January 31, 2007

I wish I could say that the bathroom is finished, but it would be a lie

Since Monday, I have sanded the spackled parts of the bathroom. They are smooth and ready for primer.

I have also . . . nope, that’s it. That’s all.

Both bathrooms are still all taped off. I have moved the step ladder in and out of the boys’ bathroom about four hundred times. This morning I put the spackle and sand paper away under the sink because Henry was sanding the tile and Charlie was trying to use the spackle as hair product.

I have not so much as opened the can of primer, although I finally moved it out of the kitchen this morning after the tenth time I kicked it.

In theory this should be incredibly frustrating, this complete inability to PAINT THE WALLS, but really I’ve been too busy doing other things, like chasing down the guy from the dry cleaners as he was pulling out of my driveway because we forgot to put the cleaning out AGAIN this week and if Wade’s shirts don’t get laundered . . . well, something VERY BAD will happen. I don’t want to find out what that might be.

I have also been very busy calling painters and calling people to get recommendations for painters because the painters I have called are not calling me back. Oh, and yesterday I had to call the bank and have my debit card cancelled.

You know, those sort of things. Pretty much what you’ve all been doing this week, right?

What? You didn’t have to cancel your debit card? The one you use EVERY DAY, for groceries and coffee and gas and everything else that requires an exchange of money? Oh. Well.

Yesterday in the mail I got a letter from my bank saying that my debit card (not Wade’s! just mine!) was one of some larger group of debit cards whose numbers had possibly been “compromised.” As a result, the bank was suggesting that I cancel the card, which made total sense to me. Also, I was assuming that they would IMMEDIATELY get me a NEW card, because I need that sucker. Real money is against my religion. So are socks. And hairpray. And mayonnaise.

Anyway–I’m a smart internet consumer and I know all about phishing schemes, so instead of calling the number on the letter, I dug out my last bank statement and called the number on the statement. Which turned out to be the same number as the one on the letter, of course, because this really WAS a letter from my bank and I really DID have to cancel the damn card. The very nice customer service rep explained that at some point between May of 2006 and last week, I had used my card at either a Marshalls or a TJ MAXX store, and somehow my number had maybe been “leaked” and even though my account wasn’t showing any unusual activity, which I already knew because I (mostly) keep a careful eye on our checking account (although how much would I have LOVED to be able to blame our fiscal irresponsibility on the TJ MAXX corporation???) the card should be cancelled.

And I said, “Really? Marshalls? You know there’s not a Marshalls in Oklahoma City. And I don’t ever shop at TJ MAXX because it’s in Edmond and that’s too far to drive, even for discounted jeans.”

Yes, I really said that. I am an idiot. (Also, apologies to readers in Edmond. I love Edmond! Really! But my god Edmond is way the hell out there. Seriously.)

So the nice customer service person cancelled my card and apologized for the inconvenience and said that I would get my new card in approximately two weeks and have a nice evening.

Whoa there. Two weeks? TWO WEEKS?!? What am I supposed to do without a debit card for TWO WEEKS? How will I get a cup of COFFEE?

This morning Wade said, “My paycheck should have been deposited last night.”

“Well that’s terrific!” I said, “except that I don’t have a DEBIT CARD, remember?”

“Heh heh. No you don’t!”

“TWO WEEKS!”

“You COULD write a check, you know.”

“???”

I have no idea what he’s talking about, but it’s going to be a long two weeks. I might have to paint that damn bathroom after all.

January 29, 2007

we need to list the house soon, before you all die of boredom

Today is the only day this week that I don’t have some kind of appointment that requires showering and dressing in clean clothes and leaving the house. So of course, today was the day I would paint the bathrooms!

Or at least prep and prime them.

Or maybe just prep them.

Or perhaps just swear a lot.

I figured that the easy place to start would be with the master bath, which is so small that Wade and I can’t be in it at the same time without someone taking an elbow to the head (me) or the groin (Wade) (height difference, see). Most of the wall space is covered in tile or cabinets (I’m paying someone to paint those because woodwork! aaaahhh!) so I really would just have this one wee space to paint.

Except.

The teeny weeny strip of wall, at the corner, next to the medicine chest, has to be painted. I have no idea how to do that. Suggestions?

Also, the light fixture really REALLY should be taken down. Again, no idea how to do that.

Solution: I’ll let the professional do it! What the hell. Too bad I didn’t decide that until AFTER I had taped all the tile off. Argh.

