If there is one thing I hate, it is artificial smells-cheap scented candles, air fresheners, and the like-the kind that people buy at the supermarket or the dollar store (For those of you who may be thinking to gift me with a scented candle at some point, I am not opposed to the good ones) . Particularly vile is the "apples 'n' cinnamon" variety of synthetic perfume...while I think it may in some way be reminiscent of apples and/or cinnamon it mostly reeks of trailer park. I would honestly prefer the smell of garbage, or anything else.
So the other day, my husband arrives home from the store ALL EXCITED because he has FINALLY found his FAVORITE variety of instant Cream of Wheat, he's been looking for it for YEARS, since he was a child...and it is, of course, apples and cinnamon.
The following morning I awoke with a slight headache and a terrible attitude because I'm convinced that someone is burning a Glade "Apples 'n' Cinnamon" candle in my room. Ugh, the stench! The horror! I look around, and there is no candle to be found, I check every room and come up with nothing. Upon entering the kitchen I find husband and child finishing up their breakfast, which is of course, the Cream of Wheat that he bought yesterday and which I now realize is the source of the stench. The food scientists have created a substance in this breakfast item that is so potent it can alarm people with it's "apples 'n' cinnamon"qualities from an entire house away.
I suspect that Glade and Cream of Wheat are sharing a lab.
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
I do love my husband. I do. He is smart and funny and nice and hardworking.
Unfortunately, basic housekeeping skills are not among his numerous fine qualities.
We have had the same discussion many many many times over the past couple of months about how once the dishes are loaded into the dishwasher it is imperative that the dishwasher actually gets started. In recent days I have begun to feel as though my pleas were finally sinking in, and I was so happy.
This morning, however, all feeling of progress came to screeching halt as I stepped into a kitchen with no less than 6 inches of foamy bubbles covering 75% of the floor.
Puzzled, I called my mate to inquire as to why this may be happening, and it would seem that he is unable to differentiate betwixt soap for hand washed dishes (in a small white bottle kept ON the kitchen sink) and soap for machine washed dishes (in a much larger white bottle UNDER the kitchen sink). Not realizing that there might be a difference, handsome hubby poured a whole mess of bubbly hand washing soap into the dishwasher, turned it on and left for work.
Now, think back to that Brady Bunch episode where the kids do the laundry and the entire house fills with bubbles. It was exactly like that, but much less funny and with a few more f-bombs uttered.
Unfortunately, basic housekeeping skills are not among his numerous fine qualities.
We have had the same discussion many many many times over the past couple of months about how once the dishes are loaded into the dishwasher it is imperative that the dishwasher actually gets started. In recent days I have begun to feel as though my pleas were finally sinking in, and I was so happy.
This morning, however, all feeling of progress came to screeching halt as I stepped into a kitchen with no less than 6 inches of foamy bubbles covering 75% of the floor.
Puzzled, I called my mate to inquire as to why this may be happening, and it would seem that he is unable to differentiate betwixt soap for hand washed dishes (in a small white bottle kept ON the kitchen sink) and soap for machine washed dishes (in a much larger white bottle UNDER the kitchen sink). Not realizing that there might be a difference, handsome hubby poured a whole mess of bubbly hand washing soap into the dishwasher, turned it on and left for work.
Now, think back to that Brady Bunch episode where the kids do the laundry and the entire house fills with bubbles. It was exactly like that, but much less funny and with a few more f-bombs uttered.
Monday, July 28, 2008
I am not impressed
Dear Massachusetts Driver,
Prior to joining you here in the Commonwealth, I had been warned about "Boston Drivers" and how crazy they are. For the record-I haven't found this to be the case on any type of large scale and I haven't had any issues with any driver in the city of Boston itself.
That being said, I have begun to notice that there are those of you in and around my home city that are among the worst I've ever encountered...not because of any feats of daring-do or impressive manuevering that blows my midwestern mind. No, you are just assholes for no apparent reason. You aren't even creative, it's the same stunt over and over.
To elaborate, I feel I must first explain that the changing of lanes on a motorway is NOT a slight directed at you personally. Sometimes, there are situations that require one to move one's automobile from the right lane to the left or vice versa. When these events occur, there is a protocol that the rest of the country accepts as common practice; namely, checking the rear view or side view mirror to ascertain that there is room to maneuver, putting one's blinker on in the direction one wishes to move to and then smoothly changing lanes. As I said, this is not an attempt to hurt your feelings. So perhaps you can understand my confusion over why my attempts to move closer to an exit or turn lane are met with the act of you punching the gas in order to close the sizable gap between our cars to prevent me from making the afore mentioned lane change. Usually, you are screaming at me through your closed window as you do so. Usually, you are an over weight middle aged man in a badly maintained car.
