland to get a quote on having my new, bigger diamond placed in the ring as the center stone. Well, they called back a few days ago with the quote, and my eyes bugged out: over $800 to do it. They would have to essentially rebuild the ring to accommodate the bigger diamond. Mr. Chick is leaving this decision completely up to me. Ahh! It's seems like far too much money for us to be spending at this particular time in our lives for something so trivial. BUT - I really would like to do *something* with my new diamond. I mean, what girl wouldn't want to sport a fatty gem like that? It does me no good sitting stashed away in a safety deposit box, now, does it? I didn't think so.
It would be a much cheaper alternative to use the new diamond as a pendant. That was what I was thinking of doing with the stone it would have replaced. Except, the snob in me, if I'm being honest, would prefer to have the bigger stone in my ring and the smaller stone as a pendant. Shoot me. And THEN Mr. Chick throws a monkey wrench into my whole thought-process by suggesting we use the money it would cost to swap out the stones to buy a whole different ring for that diamond. I hadn't considered that possibility, and it IS quite tantalizing. A new ring?? Not a substitute for my wedding ring, but a whole new ring to wear just for fun? So I could be bathed with the bling at all times? Oh my - that is something to think about. What sort of design would I like? It's been over 7 years since I last looked at rings. Hmm.. a jewelry shopping trip - what fun! So that's my dilemma: what to do with this diamond. A) do nothing now and wait until it makes more sense to spend large sums of money to do the swap or whatever. B) pay the exorbitant cost to have the larger diamond set in my wedding/engagement ring and then decide what to do with the "old" diamond or C) keep my wedding/engagement rings exactly as the are and instead choose to do something else with the larger stone. Like a new ring!
I need to make a choice soon because my ring is still in California awaiting our decision. I'm heading back to Portland next week for the visit with my friend and it would be nice to get my ring back, one way or the other. I'm already pushing it as it is. I just don't know what to do!! And it seems so completely frivolous to get my dander up about how best to spend money on jewelry when there are so many more important things to be up-in-arms about. But hey - it's where my head is right now. I'm a girl and I get all hot and bothered when it comes to diamonds, what can I say? I'm not ashamed to admit I like to have nice jewelry, silly and unnecessary as it is. So what would YOU do?
It would be a much cheaper alternative to use the new diamond as a pendant. That was what I was thinking of doing with the stone it would have replaced. Except, the snob in me, if I'm being honest, would prefer to have the bigger stone in my ring and the smaller stone as a pendant. Shoot me. And THEN Mr. Chick throws a monkey wrench into my whole thought-process by suggesting we use the money it would cost to swap out the stones to buy a whole different ring for that diamond. I hadn't considered that possibility, and it IS quite tantalizing. A new ring?? Not a substitute for my wedding ring, but a whole new ring to wear just for fun? So I could be bathed with the bling at all times? Oh my - that is something to think about. What sort of design would I like? It's been over 7 years since I last looked at rings. Hmm.. a jewelry shopping trip - what fun! So that's my dilemma: what to do with this diamond. A) do nothing now and wait until it makes more sense to spend large sums of money to do the swap or whatever. B) pay the exorbitant cost to have the larger diamond set in my wedding/engagement ring and then decide what to do with the "old" diamond or C) keep my wedding/engagement rings exactly as the are and instead choose to do something else with the larger stone. Like a new ring!
I need to make a choice soon because my ring is still in California awaiting our decision. I'm heading back to Portland next week for the visit with my friend and it would be nice to get my ring back, one way or the other. I'm already pushing it as it is. I just don't know what to do!! And it seems so completely frivolous to get my dander up about how best to spend money on jewelry when there are so many more important things to be up-in-arms about. But hey - it's where my head is right now. I'm a girl and I get all hot and bothered when it comes to diamonds, what can I say? I'm not ashamed to admit I like to have nice jewelry, silly and unnecessary as it is. So what would YOU do?
