Ahhhh... Grandparents

This past weekend, the kids' grandparents (DH's parents) came up to see us (they live about 90min away) and go to Patrick's soccer game and, later in the afternoon, Josie's piano recital. What great grandparents, right? Don't get too excited - they only came because they were already going to DH's sister's house, which is halfway between their house and ours, and so they 'figured they might as well come up here, too, since they were up here anyway'. Gee, thanks. Don't hurt yourselves or anything.

This has always been a bone of contention with me, and lately with DH's other sister as well. There is obvious favoritism for DH's older sister, Kate, and her kids, who were the first-born grandchildren. When the twins were young, Linda literally spent days at a time with them, and had them to the house for weeks during the summer. They have always dropped everything to do things with them, like take them to movies or whatnot. So, when Josie was born, we thought it would be the same with her, right?

Nope.

Although we only lived about five minutes from their house until a year ago, not once did they call and ask to see the kids, or take them anywhere, or lord forbid, have them overnight. Even when Patrick was born, they only would keep Josie overnight once, and DH ended up going to get her first thing in the morning. Patrick has seen, if possible, even less interest. DH's other sister, Jen, thought we were nuts until she had her own kids, and the same thing happened.

Now, it's not that I expect miracles - after all, they are older now than when the twins were born, so it's completely understandable that they would want less activity in their lives. However, it's the lack of similar enthusiasm that's annoying. I guess it's the 'first grandchild' thing. I'm relieved that we now live farther away, because now that we don't see them as often, the kids are less likely to notice the difference. Like, being having them come to your special events because they were in the neighborhood seeing other people anyway. Yeah.

However, they still win the grandparent of the year award in one way - they haven't taught any swears to the kids.

Yesterday, I was playing a word game with the kids, called Banana Words, where you take 21 tiles and then make as many words as you can in crossword puzzle fashion (like a bunch of bananas, I guess). When the time was up, Josie announced that she had made seven words - no, for, go, run, even, cat, and damit. I almost fell over! She announced them just like that, blah blah blah, not even thinking she's written a Word. Here is the ensuing conversation:

Me: "Wait, what was that last one?"
Josie, surprised, "Damit. What?"
Patrick: "What's damit?" (and I'm thinking, Great! Now the 5yo has it, too!)
Me: "Where did you hear that word?"
Josie: "Nana said it a lot. It means darn, right?"

Thank you, Nana, for teaching my kids to swear.

So, I explained that there are adult clothes, adult TV shows, adult foods, and adult words, and that that's one of them (I know she spelled it wrong, but still). There are kid foods, kid clothes, kid shows, and kid words, which do not include adult words. They seemed satisfied with this, and the conversation stopped.

Jesus Christ, can't I even teach my own goddamn kids to fucking swear?! (Or, in kid language, holy cannoli, I'll teach my own poopyheaded kids to snarklefurg swear, thank you!)

Ha!

Seriously, though. Jeeze.

How Much My Soul?

I am in a quandry. We have decided to donate our large first-generation flat-screen TV (it's about seven years old and weighs literally 250lbs) and the monsterous entertainment center it's in (which I love and will be somewhat sad to see go) to charity because the new house is set up differently, and since our new living room has a fireplace and glass french doors on two walls leading to the dining room and foyer, wall space is at a premium. We are going to splurge and get ourselves an LCD flat screen that we will mount on the wall over the fireplace.

Here are my thoughts on the situation. Being an environmentally-minded person, which is more wasteful: having an energy-sucking TV, or getting rid of it (being wasteful) in favor of getting a new energy-star one, or keeping it and continuing to suck energy, and thus not condemning it to a landfill (although technically this one won't be going to a landfill because we're going to donate it, but still). I have the same thoughts about the newer lightbulbs - do I switch out the old ones, putting them in the landfill before they're dead, in favor of the new ones, which have mercury in them anyway (what happens if they break?! also, I can't have a thermometer, but I can have a house full of mercury bubbles?), or do I keep them until they're dead, thereby getting everything out of them that can be gotten, but waste electricity to do it? Just for the record, I have actually switched out almost all of our bulbs, but felt very guilty throwing all the others in the trash.

