January 22nd, 2011 | No Comments »
  • morning
  • waking up in a cozy, comfortable bed
  • a brand new day
  • a hot cup of tea (builder’s tea)
  • being part of a big, wondrous family
  • watching my children sleep
  • snuggling with my kids
  • romping with my kids
  • a day off
  • gazing  through my window and seeing trees and sky
Posted in me, mundane, thankfulness
August 7th, 2010 | 2 Comments »

The other day while my cleaning girl was cleaning (yes, I indulge in hiring out, and am tickled beyond all reason to say that I haven’t cleaned a toilet in over two years…   ..TWO YEARS!!!!   …and no, she doesn’t do as great a job as I would, were I to be doing the cleaning, but I’m okay with that since it’s SO nice that it’s not me wielding the scrubber) I noticed the vacuum cleaner was making a terrible loud noise.  I checked the usual suspects – belt, hose, bag – and came up with nothing.  It was still sucking, so I let it go.

Then, after returning from a fantastic week of vacation during which many small and large bodies filled cracks and crevices in my car with beach sand, twigs, pebbles and all manner of flotsam and jetsam, I decided to [*gasp*] clean the car.  I fired up the vacuum cleaner and the noise was unbearably loud, and after a very short time, a hot smell emerged.  Crap.  Definitely something was wrong with it.  Which completely sidetracked my car-cleaning mojo.

Thanks to the wonder of modern technology (and high speed internet, coupled with a myriad of helpful folks out there who like to post how-to information for various and sundry reasons) I quickly learned that the observed symptoms were likely due to a broken fan.  It’s very easy to confirm — just remove the front piece and take a look.

yep, that's the fan, and yep, it's broken

Voila!  Confirmed (note large black region where fan blades used to be).

The next step was to find a replacement part.  We have the wonder of eBay for that.

one can find anything on eBay

Sometimes eBay is fantastic.  In this case, I got the part I needed plus a bonus spare belt, all shipped directly to my home for under $20.  No schlepping around the city looking for a repair shop that stocks Kirby parts (and sells them at full retail prices, because they can).

Next, with the aforementioned helpful information at my fingertips, I set about the replacement.

gaining access

off with the old

on with the new

good as new

tools of the trade and spoils of war

In the meantime, I still went to Costco and bought another vacuum cleaner.  Just in case.  It’s still in the box.  Oreck pro something or other.  I might do a vacuum comparison and see how well it performs.  Maybe I’ll retire my Kirby.  I was suckered by the door-to-door salesman, oh, fifteen or twenty years ago.  It has held up, until now.  Not that I’d say that makes it worth the king’s ransom that it cost.

Anyway.  Bottom line?  I am woman, hear me roar!  Isn’t there a song that goes something like, “anything he can do I can do better”?  Well, that’s me!  Take that, non-existent male counterpart.  Who needs you anyway?

June 13th, 2010 | 5 Comments »

Oi.  To begin, I had a child free day and the sun was shining brightly.  I busted out my new air compressor, read the manual, followed the instructions, let it make terrible noise for fifteen minutes in the garage while it was doing its initial thing that is supposed to be done upon first use of a new air compressor, and scratched my head trying to figure out the attachments and fittings, as they didn’t come with instructions.  Being intuitively obvious, and all.  Don’t laugh.  I’ve never done it before.  But I figured it out and successfully inflated the tires on my bike. I didn’t follow the shut down procedure, since I decided I’d take the bike for a ride to see if the tires were still good, or if they’d need re-inflating.

It’s been probably three years since I’ve ridden, because I couldn’t ride with LB when he was a baby due to his spine problem.

I was enjoying a nice ride along a nearby trail, when the helmet started giving me trouble, so I reached up to hold it while going too fast around a bend, and biff-boom-bam, this forty five year old woman skidded very unceremoniously across the pavement.  Not fun.  Not fun at all.  My jeans protected my leg for the most part, and I actually road burned and bruised my boob, all the way through the layers of my bra and t-shirt combined.  Good grief.  Who ever road burns their boobs?

you shoulda seen the other guy...

...you should have seen the other guy...

woulda been worse without jeans

...would have been worse without jeans...