Wednesday, August 10, 2005
Practice Makes Perfect
How I found Lauren as I was taking a shower this morning. Practice makes perfect!
Fun For Four (I "Hope")
In high school I had a best friend. She and I were practically inseparable for a few years there. We hung out together all day at school, and then found endless things to discuss on the phone each night as well. Funny how adolescent girls can do that... She balanced me in so many ways. The ying to my yang, as it were. Our families were polar opposites, yet it was like we were sisters. In fact, my parents often referred to her as "The Fifth" (there are 4 girls in my family). We parted ways, physically, when we each left for college. She moved to Seattle to pursue a graphic arts degree, and I moved to Eugene for a business one. I remember I was going to go through sorority rush but didn't plan on actually finishing rush and pledging a house because she and I had tickets to see Wham!, dammit, and I wasn't going to miss seeing George Michael! But things change and I got hooked on the whole sorority thing and ended up pledging after all (go Alpha Chi Omega!). Not that I don't regret skipping out on that concert.... George Michael was HOT back in the day. Shortly afterwards my grandma died and my friend frantically found a way to come see me and offer comfort - ON A MOTORCYCLE! FROM SEATTLE! AT NIGHT! She had a friend (or was he a boyfriend? - can't remember) who was willing to take her to see me. That's the kind of friend she is.
Ever since leaving for college we haven't been able to see each other very often. That makes me sad. She stayed in Seattle, I moved to California for awhile. Then back to Oregon. She got married right after I graduated UO and I was in her wedding (a child bride - she was just 21). Her husband plays beach volleyball and there is a big tournament at a beach in Oregon, so each year I would drive out to the coast to see her. A few years later she and her husband move to Anchorage for job opportunities. I get engaged and she comes back to be in my wedding. A few years after that we both end up pregnant at the same time. I had Nicholas in June, she had Hope in August. We had our 2nd babies just a few weeks apart as well. We're still in sync that way. I've seen her twice since having kids: at Hope's first birthday, and again last Christmas. That's not nearly often enough, if you ask me, but it's hard to see each other when we live 1000 miles apart!
But she's coming for a visit!! She leaves today, in fact. She and her family will be spending a few days back at the beach for the volleyball tournament, and a few days in Portland. I'm heading up there to see them next week. I'll be joining in on the 4th birthday celebration for her oldest daughter, Hope. I can't go to a party empty-handed, so I made a fun, cute little purse to give her:
Yes, this is Lauren clutching the purse wearing her t-shirt pajama's.
MP & kids, and Chick Friend & kids. The purse is for my friends' older daughter, Hope (standing on the chair). This photo is from our visit last Christmas. Lauren looks so little!
Do you think she'll like it? It's so simple, yet useful and colorful and just the right size for a little girl to hold something important inside. Lauren sure seems to like it.... what an endorsement right there! Anyway, if it isn't obvious, I'm greatly looking forward to seeing my dear friend again soon. We're meeting at Chuck E. Cheeses for the party - do you think Nicholas will survive or keel over in sheer delight? Chuck E. Cheese is sure to be his vision of heaven.
Ever since leaving for college we haven't been able to see each other very often. That makes me sad. She stayed in Seattle, I moved to California for awhile. Then back to Oregon. She got married right after I graduated UO and I was in her wedding (a child bride - she was just 21). Her husband plays beach volleyball and there is a big tournament at a beach in Oregon, so each year I would drive out to the coast to see her. A few years later she and her husband move to Anchorage for job opportunities. I get engaged and she comes back to be in my wedding. A few years after that we both end up pregnant at the same time. I had Nicholas in June, she had Hope in August. We had our 2nd babies just a few weeks apart as well. We're still in sync that way. I've seen her twice since having kids: at Hope's first birthday, and again last Christmas. That's not nearly often enough, if you ask me, but it's hard to see each other when we live 1000 miles apart!
