Donde esta el bano?

OR Norcross Vacation 2012– Part 1

A note about the title. I was trying to think of how to say “Where are you from?” but my college German overrode my high school Spanish. And while I tried several times to transport my brain to Mr. Volzer’s (Aye Carramba!) first period classroom, I did not attempt to Google it.
All I could come up with was “Donde esta el bano?” which I learned from watching 80’s sitcoms.

Specifically, an episode of Who’s the Boss? where Tony is trying to teach the family useful phrases en route to some resort in Mexico. Obviously, Angela scoffs at this. She is a high-powered female business executive with no need for conversational Spanish. Until you see their airport taxi pulling into the resort and Angela jumping from the car and running to the first person she sees.

“Donde….esta…….?”

“EL BANO, Angela, EL BANO!” Tony is just so damn helpful.

In related news, thanks to Dora, my kids said “Gracias” to the café worker in Mexico. See, Dad, television is NOT why the Japanese are ahead of us.

I have a point.

It’s not about Spanish.

Several times on the cruise we were asked where we were from. Of these times, at least 50% of the questions come from people who were obviously not from the US. (Including the cutest older Australian couple, who loved our kids.)

However, my standard, non-thinking response was always “Ohio”. This makes me cringe and the reasons are twofold.

First off, ever notice in TV shows when the main characters run into out-of-towners that seem just a little off – maybe they are stuck in the 80s, or maybe they are naïve, or maybe they lack basic vocabulary skills – they always end up saying they are from Ohio. Why all the hate for Ohio? What about Idaho? Or Iowa? What about KANSAS!? I know there are some hick people out there.

More importantly, perhaps, why should I expect someone from a different country to know Ohio? I don’t even know all the provinces in CANADA for god’s sake, and there’s not that many of them.

Don’t ask me to tell you what all the countries in Eastern Europe and Africa are. I could probably guess the majority of South America. Brazil’s the big one, right? (Hmmm, maybe television IS the reason the Japanese are ahead of us.)

The point being, after I say it, I feel like a complete douche bag Ugly American. What do mean you don’t know where Ohio is? Don’t you watch Glee or reruns of The Drew Carey Show?

Not that any of them admitted to not knowing where Ohio was, by the way. I should probably give them credit for having moderately superior geography skills than me. I mean, they are the ones speaking two languages without relying on Who’s the Boss? trivia.

Speaking of being lost…did I mention we lost our kids on the cruise? I guess if you are going to give your kids a practical survival scenario for getting lost, a cruise ship is the place to do it.  They can’t get far, kidnapping is out of the question, and the clientele that can afford the cruise are less likely to be homicidal maniacs (or maybe more likely, not sure).

Anyway…we were up on Deck 16. Nana and Papa had already headed back to the room and everyone else was gathering their things. Morgan told us she had to go down to 15 for her flip flops.

I keep gathering our things and look up to notice Zoe is no longer standing next to us. I look down and see Morgan picking up her flip flops, but no Zoe. Okay…walk quickly towards the doors that lead to the elevator lobby and reach them just as she pops back out.

Fortunately, Uncle J had come out of the restroom right as she was walking by and asked her where she was going. She informed him that she was following Morgan, but he didn’t see Morgan anywhere, so brought Zoe back with him. Phew.

Look back over the edge again. No Morgan. Jesus Christ!

Honestly, my first thought was that she went back to the room. From Day 1, they had figured out what floor our room was on, which door it was, and how to use their Sea Pass to get in. Unfortunately, her Sea Pass was still in my beach bag, so I wasn’t sure what she would do once she got there and no one let her in.

Scott headed back to the room, while the rest of us did random sweeps around the two decks. What felt like an hour later, Scott shows back up with Morgan in tow. She had gone to the room and was working her way back down the hall when he found her.

Yeah, new rule. Sea Pass on, unless you are IN the pool.

And speaking of worst case scenario…a man missing his leg goes by while we are lounging one morning.

Zoe: Why is his leg missing?
Nana: Maybe he had an accident or was sick.
Zoe: No, I think he was in a shark tank and it got bit off.

To be continued….

My Favorite Things (Sarcasm Implied)

1. The stairway between the 10th and 11th floor that we are only supposed to use in emergencies. (I'm not sure why all the stairways have that signage, because nobody pays attention to it.)

This particular stairway is my direct route to the cafeteria, which you would probably figure out when you saw the meatball that has been rotting there for the last two months.

Dear Meatball Dropper...Seriously? Pick that shit up.

Dear Facilities Managment...Seriously? In two months you haven't once cleaned the stairwell? What if there was an ACTUAL emergency and people ended up tripping over the hundreds of meatballs that people had dropped and not picked up?

2. The new partner on our year-end audit, that came up with new and interesting ways to torture me, while already going through the living hell known as enterprise risk management. This would be the single reason that I haven't blogged in over two weeks. Guess what you missed? You can blame him.