Actually, part of the leg burn is from a previous encounter with the pavement when I tripped over BB while carrying LB.  Nice.  I’ve had three glorious spills in a relatively short time, after a nearly lifetime span of no spills.  It makes me wonder…   I *am* glad that I didn’t have LB with me — I’d be horrified to crash with him aboard.  But I wouldn’t have been going fast if I had him aboard.  Even so.  I need to be much more careful.

Truth be told, I *was* a bit traumatized by the wreck.  I still haven’t actually inspected my bike to see what damage it sustained.  I was sitting on the couch, trying to regain my composure, when I heard a very loud bang from the garage.

BANG!

As I ran to the garage, my first thought was OMG, I didn’t follow the shut down procedure on my air compressor and it’s blown up!  Followed shortly by, you idiot, it couldn’t possibly have blown up, for goodness’ sake.  Followed thereafter by, WTH *was* that?  So, I confirmed that the air compressor was indeed intact.  Check.  Unplugged it.  Check.  Surveyed the garage.  Tried the garage door opener.  Aha.  Something was amiss.  It would try to open, and then give up.  I pulled the dangling cord, which it turns out is a safety/quick release thingy for manual operation, but then didn’t know what to do to re-engage it.  Bah.  Don’t laugh.  I’ve never done this before.  I got the manual out, read it, and learned how to re-engage the safety, and to run the diagnostic.  Only the diagnostic didn’t diagnose anything.  And the thing wouldn’t work.  And my car was inside.  And I was supposed to collect my kids shortly.  So I pulled the cord again and tried to lift the door.  Holy CRAP, that’s a heavy door.  And it wouldn’t catch and stay open, so it was a very hazardous door.  Bah!  I got a step ladder to prop it open, but it wasn’t tall enough for my car to clear, so I had to get my whiz bang extension ladder thingy and adjust it so that it could prop open the door, and maneuver the other ladder out while maneuvering the taller ladder in, all without hurting myself.  Mission accomplished.  Remember, I’m sporting my fresh flesh wounds, so this whole endeavor was strenuous and unpleasant.

Anyhow, after getting my car out, putting the garage door back, and consulting my friend Google, I learned that there are two torsion springs and they have a limited life span and one had just expired.  So the big bang was the spring breaking.  It felt good to have an explanation.  It calmed me down considerably.  Truth be told, though, my first impulse was to call a man.  But I could only think of Gadget and Skills while in that state of mind, and the last person in the world I want to talk to is Gadget, especially after yesterday’s fine turn of events, and seeking help from Skills would have been awkward, though he might possibly have answered had I called, and he might have even helped.  I decided to man up, get over my sexist impulse and see how far I could get on my own.  And I managed.  Afterward, I thought of at least three coworkers who I’m sure would have helped right away, had I had the presence of mind to call them.  But I managed.

So.  There it is.  I would rather not have to trouble my pretty little head with figuring things like this out, and I’d rather not get my pretty little hands all dirty and greasy and grimy, and get myself all sweaty and bruised and cut.  I’d so much rather be a girly girl!

But sometimes a girl does what a girl’s got to do.

Tags:
Posted in adventures, mundane
December 29th, 2009 | 2 Comments »

My garage door opener is acting up.  As is my coffee machine.  As is my bathroom light.  I wonder if they are on the same circuit?  Unlikely.

Yesterday I couldn’t get my garage door to open.  My front door has a deadbolt lock and an extra security bolt that is always, always engaged.  For security.  But when the garage door won’t open, and one needs to enter the house, what can one do?  There is the third bay for which I actually have a key, but Gadget’s got it so jam packed full of crap that there is absolutely no way to enter.  Hopefully he’ll clear that out soon enough, but for now, it’s of no help.  I might also mention that the electrical panel is on the far wall of that bay, so there will be no repairing of faulty light switches for the time being.