But she's coming for a visit!! She leaves today, in fact. She and her family will be spending a few days back at the beach for the volleyball tournament, and a few days in Portland. I'm heading up there to see them next week. I'll be joining in on the 4th birthday celebration for her oldest daughter, Hope. I can't go to a party empty-handed, so I made a fun, cute little purse to give her:
Yes, this is Lauren clutching the purse wearing her t-shirt pajama's.
MP & kids, and Chick Friend & kids. The purse is for my friends' older daughter, Hope (standing on the chair). This photo is from our visit last Christmas. Lauren looks so little!
Do you think she'll like it? It's so simple, yet useful and colorful and just the right size for a little girl to hold something important inside. Lauren sure seems to like it.... what an endorsement right there! Anyway, if it isn't obvious, I'm greatly looking forward to seeing my dear friend again soon. We're meeting at Chuck E. Cheeses for the party - do you think Nicholas will survive or keel over in sheer delight? Chuck E. Cheese is sure to be his vision of heaven.
Tuesday, August 09, 2005
Sick Chick
My baby chick is sick. Lauren seems to have caught what's been going around. Poor thing - she's had a fever off and on for a few days, and last night the congestion set in. She hasn't been getting (needing?) very much sleep, either. Her disposition has been fine - no other signs that she's not feeling well other than, well, the fever. But she's been refusing to sleep in her crib, preferring, of course, to sleep between Mr. Chick and I. Therefore *I'm* not getting the best of sleep. Vicious circle. And oh boy, with the congestion comes the snoring, and my wee little girlie can put even her big, bad Daddy to shame in that department! Seriously - she saws some logs. But you can't nudge her to get her to roll over and quit the racket - that doesn't work on a 21 month old. Just grown-up men. She forced me onto the couch last night, what with all her kicking me in the head and snoring so loudly the curtains shook. But then she goes and falls asleep on my chest this morning for a rare morning nap and all is forgiven. You can't be grumpy when an angel is using you for her most-precious pillow.
Lauren turned 21 months old yesterday. We are a mere 3 months away from her 2nd birthday! She's getting so big - gone is my baby. She's trying so hard to use words we can understand! She's getting a bigger vocabulary everyday. She tries to say everything, but usually only manages the first sound of the word ("ha" is both hand and hat, for example). But the tone and emphasis differ, making it somewhat easier to decipher what she's trying to say. Context goes a long way at this stage of the game. So many kids are speaking in full sentances by now, but both of my kids seem to take longer to speak. But holy jabberjaws, Batman, once they get rolling there's no stopping them! Lauren has recently learned to say "no" clearly - oh joy, especially when she's saying no to a new clean diaper. She can also say "nose" - a subtle, yet important, distinction. She busted out a "sorry" the other day, much to my surprise. That's a good word to know. I hear "up!" a million +1 times a day. I find it interesting that she doesn't have a word - or even a consistent sound - for her most-favorite thing in the world: her brother. She can't make heads or tails out of "Nicholas" yet. Not even "nick". She strung her first 2-word sentance a week or so ago when she said "bye bye duck". That counts, right? Another new one for her is "pretty" (only it sounds more like "preh" when she says it). I comb her hair into some sort of ponytail everyday to keep it out of her eyes. She's very good about letting me do this, but tends to want to pull the clip out occasionally. Whenever I comb her hair I tell her she looks pretty, so she's says it, too. Then, when I catch her trying to pull her ponytail out I tell her, "no! don't ruin your pretty hair" and she stops, strokes her hair and says "preh" with a big smile on her face. I'm grooming vanity, it seems.