Here's another question. I like to try and get things locally when possible. However, LCD TVs are VERY expensive. Here's the kicker; the same TV I looked at in a local shop today is hundreds of dollars cheaper at Walmart (I looked it up on the internet). So, do I stick to my principles and get it at the local place, supporting the local economy and definitely getting better service, but paying dearly for it, or do I do the walk of shame into Walmart and get my cheap-o box lowered off the giant platform and onto my flatbed cart by Jim-Bob the Crane Operator?

Where do you all draw the line of enviro-socio do-gooderism? I am generally fine with shopping in the organic sections, buying the Amish milk in the returnable glass bottles from the local market, and getting gifts at local stores. This TV purchase, though... it's a lot of money...

So Sorry to Have Bothered You...

What IS it with so-called service professionals?!?!?! I am seriously about to blow a gasket over here. Never mind not doing their jobs, common courtesy seems to have totally and completely gone out the window.

OK, so, now that it seems that we WILL actually be moving soon, I'm trying to get some movers. The county is supposed to be in charge of this, but after a week and a half of trying to get a response from them as to who we should contact to get quotes, we decided that we'd better take care of it ourselves, since not getting it taken care of will only result in our hearing, 'oh, gee, we didn't have time to cut the check, so we can't pay movers for at least another two weeks, sorry' on the day when we're supposed to move. I'll do it myself, thank you. Then, two days ago, one of the subcontractors actually had the nerve to send my DH an email saying that she was ready to make appointments with movers to do walk-thrus, so email her some dates to pick from. Since she had copied the actual county rep, Joe, on her email, I just copied him right back when I emailed her explaining that since neither she nor her coworkers had responded to three emails and two phone calls over the course of two weeks looking for assistance she was supposed to be providing, we had gone ahead and started looking for movers without her. Ha!

So, now I'm calling movers. Actually, initially I went to a website and filled out info, and have been harassed continually by various companies ever since. However, every time I talk to one and explain the situation (they must insure all our things to the full replacement value, which will be paid for by the govt, and they will be paid via check by the govt on our moving day in the amount they quote, and will have to bill for any additional amount of time they spend over what they quote initially), they act all interested and say they're emailing a quote... that never comes. Now, I understand that working with the government can be a hassle (BELIEVE ME, I understand), but why not just say up front that they're not into doing the work?! Why make me wait for a quote that's never going to come? Argh! I mean, it's not like the moving business is bustling these days, with the market being so slow, and this is going to be a big job for someone, since the govt is paying for us to have everything packed, too. Today I actually had a mover stand me up when they were supposed to be here giving me a quote. WTF?!

Where do all these Boobs come from?! I know I probably sound like an old fart, but if I tell someone I'm going to be somewhere, I'm There, and as long as I don't have the kids with me, I'm even usually on time. If I'm not coming, I call. If I'm not going to do whatever it is at all, I say so. It's not hard.

I have noticed this same kind of rudeness everywhere lately. It seems like anyone who deals with people on a regular basis can't manage even a smile anymore. The people who bug me the most are librarians and people who work in doctor's offices. Of all people in the working world, they should be kind, at least be able to be CIVIL to children, and (gasp) actually want to help you. People at the stores want to wait on me before the poor woman with three kids in front of me has time to even put her money away, and then in turn want me to fall through the floor as soon as they hand me my card back so they can get to the next person. (That is my hugest pet peeve, BTW.) One of my favorite things to do is piss those people off by politely waiting for whoever it is to gather their things, kids, and purse and head off before I move up to the counter. It totally drives them bonkers! Very passive aggressive, I know, but really, these days I have a LOT of frustration, so it's superfun to pass it on to someone else!!! :)

Any of you totally sick of XYZ doing PDQ, please share. I can't possibly be alone in finding that the people who are PAID to help me find me to be a total cramp in their cell-phone talking style.

... Now With 1/4 Less Wisdom!

Today I finally bit the bullet and allowed a man to remove one of my wisdom teeth. I did manage not to bite the dentist, although it was close a few times.