We have a fenced back with locked access gates.  Luckily, the lock was not engaged, so I was able to make it to the back yard and begin scoping the windows in hopes that I’d left one unlocked and unbarred.  We have wood blocks in the window tracks as an added security measure.  All this security.  The stars must have been in alignment, because there was, in fact, an unlocked and unblocked window.  Granted, I destroyed the window screen in my zeal.  Okay, two window screens.  I was thrilled to get in, but also felt vulnerable, wondering how long that window had been left in that state.  I immediately locked it, then went to investigate the garage door situation.  The main controller worked perfectly (opened the door), so what did I do?  I went outside and tried the outside controller again.  It worked!  Yes, it closed the door.  But would it open again?  No.  NO!  Did I mention that I had just locked myself out?  IDIOT.

I scoped the house again, to no avail.  I kept trying the controller, to no avail.  I tried the outside wall controller.  I tried the remote.  I tried the built in car remote.  Nothing.  I kept pushing buttons, and finally, FINALLY, the door opened.  By the grace of God.  I immediately unbolted the front door’s security bolt, so that I could let myself in WITH MY KEY, if I should lock myself out again.  And commenced troubleshooting the garage door system.  Again.  I couldn’t get the remotes to work again, after that.

The antenna is clearly visible.  The main controller works fine.  The sensors are aligned.  One might think perhaps the remote is in need of a new battery, but all three?  The car remote is integrated with the car itself, and would not be low on power.   They should be independent of each other, so that a low battery in one shouldn’t affect them all.  What then?  I’m at a loss.

And today?  So far, it seems to be working normally.

I’m keeping the upper bolt open, though.  Just in case.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Meanwhile.  I’m on vacation.  I have a week off.  Before the week began, the prospect of a week seemed like wealth untold.  Now, I have four days left and I feel like it’s over before it began.  I’ve been watching TV on DVD, late at night, after the kids are asleep.  Mad Men, seasons 1 and 2.  Drama.  It caught my attention and I enjoyed it.  Arrested Development.  I’m working on season 2.  That one makes me laugh out loud now and then.  I can use that!

I took BB to see Avatar at the IMAX, in 3D last week.  It was amazing.  It was the first time I’d taken him to the thee-AY-doe (theater), and my heart just swelled when I’d see him reaching his hand out into space to try to touch the 3D images.  It was such a special treat, to go to the big screen.  At least, I wanted it to be a magical thing for him.  I know that I would have loved to have had such a treat in my own youth.  I actually almost want to go back and see it again, alone, so I can immerse myself in it more, rather than watch my boy watching it.  It was amazing, what I did see, but I was distracted, watching him.  He did great for a nearly 5 year old.  He was fidgety after the first hour, but he behaved himself.  I’m proud of him.

This morning I saw Sherlock Holmes with Robert Downey, Jr. and Jude Law.  It was fun.  I enjoyed it.  I love RDJ, anyway.  He’s fun to watch.

I’m thinking about going to see New Moon, before my week is up.  I’m feeling a bit movied out, yet may not have a window of opportunity again for quite some time.  I’m planning to visit the art museum on Wednesday, and have to take LB in for his second half of his H1N1 shot on Thursday. Friday is New Year’s day, and that’s the end of the week.  Over, just like that.  I had grand plans of movies, books, window shopping and coffee shops.  Maybe I can squeeze something in on Thursday, after the doctor visit.

I’m not very good at relaxing.

Posted in adventures, mundane, tv/film
September 11th, 2009 | 5 Comments »

I’ve got loads of work to do, but am so, so tired.  I just can’t bear it right now.  I end up feeling anxious because the load is looming, but I have to remind myself that in the grand scheme of things, it will get done, and the world will keep on spinning.  It doesn’t have to get done this instant.

I’m referring to the day job.   I don’t have nearly as much trouble procrastinating when it comes to the rest- of- the- day- job.  I’ve got back-burner projects that have been on simmer for ages now.  I get the important things done.  The clothes get washed, the meals get prepared, the dishes get washed.  The boys get tucked in to bed.  I get a shower every now and then.

I had a three day exercise streak last week in which I managed to drop by the gym on my way home from the office.  Then Gadget got called out of town so I had to give up the gym in order to pick up the kids in time from daycare.  Late fees are very steep.