Lauren has always been very physical and will attempt to do anything her brother does. What he does and where he goes, so must she. As a result, she's been able to climb stuff that will stop my heart sometimes. Vertical rungs? No problem. Chain ladder at the park up to death-defying heights? Why not? Tall-ass slide that dates back to my childhood, that they probably banned for safety reasons? Let me scamper right up, Mom! Go for a ride on the merry-go-round with much older kids pushing it so fast that her body is but a blur? You betcha! She's fearless. Thankfully she's got a good sense of her physicality and depth perception - she rarely falls or gets hurt. And speaking of physicality, she's recently started telling us when she's filled her diaper. "poo poo!" with the all-important. accompanying pointing at her butt. It's not potty-training yet, but it's a start. She doesn't seem to feel the need to tell me of this urge before she fills her diaper, but is cognizant enough to share the news afterwards. She always has been, and continues to be, a very calm, happy, charming little girl. She has the most gorgeous, sparkling blue eyes and an adorable scattering of baby freckles across her nose. She gets the freckles from me - I'm covered. I douse her in sunscreen all the time, but she got them anyway - skin damage! They really are cute, despite the ominous cause, but I know she'll hate them someday. I picture her getting all Jan Brady about them - cursing their existance on her face and trying desperately to get rid of them by any means necessary. Lemon juice didn't work for Jan, but by the time Lauren reaches puberty I'm sure they'll be some sort of magic cream that will take care of those pesky freckles. So we'll have to enjoy them while we can, before she rids herself of them forever.
I love you, my little (sick) chick - happy 21 months!
Impish Lauren wearing my hat.
Lauren turned 21 months old yesterday. We are a mere 3 months away from her 2nd birthday! She's getting so big - gone is my baby. She's trying so hard to use words we can understand! She's getting a bigger vocabulary everyday. She tries to say everything, but usually only manages the first sound of the word ("ha" is both hand and hat, for example). But the tone and emphasis differ, making it somewhat easier to decipher what she's trying to say. Context goes a long way at this stage of the game. So many kids are speaking in full sentances by now, but both of my kids seem to take longer to speak. But holy jabberjaws, Batman, once they get rolling there's no stopping them! Lauren has recently learned to say "no" clearly - oh joy, especially when she's saying no to a new clean diaper. She can also say "nose" - a subtle, yet important, distinction. She busted out a "sorry" the other day, much to my surprise. That's a good word to know. I hear "up!" a million +1 times a day. I find it interesting that she doesn't have a word - or even a consistent sound - for her most-favorite thing in the world: her brother. She can't make heads or tails out of "Nicholas" yet. Not even "nick". She strung her first 2-word sentance a week or so ago when she said "bye bye duck". That counts, right? Another new one for her is "pretty" (only it sounds more like "preh" when she says it). I comb her hair into some sort of ponytail everyday to keep it out of her eyes. She's very good about letting me do this, but tends to want to pull the clip out occasionally. Whenever I comb her hair I tell her she looks pretty, so she's says it, too. Then, when I catch her trying to pull her ponytail out I tell her, "no! don't ruin your pretty hair" and she stops, strokes her hair and says "preh" with a big smile on her face. I'm grooming vanity, it seems.
Lauren has always been very physical and will attempt to do anything her brother does. What he does and where he goes, so must she. As a result, she's been able to climb stuff that will stop my heart sometimes. Vertical rungs? No problem. Chain ladder at the park up to death-defying heights? Why not? Tall-ass slide that dates back to my childhood, that they probably banned for safety reasons? Let me scamper right up, Mom! Go for a ride on the merry-go-round with much older kids pushing it so fast that her body is but a blur? You betcha! She's fearless. Thankfully she's got a good sense of her physicality and depth perception - she rarely falls or gets hurt. And speaking of physicality, she's recently started telling us when she's filled her diaper. "poo poo!" with the all-important. accompanying pointing at her butt. It's not potty-training yet, but it's a start. She doesn't seem to feel the need to tell me of this urge before she fills her diaper, but is cognizant enough to share the news afterwards. She always has been, and continues to be, a very calm, happy, charming little girl. She has the most gorgeous, sparkling blue eyes and an adorable scattering of baby freckles across her nose. She gets the freckles from me - I'm covered. I douse her in sunscreen all the time, but she got them anyway - skin damage! They really are cute, despite the ominous cause, but I know she'll hate them someday. I picture her getting all Jan Brady about them - cursing their existance on her face and trying desperately to get rid of them by any means necessary. Lemon juice didn't work for Jan, but by the time Lauren reaches puberty I'm sure they'll be some sort of magic cream that will take care of those pesky freckles. So we'll have to enjoy them while we can, before she rids herself of them forever.
