Ten years ago today, P and I had a brand-new baby.
Now we* have a tall, beautiful ten-year-old daughter who is more than halfway to being grown up.
Happy birthday, G!
*He may not be here, but she's still ours and always will be.
Monday, January 26, 2009
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Monday, January 19, 2009
BLAAAAAH!
Not long ago, G was watching a DVD that had a preview for an Arthur special called Arthur's Missing Pal. There's a moment in the preview (at 0:15, if you must know) where Arthur flings open the door of his house and dramatically shouts a single word to the neighborhood at large, and because I wasn't paying very close attention, I thought what he had screamed was "BLAAAAAAAAH!"
I said to G, "Why is he screaming 'BLAAAAAAAAH'?" and she said, through tears of laughter, "He's not screaming 'BLAAAAAAAAH,' he's screaming his dog's name, Pal. You know, 'PAAAAAAAAL!'"
We both laughed until we were nearly sick, and ever since then, we've been turning to each other at random moments -- in the grocery store, in the car, when I'm tucking her into bed at night -- and saying "BLAAAAAAAAH!" I'm sure this doesn't sound even slightly funny to anyone who wasn't there, but I've had to stop twice to stifle giggles while typing out the story.
It's the little things.
I said to G, "Why is he screaming 'BLAAAAAAAAH'?" and she said, through tears of laughter, "He's not screaming 'BLAAAAAAAAH,' he's screaming his dog's name, Pal. You know, 'PAAAAAAAAL!'"
We both laughed until we were nearly sick, and ever since then, we've been turning to each other at random moments -- in the grocery store, in the car, when I'm tucking her into bed at night -- and saying "BLAAAAAAAAH!" I'm sure this doesn't sound even slightly funny to anyone who wasn't there, but I've had to stop twice to stifle giggles while typing out the story.
It's the little things.
Sunday, January 11, 2009
If I can't swim after forty days
When last we spoke, my dishwasher had broken, followed straight away by a mysterious backup in the kitchen sink. Badness.
So for the next couple of days after that, the sink kept filling up with hot, greasy water and food debris at random times, prompting me to call the management office twice and ask for someone to come out and look at it. It had drained and was empty on Thursday morning, but when G and I got home from her school fundraiser on Thursday night, it had not only backed up again, but spilled over and flooded the kitchen.
At that point I threw every towel we own down on the floor and called the maintenance emergency number. About half an hour later, the repair guy arrived, somewhat grudgingly (WTF? Is a flood not an emergency? It was last time I checked.) He discovered that either the upstairs or next-door neighbor's garbage disposal was clogged, and their rinse water and ground-up food was coming up in our sink. Ugh! He then disappeared for about 10 minutes and in his absence, the sink made a horrible sucking, gurgling sound and drained for good, leaving behind a mess that looked exactly like stomach contents -- remnants of shredded chicken and rice and some gooey yellow stuff and a sort of red grease. Double ugh!
I spent the next hour and a half scrubbing this glurge out of the sink and off the counter top, throwing away water-damaged items, sopping up standing water on the floor and in the cupboard under the sink, and mopping the tile, gagging all the time because it was just so gross. My own ground-up leftovers would have been bad enough, but this felt like a stranger had strolled in, puked in the kitchen, and left me to clean up the mess.
Anyway, I finally got everything to an acceptable level of cleanliness, but that wasn't the end of my troubles. I'd noticed that the carpet around the edges of the kitchen felt damp, but it wasn't soaked, so I wasn't too worried. Well, apparently "damp" is just as bad as "soaked," because when G and I got home on Friday evening, I opened the front door and was nearly knocked over by the smell of mold that blasted out. I've spent the last two days airing and drying and cleaning, but it still reeks -- downstairs worse than upstairs, but you can smell it everywhere. In addition to the runoff from the tile, I'm fairly sure that water seeped through the dividing wall between the kitchen and the living room and wet the carpet behind the big armoire that holds our television. I can't move the armoire to find out (last time we moved, it took three or four men to shift it) but it feels pretty clammy back there.
The weird thing is that I've been plagued by water problems in the last two places I've lived. In the triplex where we lived with P, we had to get the pots and pans out to catch drips every time it rained, the bathroom ceiling collapsed on me because of a leak in the standpipe, and two days after G and I moved out, a pipe under the kitchen sink burst and flooded the living room with 40 gallons of boiling water. Since we've lived here, the tub in G's bathroom has developed a leak that poured down the outside wall of the building, the hall ceiling has flooded and sagged from air-conditioner overflow, and now this. I don't really believe in ghosts, but if I did, I'd be wondering whether some poor drowned person was trying to send me a message!