Gadget’s dad passed away a few weeks ago.  He was 87 and ready to go.  There was a flurry of coordinating family gatherings and preparing for the memorial.  He was a neat man, and we will miss him.  LB is named in part after him, and I’m proud of that.  The circumstances were sad, but the family gatherings were so nice.  I got to meet Gadget’s twin brother, who lives in New York and hasn’t seen his sibs for 15 years, and hadn’t seen some of the older sibs for 25 years!  It was sort of intriguing to observe the (fraternal) twin and get a chuckle out of the similar looks, expressions and mannerisms.  There were late nights with a room full of brothers playing guitars and singing, and they had good appetites and gobbled everything down that I made, which made me feel very happy.  Gadget says things like, “What in God’s green earth prompted you to buy pulled pork?” instead of, “Wow, pulled pork is quite delicious in tacos.”  His brothers were always thanking me and complimenting me on the delicious food.  Of course, their respective domestic partnerships may have contributed to their level of gratitude.  And similarly Gadget’s level of take- it- for- grantedness.  It felt great to feel appreciated, while it lasted.

My niece had her son at 31 weeks, the day before LB’s birthday, due to toxemia.  He was 2lbs 4oz.  Both mama and baby are fine, thank God, and the baby is breathing on his own!  He’ll be in the NICU for a while, but he’s growing and putting on weight.

I finally got to meet another niece’s son last week, who is now 2.  He’s a miracle boy, born with hydrocephalus.  He’s amazing to see, really.  He’s doing SO WELL!  He is a trooper.  Cognitively, he seems fine.  Physically, he’s a bit delayed, but everything works, and he’s figuring it out.  Truly, he’s a miracle boy.  His sister is BB’s age, and is as sharp as a tack.  She talks circles around BB.  She’s got an amazing vocabulary.  Granted, BB’s a brute, but he seems to be a smart boy, so she’s a super-duper smarty.   They were playing a game where one was supposed to cover their eyes while the other hid an object.  When the item was hidden, the hider would say, ” Ready or not, here I come, peekaboo!”  How cute is that?  BB had a hard time not peeking, and when he was the hider, he would tell her where to look.  Suspense is not his thing.  Silly goose.  Bless his heart.

I seem to have pulled a back muscle in my sleep.  If I turn or move just right, it takes my breath away.  Hrumph.

LB has developed separation anxiety.  When I drop him off at daycare, he flails his body and screams and spouts tears.  I remember BB did this also, but don’t remember how long it lasted.  Hopefully not long.

In the world of corporate takeovers, Gadget and his boss did such a good job shutting down the last warehouse that they’ve been asked to take care of the rest of the warehouse closures across the country.  That’s good for him, in that it helps elevate him in the eyes of the new company (which hopefully means he will get to keep his job), and gives him some bachelor time, but bad for me in that it leaves me a single mom.  Although, somehow I managed to take care of everything and then some, while he was gone.  Go figure.  Maybe I’ll take a couple of days off the next time leaves, and go visit my sister.

Lordy, I need a vacation.