So then I figured, okay! On to the boys’ bathroom! After a break, of course. (Kidding! Just kidding! Especially if you are my husband and you’re wondering what the hell I do all day!)

The boys’ bathroom is also mostly tile (good!) but because it is bigger there is more paintable wall (bad). There were also some holes in the wall that needed to be filled (meh, not really good or bad). So I got right on that, and while I was standing on the toilet filling the no less than two dozen tiny nail holes (how many pictures WERE hung in here?) I realized that there were some cobwebs on the walls. And some other stuff, too, that I still can’t identify and don’t want to think too hard about.

Because seriously, what COULD that be on the wall over the toilet? Oh dear god.

So I patch and I sand and I wipe the walls down and I take down the shower curtain rod and the mini blind and I start taping and I think, “I can TOTALLY get this primed before the boys come home!”

Except that the primer is oil-based, and I’m not doing that.

I take another break (no, not really!) and drive to Sherwin Williams where a very bitchin’ paint guy with LOTS of hair gel and a pair of sunglasses artfully perched on his head and a fleece pullover on OVER his required Sherwin Williams uniform shirt helps me find a LATEX primer for the bathroom (on sale, even!) and then I drive home and eat some lunch and then I realize that by the time I track down the paint brushes and roller and trays and drop cloths and get everything set up in the bathroom, it will be time to go get the kids.

Dammit.

Fortunately, this primer appears not to be entirely composed of toxic chemicals, unlike the Kilz primer which will KILL YOU if your house isn’t properly ventilated (which this bathroom totally isn’t) so I’m thinking I can do the priming tonight after the boys are in bed. And then tomorrow I can start the actual painting.

And then we can SELL THE HOUSE. The end.

January 28, 2007

in which my feminist side rears her unshowered head

Henry climbed into bed next to me this morning and said, “Did you ever shower last night?”

“Huh? No,” I said, still mostly asleep.

“Oh,” he said. “Well, you stink.”

That pretty much summed up my mood this weekend, too.

At Tuesday’s State of the Union address, President Bush introduced Julie Aigner-Clark, creator of the Baby Einstein empire (now owned by Disney) as an example of “the character of our people . . . the heroic kindness and courage, and self sacrifice of the American people.” Yes, it takes courage and heroism to develop a line of baby and toddler videos designed to make parents feel guilty about not teaching their infants the difference between Manet and Monet.

In Wednesday’s recap of the President’s speech, the New York Times noted the dramatic change signaled by Nancy Pelosi’s role as first woman Speaker of the House by pointing out that “Appearances were obviously important to Ms. Pelosi, who changed from the brown suit she had worn earlier in the day to a soft green one, which offered more contrast to her dark leather speaker’s chair.” The Times didn’t bother to mention that Ms. Pelosi had changed her suit because she spilt coffee on herself earlier in the day.

On Thursday, Judith Warner’s examination of America’s willingness to elect a female president elicited nearly 100 comments, most of which were some variant of this: “I don’t think that voters will write off Ms. Clinton because she is female. That statement misses the mark. I think that they will write her off if she can not shake the perception among voters that she is a political opportunist who will say/do whatever appears to be politically expedient at the moment.” So we don’t like her because she acts just like every other (male) member of Congress currently running for President?

On Friday, Meredith Viera equated being a mother with being a babysitter. I don’t even know where to start with this one. I don’t want my babysitter drinking while she watches my kids, of course, but I also don’t want her to plop them in front of the TV while she takes a shower, or tuck them in at bedtime and then have sex with her husband once they are asleep. Apparently, I am not allowed to do any of those things either.

In a week that should have been all about our move forward, women were instead reminded that our place was in the nursery, devoting ourselves entirely to our children. We were reminded that even when we achieve positions of power–Speaker of the House, presidential candidate–we will be called out for acting unladylike, or patronized for our appearance. We will not be respected, no matter what we achieve.

And god forbid we have a cocktail at the end of the day. Because WHAT ABOUT THE CHILDREN?

So yesterday I never showered. I made banana bread, which required two trips to the grocery, and I took a nap with Charlie, who stayed up late on Friday night to go to a birthday party, and at 5:00 I poured myself a glass of wine and popped a frozen pizza in the oven and steamed some broccoli and had a nice dinner with my family. And I spent the whole day feeling vaguely irritated because being a mother is NOT the same as being a babysitter and I am NOT what I wear and my children are doing just fine, thank you.