So for the next couple of days after that, the sink kept filling up with hot, greasy water and food debris at random times, prompting me to call the management office twice and ask for someone to come out and look at it. It had drained and was empty on Thursday morning, but when G and I got home from her school fundraiser on Thursday night, it had not only backed up again, but spilled over and flooded the kitchen.
At that point I threw every towel we own down on the floor and called the maintenance emergency number. About half an hour later, the repair guy arrived, somewhat grudgingly (WTF? Is a flood not an emergency? It was last time I checked.) He discovered that either the upstairs or next-door neighbor's garbage disposal was clogged, and their rinse water and ground-up food was coming up in our sink. Ugh! He then disappeared for about 10 minutes and in his absence, the sink made a horrible sucking, gurgling sound and drained for good, leaving behind a mess that looked exactly like stomach contents -- remnants of shredded chicken and rice and some gooey yellow stuff and a sort of red grease. Double ugh!
I spent the next hour and a half scrubbing this glurge out of the sink and off the counter top, throwing away water-damaged items, sopping up standing water on the floor and in the cupboard under the sink, and mopping the tile, gagging all the time because it was just so gross. My own ground-up leftovers would have been bad enough, but this felt like a stranger had strolled in, puked in the kitchen, and left me to clean up the mess.
Anyway, I finally got everything to an acceptable level of cleanliness, but that wasn't the end of my troubles. I'd noticed that the carpet around the edges of the kitchen felt damp, but it wasn't soaked, so I wasn't too worried. Well, apparently "damp" is just as bad as "soaked," because when G and I got home on Friday evening, I opened the front door and was nearly knocked over by the smell of mold that blasted out. I've spent the last two days airing and drying and cleaning, but it still reeks -- downstairs worse than upstairs, but you can smell it everywhere. In addition to the runoff from the tile, I'm fairly sure that water seeped through the dividing wall between the kitchen and the living room and wet the carpet behind the big armoire that holds our television. I can't move the armoire to find out (last time we moved, it took three or four men to shift it) but it feels pretty clammy back there.
The weird thing is that I've been plagued by water problems in the last two places I've lived. In the triplex where we lived with P, we had to get the pots and pans out to catch drips every time it rained, the bathroom ceiling collapsed on me because of a leak in the standpipe, and two days after G and I moved out, a pipe under the kitchen sink burst and flooded the living room with 40 gallons of boiling water. Since we've lived here, the tub in G's bathroom has developed a leak that poured down the outside wall of the building, the hall ceiling has flooded and sagged from air-conditioner overflow, and now this. I don't really believe in ghosts, but if I did, I'd be wondering whether some poor drowned person was trying to send me a message!
Monday, January 05, 2009
Not so gr8, rly
Friday:
Called the management to report that my dishwasher was refusing to drain and regurgitating hot water and suds onto the kitchen floor.
Saturday and Sunday:
Grumpily washed dishes by hand.
Today:
Came home to find a note from the repairman stating that the dishwasher "works fine" and I should "use the correct soap." (I'm thinking he saw the bottle of regular dish soap that I had been using to wash dishes IN THE SINK, because I COULDN'T USE THE EFFING DISHWASHER, and assumed that I had half-wittedly used that instead of dishwasher soap.) With this assurance, I loaded the dishwasher and ran it, and when it got to the rinse cycle, dirty water backed up into both sides of the sink and wouldn't drain. I suppose this is an improvement in that it isn't spilling onto the floor, but not such an improvement in that now I can't use the sink OR the dishwasher.
Color me unimpressed.
On the bright side, G has decided that she now will eat sandwiches made with processed cheese slices, bringing the total options for her packed lunches to three. (The other two are jelly sandwiches, which come home uneaten half the time, and cold plain pasta.) I can't begin to tell you how challenging it is to create a cold lunch for a picky vegetarian who insists on a "main course," but refuses to eat peanut butter, hummus, hard-boiled eggs, yogurt (except Gogurt), real cheese, or any of the other vegetarian staples. I hope she manages to expand her repertoire before she leaves for college, though I suppose at least she'll have a hot plate and a microwave at her disposal there.
