April 30, 2007

for the record, I do not feel guilty about the toilet

Henry seems to have recovered from Friday’s tragedy; thanks to everyone who e-mailed to say HE WILL GET OVER IT! Although I suspect that when I pick him up today he will start in with the recriminations again. And with good cause, I suppose. Anyway, I’m over the guilt today and back to the usual Monday rut, you know, paying bills, balancing the checkbook, trying to get the toilet fixed. Yes, the new toilet! That one! Again!

Dammit.

Last night, while Henry was in the tub, I went to sit with him and relieve Wade who needed to go do something Very Important (I don’t remember what, I’m sorry, but I’m sure it’s not worth the effort anyway). I sat down on the closed lid of the toilet, looked at the floor, and said, “Where the hell is all this water coming from?”

Henry said, “I didn’t do it!” No, I said, I didn’t think he did. I looked at Wade, who had stopped in the doorway on his way to do the Very Important Thing, and said, “I think the toilet is leaking. Again.”

“Are you kidding?” he said. I changed into some sweats and got down on the floor to look at the toilet and sure enough! Leaking! Where the tank screws into the bottom part.

Dammit.

THIS time I remembered to turn the water off (ha ha, look at me!) although I did NOT think to flush the toilet after that, which means that it’s still leaking because there is still water in the tank. But still! I remembered to turn the water off! Yay me! Then I wrote a little sign to go on the lid that said DO NOT USE and had a drawing of a toilet with a circle around it and a line through it, although that part of the sign was pretty ineffective.

Henry: What is that a picture of?

Me: A potty.

Henry: Oooookaaaaay.

Charlie: Why did you scribble on it?

Me: I didn’t.

Charlie: Yes you did, you drew lines over it. You scribbled.

Me: No, see, that shows you not to USE the potty.

Henry: But the sign says DO NOT USE.

Me: Charlie can’t read.

Charlie: I can read THAT.

Me: Just don’t use that potty.

I called the plumbers this morning and happily said, “That toilet that you all installed? Seems to be defective!” And they said, “We’ll come right out! And charge you $94.50 to fix it.” I’ll let you imagine what I said in return. Because that may be too adult even for this site.

I called my parents, to consult with my dad (my mom answered the phone and when I said, “I have a plumbing question,” she said, “Oh, yes I can answer that!” and then we both laughed because that’s so funny!). My dad wasn’t home just then but he called me back while I was at the grocery and I told him the whole story, with emphasis on my indignation at the plumbing company’s complete refusal to DO ANYTHING, and he told me what to do (which initially included careful directions about how to fix the leaking gasket myself, and then, in a follow up phone call, became directions to find another plumber, which is really the best advice of all).

Anyway, there I am, in the bread aisle at SuperTarget, pushing my cart with one hand and holding my cell phone with the other and saying, “It’s a BRAND NEW toilet! And it is LEAKING all over the BATHROOM FLOOR! I do NOT need this today!” I’m sure people loved that. I am also always sure, at a moment like that, that THIS will be the day someone recognizes me and says “I read your blog!” You know, when I’m on my cell phone yelling about my toilet.

That would be awesome.

I have too many things to do today to feel guilty about missing a birthday party last week. Also, I’m too busy announcing to the Internet that I never breastfed my children and being amazed at how kind and thoughtful people can be. (Be sure to read Jennifer Scharpen’s post about her ten years of breastfeeding, while you’re over there. Amazing, and I mean that in a really good way.) And if you ever see me in the SuperTarget, talking on the phone and tossing loaves of bread in my cart, please say hello! If you’re really lucky, you might get to hear all about my toilet.

April 27, 2007

it is entirely possible that I had a margarita before I wrote this

Here’s an interesting confluence of events: the ever lovely Ramblin’ Educat has nominated me for a Blogger’s Choice award, for Best Parenting Blog. On the EXACT SAME DAY that I permanently alienated my six year old son!

Can you believe it? Because it’s true!

First things first: you can go here to vote for Friday Playdate, or you can click over just to see that my site has been tagged as containing ADULT CONTENT, which makes it sound so . . . I don’t know! So risque! What do you think they mean by “adult content”? Could it be all my talk of shoes?

Or is it the drinking? Because really, that IS only for adults. Mommy doesn’t want to share her margarita.

And now let me give you REASON to vote for me for Best Parenting Blog. Or Worst Mother, although I don’t have a link and a cute button for that. Sorry.

Last week, Henry came home from school with a birthday party invitation; it was a pirate party and the invitations were really clever, little bottles with sand in them, and a pirate eye patch and a plastic skull ring and the actual invitation. Henry managed to open the bottle IN THE CAR, dumping the sand all over himself AND THE CAR. So that was good.

I called and RSVPd and asked Henry if he wanted Mommy or Daddy to go with him to the party (”I want YOU to go, please!”) and told Wade that he needed to think of a Fun Thing to do with Charlie, who was feeling a little left out. And then I wrote it on the calendar for tomorrow and went on with my life.