• The concussion I gave myself while attempting to lift my 140 pound dog's ass off the kitchen floor and subsequently slamming my head into the counter.
• Zoe waking me up at 3:30 in the morning to let me know there was "something in her bed" and that something was puke. Which was now on my hands.
• A beer tasting in downtown Cleveland from 2pm - 6pm. Quote upon entering: We should have bought an extra pass so we could have split another 25 tickets. Quote upon leaving: I have eight tickets left, how many do you have? (Or something like that, it was hard to tell with all the slurring and the need to concentrate on walking without falling over.)

Sidebar: Early Saturday morning, I ran into said partner in our local bakery. For once, I wasn't wearing pajamas. Although I did have my hair braided in pig tails, so I probably looked like a 12-year-old (or maybe a 38-year-old with pig tails). He looked MUCH worse.

3. My own insanity which led me to completely overhaul the upstairs playroom exactly one hour AFTER our PTA's spring resale. In my defense, Zoe asked me to find Bitty Baby's missing shoes, so I was actually attempting to be a good mom for a change.

I found one shoe about 15 minutes into demolition. Seven hours later, my final task was to dump out the bins of stuffed animals to find loot that made its way to the bottom. Low and behold a pink shoe. Guess what? Same goddamn shoe I found seven hours earlier. She WILL be the death of me.

(On a side note, the train table / Fisher Price Little People village has been turned into a craft table, so anyone interested in FP LP sets should contact me immediately! Barn, Castle, House, School and all the accouterments. These prices won't last forever! Everything must go!)

4. Zombie shows. For real. Who knew?

Roast Beast

It’s less than two weeks till “Cousins Christmas”. Are you all prepared? Don’t know if you remember me mentioning that Scott cleaned the basement this past weekend, but our White Elephant potentials grew exponentially.

Also, Scott casually mentioned that I seem to be hoarding a certain item that I allegedly have enough of to distribute to every person in the family and now my wheels are turning. Be afraid. Be very afraid.

But before Uncle Mike offers to give us each a quarter for rubbing the bunion on his left foot, let’s take a moment to remember these other classic family moments.

BARN RAISING

Any time that the Myers and Wortz visited from out of state and were forced to help the Kirschners lay a foundation, frame a house, roof a house, pour concrete, brick a chimney, install indoor plumbing and/or electricity while eating off tables made out of scaffolding.

Male dress code: white undershirt and cut off jeans. Except for Papa Swigart, who would wear tan short pants with his fruit of the loom v-neck.

SMOKE THIS SAUSAGE

This is actually serious. There has never been any sausage in the world that has tasted like the sausage the aunties and uncles smoked in the Wohlever’s backyard and hung to dry in the basement/garage. Please, for the love of god and all that is decent and holy, BRING BACK THE SAUSAGE! Sausage sandwiches on pure white bread, no condiments necessary.

Dress code: plastic shower caps.

PARENTS OF MULTIPLES

Any time any sibling or cousin was forced to dress like each other. This ranged from matching butter yellow dresses on our one and only trip out to Kansas back in the late seventies to Papa’s funeral when we all threw on matching t-shirts from goodwill and constructed human pyramids.

Male dress code: Amherst Comet gear

Female dress code: California Raisin logo

THE ROLLER COAST

Family reunion at Cedar Point, where all the older cousins went in Uncle Mike’s Suburban – Charlie driving, Rachel co-pilot. Made Charlie laugh so hard he had to pull over on the side of the highway and pee himself.

Dress code: Fake wild west gear to take Red Garter Saloon photo.

I’D LIKE TO TEACH THE WORLD TO SING

If it happened or could have happened, it can be set to the tune of Good King Wenceslaus. Period.

“There was abuse in my family, but it was mostly of a musical nature.” – A Mighty Wind

Blackout 2011 Edition

One week ago, we walked the girls down to the lake as another wave of wet snow was coming in. Just a short visit to get us out of the house on a Sunday afternoon to shake off the remains of Mommy's hangover.

As we walked back, the wet snow was starting to turn to sleet. Little did we know...

Monday morning I groggily register that Scott is getting ready to go to the gym at some god awful 5am-ish pre-butt crack of dawn. Potter groans a few times, rubs his face on the carpet and settles back in to snoring. I vaguely notice wind pounding against our "vintage" windows.

All I know is that it is President's Day, so Morgan has no school and rush hour traffic should be lighter. Might as well not even dream of getting up before 6:45.

I hear Scott go outside to start the car and open the gates. I hear Scott come back inside. I hear...nothing. All the white noise we take for granted has vanished. No faint lights from the alarm clock, cable box, or Morgan's four night lights.

Power is gone.

I'm informed that everything is covered in a couple inches of ice. Hmm...sounds like "work from home". Make that not dream of getting up before 7:30.

But that would mean Zoe had suddenly stopped being a "morning" person. So I was actually up in plenty of time to see that butt crack.

Cut to two hours later...

