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 . . .

April 25, 2007

everything you ever wanted to know, and more!

Wade came home last night with a variety of Birthday-Related Loot, including a whole bag of treats from Williams Sonoma (the grocery of the future! if in the future we’re all buying really really expensive pasta with really delicious sauce–seriously, you all, the SAUUUUUUCE! my god so delicious). But! Best of all! Margarita mix!

And tequila!

And a Norah Jones cd!

And did I mention that he brought home margarita fixings? Yes!

God I love that man.

We had the pasta tonight and dammit Williams Sonoma makes some good noodles. I think I am forever spoiled for basic grocery pasta now, which apparently means I will need to get another job, because I am also never coloring my hair myself again. Ever.

Never.

So yes, I colored my own hair the other night; I went with the Garnier color because if it’s good enough for Sarah Jessica Parker, it’s good enough for me. Except that she has a professional hovering over her making sure it looks JUST RIGHT and I had only the package directions and Jen on the IM cheering me on. What I really needed was Jen in my bathroom to help me out, or even better, to color my hair for me. Or maybe to STOP ME before I made a HUGE MISTAKE. But I had none of that, and so I forged ahead like a brave little camper. With lots of gray hair.

Because I had no other choice (Jen, MOVE TO OKLAHOMA ALREADY!) I did it myself and it’s the wrong color (not blonde! not red! just kind of orangy!) and now my head looks GIGANTIC and I will be wearing a hat most of the time for the next few weeks. The upside, of course, is that I get a haircut every four or five weeks and Estrella the Uberstylist pretty much takes EVERYTHING off, so I should be back to myself soon. In the meantime, I look like . . . I don’t even know what. Like someone who shouldn’t be coloring her own hair.

I have decided that now that I’m looking down the barrel of 40 it’s time I start acting like an adult, which probably means getting a manicure every so often and NOT COLORING MY OWN HAIR. I thought fleetingly about swearing less, but that seems really futile, and if you saw my hair, you would be swearing too.

Dammit. See what I mean?

I did not get to actually HAVE a margarita last night, sadly, because we spent TWO HOURS sitting on some very uncomfortable metal bleachers listening to every kid in Henry’s school sing Broadway show tunes while Charlie clapped wildly and said “IS IT OVER YET?” after every song. And while it was truly delightful, particularly the part where Henry (who came to sit with us while he waited to sing Oklahoma! at the very VERY end) turned to me and said, out of nowhere, “I journaled about it being your birthday today,” it was also painfully long. And then we came home and tied the hepped-up children to their beds and said FOR GOD’S SAKE GO TO SLEEEEEEEP! and sprawled out on the sofa.

Inevitably, we got suckered into a documentary about Enron on PBS and ended up staying awake LONG past bedtime. Because that’s how we roll. If you get a chance to see the documentary, do it. Amazing. But have a margarita first; you’ll thank me. And for the love of all that is holy, do not EVER let me color my own hair.

In conclusion, it was a good birthday. (Ha ha, worst ending ever! To go with my hair!)

April 24, 2007

or I could stand in the yard and shoot some video

When I woke up this morning, my first thought was, “Will I EVER not be tired? Ever AGAIN?” I dragged my poor tired self into the shower and when I got out, I heard Henry pitter pattering around in the hallway. He came in and said, “Mom, I’m sorry about this, but it seems that I had a bloody nose while I was sleeping.” Sure enough, his bed looked like something from CSI: Miami, although he was somehow entirely blood-free. Go figure.

I stripped his bed and took everything to the laundry room to pre-treat, and came face to face with the underpants Charlie accidentally pooped in yesterday. I threw the underpants in the trash and sprayed the linens with OxyClean and went to make my coffee.

It wasn’t a particularly auspicious start to my day.

Today is my birthday, the first day of my 40th year (thank you for all your kind and funny wishes). I have not had a margarita although I DID get to have lunch with Wade, at Saturn Grill, which is a place I only rarely go for real food because my kids are freaks and won’t eat the food there. Over lunch he said, “I’m feeling really stressed today, but I don’t know why.”

And I said, “Me too!”

Romantic.

I had the most delicious tomato soup EVER for lunch (with gigantic chunks of tomato and huge pieces of basil and delicious croutons and CHEESE) and my favorite chicken salad sandwich. Then I stopped at the liquor store, to stock up for the impending tornado emergency, and the guy CARDED ME, which made me unreasonably happy, even though I know he only did it because I was paying with a credit card.

Here’s the thing about having birthdays when you’re an adult: it’s really just another day. The laundry has to get done and the house has to be picked up and there’s work to finish and phone calls to make. And tornadoes to watch for, apparently, which does add a little element of excitement to this otherwise fairly mundane Tuesday.

I don’t really need any more excitement, though. Being carded at the liquor store was plenty for today.

I have Rick Mitchell on the TV and I’m just waiting for the thunderstorm to hit and hoping that I won’t have to celebrate the thirty ninth anniversary of my birth by hiding out in our utility bath/tornado shelter. Although should that happen, I will liveblog it as long as my internet connection lasts. Because how many people can honestly say I LIVEBLOGGED A TORNADO ON MY BIRTHDAY?

Anyone? I thought not.

April 23, 2007

perhaps I shall just wear my birthday suit

Tomorrow is my birthday; I will be 39. Thirty nine! Can you believe it? Here’s the short list of Things I Wish I Were Going To Do To Celebrate the First Day of My Fortieth Year (and why I won’t be doing them).

1. Drink a gigantic margarita with lunch. Tempting, especially since I could REALLY go for a margarita these days, but there’s that whole driving thing, and also the whole tendency to fall asleep after a big drink thing.

2. Drink said margarita while wearing a fun and funky day dress. I went to the Gap today and tried on a ridiculous number of dresses, all with wacky empire waists that made me look either pregnant or just plain fat, neither of which was the look I’m really going for. And yes I know that other places have dresses, but I find buying a dress to be very daunting and I tend to give up easily. Also I want something machine washable and PRACTICAL, which is USUALLY what the Gap offers. But not this time.

[Aside: Did you hear that Gap Inc. is closing Forth & Towne? So very disappointing.]

3. Drink my margarita in my fun and funky day dress while sitting outside of a fabulous and chichi little restaurant with either my hott husband or my most favorite girlfriends. Sadly, both the husband and the girlfriends have to work (or have kids at home who are not Chichi Restaurant Friendly). Also, it’s tornado season here, and the weather is kind of crappy–humid and windy with a chance of OH MY GOD A FUNNEL CLOUD! at any moment. Not really the best weather for lounging outside.

So what am I going to do instead? Well, I have a man coming in the morning to give me an estimate on moving all of our crap from this house to the new house, and I have a long list of contractors to call about fixing various things, and I probably should arrange for the new hot water heater to be put in.

And I think I’ll color my hair, because it would be nice to be blonde (again). I may do that tonight, in fact.

Wade is getting me a Dyson vacuum for my birthday, which makes me unreasonably happy, particularly since the new house is carpet from end to end and our current vacuum sucks. And tomorrow night, Henry has his music program at school, so we’ll go to that. His class is singing, among other things, Oklahoma! which he has been regaling me with. It makes me laugh every time.

And now let the countdown to 40 commence . . .