Today I met Wade for lunch at La Baguette, and over our delicious French-themed sandwiches I reminded him about the birthday party and he said yes, he knew, and we talked about how nice it would be for him to spend some time with Charlie and how great it was that Henry was making friends and god isn’t our life just freakin’ PERFECT?!?

Dammit.

I spent the afternoon running around in the rain pricing hot water heaters, and then went to Target for the second time in two days to get everything to make Parmesan Breaded Chicken Breasts and then ran it all home and then went to get Charlie, only barely managing not to be late, and THEN went to get Henry, where I sat in the Longest Carpool Line Ever and tried not to swear at the people who were PARKING in front of me and then GOING INSIDE TO GET THEIR KIDS.

Because ARGH! Don’t park in the carpool line! I’m begging you!

When I finally make my way to the front of the line, Henry comes zooming out and hops in the car and announces, “PRESTON’S BIRTHDAY PARTY IS TODAY!”

I said, “No it isn’t.”

“YES IT IS AND I NEED TO GOOOOOOO!”

So I called Caroline, who was home with a sick toddler and really loved that my cell phone crapped out the first two times I called, requiring me to call her THREE TIMES, just to say, “WHEN IS THIS BIRTHDAY PARTY?”

And she said, “Today. Right now.”

And I may have said, “DAMMIT.” Possibly.

Henry cried most of the way home because by NOW it was past the start of the party and we didn’t have a present for Preston or a sitter for Charlie or any idea where we were going and there was no possible way we could get ourselves together in time to make the party. And as he was wailing away, my cold dead heart broke into a million pieces because I had disappointed him.

I was trying really REALLY hard not to say WHO HAS A BIRTHDAY PARTY ON A FRIDAY AFTERNOON? and WHY DIDN’T THE INVITATION SAY FRIDAY, APRIL 27TH? and BUT BUT BUT I THOUGHT . . . Because really, in the end, this was entirely my fault.

Wade called while Henry was in his room, SOBBING, and Charlie was cheerfully waiting for me to get him a snack and made the mistake of saying, “What’s going on there?” And I told him everything, about how Henry hated me and I felt terrible and he was yelling and screaming and I was getting really frustrated even though I was sympathetic and Charlie had a great field trip but it rained and so they came back to school for lunch but the kids didn’t care and we were trying to get ourselves ready to go to the video store and I AM THE WORST MOTHER EVER. He listened to everything and then said, “I’m three minutes from home. I’ll be right there.”

The boys are watching some horrible Batman video now, something about vampires, which probably guarantees that one or both of them will end up in bed with me at three am, but frankly, they can do whatever they want tonight. Because I feel terrible about the birthday party, even though WHO HAS A BIRTHDAY PARTY ON FRIDAY AFTERNOON?

Best Parenting Blog. Good thing it’s not Best Parent. The rest of those folks wouldn’t stand a chance.

April 26, 2007

Coach Henry

Charlie is going on a field trip tomorrow, to the Dinosaur Park in Yukon (who knew we had dinosaurs in Yukon? Garth Brooks, sure, but DINOSAURS? Dude) so after school today we went to Target to get sunscreen, and because my kids are spoiled I am a sucker the boys were being extra good, they each got to pick out a toy from the dollar spot. They chose some cheap ass very cute little trucks, one of which they broke before dinner.

During Charlie’s bath, Henry and I were building race courses for his truck with Mega blocks. He was mostly building things to knock down, of course, because he’s a boy and that’s what boys do. (Wade was supervising the bath, don’t worry; I only rarely leave the boy in the tub alone. You know, when it’s an emergency. Like when my wine glass is empty. Things like that.)

Anyway, we’re building race courses and Henry is knocking them down and he looks at me and says, very solemnly, “Mom, what’s your obstacle?”

And I thought, huh, what IS my obstacle?

I said, “Is that a theoretical question or a practical question?”

“What’s theoretical mean?”

“Oh, it means . . . well, practical would be building something for the truck, and theoretical would be . . .”

And Henry, god love him, said, “Mom. Are you going to build something for the truck to knock down?”

Wade came in and I made Henry repeat what he had said (this time he prefaced it with “This is a PRACTICAL question, Dad”), and then I said, “I think DADDY is my obstacle!”

And Wade said, “Absolutely.” Which is totally not true, at all, in case you’re wondering.

Henry has been trying out all kinds of new phrases these days, with more and less success. The other night, Charlie was doing homework and Henry was yelling from the back of the house “Charlie! CHARLIE!!!” Eventually, he came into the family room, where Wade and I were sitting with Charlie, and said, “Charlie, can I play with your Foot Ninja toy?”

“Sure,” Charlie said.

“On the other hand,” Henry said, “Where IS your Foot Ninja toy?”

“In my closet,” Charlie said, but by then Wade and I were covering our faces and laughing.

Sometimes I think it would be cool to have a life coach, someone I could call to talk me through the more difficult times in my life. But then I talk to Henry and I realize that my life coach is living right here. Of course, he has no idea what he’s saying most of the time. Or why it’s funny.

On the other hand, what IS my obstacle? Hmmm . . .