In some cosmic twist of events, the sitter's power never went out. Despite the fact that their own tree shed a quarter of its weight into the "mean" neighbor's yard and took out a power line or two. So the girls are shuffled off and I head to find free wi-fi.

Panera...hmm...looks like everyone had the same idea. Barnes and Noble...much better idea. Except my employer firewalls and wireless settings make it a virtual Fort Knox of a signal. After a couple personal tech support texts that offered no support, I finally figure it out on my own and I'm off and running.

Responding to e-mails and instant messages...grabbing documents I need off my server...drinking my expensive Starbucks hot cocoa. It only stands to reason that 15 minutes later the power goes out.

Yes. It does. I wait.

Nope, not coming back on. Well, maybe if it is out here, it came back on at home. I know that my in-laws got it back already, so it's not a crazy idea.

Nope, not back on. But I can see the mess we left behind in the morning and the house hasn't lost much heat yet, so I decide to stick around and take some time to tidy up. And also pack some overnight bags...just in case.

Head to the library...I can get Internet, but if I try to get into my Lotus Notes the damn thing kicks me off my network, so it's pretty slow going for me and I'm regretting my decision to stay close to home and girls. When the lights start flickering at the library, I give in to taking a sick day. It's around 2:30.

I let my mother-in-law know that I'm going to grab the girls swim bag from home and have some lunch and then we'll be by for a visit. Decide I might as well grab the overnight bag, too...just in case.

We pull in Nana Turtle's driveway at 4 and are told that she just lost her power again. No joke. But who needs power? The girls draw pictures, we get Morgan's homework ready for the next day, Zoe sets up her infant daycare...then we head to the gym.

One of the perks of Five Seasons' former life as a "country club" is that they still kept their bar area. So after swim lessons and showers, we eat dinner and watch TV (which had mysteriously landed on Nickelodeon, so I'm pretty sure I was not the only parent with this idea).

Scott and I took turns working out, and got our showers in, too.

Coming home, I couldn't help but notice all the houses with lights on. Some of those bastards had even turned their Christmas lights back on in an effort to flaunt their consumption of electricity.

"Look, that store has power...and that store has power...these all have power!" exclaimed Morgan as we drove past the Walgreens plaza. But Mommy could see the darkness to the north. No traffic light at the lake meant no beacon of hope illuminating our doorstep.

As we prepared to hunker down in front of the gas fire that incidentally exists in our coldest and smallest room of the house, we get a text from Nana that they just got their power back. So the girls and I leave Daddy and Potter to the hunkering and we head off for heat, beds and television!

Although, my heart is heavy, knowing that my DVR is missing Pretty Little Liars and Greek.

Things aren't very much better in the light of the next day, and we head off to school, daycare and work with little hope, knowing that we could very well not have power until the next day. The entire mile walk from garage to work was filled with hateful thoughts that just dared anyone to try to talk to me before I got my laptop booted up.

But all's well that ends well. We returned home to power and I can just imagine the people that were still in the dark driving by our house that night, cursing at us. As I let Potter back inside for the last time, I began turning lights out. Every light out. Because we had subconsciously turned and left on every...single...one. Inside and out. Top to bottom.

Don't worry. Karma came and bit me in the ass, because on Thursday I left my car lights on all day, too. Guess what happens when you leave your car lights on the entire time you are at work?

I'm pretty sure that it took all my co-worker's will power not to make fun of my damsel in distress moment, so I thank him for that and his jumper cables and his ability to use said jumper cables and for never mentioning that he had to drive halfway across the city to help me, because I decided to splurge and park close to work that day. (Obviously a shout out to Joe, who won't read this anyway.)

Winding down with another snow storm on Friday seemed to top everything off perfectly...we have a mini-half pipe out of snow in backyard that the girls used their saucer sleds on it for a good hour. A family of snowmen in the front yard. Snowmom and Snowdad letting Snowbaby get shockingly close to the street.

And so ends another saga.

Days of Wine and...More Wine

Friday night was PTA Book Club, and I think we had a new record in that all of us in attendance had read at least a portion of the book! Of course, only six of us were there…oh well.

More importantly, we didn’t run out of wine this time.

And then we confirmed once again that we all do the things that we feel guilty about doing so there is no reason to feel guilty about doing said things. And our kids are not freaks and we should stop questioning our parenting skills to much. And spring recreational soccer is rigged.

Saturday night was PTA Adult Outing and if you are getting here via Facebook you may already realize that there was a lot more wine consumed. I guess that’s what happens when you first stop is The Wine Room.

Then we went next door and learned the basic steps for Salsa and Swing dancing. Jen and I are in agreement that Phil was the best dance partner (so what the hell was he so worried about?). None of the husbands commented on us though, which is probably for the best.

I, for one, am just happy there weren’t any mirrors.

It seemed to be over really fast and we didn’t have any casualties; so really, people…get some balls and come out with us next time. What good is an adult outing if you can’t look like an ass in front of the people whose kids your kids are going to eventually date?

