Hey, Let’s Go To the Mall! June 30, 2008

When I got up this morning I dressed for construction.  Before the day was far spent I had been to the lumber yard, with the Pea and Irish1. Whatever possessed me to think that taking a five and a two year old boy to the lumber yard was a good idea I don’t know.  Needless to say, it wasn’t.  We left there with not enough joist hangers (to hang 5 joists you need ten hangers, not five) so we went back and got five more only to discover when we got home that they were the wrong ones (all of them) after all.  I haven’t been back yet.

I got home and cleaned.  And measured in preparation for cutting rim joists (not nearly as dirty as it sounds) and I nursed and yelled at the Pea and listened to Irish1 whine and ignored Irish2 crying (why won’t he just go to sleep?) and just did all my normal day stuff. But by about 5:00 (I say about because I had no way of knowing what time it actually was) I was done. D-O-N-E. Done.

So I handed the kids over to Sean and headed for the mall, a place which despite being located at the end of my street (just past the Costco) I hadn’t been to in at least three years, to replace the battery in my watch which had stopped working nearly two weeks ago (I hate not knowing what time it is) or possibly to just replace the watch itself, since I don’t really love it.  I was still dressed for construction, orange “Spartans” softball t-shirt I stole from a girl-friend in high school, denim shorts, no makeup.  Not the look I would have chosen but I wasn’t spending another minute at home even if it meant I went out looking like white trash.

The store closest to my home is a largish department store.  I’ll call it Nacey’s.  It was close, it was convenient and they sell watches, and presumably batteries, so I went in.

Ahhhh.  It was quiet.  It was clean.  No one referred to me as Mom mom mom mom mom.  It may have been heaven.  I went in for the battery, possibly a watch. But since I was already there- I really did need another pair of shorts, this long length that’s currently in style is highly convenient to a card carrying Mo like myself, I really ought to take advantage while I can.  And I realized as I got dressed this morning that I’ve lost a whole stack of shirts that I took out of my drawers last time I was pregnant.  So I’m low on shirts.  And did I mention that it was quiet and clean?

So I wandered around.  I picked up a couple pairs of shorts.  I made it to the watch counter.

Oooooh, look how pretty.  Wow I really like this one.  And it has a crystal face, a must, (I’m very hard on my watches) and it’s titanium, (I’m very very hard on my watches) and it has a cool metal mesh band that is infinitely adjustable, unlike the metal link ones, that always end up either too long or too short, or the  leather ones that stretch and wear out. (Did I mention how hard I am on my watches?)  And it’s so pretty.  And it’s $130.00.  Eeek.

I really do wear and love my watches (I say watches but I ought to make it clear that I only own one functioning watch at a time, I’m not the kind of girl that has a different watch to match her outfit.)  I probably get $130.00 worth of use out of them but- I couldn’t do it.  I couldn’t bring myself to pay $130.00 for a watch.  “I’ll think about it,” I told the woman at the counter.  I continued wandering the store.

8 days ago we took Irish1 to the ER for stitches.  He’s fine.  It’s not an interesting story so I won’t bother telling it, except for the part where he refused to stand on the scale.  So I held him and stood on the scale and then I handed him off to Sean and stood on the scale again.  I honestly couldn’t even begin to guess what Irish1 weighed.  But I know what I did. 117 lbs.  117.2 to be exact.  117 lbs!!!!  I don’t think I’ve been this skinny EVER! (Go ahead and hate me, I’m too thin for it to bother me.)  I weighed more that that by a minimum of five pounds when I was in high school.

So why is it that now that I’m at the smallest I’ve ever been, and let’s face it, the smallest I’m ever gonna be, maternity shirts are the height of fashion?!!  The high waists, the flowing lengths, come on people!  My stomach’s never gonna be this flat again, can’t I show that off?  Just a little?  I’m not looking for a bikini top here, I’m not even into showing my midriff, (aside from the undergarment issue there’s the fact that skinny does not equal anything in terms of muscle tone, or skin color) but I’d like something slightly form fitting.  Is that too much to ask?