Called the management to report that my dishwasher was refusing to drain and regurgitating hot water and suds onto the kitchen floor.
Saturday and Sunday:
Grumpily washed dishes by hand.
Today:
Came home to find a note from the repairman stating that the dishwasher "works fine" and I should "use the correct soap." (I'm thinking he saw the bottle of regular dish soap that I had been using to wash dishes IN THE SINK, because I COULDN'T USE THE EFFING DISHWASHER, and assumed that I had half-wittedly used that instead of dishwasher soap.) With this assurance, I loaded the dishwasher and ran it, and when it got to the rinse cycle, dirty water backed up into both sides of the sink and wouldn't drain. I suppose this is an improvement in that it isn't spilling onto the floor, but not such an improvement in that now I can't use the sink OR the dishwasher.
Color me unimpressed.
On the bright side, G has decided that she now will eat sandwiches made with processed cheese slices, bringing the total options for her packed lunches to three. (The other two are jelly sandwiches, which come home uneaten half the time, and cold plain pasta.) I can't begin to tell you how challenging it is to create a cold lunch for a picky vegetarian who insists on a "main course," but refuses to eat peanut butter, hummus, hard-boiled eggs, yogurt (except Gogurt), real cheese, or any of the other vegetarian staples. I hope she manages to expand her repertoire before she leaves for college, though I suppose at least she'll have a hot plate and a microwave at her disposal there.
Monday, December 29, 2008
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Maybe you can add it to your resume?
G's comment on missing her school's Christmas concert due to illness:
"Oh man, I learned to play 'The Little Drummer Boy' on the recorder for NOTHING."
"Oh man, I learned to play 'The Little Drummer Boy' on the recorder for NOTHING."
Thursday, December 04, 2008
News that makes my morning
Those of you who know me in real life will know about my (possibly irrational) hatred for Bratz dolls. Well, today is a happy day, because a federal judge has banned the company from manufacturing and selling them. The ruling came about because of copyright infringement and not because Bratz are streetwalking hos, but anything that makes them go away -- and stops that Bratz girls really rock! theme song from playing during every commercial break on Nickelodeon -- is A-OK with me. Plus, it will make life easier for G, currently the recipient of much sympathy from her friends because she has a crazy strict mother who doesn't let her have these wildly popular dolls.
So long, Bratz! Don't let the door hit your skanky asses on your way out!
So long, Bratz! Don't let the door hit your skanky asses on your way out!
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Home again
We're back from NYC! I'm too tired and have too much laundry staring me in the face to do a full recap right now, so here are a few highlights from our trip:
Worst smell: The homeless guy who had clearly crapped in his pants just before sitting down two seats behind me at the Delta baggage claim area.
Longest walk: 31 blocks from our hotel to my BIL's apartment in Chelsea.
Best $40 spent: The carriage ride G and I took through Central Park. Red and yellow leaves drifting serenely from the trees, the horse's hooves clip-clopping along -- it was like being inside a film about autumn in New York.
Most expensive cab ride: $18 to get from West 21st and Seventh to 92nd and Lexington.
Most postcard-like sight: The view from the picture windows on the third floor of the American Museum of Natural History.
Most fun had with G: Either the carriage ride or shopping on Fifth Avenue.
Most fun had without G: Seeing Waves at the Duke on 42nd.
Number of friends met up with: Three
Sight G wanted to see that we didn't get to: The Empire State Building
Cheapest meal: $6 for two slices of pizza and two sodas at one of the 2,948(ish) places named "Ray's Pizza."
Most expensive meal: $27 for a grilled cheese sandwich and kids' pasta from the Hilton New York room-service menu.
Most unappetizing restaurant name spotted: "Hot and Crusty"
Cutest dog: My BIL's eight-month-old Corgi puppy, Max. We spent last night at his place, and Max tried to sleep between me and G with his ginormous head next to ours on the pillows. Aww!
Worst "we're screwed" moment: Coming out of the Met at 7:30 at night and discovering that it was pouring rain and there was not a cab to be had anywhere.
Biggest triumph: Figuring out how to get back to our hotel on the bus instead.
Greatest regret: Not staying an extra day.
Worst smell: The homeless guy who had clearly crapped in his pants just before sitting down two seats behind me at the Delta baggage claim area.
Longest walk: 31 blocks from our hotel to my BIL's apartment in Chelsea.
