Quote of the day
November 15, 2006
“You look really weird.”
said by my 7 yr old son as I walked in the door from having my hair done.
“You look really weird.”
said by my 7 yr old son as I walked in the door from having my hair done.
Him: How did the appraisal go?
Me: Good I think. Who can tell?
Him: Did he seemed impressed with all the work we have done already?
Me: Yes. But he asked me what I thought the house should come in at.
Me: And he laughed when I told him.
Me: I went high, but still.
Him: What did he say?
Me: The neighbors who just sold their house blah blah blah, nicer than ours, blah blah blah we still have lots of work to do.
Him: Well that’s true.
Me: He did say that the kids were the best kids he has run into in a really long time. Maybe that will count for something.
Me: You know how some people sell houses furnished? Well, we can sell ours with children.
Him: Instant family.
Me: Just add huge mortgage.
We our having an appraisal done on our house tomorrow so we can refinance and have some money freed up for a new kitchen. One with an oven big enough to fit my favorite baking dish in. And a sink that isn’t harvest gold. And a floor that isn’t cracked white vinyl.
It is nerve wracking to have an appraisal done.
So in preparation I have been cleaning the house like a crazed woman. Every single room has been cleaned, washed, polished, straightened. My thinking is that the appraiser will be so distracted by the gleaming surfaces, or else rendered slightly brain dead from the bleach fumes, to notice things like bare sheetrock, cracked plaster, and missing trim.
“Oh but look, there are no dust bunnies in the corners! I’ll tack on another 50K to my estimate for that,” he will say.
In preparation Rob has been doing what he feels is important. Namely sweep out the basement and organize all his tools. His thinking, I assume, is that the appraiser will be distracted by his stellar tool organization.
“Oh look at all those expensive power tools, surely they will finish those undone projects one day soon. I’ll tack 50K on my estimate just for owning them!” he will say.
As for my children, their idea of preparing is to spread all their toys throughout the house. Maybe the appraiser will be so busy looking down at the floor trying not to trip over toys that he will fail to notice the numerous projects that still need to be completed.
“Damn these people have a lot of kids. Let me tack 50K onto my estimate out of pity,” he will say.
One of these approaches has to work. I hate to think that I will forever be spending my days in a kitchen so ugly that it makes me want to cry.
I wore these shoes all weekend long.
No nonsense, get work done, ugly but comfortable Land’s End summer mocs, or something like that. And I also wore my yoga pants all weekend too. I have three pair of yoga pants and have never once in my life done yoga. I feel like such a poser.
Twelve years ago tonight I went to bed pregnant. It was two weeks before my due date.
I didn’t know it then, but it was my last day not a mother. A day that is only significant in retrospect. A day I spent at the mall buying clothes that seemed impossibly small from the Baby Gap.
Twelve years ago in the early morning hours before dawn my water broke while I lay in bed. I paced back and forth down the long hallway in my apartment waiting for the doctor to call me back. The contractions came one right after the other, and I focused on the tiny carseat sitting by the front door. Twelve years ago I became a mother.
Time has passed in the blink of an eye, and yet I have a hard time remembering life before this day. It seems like an eternity ago.
I look at the photo and think how young I was, how scared, how completely clueless I felt in this new role. And I look at the white couch I am sitting on, evidence of all these things, that I bought while I was pregnant. And I laugh.
I have made a personal decision not to blog about politics. Not because I am not interested, I am. Not because I don’t have ideas or concerns, I do. But because I don’t see everything as black and white. I see things in color, bright vivid colors that swirl around over my head. And sometimes I can see more than one color of an issue, I can see many. And I can’t reconcile that in my writing, so I don’t even try.
This year I felt like the election Grinch. I wasn’t excited to rock my vote. (Though truth be told, I have never been the age demographic for rocking my vote even back at it’s inception)
I went to the polls to vote against people. I voted not because I was excited about a candidate and thie ideas and platform, but becaue the other candidate scared the hell out of me. Is this just because I have gotten older and more jaded? I don’t think so. Something has changed.
The first election I remember voting in was the presidential election in 1992. The energy and excitement were palapable. I remember when Clinton won being excited and feeling as though we were entering a new era. I remember sitting and watching the results come in on television and talking on the phone with friends who were equally excited.
Do you remember the debates that year? Do you remember Ross Perot?
Two years ago and again yesterday I felt myself thinking, “Where is Ross Perot when you need him?”
And by this I don’t literally mean Ross Perot. I mean a person who would stand for what he did during that election. A peson who got people excited. A person who got people talking about politics again. A person who makes you believe, in spite of all evidence to the contrary, that a regular person can make a difference, that our government is still elected by the people, for the people. Even though I thought he was nuttier than a fruitcake, I appreciate the life he brought to the campaign that year.