Apparently it is.

I grabbed a couple possibilities from the little boy’s department (my secret source of cute, cheap t-shirts) and with my shorts and a skirt (the only one for under $50 I had seen ) headed for the fitting room.  One of the pairs of shorts was OK.

Alright, so I wasn’t doing fantastically but the shorts weren’t too expensive ($24) so having to look at myself, partially dressed, in the horribly unflattering light (fluorescent?  Really?  Don’t you want me to think I look good so I’ll buy something?) hadn’t been a complete waste of time.

I thought.

I really did need to get a watch.  I was trying to justify the $130.00.  I headed back to the watch counter and looked around.  There was a clearance rack on the counter, 40% off.  And there it was.  Angels sang, trumpets trumpeted and light shone from heaven right onto my watch, the same one I had loved before, in the clearance box.

“Um, can I see this one?” I asked.  The same woman (who now that I think about it may not have been my biggest fan since I kinda got her hopes up before about making a big sale and then I walked away.  But honestly, how could I have done any different?  They tuck the price tags under so you can’t get even an inkling of the price until they unlock the display case.  And how much could she have believed I was gonna buy it?  She could see what I was wearing, I was the walking definition of low budget.) unlocked this display case and handed me the watch.  Yes, it was the same one.  Titianium, crystal, pretty.

“What’s the clearance price on this?”  I asked, unable to do the math in my head what with all the excitement.

“Let’s see how it rings up,” she says.

“It’s $130.00,” she says.

“But it’s on clearance.”

“No, it’s not, I guess someone put it away in the wrong place.”

That’s it?  Yup, that was it.  I probably could have fought it, asked to see the manager.  I know suburbancoorespondant would have but I was too deflated by this point.  I had been considering paying the full price but after seeing it at 40% off (and having that little dream snatched away) I couldn’t even consider it.  I took my shorts and wandered off to buy them.

I went to five different “service centers.”  Apparently the woman at the watch counter is the only person who works at Nacey’s.  I found a rack, hung up my shorts and left.

I glanced around a few other stores in the mall, $50 for that?  It’s not even a whole shirt, really?  Who buys this stuff?

There was a kiosk in the middle of the mall.  It had a sign that said they replaced watch batteries on site.  There were some watches for sale too.  They weren’t cute.  “I give a discount for Spartans,” the man working there said.

I walked away.

But let’s face it, this trip was not going to end well.  I walked back.  “How much for a new battery in my watch?”

“$8.00 but for you I’ll do it for 7.”

I’m sure I could have talked him down to 5.  I paid 7 and walked straight through Nacey’s looking neither to the right nor to the left (5,000,000 because I can’t remember) on my way home.

I now remember why I haven’t been to the mall in three years.   I think I’ll stick with Zarget.

Delusions of Grandeur June 28, 2008

I’m gonna start out by saying that I love my husband’s family.  It’s an inauspicious start, I know, sort of along the same lines as “no offense” preceding a highly offensive statement, of “with all due respect” followed by something rude and disrespectful.  But I DO love Sean’s family.  I think they’re all wonderful, amazing people.  And I spend an inordinate amount of time being excited for their yearly (or so) gatherings.

It’s just that I’m never entirely comfortable with them.

Here’s an example.  The Cleanfires*, Sean’s mother’s family, are big huggers and kissers.  I’ve mostly acclimated to that. (It’s not that my family doesn’t hug, we do, but not as a rule.  And we don’t kiss. Each other.)  The Cleanfires greet one another with a hug and a kiss always, without exception.  So I left work a little early yesterday and went over to Sean’s uncle’s house where the family was gathered.  I let myself in and back to the backyard where they were sitting around in a circle chatting.  I was immediately greeted by Irish1 (say what you want about 2 yr olds, they’re great to come home to), I greeted the Pea, who was jumping on the trampoline and wouldn’t come anywhere near me.  And Sean (with a hug and kiss, naturally) and Irish2 was thrust into my arms which I was happy about.  And I even gave my Mother-in-law a hug and  kiss.  And then I didn’t know what to do.  Do I proceed around the circle hugging and kissing everyone?  I kind of know that I should have, that’s kind of how they are (how they roll, if you will) but it’s just so foreign to me that I couldn’t.  I waved hello I smiled.