After only two mis-sent text messages, I got myself into bed. Of course, even though the girls were at my mom’s I still had trouble sleeping in due to headache and dehydration. Totally worth it.

What wasn’t worth it was going to Yoga.

Bejan was not there and his substitute did not get the memo that I don’t like to flow quite so quickly through my poses; and by the way, I’m a beginner, so you are lucky I can even come close to Downward Dog and Pigeon. Don’t be throwing all these random balance poses at me that I haven’t even heard of, let alone attempted. Jeesh.

He is apparently going to be out next week, too. So I will get the opportunity to find out if I really I am this bad, or my equilibrium was just way off from the night before.

After I managed to forget to put an entire stock pot of excellent corn chowder (I’m talking award winning) in the refrigerator and thus ruining it, I fell asleep at around 9 PM. Yes, I am old. Bring on the March beer tasting!

Loves Me...Loves Me Not

I awoke from sweet, gentle repose this early morning to the heaving and retching of Potter throwing up the pieces of rug he has eaten...loves me not.

Scott volunteered to go downstairs and clean it up...loves me.

No Cherry Coke Zero in the vending machine...loves me not.

Yvonne brought in donuts to celebrate her long awaited return from the Far East...loves me.

Three control testing validation meetings on my calendar for today...loves me not.

One rescheduled, which meant I could leave work early...loves me.

One ran 30 minutes longer, which meant I couldn't leave as early as I would have liked...loves me not.

Despite only having an alleged 5 miles worth of gasoline remaining in my car and for some reason not bringing my purse to the gym, manage to get home and to the gas station without having to coast...LOVES ME.

***

I like Valentine's Day, because I can compare how well Morgan writes her name to other kids in her class. (Nice mom, huh?) She's getting better, but I am no longer hovering, so there was many an "a" and "n" that appeared backwards on her own cards. I figured that is my present to the other moms out there. "See, that girl can't even write her name properly."

***

Technically, Scott and I are planning a long weekend trip as our Valentine's gift, but that did not stop me from getting him something I knew he cherish with every fiber of his body...a soup ladle. We didn't own a soup ladle. I don't know how that is possible, because we (and by we, I mean Scott) make soup all the time. Now we won't have to use our measuring cup to scoop it out. Best. Present. Ever.

***

Getting out from the shower I suddenly couldn't remember where I took my glasses off. Since I'm almost blind and my upstairs looks like Potter ate all our clothes and then threw them up again all over every inch of space, I spent at least 10 minutes looking for them. Have now made a commitment to wake up when Scott does tomorrow in an effort to regain control of my laundry situation. Worst. Present. Ever.

5, 4, 3, 2, 1

5 Things That Gross Me Out (Dirty Cup Edition)

Large clumps of lipstick left on coffee cups. Blot, people...blot.

When Scott spits gum out into a cup in his car and then a week later brings said cup into the sink to be washed and it is stuck to the bottom. (Yes, I realize I have never told you this.)

When I forget to wash my work mug before I leave for the weekend, particularly if I didn't quite finish the hot chocolate I made in it.

The cup holders in my car that have an unidentified stickiness to them that can only be found in "mom" cars.

A sippy cup found under the couch a month later. Multiply it 100 times if it has any remnants of milk in it.

4 Things That Made Me Want to Cry This Week

The reading of the Declaration of Independence before the Superbowl...because our country is sadly far from what they intended.

Former Early Childhood PTA presidents that attended Founders Day and talked about looking at the same kids they knew in preschool getting their high school diplomas...because I am not ready to think about that.

Morgan's book that she dictated to Thea about whales and then illustrated...because I don't want her to ever stop loving whales they way she does now.

Fabio kicked off of Top Chef...because he is my favorite. "This is Top Chef, not Top Scallop!"

3 Things That Made Me Laugh This Week

"Hide" and seek with the girls...because their idea of hiding is very different than mine.

Sue Sylvester trying to shoot Britney out of a cannon.

A stick drawing I saw of how much Southerners enjoy snow, which might be vaguely similar to how Northerners enjoy it. (I think you can click to enlarge.)

2 Things Potter Ate This Week That He Shouldn't Have

1/4 of the throw rug that is in his "cave" in the back hall.

The rest of Zoe's Lunchable, including packaging, that was left out by mistake on the coffee table.

1 Awesome Movie Quote Made by My Boss Today

"1 point 21 jigawatts!?!?"

Which I can't decide is more or less funny when you know that what we were talking about was materiality thresholds on financial statements.

Back to Reality or Week 1 in Review

1. Last Monday, Zoe woke up in the middle of the night and insisted on joining us, which meant I had exactly 10.5 inches of king-sized mattress to lay on from about 1:00 - 6:00 a.m. Not conducive to the sleep that is needed before my first day back to work after over a two-week vacation.