I love you, my little (sick) chick - happy 21 months!
Impish Lauren wearing my hat.
Friday, August 05, 2005
Birth Control - Changes Ahead
I think I mentioned in a previous post that the Pill I'm currently taking is like the Hoover Dam's of birth control: nothing gets in and nothing comes out. That's right, my period is a big no-show, at least so far, again this cycle. I'm due to start the next new package on Monday, and so far I've had nothing but some moderate cramps. I checked the brand, and it's a Pill called Estrostep. It's working great on preventing pregnancy, but it's preventing normal menstruation as well. That can't be good. I mentioned to Mr. Chick last night that I'm giving serious thought to ditching the Pill altogether as of, well, now. He wasn't too sure he liked my suggestion. It would mean we'd be relying on condoms, and he's *ok* with that, but prefers not to. And really, it's only until he gets a job and therefore better health coverage than he gets as a student, and can go for the vasectomy. Soooo - we're talking 6 months or so on the outside? I can do condoms for that long if it means my body could get back to normal. Then he said, sort of inquiringly, what about an IUD? How much would one of those thingies cost? I've had friends who've done IUD's and some have loved them, but some have hated them. I'm not certain about getting an IUD - the jury is still out. I'm thinking 'NO" at this point, if he's still planning a vasectomy within the next year. I don't know. All I DO know is that taking the pill with all the hormones is messing me up physically and I'm ready for something different. My mother suggested that perhaps I'm "pre-menopausal", but I'm not down with that theory, either. I refuse to believe that at 35 I could be dealing with the beginnings of menopause, even though "they" say it's quite possible for that to start in your 30's. Whatever is happening, things are different with me now, post-kids and mid-30's, than they were before when I was still in my 20's and hadn't had kids. I need a new solution - fast. Mr. Chick and I agreed to table the discussion for now and re-visit it again in a few days. Like the day I'm supposed to start the new month of pills, I'll bet. We'll just see about that!
Wednesday, August 03, 2005
Guilty Pleasure
I have a confession. After all the hoopla surrounding the release of the most recent Harry Potter book, I'm finally reading the series. My nephew is bonkers for them and could NOT believe that neither I nor Nicholas had read even one. I read everything, but for some reason could not muster up any interest in reading Harry Potter. Maybe because the whole wide world seemed to be doing so, and therefore I would not. I'm that way with a few TV shows as well... anyway, last Friday I had a chance to get to the library ALONE - sans offspring - and checked out Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone. I felt like a criminal checking out a book from the children's section when I didn't have any children with me (and no wedding ring on my finger to make anyone believe, upon first glance, that I might have kids at home. Like that matters, but it's how I think. Living in my head can be quite interesting...) I read that damn book in 2 days. Granted, it's written for kids and is therefore a fast, fast read, but 2 days?! I flew through it. So on Monday I returned the book and checked out the next one, Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets. Today is Wednesday and I'll probably finish it tonight or tomorrow. I'm sick.
It's easy to see why kids get hooked on these books. They're richly written and paint vivid pictures of the fantastic magic world in which the characters live. It's certainly a nice change of pace from the endless readings of "The Disney Princess Stories" or "Button Soup", but it's no "The Lord of the Rings" trilogy. But I'm enjoying the stories nonetheless. They're fun, light, quick reads for summer, and they're easy to squeeze in between more adult-based fiction of my book club, which meets tonight (I hope I can go! Get home, Mr. Chick!) so we can discuss the Pulitzer Prize winning novel, "The Empire Grill". Excellent!