I had been there for all of one minute and already I felt wrong footed.

I would like to emphasize that they do not do this on purpose.  These are extremely nice people, shirt off their back kind of people.  If they knew that they made me feel this way (and some of them do now, I know of at least one who reads this blog) they would be really sad.  I don’t blame them, it just is what it is.

I don’t know how to talk to them.  One on one I’m fine (I think) I can chat about my life, the kids, what’s going on with me.  And I really like hearing about what’s new with them, although I’m exceedingly bad at asking them questions.  (I have questions there’s just a disconnect in my head.  The questions form but are unable to travel to my mouth, in fact they seem unaware that they ought to do so. They just pile up milling around in my cerebral cortex not especially interested in going anywhere… but that will have to be a post for another day) But I don’t know how to join in their conversations.  I’m interested but I have nothing to say.  Or maybe I do have something to say but for some reason I don’t know how to join in.  It’s almost like they’re speaking a foreign language, one that I understand but don’t know how to speak. So I sit and listen but eventually I just start to feel like I’m eavesdropping.

So I move on.  There are plenty of places to move on to.  It’s a good size family.  The preponderance of them are older than I.  (Sean’s mother’s generation are like my generation in mine.  There are a lot of them and they’re really close.)  But Sean has three or four cousins that are within a year or so of my age and even some siblings who aren’t too far off. And it’s not that they’re not my “kind” of people, if you want to look at it from a class, or socio-economic (for you PCers out there), point of view.   I’ve never seen a family that runs that gamut so completely.  They’ve got every kind of person you could think to meet, ex-convicts to CEOs. Literally. I feel neither out-classed by, nor better than, any of them. (Well, OK I’ll admit I do feel a bit out-classed by a few of them but only in the abstract.  When we’re actually together I’m mostly OK, I did grow up with the children of Congressmen and Senators after all.)

I am naturally shy and I know I have a serious inability to put myself forward.  (It’s not lack of confidence, I think I’m afraid of being too much of a showoff.  No doubt it stems back to some abuse heaped on me by my siblings in my childhood.) And I think that has a lot to do with it but I don’t think that’s all of it.

All I know is after an evening with the Cleanfires I feel like a child who’s been trying to fit in with, and pretend to be one of, the adults.  I don’t know why that is.

Aren’t in-laws fun?!

PS.  I called this post Delusions of Grandeur not because I think anyone has them, quite the opposite, hanging out with the Cleanfires seriously exposes my inferiority complex.  It’s ironic.

* Not the real family name in an effort to thwart all those cyber stalkers who are after me.  And also because I like the psudonym thing, It’s like I’m in the witness protection program.

I’m on the Top of the World June 26, 2008

Looking down on creation …  (1,000)

I know I really need to post because it’s been almost a week but I also have to get my new roof put on so it’ll just have to wait.

But there’s a family reunion with Sean’s family this weekend so I’m sure I’ll come out of that with some great blogging material.

What a Girl Wants June 20, 2008

The following is a list of things that I want:

Irish2 to quietly go to sleep when I put him in his crib.

More Sleep.

Irish1 to quietly go to sleep when I put him in his bed.

More time to read.

Someone to build my new kitchen for me.

Baring that, some time in which to build my new kitchen.

A night out with Sean.

Clear skin, or to be the age that my zits seem to think I am.

Both of the Irish twins to sleep the whole night long.

Cheesecake.

Grass.

My sisters to live closer, like next door.

Someone to want to publish my book.

Someone who got the first half of my book to like it enough to ask me for the second half.