2. It's a good thing I didn't spend much of my vacation time analyzing the data I was given for a last minute project an hour before my vacation started, because in a fortunate twist of events, they did not need it. Score!

3. I need to stop stalking Facebook. I keep having dreams with random high school classmates making guest appearances. And I mean RANDOM.

4. My new staff officially started last week and that makes me officially ancient, as I am officially old enough to be her mother. That's not true. Well, it might be biologically true, but I wasn't doing things like that at age 13.

5. I also need to stop playing Soduko on my nook. I had it charging at my laptop in case I had a chance to read at lunchtime and it taunted me all day. I could just play one quick game...,nobody would know...I could stop whenever I wanted.

6. In my on-going quest to read as many Young Adult fantasy books as humanly possible, I have been enjoying Rick Riordan's Percy Jackson and the Olympians series. So I borrowed The Lightning Thief movie from the library.

• Portraying the gods as giants is NEVER going to look right no matter how good your special effects are?
• Although Sean Bean (Zeus) and Kevin McKidd (Poseidon) were perfectly cast, how could you leave out an entire MAIN CHARACTER? I mean, you might as well have left out Pierce Brosnon as the centaur (clearly the most miscast of all of them) if you aren't going to include Ares, god of war. COME ON, PEOPLE!....
• ...otherwise a thoroughly entertaining movie.

7. Morgan is still lice-free, according to the recent school check where they actually made her take her braids out! If you didn't know, Morgan is VERY particular about her braids. I mean psychotically particular....she doesn't even let Nana do them. But this woman who, according to Morgan, had never braided hair before got a giant stamp of approval from my OCD 5-year-old. Unfortunately, Morgan couldn't remember who it was. So I will send this thank you out to all the random lice-checking moms, because this is definitely one of those cases where I am happy I "work outside the home."

8. In Morgan's journal center, she had to write what amounted to a New Year's Resolution that would be some way in which she would help out around the house or with the family. Morgan said "I will mak mi lunch." So now I have to let her help make the lunches, which I thought couldn't possibly benefit me in any way until I came to the conclusion that it will force me to pack them the night before because the idea of having to get through that in the morning with her is altogether unappealing.

9. Week one of the basement purge is over...I have what equals three drum liner Hefty bags of stuff going to the curb (before we get limited to those new nifty trash cans in March), 3 more bags and one super large plastic tote of potential items for the re-sale, and my entire trunk full of clothes and bedding for Amvets. This does not include the 2 kitchen trash bags full of stuffed animals that I had segregated prior to the holidays for donation. And yet, our crawl space is still full. I do not understand how this happens.

10. And for the miracle of the week...Morgan learned to pogo stick...kind of. She asked for a pogo stick for Christmas, for god knows what reason. Nana Turtle found one with an extra wide base for beginners and Morgan tried it out on Wednesday night in the basement.

First, she just wanted Scott and I to hold her up on it and I kept telling her it wouldn't work that way and she wouldn't be able to go. So we did a few select pseudo-demos (because we technically are too large for this thing). I expected her to give up pretty quickly (she is, after all, my daughter). But damned if she didn't work her little butt off and managed three bounces in a row by the end!

There was only one instance where she fell backward and the stick kind of hit her in the nose. I quickly told her she was fine because there was no blood, which she accepted and got right back at it.

First of all...this is unprecedented. This is the same girl who drags her knuckles on the ground one minute into a soccer game and cannot manage to sit straight up in her chair long enough to write the letter "a".

Second of all...safety first. Before she attempted this, she put a stuffed chair shaped like Elmo behind her and announced it was her butt pad, which did come in handy. This is contrary to the fact that when she asked if she should wear helmet like the child in the picture her dad and I shrugged our shoulders..."ehhh, what's the worst that could happen?" We are also in contention for Parents of the Year.

Author's Note: This post was drafted over the weekend. As I was going to print, Morgan informed me that she had already contractually filled her obligation to pack lunches when she helped me last night. Didn't see that coming.

Homes for the Holidays 2010

Saturday was our annual fund raiser for the Early Childhood PTA. The premise is a homes tour, and we try to have the home owners matched with decorators to create "holiday" themes in the homes to get people into the Christmas spirit....yada, yada, yada.

Basically, we coerce six to eight home owners into letting people trample through their homes and suffer the degradation of people criticizing them for the smallest of defects. (Okay, maybe I'm exaggerating, because the majority of people do make positive comments, but I'm always amazed out what comes out of people's mouths.)

I volunteer to stand in a home for a few hours to make sure the old ladies don't steal anything and nobody uses the tour home toilets.

I was in a very nice home built in 2000 where my only two criticisms were:

1. The builder did not lay their sub-flooring correctly on the second floor. Every step you took would creak and give with your feet. Although maybe the owners requested this so they always knew when their kids were sneaking out. I don't know. All I know is that my parents built their house in the 1980s and it does not make those noises.