It's easy to see why kids get hooked on these books. They're richly written and paint vivid pictures of the fantastic magic world in which the characters live. It's certainly a nice change of pace from the endless readings of "The Disney Princess Stories" or "Button Soup", but it's no "The Lord of the Rings" trilogy. But I'm enjoying the stories nonetheless. They're fun, light, quick reads for summer, and they're easy to squeeze in between more adult-based fiction of my book club, which meets tonight (I hope I can go! Get home, Mr. Chick!) so we can discuss the Pulitzer Prize winning novel, "The Empire Grill". Excellent!
Monday, August 01, 2005
Idiot
Have I mentioned that I'm planning on going back to school and getting my Masters in Education so I can become a high school or middle school teacher? No? Well, that's my plan. Now that Mr. Chick is done with law school, it's my turn. I went to the library this weekend and checked out a couple of study prep books on the MSAT and Praxis tests that I'll need to take in order to apply to various programs. I just wanted to get a feel for what the tests are like and what sort of studying I'll have to do in order to get ready for the exams. Oh.My.God! I'm in trouble.
I'm not a stupid person - really, I'm not. But it's been a long-ass time since I've had to study for anything like this. I graduated from college with my B.S. in Business Administration (marketing and management were my majors) in 1992, people. 13 years ago. I've been a SAHM for the past 4+ years. My brain hasn't been stretched in awhile. I flipped through the MSAT book and landed on a page that had math questions. I read one that I should have been able to do, since I do cook, after all.
"A recipe for 36 slices of pizza calls for 2 2/3 cups of flour. You only want to make 12 slices of pizza. How much flour do you need?"
Ok, so I need to divide 2 2/3 by 1/3. Easy, right? Except that I couldn't, for the life of me, figure out HOW to do that! Do I convert the fractions to decimals? My brain hurt from the stain of trying to remember Junior High math.
"I make the 2 a fraction by adding a 1 to the bottom (2/1), but then do I add it to the 2/3's or multiply it? Shit!"
"once I figure THAT out, I need to divide it by 3. Or do I multiply it by 1/3? Oh my god, I'm an idiot! 2/1 = 6/3. + 2/3 = 8/3, right? 8/3 divided by 1/3 is...???" Really, I don't know.
And this is just ONE question of hundreds, covering subjects like European history, science (wavelengths & amplitudes, for pete's sake!), and of course math. Ask me about various parenting styles! Hell, ask me about pop culture - no sweat. But the difference between the Inca's and Maya's? The major themes of Andrew Jackson's presidency? I'm totally screwed.
I'm not a stupid person - really, I'm not. But it's been a long-ass time since I've had to study for anything like this. I graduated from college with my B.S. in Business Administration (marketing and management were my majors) in 1992, people. 13 years ago. I've been a SAHM for the past 4+ years. My brain hasn't been stretched in awhile. I flipped through the MSAT book and landed on a page that had math questions. I read one that I should have been able to do, since I do cook, after all.
"A recipe for 36 slices of pizza calls for 2 2/3 cups of flour. You only want to make 12 slices of pizza. How much flour do you need?"
Ok, so I need to divide 2 2/3 by 1/3. Easy, right? Except that I couldn't, for the life of me, figure out HOW to do that! Do I convert the fractions to decimals? My brain hurt from the stain of trying to remember Junior High math.
"I make the 2 a fraction by adding a 1 to the bottom (2/1), but then do I add it to the 2/3's or multiply it? Shit!"
"once I figure THAT out, I need to divide it by 3. Or do I multiply it by 1/3? Oh my god, I'm an idiot! 2/1 = 6/3. + 2/3 = 8/3, right? 8/3 divided by 1/3 is...???" Really, I don't know.