To not be such a workaholic.

Someone to mop my kitchen for me, or a guarantee that it will be more than a half an hour before a full cup of apple juice is spilled on my kitchen floor.

Apple juice to all mop up the first time.

Good granola.

To look around at my life and my beautiful children and enjoy them as they are more.

Irish1 to go to sleep so I can stop blogging one handed (so he can hold my other thumb) on my laptop, sitting next to him in his room and go watch Juno, or at least Last Comic Standing.

Oh wait…

Asleep At the Wheel June 19, 2008

I’m starting to think I leave the baby sitting in his highchair a little too often.

Letting Go? June 17, 2008

The funny thing about the last post is that I find that if I really just do that my day goes a lot smoother.  I find that I have the worst days when I’m unwilling to let my kids do things their ways, when I insist that they do what I want, act the way I want.

Now obviously, I can’t let them have complete control but does the Princess really have to read the book that I got her from the library just because I remember reading it and loving it as a kid?  No, she doesn’t have to.  She can read “Spiderwick” it’ll be just fine.  But sometimes I can’t just let it be.  They have to wear sandals, not shoes, it’s hot out, SANDALS! Why?  If the Pea is ok with shoes and socks why on earth do I care?  I don’t know. But I do care! And he has to wear sandals,  BECAUSE I SAID SO!!!

I’m starting to think that if because I said so is my reason maybe I don’t have a good enough reason.  I need to let my control freak tenddencies go.  I need to be a little less type A and a little more type B.

Unfortunately at this point the only way I know how to do that is to give up entirely, which is why I let the Princess quit piano today.  I hate hate HATE that I did that but I don’t know what else to do.  I cannot have this fight with her every day.  I can’t send her to her room for hours every morning.

But honestly I’m sick about it.  Why?  I’m not sure.  Probably most of it is that I don’t play and I wish I did.  I don’t have much when it comes to the whole eye-hand coordination thing and my progress when I was made to take piano lessons was abysmal (so my parents let me quit).  The Princess, on the other hand, doesn’t have that problem.

She can play, she just doesn’t want to.  It’s just so sad.  It’s hard for me to see my daughter throw away talent.  And I know that she’ll regret it.  But she doesn’t, and she wouldn’t believe me if I told her.  So I gave in, I surrendered.  And the Princess was happy, she smiled she didn’t backtalk, she wasn’t made to spend hours in her room.  But I know I made a mistake.

I think I need a little middle ground.

White Flag June 17, 2008

I give up!  I surrender.  I’m no match for this day so I quit.

What’s the Problem? June 13, 2008

What’s that Alison? You have an unusual number of spiders in you house? And your livingroom is freezing in all winter? Why would that be?

Well I don’t know.

BUT I THINK THIS MAY HAVE SOMETHING TO DO WITH IT!!!!!!

That’s right, we began demo on the porch (I’m actually really sad to see it go, it was cute and kind of a nice place to go and sit on a warm sunny day.) today and looky here, there’s a hole in the weird wood siding. The grey line shows the level of the top of the porch. (And, incidentally roughly the level of the floor of the living room that you’re seeing through the window.) I couldn’t see under that. How was I to know that someone, some time cut a huge hole in the exterior of my home?

What’s behind it? You ask.

NOTHING!!

The duct carrying the air to the vent that’s right in front of that window is what’s behind it. See? That’s my duct. Is it any wonder the air coming out of there was always cold?

There must, at least, be some insulation there, you insist.

No, no there mustn’t. There should be but obviously there’s no must about it because it ain’t there.

Whoever cut this very useful hole did at least put some wire mesh over it to discourage the mice (who, let’s face it, don’t need the help) but it’s not like that’s gonna keep the black widows out! And why in the name of striped pajamas would you cut a hole there anyway?

Come on people! I knew my house was ghetto but give me a break!

I wonder what other treats are in store for us? I’m headed to the roof tomorrow.