2. I spent all three hours staring at a large ridge in the carpeting that ran the length of the bedroom, because it had not been stretched properly. I'm sure they didn't install it like that, but it had obviously been there a long time.

Now I challenge you to come into my home and have only two criticisms.

As far as other people's opinion...

"Is this the master bedroom?" Well, it has a king-sized bed and his/her closets and built-in dressers, so yes. Followed by either, "Then where is the master bathroom?" or "Then why are there stuffed animals on the bed?"

It's not so much that they asked about the master bath, it was the way they asked. Like they were appalled that a master bedroom wouldn't have it's own bath. So apparently, my house (built in 1920 and therefore unencumbered by the need to have tubs big enough in which to swim and toilets close enough one doesn't have to strain their muscles to get to them) would not pass the test.

On top of it, when they were shown the door to said bath, they were equally appalled that the home owners had closed it off for the day. Do you really need to see where people void their bowels??? I appreciate an aesthetically pleasing bathroom as much as the next person, but let's really think about what you are asking to look at, people.

As for the stuffed animals, they were clearly part of the Christmas decor, placed against the throw pillows on the bed. It's not like they were being snuggled up to in bed at night. What is the big deal? I cannot even tell you how many people made that comment, though. It was unfathomable to me.

Note to my mother: if people tour your home they will apparently think no adults live there, since there are teddy bears in every room.

"See how this vaulted ceiling makes the room so much more capacious?" I'm not kidding. That is a quote from one of the few men I saw on the tour...I wasn't even sure it was a word. I had to look it up. What's wrong with the word spacious? It's a perfectly acceptable word.

There was a lot of interest in the home owner's wedding picture that was hanging on the wall, the sentiment ranging from "Oh, isn't that a beautiful dress" to "Wow, she was clearly married in the 80's". (I was of the latter contingent.)

The general consensus was that the built-in dressers seemed very convenient, but they must not be planning to move ever, since they clearly wouldn't be able to take those with them. Umm...they have these things called stores where you can purchase furniture that one doesn't currently own or needs to replace. I think they'll be okay and there is no need to pigeonhole them into the house for all eternity.

One final note. I hate the smell of vanilla air fresheners, stemming from a long ride back to college with someone who felt the need to have 5 of them hanging from their rear view mirror. So of course the room I am assigned to is burning a vanilla candle. Just another day in the life.

The Trial

Parent-Teacher Conference Day

I've been dreading this day since I got my reminder notice a few weeks ago. Because if something is going wrong, it's not Morgan's fault. She's five. So it kind of fall's on me. And therefore this parent-teacher conference is really just a critique of my parenting skills.

Part of this is brought on by my pre-school parent-teacher conference last year, in which the very pleasant teacher asked me if Morgan had any stress at home, because she sometimes would get very nervous if she was asked to do multiple or difficult tasks.

"Well, now that you mention it...if she makes a mistake in her flashcards I make her walk a medieval gauntlet I erected in the basement."

So, by the time this morning hit, I had a small knot in the pit of my stomach. Stressed? Why would she be stressed? No one in my family stresses?

(Not to mention I've been riding out a slight hormonal imbalance this month that had already caused me to (1) burst into tears in front of my boss and (2) fight to keep it together as we drove past a cemetery and Morgan asked me where we were going to bury Potter when he died.)

I brilliantly scheduled this conference for 7:30 AM.

I may have mentioned that I have trouble getting out of the house in the morning. No? Not six or seven or twenty times? Well, I have what you may call a bit of a "sleep deprivation" problem which causes me to procrastinate throwing back the covers. Most days I'm leaving the house at about 7:45 to get the girls to Thea's, so I somehow had to gain a half hour.

We didn't do too bad. The parents before us were still there chatting when we got there, so I call that a win. Okay, we cut it close. But we also didn't take the full 15 minutes, so no harm done.

Morgan's polite and kind.

This was a surprise, because at home she's all, "Shut up, bitch, make me a bowl of spaghetti-o's!"

She hates doing her letter formation. And this is a girl that loves books. But she really struggles with writing, and therefore is pretty stubborn about doing it. Hmmm, you mean she doesn't like doing things she's not good at, because she can feel people judging her? So much so, that she doesn't even want to practice to get better? Hmm...who does that remind me of? It's somebody, I'm very close to...hmmmm.

Anyway, that was the worst of it. And it was something I already knew.

My only question was whether or not she had friends. I mean, I got the impression that she did, but since Mrs. D's class has all the kids that are on IEPs, I kind of wondered how that was affecting her social skills (not saying that all kids on IEPs have social problems - just a general pondering from a parent that doesn't have to deal with that daily).

Well, she must get that question a lot, because she pulled out a notebook where she spent the last several days recording who played with who, where, and for how long.

So on Wednesday last week Morgan started in the play kitchen areas with Lilly, Elizabeth and Jay and then went over to the computers with Molly and Daniel, etc.