I know that on the surface it might seem to you that I am rubbing your nose in the myriad failures that make up your life: your lack of economic success and/or high school diploma, your repulsive visage, etc. I also know that my car being "first" means that you have lost yet another round in the game of life. Let me reassure you once and for all that my attempt to get from point A to point B safely really has nothing to do with any of the above. Driving up onto the sidewalk in order to block me from going through the green light ahead of you isn't going to solve a thing.
I wish that you would learn to accept your lot in life and stop endangering mine.
Many thanks,
Me
Prior to joining you here in the Commonwealth, I had been warned about "Boston Drivers" and how crazy they are. For the record-I haven't found this to be the case on any type of large scale and I haven't had any issues with any driver in the city of Boston itself.
That being said, I have begun to notice that there are those of you in and around my home city that are among the worst I've ever encountered...not because of any feats of daring-do or impressive manuevering that blows my midwestern mind. No, you are just assholes for no apparent reason. You aren't even creative, it's the same stunt over and over.
To elaborate, I feel I must first explain that the changing of lanes on a motorway is NOT a slight directed at you personally. Sometimes, there are situations that require one to move one's automobile from the right lane to the left or vice versa. When these events occur, there is a protocol that the rest of the country accepts as common practice; namely, checking the rear view or side view mirror to ascertain that there is room to maneuver, putting one's blinker on in the direction one wishes to move to and then smoothly changing lanes. As I said, this is not an attempt to hurt your feelings. So perhaps you can understand my confusion over why my attempts to move closer to an exit or turn lane are met with the act of you punching the gas in order to close the sizable gap between our cars to prevent me from making the afore mentioned lane change. Usually, you are screaming at me through your closed window as you do so. Usually, you are an over weight middle aged man in a badly maintained car.
I know that on the surface it might seem to you that I am rubbing your nose in the myriad failures that make up your life: your lack of economic success and/or high school diploma, your repulsive visage, etc. I also know that my car being "first" means that you have lost yet another round in the game of life. Let me reassure you once and for all that my attempt to get from point A to point B safely really has nothing to do with any of the above. Driving up onto the sidewalk in order to block me from going through the green light ahead of you isn't going to solve a thing.
I wish that you would learn to accept your lot in life and stop endangering mine.
Many thanks,
Me
Thursday, July 17, 2008
True and Terrifying
As most of you who bother to read this blog already know, I tend to be a rather relaxed parent-I don't hover or worry needlessly about potential dangers.
As of today all that has changed.
This evening I needed to get dinner ready early as Old Baby and I had somewhere to be at 7...so about 5:00 I send the girls out on the deck to play while I cook. Our kitchen window looks right onto our (fenced in!) yard, there is also a screen door that opens onto the deck. I'm not more than 10 feet from them.
They are playing nicely, the sun is shining, I'm happy because no one is climbing the table or pulling on me. I see the two of them sitting together in the back yard and at the same moment Brent's car pulls up. Perfect, nothing could be wrong.
I turn to the stove for a couple minutes, B walks in and we chat, Old Baby walks in, and after a couple of moments pass I ask Old Baby where her sister is "Is she still on the deck?", Old Baby shrugs and B looks at me and says "What are you talking about? She wasn't outside when I came through the yard."
Not worried yet, because I'm sure she's in the playhouse but I just can't see her because she's short. Check playhouse, no baby. Check back yard, no baby. Check living room, no baby. Walk out the front door and notice a gathering of neighbors across the street, one of them has my child in her arms.
"I just called 911," the neighbor whom I've never met tells me, "I didn't know who she belonged to and so I called the police-she was running down the middle of the street"
SHE WAS RUNNING DOWN THE MIDDLE OF THE STREET
After the police officer shows up and I tell him what happened, (and I'm wondering if I will get a visit from DCFS), I thank the neighbors and take New Baby back home.
Old Baby is hiding upstairs in her room and has that look about her that tells me she knows something-but she won't talk.
Eventually, I am able to determine that at the moment Brent pulled up in the driveway and I turned to the stove, Old Baby opened the gate to go out and greet her father and New Baby took that opportunity to bolt out into the neighbors yard, down their driveway and into the street and because she is small and fast and fearless, she escaped B's notice.
My heart is still racing, and I'm still crying-hours later-and the locks for the gate have already been purchased and installed and they are officially inoperable by anyone under 12.
As of today all that has changed.
This evening I needed to get dinner ready early as Old Baby and I had somewhere to be at 7...so about 5:00 I send the girls out on the deck to play while I cook. Our kitchen window looks right onto our (fenced in!) yard, there is also a screen door that opens onto the deck. I'm not more than 10 feet from them.