The tooth that has been discarded was my upper left one, aka Number Sixteen to those in the know. Dentists far and wide have been after me forever to get all four of them taken out. Why are my teeth in such demand, you ask? Are they made of gold? (No, but several of them are made of whatever fillings are made of, because having babies rotted my teeth, thank you very much, Stork.) The bottom two are hopelessly, if partially, impacted. They each have a flap of skin that covers the back half of them, like some kind of oral fig leaf. Or maybe like a tooth lunchbox, because they've apparently been saving tiny bits of whatevers for my entire life under those flaps, and now really, really need to be removed.

I have resisted having them taken for thirty-four years now (well, OK, maybe twenty is more like it, since they don't come in until you're a teenager, or something, right?) because it sounds like it will Hurt, and I'm not into that kind of thing. Why have something painfully jackhammered out of my head when it's not bothering me? That sounds like a bad trade to me. Kind of like childbirth - it causes a lot less grief when still inside me, and although it may eventually be better, the question remains as to whether the process is worth any eventual gain!

Anyway, like childbirth, the time has arrived where I have really no choice, so today I bravely took myself to the oral surgeon and was seated by my nice, tattooed male nurse in the comfy blue chair to await my doom (or at least the tooth's doom). He stuffed my mouth full of Poison Q-tips that burned my throat and tongue, but supposedly numbed my gums. Soon, a dentist, also male, wandered in, blathered away about something pricking, stuck a needle in my mouth, and electrocuted my face!!!!! I kid you not, I rose up out of that chair like the needle had gone into a totally different orifice!!! He had hit nerve jackpot, and injected the needle directly into my nerve, the one that travels up behind my eye. THAT, my friends, is Not Good.

Once that had subsided, the dentist had calmed down, and any danger of my having my cheek pierced had passed, I was left alone with the nurse to become Totally Numb. While I was sitting there contemplating the potential of accidentally swallowing one's own tongue, the nurse blurted out, 'was your face all red when you came in here?'

There's a comforting question. NO, I believe it wasn't, Einstein. He handed me a mirror, and I tell you, I looked like a circus freak. The left side of my face was ghost white except for the very outside of my face, which was bright red. I was undoubtedly going to asphyxiate and die from drug allergy. I started making my mental preparation to leave this world while wearing a drooly bib, and found odd humor in leaving the world as I had come into it.

There is little that is more discomfiting that being The Oddball in a doctor's office. The Nurse had never seen a reaction like that to the shot, which turned out to have epinefrine (I just know I butchered the spelling of that all to hell) in it, but the parade of nurses that came in to have a peek at the Freak told me that they had seen it a few times before, and it was just the shot constricting my blood vessels. Apparently, I wasn't going to die. Probably.

The dentist finally came back, looked at me, and mumbled some comment about it being nothing to worry about, and it would go away in an hour or so, and it wasn't an allergic reaction. He then wheeled over a table with Tools on it. Tools, as in, I'm gonna build a bookshelf, where are my tools. There was a little hammer thing, a plier thing, and a pick thing.

I have never had anything removed before, other than a plantar's wart on my foot when I was a teenager. Well, and I had two babies removed from my ass, but I suppose that's not quite the same thing. So, this having teeth yanked out was a new thing. I'm not exaggerating, either; that man YANKED my tooth out. I suppose there's no other way to do it, really, so I don't blame him, but it felt like.... well, like someone yanking part of my face out. It was the strangest, most disconcerting thing Ever. There was some hammering to loosen it, some picking at the gum, then in went the pliers, and about a minute later, out came my tooth. It made a weird sound, too, like the way styrofoam squeaks when you're trying to unpack a new radio that just Won't Come Out.

The weird (yet GOOD) thing was, it didn't hurt at all. Not one little bit. Afterwards, the nurse went through a whole litany of things I can't do, and I can't even imagine who WOULD do them. You'd have to be a real masochist, or a real MORON, to eat pretzels, chew gum, or use MOUTHWASH after having a tooth pulled (oh, the very thoughts of those things make my skin crawl!!!!). Good Lord, mouthwash!!!!!! Listerine hurts too much for use on a normal day, never mind with my newly constructed facial pothole! OW!!!!