I was pretty impressed. Not with Morgan, with Mrs. D. That must have been a giant pain in the ass, but I guess how else could she remember?

Anyway, it's over for another year. I can now lapse back into apathy.

Author's Note: Did you catch the three paraphrased movie quotes in this post?
"Over-reacting? Why would I over-react? Nobody in my family over-reacts?" Annie Banks, Father of the Bride
"I have what you may call a bit of a "weight" problem." John Candy's character, Stripes
"Shut up, bitch, make me a turkey-pot-pie." John Bender, Breakfast Club

Days of Labor

Would you believe it was a holiday weekend and I don't have anything to rant about? What a refreshing change of pace.

I had decided that I was going to start "fall cleaning" the house, since it's been an eternity since I've mopped the floors and we suddenly have a LOT of cobwebs, even though I haven't seen any spiders. I can only assume I'm eating them in my sleep.

I told Scott that I intended to get everything done on the main floor, but his response was somewhere between a guffaw and "Whatchyou talkin bout, Willis?"

I decided to be content if I could finish the living room, which I did by Sunday afternoon.

That included moving both couches (which is always a test of my gag reflexes), rolling up the rug to mop the entire floor (how do Oreo crumbs wind up way under there?), and...drum roll...shaking out all the curtains (actually very sheer roman shades, so not that difficult, but it made me feel like I was doing something important and Martha Stewart-ish).

It still smells like Murphy's Oil Soap, which was nice for the first ten minutes, but now is kind of making me nauseous.

On Monday, I gave myself the new goal of finishing the foyer, stairway and powder room, because none of those places have actual furniture to move.

I lost ambition after I vacuumed and went on sabbatical, sitting down with my Book Club required reading.

I somehow managed to re-motivate myself to wipe down the baseboards (particularly nasty in this area, because Potter likes to rub his face on them while he's chasing rabbits in his sleep), clean the sink (where the girls prefer to brush there teeth, but I had not bothered to rinse the toothpaste down), and get my mop back out (since the Murphy's scent had started to fade).

My kitchen continues to taunt me. But despite the suspicious sticky floor spot by the sink, and the inability to keep the pantry doors from bursting open...I still feel a sense of accomplishment. And I don't feel so guilty about my children eating off the living room floor.

Doesn't this make you feel better about how clean your house is?

Disclaimer: I do actually clean the sink on a regular basis.

Potty Mouth

I work in a professional building downtown Cleveland. It houses the bank's support areas, a big four accounting firm, and a major law firm...among other things.

There is a cafeteria in this building that we all share. Occasionally, I'll stop in the restroom on that floor.

There, on the back of each stall door, is a taped piece of paper that states, "Please make sure your seat is clean and the toilet is completely flushed before leaving."

1. Noting the clientele above that use these facilities, does it bother anyone else that this had to be put in writing?

2. If a person was to make a mess on the seat, do you think they are the type of person that could be swayed by a plea scotch taped to the door?

3. Does the cleaning crew not know they are signing on for this type of risk when the choose to enter the toilet cleaning industry?

It's like the signs that everyone puts up asking us women-folk not to flush our "tampons and sanitary napkins" (seriously, who flushes pads?) because they clog the plumbing. There are the people that do and the people that don't. Your sign is not going to change that.

I would prefer more helpful signage, like:

"Did you remember to make sure your skirt is not tucked into your underwear?"

"Beware of loose toilet paper stuck to your shoe."

"Reminder: The lights in here are fluorescent. You don't actually look like this."

A Few Dirty Cups

Zoe's new thing is to move her hips back and forth while sticking her butt out, singing "shake your booty". It has gotten her out of trouble a couple times now, because it is the funniest thing I've ever seen, and she always pulls it out when I'm about ready to go bat shit crazy on her.

(I heard the term this week, and it makes me laugh - bat shit crazy)

* * *

I think Morgan is learning more in 4 days of safety town than she did in all of pre-school. Granted, it is probably easier to learn practical knowledge than the alphabet, but I'm still impressed.

Fire Safety - Stop, Drop and Roll is still going strong. Also, she is not allowed to run back in a house that is on fire to get her pets or stuffed animals. So who the hell is going to save Potter? He can barely get down the steps when they aren't ablaze!

Stranger Danger - "I shouldn't talk to strangers even if they look like grandma's or grandpa's because they could be wearing a disguise and really be a bad person trying to steal me a away." Now she knows my biggest fear and why I can't breathe when I hear an "Amber" alert.

On Wednesday they got to ride on the school bus.
Morgan: "We rode on there for like a half hour."
Carpool Friend: "Yeah, it was like an hour. No, an hour and half minutes."
Morgan: "We passed McDonald's and Chick Fillet."
It's important to know your surroundings.

* * *

I had an annual doctor appointment this week. I got there and the elevators were out, so I had to walk three whole flights! The nerve. Apparently, a telephone poll across the street had caught fire, causing the power to go out. The generator was only enough to keep a few computers running and the lights in the waiting room.