January 12th, 2009 | 4 Comments »
  • Perhaps I’ll start weaning at 6 months.  EPing is a one-day-at-a-time thing.  Perhaps by six months I’ll be in some kind of a groove where I’ll be happy to continue.  Perhaps not.  The wake up at midnight sessions are brutal, especially when I have to get up for real at 5:30.  Every day I run through mental calculations of how much I need, how much I can store, how long it will last, how much it will take to just sustain, and so on and so forth.  Luckily I’ve found a forum/community of other EPers; women who are just as, if not more, neurotic than I am over this whole lactation gig.  If I do continue the current rate of production, and the current rate of consumption remains the same as well, I can go until 8 months and have enough stash to coast through the remaining 4 months.  That’s my lofty goal, and it’s 4 months less pumping than I went through with BB, so surely I can do this.  Surely?  Except I may not have enough freezer space.  In which case I go back to recalculating.  As I do.  Every. Single. Day.
  • I’m thinking more and more of that Zoloft, waiting patiently in my pantry, calling to me ever so softly.
  • Part of my problem, I’m nearly certain, is the lack of sunshine in my neck of the woods.  According to climateZONE , we have 308 cloudy and partly cloudy days a year, and 155 days with precipitation.  Oi.  Recently, way too much precipitation.  The flooding has been crazy.  So many people have lost their homes and possessions.  So many roads are damaged.  It’s awful.  Why do I live here?  Oh.  My job.  And those 57 sunny days, that are simply stunning.
  • Last week was very hard on me.
  • I’m doing much better this week.  I’m handling the daycare-wrenching-my-children-from-my-loving-embrace thing, and thankful for a little autonomy, even.
  • I’ve lost a blanket.  I don’t know HOW I could have managed such a feat, but I have.  I’ve looked everywhere (except of course where it is, wherever that may be).  Of course it’s my favorite.
  • Tonight I plan to make pork chops, and cook enough to last for the next three days, as I will be too tired from the office and commute to cook.  By Thursday, or even Wednesday, Gadget will probably be making excuses not to partake.
  • If it weren’t up to me, we’d live on pizza, pasta, and enchiladas.  I really should not give in so much, and just make what I like and tell them to “like it or lump it.”  That’s what my mother told us when we made complaints about the menu.
  • I love love LOVE those donation trucks that come by and take away all the crappe I don’t want anymore stuff I leave on my front porch.  (It’s not all junk.  A lot is almost new, maybe worn only once, such as my ‘nursing’ clothes — the mama pajamas with matching baby jammies, and all the nursing-friendly tops.  I had high hopes.  At least I didn’t spend a fortune on nursing bras.)  BB is very lucky that the toys I confiscated yesterday didn’t end up in that truck.  They’re in purgatory, for the time being.  If he doesn’t notice they’ve gone, then they will shortly disappear for good, but if he does notice, then he will have to earn them back.  I was SO tempted to put them out on the porch with the other things, though.
  • LB’s hair has grown long enough to overcome its natural tendency to spike, so he looks completely different.  He’s not my fuzzy monkey any more.  But he’s still my snugglebear.  My snugglebear with what looks like the beginning of a molar protruding from the side of his upper left gum.  My slobber-faced snugglebear.
  • I am still plagued by the phantom and nearly constant smell of second-hand smoke.  I’m the only one affected, and it’s driving me batty.
  • In an effort to assuage the above, I’ve just pumped two reservoirs full of saline solution through my sinuses, using my Grossan tip thingy.  Now I feel dizzy, as one does, when one is not accustomed to having clear sinuses.
  • Why is dinner time such a struggle with a 4-yr old?  Oh.  Because he’s four.  Where is that Zoloft?
January 8th, 2009 | 2 Comments »

Finding the bright side

I really like being at the office, in the flesh.  I like seeing the people, walking down the hallways exchanging hellos, sitting at my desk and hearing the buzz around me.  It’s a boost.

I like that LB is such a laid back little boy.  He’s happy to see me when we get home, and he doesn’t appear to hold anything against being left with a caregiver all day.  I hold him and he stands on his strong little legs and gives me that, -I’m the coolest thing ever- look.  He is just so pleased with himself and his new discovery that he can use his legs for more than kicking, and it’s literally written all over his face.  I love that.  LOVE IT.

I like that, since LB is an every other day pooper, and generally a daytime pooper, I have very few poopy diapers to contend with.  Nice!

Daycare is frighteningly expensive, and I’m still getting used to the thought of it, but I can afford it, so I’m grateful.  The part about having to pay for it whether or not we actually go still bothers me, but I have to remember that our caregiver’s living depends on contracted service, and it’s not her fault if the roads are flooded or frozen or otherwise impassable.  Also, if we didn’t contract, then we wouldn’t be guaranteed placement, and that could be far worse.

Even if all this adjustment makes me dry up (the supply has plummeted this week, which in itself freaks me out which then causes it to dwindle further; it’s a horrible, vicious cycle -I was three ounces short in just one pumping session, this morning, which is SUBSTANTIAL), it won’t be the end of the world to have to switch to formula, and I can still be grateful that my baby has gotten over 4 months of breast milk and all its benefits.  I still hope I can recover (which is why I’m spending all this time trying to think of the bright side of things and get my head into a better place).

The yin

(Why is it that the negative and dark yin is the feminine attribute, whereas the positive and light yang is the masculine?)