In addition, I did get one little parting gift - a big fat script for Vicodin! Hooray!!!! I don't need it at the moment, since it still doesn't hurt at all, hours later, but boy oh boy, am I gonna cash in THAT baby! That's not something you throw away, my friends. What? A migraine, you say? Vicodin! Ooh, I broke my toe - here, Vicodin! Then my evil little self whispers, terrible summer day with the kids? Vicodin and Vodka tonic! No, I wouldn't really do that. Probably. But it does seem like a good thing to have around. I so rarely take anything for pain that when I do, it's like the clouds have parted and heaven has descended.

So, my first facial crisis is over. In the fall, once Patrick is safely in school, I will have the other three removed. Actually, it will probably be more like next February or something, when all the holidays are safely over and there's nothing to do but sit inside, anyway. At least I have this under my hat, and the next time since they're impacted I'll be knocked out all the way anyway. Hey, there's something to look forward to - a planned nap!

Cake-o-rama

I love to make cakes. When I had kids, of course, I had to start making and decorating birthday cakes for them, usually two a year since we try to have separate parties for friends and family, just to keep the mayhem to manageable levels (otherwise, Mommy has to delve a little *too* deeply into The Drink).

I started out with the usual colorfully-frosted blobs, but once Josie got older and started having Interests, I branched out into the expected Barbie cake for her kid party, and for the family party, a much smaller Kellie cake.

Since that was actually recognizable, I started doing real estate

This year, for Patrick's birthday, I wanted to do something special, that he would remember. He's HUGE into Star Wars, because we have both the original and new series Lego video games and have played them so much that we've actually found all the special stuff and won so many coins that the game has stopped counting! Last year, I made him a Darth Vader cake, which I didn't take a picture of, because it was just hideous and, well, BLACK. Everyone's teeth were really, really nasty after eating it!

Since he loves the bad guys most of all, I decided to make something with Jabba the Hut as a theme this year. I knew I didn't want to make Jabba himself, because that would just be disgusting, so I settled on making his slave ship, the one from the third movie that Luke is almost forced to jump off of into the pit where the sand monster is. After making several layer cakes and cutting them to make layerable sections, frosting it, and using graham crackers, twizzlers and those new chocolate-covered candy bar sticks, I put some lego people on top, and this is what I ended up with:
















Most recently, two weeks ago our church choir director turned 27, and I offered to make the cake for the surprise party we had for him. We always tease him about how much Coke he drinks, which is easily two cans during a 90min rehearsal, so I decided to make him a Coke-themed cake:
















It's a little hard to see, but there are polar bears looking at the bottle, which is made out of trimmed circles of cake laying on their side and frosted together. It's covered with cookie sludge (Oreos mixed with chocolate sauce) and black sugar crystals. The wording says, 'I'd like to teach the world to sing in perfect harmony', from the old commercial, which I thought was apt for a music director.

Sometimes people tell me I should go into business, and I guess I wouldn't mind doing cakes for people I knew, but doing them for strangers would introduce a layer of pressure I'm not sure I'd want. What if they didn't like it? I'd either be upset, or mad. Either way, someone would probably end up with cake where the sun don't shine, and I'd end up needing someone to make ME a cake... with a file baked into it. :)

The Popsicle Forest

Welcome to the popsicle forest!!! It lives in my room, and is peopled by frail, skinny life forms that flop over without correct support...

OK, it's my burgeoning garden. These to the left here are giant sunflowers, the kind that will eventually be about twelve feet tall. You can't see them clearly in this photo, but also planted in these three trays (which do, in fact, live in our bedroom) are geraniums, various petunia varieties, nasturtium, and a few other lesser-known plants.


These beauties to the right here are veggies. Actually, they're currently a lot bigger than this, but I'm too lazy to heave my largesse upstairs to take another photo (I swear, these are the most well-documented plants ever grown! I may have more photos of these babies than some people do of their third- or fourth-born kids!), so here they are as they appeared about a week ago. From left to right, they are chocolate cherry corn (which will be dark ears with pink silk), decorative gourds, max pumpkins, and purple pole beans. The pumpkins are my favorites; one day I thought that the cat had been playing in the dirt, so naturally I was preparing to skin her alive, when I noticed upon closer inspection that in fact giant leaves had displaced literally *chunks* of dirt all in one night. At the moment, this is the best performing tray, with everything up. The beans are all about five inches tall, and same with the corn.