Best $40 spent: The carriage ride G and I took through Central Park. Red and yellow leaves drifting serenely from the trees, the horse's hooves clip-clopping along -- it was like being inside a film about autumn in New York.
Most expensive cab ride: $18 to get from West 21st and Seventh to 92nd and Lexington.
Most postcard-like sight: The view from the picture windows on the third floor of the American Museum of Natural History.
Most fun had with G: Either the carriage ride or shopping on Fifth Avenue.
Most fun had without G: Seeing Waves at the Duke on 42nd.
Number of friends met up with: Three
Sight G wanted to see that we didn't get to: The Empire State Building
Cheapest meal: $6 for two slices of pizza and two sodas at one of the 2,948(ish) places named "Ray's Pizza."
Most expensive meal: $27 for a grilled cheese sandwich and kids' pasta from the Hilton New York room-service menu.
Most unappetizing restaurant name spotted: "Hot and Crusty"
Cutest dog: My BIL's eight-month-old Corgi puppy, Max. We spent last night at his place, and Max tried to sleep between me and G with his ginormous head next to ours on the pillows. Aww!
Worst "we're screwed" moment: Coming out of the Met at 7:30 at night and discovering that it was pouring rain and there was not a cab to be had anywhere.
Biggest triumph: Figuring out how to get back to our hotel on the bus instead.
Greatest regret: Not staying an extra day.
Thursday, November 13, 2008
On our way
Yet another item to add to the ever-growing list titled Strange Things My Child Has Caused Me to Say:
"Stop tying your legs together and finish packing your suitcase!"
... Yeah, I'm not sure what she was doing either.
Anyway, as is no doubt apparent, G and I are getting ready to leave on a trip. She's old enough now to be helpful (when she's not busy lashing her limbs to each other) in that she can pack her own suitcase and carry-on bag. However, I still have to come in afterward and inspect her work to make sure she hasn't packed shorts for 40-degree weather or thrown in 10 shirts and no underwear.
She's also been known to try to pack things that are, shall we say, unnecessary. I feel for her -- when I was her age, we moved from Texas to California, and I whined and cried until my dad agreed to let me transport my papier-mâché Thanksgiving turkey craft all 1,560 miles in the hatchback of our car -- but I'm not letting her stuff her bag with random items until it's so heavy she can't carry it, either.
(I know. I am a mean, mean mother. So mean that I'm taking her on a thrilling trip to the world's greatest city, where she'll be ice-skating at Rockefeller Plaza, riding in a horse-drawn carriage through Central Park, and getting her own American Girl doll. Oh, the humanity!)
On another note, I don't know about anyone else, but every single time we go anywhere, I reach a point in the preparation process where it all seems like too much work and I wish we were just staying home. It doesn't matter how far we're going, how long we're staying or how much fun we're likely to have. We can be driving 90 minutes to spend the night at my mother's house or flying across the country for a week, and sometime in the last 48 hours before departure, I will still look around at the chaos and think Wah, I don't want to! I thought that at about eight o'clock last night and we're taking a red-eye flight this evening, so things are pretty much running par for the course. At least I'm consistent.
"Stop tying your legs together and finish packing your suitcase!"
... Yeah, I'm not sure what she was doing either.
Anyway, as is no doubt apparent, G and I are getting ready to leave on a trip. She's old enough now to be helpful (when she's not busy lashing her limbs to each other) in that she can pack her own suitcase and carry-on bag. However, I still have to come in afterward and inspect her work to make sure she hasn't packed shorts for 40-degree weather or thrown in 10 shirts and no underwear.
She's also been known to try to pack things that are, shall we say, unnecessary. I feel for her -- when I was her age, we moved from Texas to California, and I whined and cried until my dad agreed to let me transport my papier-mâché Thanksgiving turkey craft all 1,560 miles in the hatchback of our car -- but I'm not letting her stuff her bag with random items until it's so heavy she can't carry it, either.
(I know. I am a mean, mean mother. So mean that I'm taking her on a thrilling trip to the world's greatest city, where she'll be ice-skating at Rockefeller Plaza, riding in a horse-drawn carriage through Central Park, and getting her own American Girl doll. Oh, the humanity!)