The other morning while I was getting everything ready (even though I’d gotten as much ready the previous night as possible, there is still a lot to do in a morning before getting out the door), BB kept asking, -Mommy, why are you running so fast everywhere?-

I tried a new tactic of feeding LB as much as possible just before I went to bed, to try and hold him through the night.  He would only take 5 ounces, and by morning there was a smell to the remaining 2-3 ounces, so I had to dump it.  I can’t say how wrenching it is to have to dump that substance for which I work so hard and sacrifice so much!  Maybe it was still okay, but normally I can barely detect only the slightest sweet scent, and I’d rather not take any chances.

Part of me wouldn’t be too heartbroken to wean at this point, but the better part of me is concerned about the hormonal effects and the appetite effects.  I’m a bit leery of sending myself into a psychological tailspin by rocking the hormonal boat, since I can feel myself teetering as is.  And as far as appetite goes, I’d hate to find myself sustaining a large appetite without having my body work some of it off in the milk factory.  I’ve put on some belly fat since having LB, and am somewhat afraid of exacerbating the condition.  Okay, terrified.

There is also a part of me that wonders if this stubborn and neurotic obsession with lactation is hurting my developing relationship with my child.  If I weren’t obsessing so much, would I be snuggling with him more?

In need of a paradigm shift

Paradigm in itself is a good word, but it’s been so abused in corporate circles that it is forever tarnished. Tarnished or not, I am in need of a paradigm shift.

It’s hardly the norm any more for women to be (just the) homemakers and men to be (just the) breadwinners, yet somehow it’s been etched in my mind that this is the ideal, the way it’s supposed to be (even with those commercials in the 70s where the woman, hear her roar, sings -I can bring home the bacon, fry it up in the pan…Because I’m a woman, W-O-M-A-N…-)   And because of this, I have a tendency to resent the fact that I am the main breadwinner, when I should celebrate that there has been no glass ceiling for me.  I envy those women who get to be SAHMs in this day and age, or, gasp, SAHWs, yet at the same time I feel guilty that I am out in the paid work force eking out a living, as though I should give it up and buck it up and just find a way to live with the one (lesser) income, because I’m a mother and should be home with my children.  I tend to fall into the thought pattern that if I weren’t the main breadwinner, maybe I’d have more of a choice to be a SAHM.  Hence the resentment.  Poor Gadget.  He’s good at what he does, and he’d be a terrible SAHD.  Truly, the essence of this narcissistic spiral is that deep down I just want to be a princess, dammit, and spend my time leisurely kissing the children (while the nanny does the work), playing the spinet, and sipping tea from the finest translucent porcelain while my dear husband dotes on me and lavishes me with lovely gowns and jewels.

Then, because I happen to like my work, I feel even guiltier, because when it comes down to it, I get cabin fever when trapped home all day, and crave exposure with more people.  So I can’t win for losing, what with the tangled mess that is my mind.

I need to make peace with the fact of being a career woman.  I need to find a way to convince myself that it doesn’t make me less of a mother.

It may be PPD trying to get its grip on me.  I suppose, if I’d read through the convoluted diatribe I’ve just written, I’d concede that it HAS taken root, and just bust out my Zoloft, for God’s sake.

October 17th, 2008 | 3 Comments »

(Hello again, Gorgeous Boy!)

Counting today, I have three week days of leave remaining, and I find myself teetering on the brink of anxiety.  So there are things that I try to remind myself:

  • there will always be laundry to wash, dry, fold, and put away
  • there will always be dishes to wash, dry, and put away
  • there will always be groceries to buy and meals to plan and prepare
  • there will always be bills to pay, accounts to reconcile, errands to be run
  • there will always be work to do
  • there will not always be a teeny tiny snuggly baby to have and to hold

This helps me put things in perspective, when I begin to panic, wondering where the time has gone and find that my days are consumed with mostly mundane things, and that soon I will have to add to each day several hours of computer working time.  It’s not that I won’t have time for all that I have now.  I will just have to rearrange the manner in which I do things.  I spend a good amount of time each day pumping, and concurrently on the computer.  Soon I’ll be doing bona fide work during much of this time, so that should have little impact to the overall picture.  I’ll just be adding a few more hours to this.

Rather than be anxious and wistful that my leave is coming to an end, I should stop and smell the roses.  I should see the forest and the trees.  I should savor the teeny tiny snuggly baby times, because they are fleeting.