And this is just ONE question of hundreds, covering subjects like European history, science (wavelengths & amplitudes, for pete's sake!), and of course math. Ask me about various parenting styles! Hell, ask me about pop culture - no sweat. But the difference between the Inca's and Maya's? The major themes of Andrew Jackson's presidency? I'm totally screwed.
Nervous
Ever make a leap of faith? I have, and I'm getting nervous. While I was in Portland last week I took my wedding/engagement ring to the jeweler from whom we bought it originally. This is a highly-reputable store who has been in business for generations. They tend to cater to the upper-crust types. My ring was a "designer" ring, so each time we had some work done on it, from the original setting of the center stone (which Mr. Chick bought separately from a different retailer - he got a better deal), to getting it sized, to having the wedding band and engagement rings soldered together, the ring was sent down to the designers studio in California. The jewelry store itself farms out the work - they don't do any of the work onsite. So each time it takes a week or more that I'm without my most-precious piece of jewelry: my wedding ring. I'm naked without it.
Except we've had a few sketchy entanglements with both the store and the designer (Judith Conway). When Mr. Chick and I first selected my engagement ring, it had to be sized and the center diamond had to be set into the ring. It was sent to the designer's studio and we waited. A couple of weeks later it was ready and Mr. Chick gave it to me. Happy, happy day, right? Wrong. It was the wrong size: too big. So it had to be sent back - another couple of weeks. When it was ready we went together to pick it up and the ring was 1) now too small and 2) bungled. It's a cathedral setting, meaning the sides rise up to the top edge of the center stone. Those sides are platinum and have channel-set diamonds in them. The sides were uneven and skewed. It wasn't ok. So it had to be sent back AGAIN. ANOTHER week+ of waiting for my ring. As a newly-engaged woman, these delays were agony. I just wanted my damn ring! Mr. Chick complained - loudly - and we received a decent store credit for our "trouble". We have used that credit over the years to have the ring re-sized, again, because my fingers got fatter after having Nicholas (I should have just kept the original size they first did for me. Harrumph. Live and learn.) We got the two rings soldered together as well (my wedding band was something I designed myself to partner with my engagement ring. It was not a "set" originally, but I really wanted both a wedding ring and an engagement ring, separately. My engagement ring was initially a "stand-alone" design.)
Each time I've gone back for whatever reason, they've had difficulty finding me in their computer. I don't know why. They've always found me eventually, usually by searching on past addresses (we've moved a few times since getting married, so it's a stretch of my mommy-brain to remember these addresses sometimes!). But this time the guy couldn't find me. Bless his heart, he tried. I have given him ALL the prior addresses we've had, all the various spellings/misspellings of our name, everything. But he could NOT find us. He claims - swears - the records go back over 15 years in the computer, but we're not to be found. You see, we should still have a *little* credit left, and I was hoping to use that credit towards getting my new bigger diamond set into my ring. So now they have my ring AND my loose diamond. I told him that it was a Judith Conway design, but he called me to say that whatever mark that studio puts on their rings is not on mine. He didn't want to send it down to them if it wasn't their design. It took him several days to verify that yes, my ring is from Judith Conway (geez!). He called and asked us if we had a receipt that might give an account number or something - anything - that could help him locate the documentation on my ring. We do, but the numbers I left on his voice mail apparently were wrong or something because they didn't help him. I have scanned the receipt and emailed it to him today, but it's hard to clearly scan a carbon receipt....