This is the last photo I will bore you with today (see, this must be what people without kids must feel like when cornered by the rest of us). Here we have, clockwise from top left, an entire tray of dwarf snapdragons, white sunflowers on sticks and candycane zinnias, larger snapdragons with variegated zinnias, and a fourth tray with cukes (the tallest ones), red, orange and chocolate sweet peppers, two kinds of watermelons, lettuce, and two kinds of tomatoes. Again, another older photo, but you can see the life in them anyway. The peppers just started showing their heads the other day, as I was despairing of ever seeing them at all.

Tonight on the kitchen table I have three varieties of morning glories (the Japanese Murasakihigezaki will be my favorite, if it comes up) and two Passiflora vines (when you look at this link, just above the passiflora photo there's a small image of a corkscrew vine that I will be soaking and then planting tomorrow).

I got all my seeds online, and all the veggie seeds are heirloom plants, meaning that they have been harvested from plants who in turn were harvested naturally from plants, in some cases all the way back to the 1800's. I did this for several reasons; one, because a lot of seeds today are genetically engineered to self-destruct after one season so you have to keep buying from The Man, and two, because they are tastier than the hybrids that are typically sold in stores today that have been carefully bred over the years to favor standard size and hardiness over flavor. Also, it makes me increasingly nervous that we are so reliant on only a few strains of plants; all it would take would be one or two serious viruses to wipe out a large amount of the vegetation we rely on in general society. Again, this steered me to the heirloom varieties.

I have been wanting to grow veggies for years, but what finally pushed me over the edge was Barbara Kingsolver's 'Animal, Vegetable, Miracle'. Kingsolver is an amazing writer (The Poisonwood Bible, among many of hers, is one of my favorite books ever), and a few years ago she and her family made the commitment to live full-time on what had been their summer home in VA, and live off only food they grew themselves and whatever could be produced within a certain number of miles from their home. It's a very interesting read, with many recipes and ideas, and it 's what finally got me off my butt and growing. Even if you're not interested in growing your own stuff, it's still worth a perusal.

And that, ladies, is my diatribe for today!

Ups and Downs

OK, since I last wrote:

The county finally made it out to our house, and presented a good offer for our house. It pays off our mortgage, and leaves enough over that we can put down some money on our new house. Phew! This morning I got an email from the county lawyer saying that our closing will be scheduled for the 18th, so two weeks from tomorrow. We're checking with our lender to make sure that we'll be able to settle on the new house at the same time, but I believe that things *should* be in order to do that.

This is a massive relief. Not only was I starting to get really, really discouraged, but the realtor for the seller was starting to say things like, the potential delay for the sale was going to make the seller lose the house to foreclosure, and it was basically our fault, so could we move in anyway and pay rent? Like we can pay two mortgages! What a nut! Anyone with a brain knows that a bank isn't going to choose foreclosure over a guaranteed sale, even if it happens a few days later than was originally planned. I think she's a lot more interested in her commission than her seller, frankly. Either way, her thinly-disguised guilt trips were getting on my nerves.

I wasn't expecting settlements to happen before the end of the month! We still may not move until the beginning of May, but that would give us time to get in there and clean, get some additional fencing for the back yard, take out a couple of small trees, etc.

The same day we signed the offer from the county, DH had a fender-bender on the way out of town on his way to work. He was actually taking a detour to look at the new house, and was waiting to turn left when the guy behind him plowed into his right rear side. They both pulled over, and the guy, who had his elderly mother in the car, was very nice and forthcoming with all his info, handing DH his insurance card and writing down his phone number. DH didn't write down his plate (I know, I know), since he had all this other info, and came home to call the insurance.

Too bad the guy gave him a made-up phone number and a canceled insurance policy.

Can you believe that? I mean, just when I think I have a grip on the fact that there are a lot of dishonest people in the world, boom! We were so amazed. That probably sounds naive, but really, who expects to be handed a canceled policy card? Good grief! Luckily, our insurance will pay for the repairs (other than our deductible, of course, ouch), but still! The only decent thing is that DH got a nice rental car, actually nicer than what he currently drives, that the insurance will also pay for. It's a Nissan Altima, silver, and is of course a lot cleaner than his usual car, too. :)