Okay, so maybe I still feel a little stinky. Don’t you?

January 25, 2007

cleanliness is next to . . .

My housekeeper didn’t show up today, which wouldn’t be worth mentioning except that I spent most of the morning straightening the house so that she could clean. Also, she’s not been doing a particularly stellar job of late, so I spent a lot of time getting myself psyched up to talk to her about, say, CLEANING THE SHOWER or MOPPING THE KITCHEN FLOOR, neither of which have been done in, well, A WHILE.

Eeeew.

When the boys came home from school, they wanted to know why the kitchen chairs were on the table (answer: so J. could mop UNDER the table without gluing the chairs to the wet hardwood) and where the rugs from the bathrooms were (answer: in the laundry, so that J. could actually SCRUB THE FLOOR).

I should probably write about class issues here, shouldn’t I? About why it is so hard for me to ask the woman I pay to clean my house to actually CLEAN MY HOUSE. But frankly, I’m still unnerved by the idea of having to point out in great detail what I want cleaned (the floor behind the toilet! eeeewww) when it is clear that I’m not going to do it myself.

Instead, I’ll tell you this:

Charlie: One day, after I went potty, I washed my hands and you had left the sponge on the counter.

Me: Uh huh.

Charlie: So I wiped out the sink! And finished wiping off the counter!

Me: That was nice.

Charlie. YES. And there was something icky on the floor, so I wiped up THAT, too.

Me: Wow! That really WAS nice.

Charlie: Yes. I think God would like that.

Me: Well, I like it.

Charlie: Yes, but GOD likes it, too. When I wipe up the bathroom.

I wonder if I could convince him that God wants him to mop the kitchen floor, too . . .

January 24, 2007

ahh, aspirations

Last night at dinner, Henry said, “When I grow up, I’m going to be the President. Then a doctor. THEN a dentist.”

He ate some more couscous and then said, “OH! And a MOVIE MAKER! You know, the special effects guy.”

And Charlie said, “When I grow up, I’m going to be a SHOEMAKER!”

Then my heart exploded with pride. Or possibly laughter. Hard to tell.

January 23, 2007

owning boots is not the same as being prepared

I’ve had it with winter. I know, I know, we’ve hardly had any winter at all, in comparison to, say, people in Minnesota, but the thing is that here in Oklahoma, we’re not PREPARED for winter. We don’t have enough snow plows, for example, so it takes days for the streets to clear. Even after the snow and ice melt, the streets are still hazardous, as we have to dodge the ginormous pot holes that appeared during the freeze. Most of us don’t own snow shovels, so our driveways are still covered in ice. Our kids don’t have snowboots or ski pants because they would never wear them, in a normal winter.

We’ve lost our pioneer spirit, I think.

The door on my side of the garage (yes, I have a side) isn’t working properly, hasn’t been since the ice storm. It opens about six inches and then closes again. But it won’t STAY closed, no no, you have to manually STOP it at the bottom of its arc, or it just keeps popping back up, but only six or so inches, not enough to get the car out, just enough to let the neighbor’s cat in. It is infuriating. In the morning, I go out in the garage, manually open the door, load the kids in the car, pull out into the driveway, get out of the car and manually close the door. This closing part is hard as there is no handle on the outside of the door, only the inside, and our north-facing driveway is still a solid sheet of ice. Every morning I pray that this will not be the day I fall flat on my ass trying to slam the door without smashing my fingers.

I really should teach the boys how to call 911.

When I come home, after I slide up into the frozen tundra of our driveway, I have to pick my way up the walk to go in the front door. Every day, I worry that THIS is the day I will not have my house keys with me and I will wind up locked out. Again. I leave my car in the driveway for the rest of the day, and then Wade pulls it into the garage at night, and spends five or ten minutes trying to figure out what’s wrong with the opener. Last night we stood in the freezing cold and discussed what the significance of a GREEN light on one sensor and a YELLOW light on the other might be.

In the end, we agreed that we had no idea. Also, that it was cold in our garage.

I’m not a good winter person. My very cute down jacket doesn’t cover my ass, so I’m always cold; I had to buy gloves at Target today because I don’t own any. My skin is dry and itchy, and I’m tired of wearing my snow boots every day.

I am completely unprepared for winter.