So anyway, here it is nearly a week after I dropped off my most valuable and important piece of jewelry I'll ever own, plus a big loose diamond, and nothing. The guy I'm working with is a nice guy and he's being very responsive, but I'm getting VERY NERVOUS that something has or will go wrong. I just feel it. Too many things are fishy. They can't find us in their system. The designers mark is missing from my ring. It takes a while to send it to California certified or registered or whatever. It'll probably get lost. And really, all I want at this point is a stupid quote of what it will cost to have the new diamond set as the center stone. It will require some work to move the cathedral sides of the ring, so I want a cost estimate. If it's too much money, we'll wait for another time or find someone else who can do it. These guys can't even provide me a quote without having to send it off to California for the designer to look at it first. How silly. So now I wait. Restlessly. With visions of terrible things happening to my pretty ring. I know it's *just* a ring and not, say, a person who hangs in the balance, but wouldn't you be nervous if this were YOUR wedding ring we're talking about. I thought so.
Except we've had a few sketchy entanglements with both the store and the designer (Judith Conway). When Mr. Chick and I first selected my engagement ring, it had to be sized and the center diamond had to be set into the ring. It was sent to the designer's studio and we waited. A couple of weeks later it was ready and Mr. Chick gave it to me. Happy, happy day, right? Wrong. It was the wrong size: too big. So it had to be sent back - another couple of weeks. When it was ready we went together to pick it up and the ring was 1) now too small and 2) bungled. It's a cathedral setting, meaning the sides rise up to the top edge of the center stone. Those sides are platinum and have channel-set diamonds in them. The sides were uneven and skewed. It wasn't ok. So it had to be sent back AGAIN. ANOTHER week+ of waiting for my ring. As a newly-engaged woman, these delays were agony. I just wanted my damn ring! Mr. Chick complained - loudly - and we received a decent store credit for our "trouble". We have used that credit over the years to have the ring re-sized, again, because my fingers got fatter after having Nicholas (I should have just kept the original size they first did for me. Harrumph. Live and learn.) We got the two rings soldered together as well (my wedding band was something I designed myself to partner with my engagement ring. It was not a "set" originally, but I really wanted both a wedding ring and an engagement ring, separately. My engagement ring was initially a "stand-alone" design.)
Each time I've gone back for whatever reason, they've had difficulty finding me in their computer. I don't know why. They've always found me eventually, usually by searching on past addresses (we've moved a few times since getting married, so it's a stretch of my mommy-brain to remember these addresses sometimes!). But this time the guy couldn't find me. Bless his heart, he tried. I have given him ALL the prior addresses we've had, all the various spellings/misspellings of our name, everything. But he could NOT find us. He claims - swears - the records go back over 15 years in the computer, but we're not to be found. You see, we should still have a *little* credit left, and I was hoping to use that credit towards getting my new bigger diamond set into my ring. So now they have my ring AND my loose diamond. I told him that it was a Judith Conway design, but he called me to say that whatever mark that studio puts on their rings is not on mine. He didn't want to send it down to them if it wasn't their design. It took him several days to verify that yes, my ring is from Judith Conway (geez!). He called and asked us if we had a receipt that might give an account number or something - anything - that could help him locate the documentation on my ring. We do, but the numbers I left on his voice mail apparently were wrong or something because they didn't help him. I have scanned the receipt and emailed it to him today, but it's hard to clearly scan a carbon receipt....
So anyway, here it is nearly a week after I dropped off my most valuable and important piece of jewelry I'll ever own, plus a big loose diamond, and nothing. The guy I'm working with is a nice guy and he's being very responsive, but I'm getting VERY NERVOUS that something has or will go wrong. I just feel it. Too many things are fishy. They can't find us in their system. The designers mark is missing from my ring. It takes a while to send it to California certified or registered or whatever. It'll probably get lost. And really, all I want at this point is a stupid quote of what it will cost to have the new diamond set as the center stone. It will require some work to move the cathedral sides of the ring, so I want a cost estimate. If it's too much money, we'll wait for another time or find someone else who can do it. These guys can't even provide me a quote without having to send it off to California for the designer to look at it first. How silly. So now I wait. Restlessly. With visions of terrible things happening to my pretty ring. I know it's *just* a ring and not, say, a person who hangs in the balance, but wouldn't you be nervous if this were YOUR wedding ring we're talking about. I thought so.
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