They are playing nicely, the sun is shining, I'm happy because no one is climbing the table or pulling on me. I see the two of them sitting together in the back yard and at the same moment Brent's car pulls up. Perfect, nothing could be wrong.
I turn to the stove for a couple minutes, B walks in and we chat, Old Baby walks in, and after a couple of moments pass I ask Old Baby where her sister is "Is she still on the deck?", Old Baby shrugs and B looks at me and says "What are you talking about? She wasn't outside when I came through the yard."
Not worried yet, because I'm sure she's in the playhouse but I just can't see her because she's short. Check playhouse, no baby. Check back yard, no baby. Check living room, no baby. Walk out the front door and notice a gathering of neighbors across the street, one of them has my child in her arms.
"I just called 911," the neighbor whom I've never met tells me, "I didn't know who she belonged to and so I called the police-she was running down the middle of the street"
SHE WAS RUNNING DOWN THE MIDDLE OF THE STREET
After the police officer shows up and I tell him what happened, (and I'm wondering if I will get a visit from DCFS), I thank the neighbors and take New Baby back home.
Old Baby is hiding upstairs in her room and has that look about her that tells me she knows something-but she won't talk.
Eventually, I am able to determine that at the moment Brent pulled up in the driveway and I turned to the stove, Old Baby opened the gate to go out and greet her father and New Baby took that opportunity to bolt out into the neighbors yard, down their driveway and into the street and because she is small and fast and fearless, she escaped B's notice.
My heart is still racing, and I'm still crying-hours later-and the locks for the gate have already been purchased and installed and they are officially inoperable by anyone under 12.
Likewise, I am embarking on my new life as "Helicopter Mom".
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Stinky
As I write this there is a tiny, fluffy, absolutely adorable skunk on our deck. (I'm not joking...it is precious.) The skunk is eating the cat food that we forgot to bring in this evening. The cat food is on the porch because our cats have been banished to the outdoors. The cats have been banished due to one of them developing a habit of peeing in inappropriate places.
It would seem we are doomed to suffer stink one way or another.
It would seem we are doomed to suffer stink one way or another.
Monday, July 14, 2008
Massholes
I know I go back and forth on this frequently, but I am now much more in love with Massachusetts.
As my stepson was visiting these past two weeks, we have done many of the touristy things that one does when they have a house guest. We visited 2 beaches: Hampton (which is actually in NH), and one in Marblehead (aptly named as the beach was SO rough Old Baby hit her head on a huge rock and nearly brained herself while bodysurfing), we visited Salem, took a harbor cruise, hung out around Fanueil Hall and watched the street performers, went to the Aquarium, visited the Ecotarium in Worcester, took the kids fishing (ok, I didn't-B did), went to the little lake by our house several times, ate lots of local seafood and generally felt as though we were on vacation- and we didn't have to travel more than an hour to do any of the above. Next on my list of things to do is take a tour of the mansions in Newport, RI and visit Plimouth Plantation, which is a recreation of the first permanent European settlement in New England.
Based upon these more recent experiences, I am going to go ahead and rank Massachusetts as being much more fun than Illinois. For those of you who care to dispute this: don't bother, my mind is made up and I will just think you are jealous.
Saturday, July 5, 2008
I Miss You
Dear Chicago,
I happened to see a video earlier today and it was all about you. The images that still feel like home but aren't anymore made me feel so homesick that I started to cry.
Love,
Me
I happened to see a video earlier today and it was all about you. The images that still feel like home but aren't anymore made me feel so homesick that I started to cry.
Love,
Me
Thursday, July 3, 2008
Frankenbaby
Whilst unpacking some miscellaneous items a few weeks ago, I happened upon the brace I had to wear on my leg during my tenderest and most formative time of life.
I am fortunate enough to have a child of similar size and proportion to model this device so that we can once again enjoy the sheer asthetic beauty and delicacy of this finely tooled apparatus.
Ye Olde Swimmin' Hole
We are fortunate enough to live about 5 minutes from a nice little lake with a public beach. When we first moved here we asked about said beach and were told by several people that it was terrible and that if we were really interested in swimming there was a swim and racquet club down the street that we should join. Of course, now that we are a one income family I find that membership fees to a racquet club don't qualify as a justifiable expense, so I signed Old Baby up for swim lessons at the lake and lo and behold it isn't terrible-quite the contrary.
As one who so recently left the more urban enviornment where the only choice was a chlorinated pool or the fetid E-Coli waters of the city beaches, I have to say shame on those who would take such a nice little childhood memory maker for granted.
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