That being said, I love the middle of the night feedings the best.  My precious LB is mostly asleep and not fighting himself or me, and takes the bottle with little or no fuss.  When I pick him up he draws his little legs up to his body like a froggie, and I snuggle him close and listen to his funny rythmic feeding sounds, which are somewhere between a very softly braying donkey and a very softly honking goose.  I need to capture that sound!  Rather than try to sleep through the night, I’ve decided to do a pumping session between 2 and 4 a.m., as I’ve learned that there tends to be more milk during this time.  I feed him prior to pumping, so I’m awake enough to savor the time, aware of the smile on my face as I hear those funny sounds and feel the warmth of his tiny body snuggled close to mine.  It’s a magical, fleeting time that I treasure to the utmost.

As for everything else, I must try not to panic.  There is time for all of it.  It’s just life being lived.

June 20th, 2008 | 1 Comment »

The nice thing about living with someone who used to be an appliance repairman, is that I can call him up at 2:30 in the afternoon and tell him that the schmancy expensive front loader washing machine broke during a spin cycle, because it got off balance and galloped impressively and terrifyingly across the laundry room floor, eventually overcoming the strength of the latch and flinging the door open (takes deep breath) and he will say, because he’s a man of few words, “Okay.”

And, by 3:45 p.m. he’s home, with the required part in hand, and by 4 p.m., one can hear the sounds of a machine going through various operational modes.  And by 4:09 p.m. he will peek his head in the office and nod when I ask if it’s fixed.

The only flip side, is that now that he’s no longer an official appliance repair man, he doesn’t have as easy access to these troublesome parts that tend to need replacing.  Back in the day, he’d save bits and pieces that were scraps from other repair jobs, but that had good parts on them that he knew we might one day need, and that way we’d have them for free.  This way, the silly little latch cost us a hundred bucks.  But at least I don’t have to pay for a technician and service call, which would be another hundred and forty or so.

Sometimes he’s worth having around.  😉

And I really do love him, in spite of the whinges that I normally post.

Posted in marriage, mundane
May 23rd, 2008 | 4 Comments »

There have been many times in my life in which a discovery like this might have put me in a foul mood.

Especially if it happened to be found in a load of our best whites – you know, the expensive plush turkish spa bath sheets, and my brand new white pants and summer shirt. Of course it didn’t manifest itself in the load of darks. No, that wouldn’t be nearly so interesting.

Surprisingly enough, to both myself and the man I married, I shrugged it off. Of course, I did leave the pen fragments on the kitchen counter before I left home, so that he would see them when he got home. I had things to do, and no time to work out a damage control plan, but I was somewhat curious as to what his reaction might be. After all, there are only three people living in this household, and I’m quite certain that instrument of destruction did not originate with me or the wild child. So.

I did receive a somewhat sheepish phone call, but there was only the slightest hint of sheepishness. No apologies. Very few words. And I continued to surprise myself. In days past I would stew and remain irritated for days at the laziness, stupidity, and irresponsibility that could cause such a thing. But not now. And I’m not even on Zoloft any more. It’s a wonder of wonders.

All part of a new me.

…Carefree…

…Young(er)…

!!

So, when there is so much gray, what can one do? If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em.*

I do wish I’d had a video camera to capture the expression on my son’s face when his mother walked through the door. After his initial shock, he came up to me, cradled my face in his meaty little paws, and kissed my head.

Then he gave me a present. “A prize.” (Surprises=presents=prizes around here.)

“Thank you,” I said.
He beamed.
“What do I do with this?” (me)
“Play with it.” (Grownups are so daft, they don’t even know what to do with prizes.)
…and a little later…
“Don’t choo wanna play with your prize?” (Grownups are such ingrates, with no imagination whatsoever.)
…and the next morning…
“Hey! Why is your prize still here? Don’t choo yike it?” (Grownups. What a bunch of fuddie duddies.)

*I’m a bit self-conscious about the next time I show my face at the office. It’s such a dramatic change that people won’t be able not to say something. Obviously, I didn’t think this through. Must brace myself against pending social anxiety. And make sure I do a good job with the makeup.