On another note, I don't know about anyone else, but every single time we go anywhere, I reach a point in the preparation process where it all seems like too much work and I wish we were just staying home. It doesn't matter how far we're going, how long we're staying or how much fun we're likely to have. We can be driving 90 minutes to spend the night at my mother's house or flying across the country for a week, and sometime in the last 48 hours before departure, I will still look around at the chaos and think Wah, I don't want to! I thought that at about eight o'clock last night and we're taking a red-eye flight this evening, so things are pretty much running par for the course. At least I'm consistent.
Wednesday, November 05, 2008
Been caught scanning
Carrying on the theme of photos from a few months ago, here's one of me and my sister, circa about 1992:
If I look like I could be her mother, it's because I could -- I was in college when she was born. Now she's turning 18 next month, which is just shocking and shouldn't be allowed. I am not old enough to have a grown-up child!
Oh, wait. I am that old.
Dang it.
If I look like I could be her mother, it's because I could -- I was in college when she was born. Now she's turning 18 next month, which is just shocking and shouldn't be allowed. I am not old enough to have a grown-up child!
Oh, wait. I am that old.
Dang it.
Tuesday, November 04, 2008
Friday, October 24, 2008
Not quite, kid
Me: Grandma is going to pick you up from school today.
G: Why?
Me: She'd like you to spend some time with her at her house.
G: Remember when you left me there?
Me: Left you there ...? You mean two weeks ago when I went to get my hair done after work?
G: Yes.
Me: And I told you in advance that I was going to do it?
G: Yes.
Me: And I picked you up at eight p.m.?
G (dramatically): Yes!
Me: I hardly think that leaving you with your grandmother for two and a half hours constitutes child abandonment.
G: It did to me.
Me: Oh good grief.
G: Why?
Me: She'd like you to spend some time with her at her house.
G: Remember when you left me there?
Me: Left you there ...? You mean two weeks ago when I went to get my hair done after work?
G: Yes.
Me: And I told you in advance that I was going to do it?
G: Yes.
Me: And I picked you up at eight p.m.?
G (dramatically): Yes!
Me: I hardly think that leaving you with your grandmother for two and a half hours constitutes child abandonment.
G: It did to me.
Me: Oh good grief.
Thursday, October 23, 2008
From the sublime to the ridiculous
In the women's restroom where I work, there's a toilet stall that has a "Closed for Repairs" sign on it about one day out of every three. It's getting to the point where I will never go into that stall even when it appears to be functioning just fine, because the recurring nature of the problem makes me suspicious that it might recur again at any minute.
What if the toilet won't flush?
What if flushing causes a geyser of something awful to erupt all the way up to the ceiling?
What if there's a boa constrictor living in the pipes and it comes out twice a week to feed?
And today is one of those days?
It just doesn't seem to be worth the risk, and it isn't as if there aren't plenty of other stalls to choose from. But I do confess to being curious about what might be behind that closed stall door with its handwritten sign scribbled in black marker. I keep thinking maybe I'll peek in, but I've seen a lot of horror movies, and every time someone says Oh, I'll just take a quick look and starts reaching for a door handle, you know they're doomed. I don't want to be found sprawled out on the restroom floor with an expression of terror on my face and a mysterious puddle all around me.
What if the toilet won't flush?
What if flushing causes a geyser of something awful to erupt all the way up to the ceiling?
What if there's a boa constrictor living in the pipes and it comes out twice a week to feed?
And today is one of those days?
It just doesn't seem to be worth the risk, and it isn't as if there aren't plenty of other stalls to choose from. But I do confess to being curious about what might be behind that closed stall door with its handwritten sign scribbled in black marker. I keep thinking maybe I'll peek in, but I've seen a lot of horror movies, and every time someone says Oh, I'll just take a quick look and starts reaching for a door handle, you know they're doomed. I don't want to be found sprawled out on the restroom floor with an expression of terror on my face and a mysterious puddle all around me.
Thursday Thirteen
The purpose of the meme is to get to know everyone who participates a little bit better every Thursday. Visiting fellow Thirteeners is encouraged! If you participate, leave the link to your Thirteen in others comments. It’s easy, and fun! Trackbacks, pings, comment links accepted!
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Yes, I know poetry isn't everyone's thing, but I love it, so much that I even took a couple of poetry-writing workshops in college. (Meet my professor, who was lovely and very encouraging and would probably be disappointed that I haven't written a single poem since I graduated.)
If you have a favorite poem that isn't listed here, please leave a link in the comments. I'd love to read it!
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