I GOT A PORSCHE!!!! June 13, 2008

I’d show her to you but I just got her tucked in.

See?

The first person to get the reference wins 50,000 points.

Can I Get This Toolbelt in Pink? June 12, 2008

Two things occurred to me while the surly young man at Lowes was helping me load 12 sheets of plywood into my car today. the first is that I’m not as young or as cute as I once thought I was. (Whether I was ever actually cute could be a matter of some debate but that’s a debate that I’d rather not hear -unless you’re on the “you were really really cute” side– but then the “were” part of that is going to depress me –so let’s stick with my original statement- don’t bring it up). The other is that I have kind of a strange marriage.

I spent nearly $500 at Lowes today. I bought all kinds of stuff but none of it could be described as pretty. I got a 10lb. sledgehammer and 10 joist hangers and a 1/2 inch masonry bit, that kind of stuff. And 12 sheets of 1/4 inch plywood. I was fine handling most of it on my own. I knew what I wanted and figured out where to find it.

Note: Nothing in this post is intended to be a commentary on poor customer service. The customer service was fine. No one offered to carry my purse for me but I always find those places where they fall all over themselves to shine your shoes a little too much anyway. I could always find people when I needed them and when I asked, they all helped.

I did need a little help with the joist hangers. No, not the hooks you hang your bike from in the garage, the serious hardware you hang 2×12 floor joists on so your floor doesn’t fall into your crawl space. Luckily (well, I don’t really believe it was luck, I’ve been praying really hard that I will be able to figure out how to do this job that I have no business being able to do) I first found a book hanging from a shelf by the joist hangers. it had a lot of charts and a lot of words that I couldn’t even begin to decipher but it also had pictures and some if the joists in the pictures looked like the joists that had been delivered to my house this morning. So I looked for hangers that looked like those hangers. And I didn’t find them. But I did find David.

Now I may have mentioned before that I’m in WAY over my head with this addition that we’re planning. I ‘m reasonably handy but to do this you basically need to know how to build a house. I don’t know how to build a house. But David does. David was probably at least 60, and he used to build houses for a living. He helped me find the hangers that I needed and confirmed my suspicion that the other ones that I needed were not in fact there. But he told me where he thought I might be able to find some, And he was great and now I know more about house building than I did and I love that. I really find this stuff very interesting and I can’t wait to hang my joists. I thanked David profusely (I’ll be back) and headed over to find a few more things including plywood.

Luckily (again) there was a young man just standing in the lumber aisle doing nothing working, who came over to help me get the plywood onto my cart. I thanked him he said you’re welcome and that was it, no offer to help me take the card up front. I probably would have said no but I noticed that he didn’t offer.

I could probably even have loaded the wood into my car on my own but I didn’t see any reason to do that so I asked the cashier if someone could help me.

I pulled up to the area set aside for loading and this young man comes over. I lifted the hatch and he grabbed the first sheet of plywood and between the two of us we start to slide it into the car. for a moment it looked like it wasn’t going to fit and this boy says to me, “do you have a truck?” No, I don’t have a truck. I came to the hardware store to shop for things like ladders and plywood, trust me if I had a truck this would be the time that I would be using it.

I’ve got a minivan, that’s what I’ve got and if I move this headrest out of the way this sheet will slide right in anyway. See? Boy you sure do give up easily. I think that was all he said to me the whole time we were loading the plywood.

And this is where the first realization hits me. All these boys that helped me were just that to me, boys. Geez, they’re just kids. And these kids were very obviously only helping me because it was their job. Time was the boys at the hardware store liked helping me (because I was so cute) but these days I’m the old (not cute) lady with the minivan. The man on the other hand, time was he wouldn’t have given me the time of day, young cute girls don’t need serious help with floor joist hangers.

So we got the wood into the van (it fit perfectly thank you very much) and I loaded in the level and the t-square and the pry-bar and headed home to show off my purchases. To my husband. Who was home with the kids.

____________

But you can tell I’m the girl because I wear the pink gloves.