Now I feel like I stand here alone in a vast wasteland. I look to my right and think, “Who are you people?”
And I look to my left and think, “And who are you people?”
And I stand here in the vast divide, listening to the rhetoric being thrown back and forth. I keep hearing that this election is a referendum on Iraq. That voters are turning out to send a message about Iraq. As one of those voters, I feel insulted. I am not merely voting for or against Iraq. There are so many other issues.
I know that there must be others like me standing in this wasteland. It’s just that the divide has become so large and empty that we can’t see each other. Perhaps I should just start calling “Marco” and waiting to hear an answer.
or hanging off your mother’s leg while she votes.
or for dancing around the polling place as part of a vast conspiracy to distract and confuse the elderly.
On my calendar this month for the children I have five dental cleanings, one dental sealants, four orthodontist consulatations, and two check-ups at the pediatrician.
Today my 5 and 11 yr olds had their cleanings. My five year old is an enthusiastic tooth brusher. I rarely even have to remind him. My 11 yr old has to be reminded twice a day EVERY. SINGLE. DAY. I just don’t get it. Does he forget that he has teeth?
Guess who has three cavities and who has none?
Though looking at the bright side, at least the cavities are in a child who has only baby teeth.
And on an even brighter side, look at these fabulous shoes I bought yesterday on clearance. And they are really comfortable.
Cavities, shmavities who can be upset in these shoes.
Update: I bought the shoes at Macy’s this past weekend on the 50% off clearance rack. They are Aerosoles and have about a 2 inch heel. They are super comfortable and I wore them for the entire day with nary a foot ache. I think that about covers the questions.
Also, the five year old is the one with the cavities. you know, Murphy’s law and everything.
you all have a sparkling shoe sort of day.
I am taking two of my children in for the dental cleanings today. I am hoping for a sparkling teeth report to match the shoes.
Saturday was one of those days. You know the kind where you are just pushed to the very edge of your breaking point.
It wasn’t that the day was particularly bad, or that anything horrible happened, it was just the culmination of lots of things. And me being me, I never come right out and say something, preferring instead the much more effective method of heavy sighing and slamming random things.
Finally in the evening, my non-mind reading husband said, “You seem really stressed out? What is your deal? It is the weekend.”
And I may have said, “Oh is it the weekend? Thanks for pointing that out because to me it is JUST LIKE EVERY OTHER MIND NUMBINGLY BORING DAY.” No, I don’t over react much.
So today I decided to break free from my
captors loving family and go shopping, and not of the grocery store variety. I was going to go all alone, but my daughter came up to me shortly before I was going to leave and said, “I must come with you. I need new shoes.”
In light of NoBloShoeMo, how could I deny her a new pair or four?
She is a lot of fun to shop with. The first store we went to was Target, in search of birthday presents for my two sons that have birthdays this month. I grabbed the cart and asked her if she wanted to climb in. She looked at me like she was shocked I would suggest such a thing. And she walked through that store, the next store, and about five other stores never once complaining.
She requested, and I bought her, a popsicle. It seemed a bit chilly to me to want to eat a popsicle. But she was thrilled with it. We sat outside of a coffee shop at one of their bistro tables while she slowly, slowly, ever so slowly licked her popsicle. I suggested she try biting it, to help speed up the process. I was restless and could almost hear the minutes ticking by. But she wanted to savor each delicious moment.
After a few minutes I decided that I should take a lesson from her. I put all my bags down, turned my chair to face the sun, ignored the list of things I had to do in my head, and just enjoyed the moment.
The last store we were in was Macy’s where I was browsing the clearance section in the shoe department. She sat down on one of the chairs and sighed loudly. “I wish I was wearing my sparkling shoes. Today is really a sparkling shoe day.”
Yes, it was.
One of the kids brings me the telephone.
“Hi. Are you busy? He said you were in the bathroom with Rob?”
“Oh, I was just helping him.”
“Not his plumbing. The house plumbing. Sheesh, get your mind out of the gutter.”
I never really wear these shoes because they are a smidge too small. But I got them on clearance at TJMaxx for $3. Yes, $3! How could I NOT buy them?
Rob says that it isn’t a bargain if you spend money on something that you don’t use. But clearly he just doesn’t get it.
Maybe one day my feet will shrink, it could totally happen, right? Or maybe my daughter will grow into them and want to dress as a witch for Halloween. Or maybe I’ll be confined to a wheelchair for a period of time and my shoes would be merely decorative accessories.