This caused mass chaos, but I'm still not sure why. There was much concern that they couldn't photocopy my new insurance card, even though she wrote all the information down.

Incidentally, how does a telephone poll catch on fire? This was a good hour before the alleged earth quake that I never felt, so it had to have been something else. Curious.

There was a woman in the waiting room (I love waiting rooms) that looked as if she had been locked in a tanning booth for a solid 12 hours. She had on high platform sandals, a mini skirt, tight American Eagle t-shirt and bleach blond hair. She was also at least 40 and wearing frosty pink lipstick. I described her to Scott as a stripper on her day off. Hey, they need the gyno as much as the rest of us, if not more.

On a positive side, they have changed out their flimsy white gowns for these huge robe-like sacks made out of scrubs material. So at least one does not feel like they will be totally exposed if the next telephone poll that catches on fire falls through the building and forces us to evacuate.

The last thing my doctor asked before she walked out the exam room (oh yeah, so it took me an hour and 15 minutes to be called back, 15 minutes with the nurse and 5 minutes with the doctor) was "so do you have any pictures to show me?"

"Hmm, they're probably the same pictures I showed you last year."

And she just laughed and said, "Now that's a real mom. We got too much other crap going on!" Hallelujah, Sister.

* * *

Morgan said about 20 things this week that were hilarious, but I can't remember any of them.

I'd Like to Buy the World a Coke

My main nemesis at work is the Coca-Cola machine...well, actually my main nemesis is the "Dirty Trash Can Full of Poop" but she has been laying low lately, so I'm concentrating my animosity on the vending machine.

We have both a Coke and Pepsi machine on the 11th floor. The 10th floor also has a Coke and Pepsi machine, as well as a cafeteria that has all sorts of beverages to purchase, including Coke and Pepsi products. The problem with the cafeteria is that their bottles of soda cost $1.61, as opposed to the $1.50 the vending machine requires. And they don't have Cherry Zero. Just regular Zero.

So my love-hate relationship with the machine started almost immediately, when it kept spitting back one of the quarters I had given it and I had to run back to my desk for a different quarter and back to the machine before somebody else got there. This would happen intermittently, once I was lulled into a false sense of security and no longer bringing my entire wallet to the machine.

Then when I was pregnant with Zoe, somebody kept parking the huge confidential shred bin right in front of the machine. (I only had one soda a day, I swear.) In your mind you may think this was not the vending machine's fault, but I know better. It gave just enough room for the non-pregnant me to squeeze through, but as I steadily increased my waistline, the opening got smaller. I finally sent out a mass e-mail to all the males of my department, demanding they move the shred bin or risk my pregnant wrath. That worked.

There are two other ways my nemesis tries to thwart me.

1. Refuses any dollar bills, no matter how crisp.

But this is easily solved as I can put the dollar bills in the Pepsi machine and then press the coin return for quarters. HA! Take that!

2. Runs out of Diet Coke and Zero faster than anything else and does not seem to have a regular service date.

So, recently, I was complaining about this in a staff meeting, and the Business Continuity employee who had just joined our department stated that he had the servicer's contact information. (Because that is definitely in the Business Continuity job description.) The machine was filled that day, and they traded out one of the non-used flavors for another Diet Coke section. Wahoo! Secret weapon!

This brings us to today. Now, I knew that the Zero had been out for a few weeks, and one of the Diet's had run out, so I should have seen this coming and been a little more proactive, but still...I get over there with my $1.50 and all three Diet's are now sold out. I get my quarters back from the machine, figuring I'll just head down to 10. That machine refuses to take any quarters. So I have to walk back up the stairs for my additional $0.11 to then walk back down the stairs to the cafeteria and then back up the stairs to my desk. UGH!

Today's victory goes to the Coke machine.

Strong in Face of Tragedy

I must have had a premonition.

Last week I decided to have mini marathons of the "Lost" episodes that had piled up. Sudden urge to be able to watch the finale at the same time as everyone else. I made it with a couple hours to spare on Sunday and felt as productive as one can when the productivity involves watching TV.

(A special thank you to Scott for letting me watch the two and a half hour finale on the regular TV while he watched upstairs in the bedroom.)

I have a tendency to horde TV episodes. I see all these great shows that I really want to watch, but I inevitable fall behind.

Example 1: "Flash Forward. I was hooked at the first episode. Unfortunately, that was the only one I ever actually watched, but I kept recording, thinking it would be good summer viewing while all the network shows were on hiatus. Last count I believe was 14 unwatched episodes.

Example 2: I did much better on "The Vampire Diaries" Got through the first half of the season, before it took some time off, but didn't get back to it when it returned. Last count, 8 episodes.

I also horde movies. Because I pretty much think it's pointless to buy DVDs or blue rays, when I can already see that downloading to computers is the next hot thing. So if there is a movie on one of the five million premium channels we pay for that I know I'll want to watch again, I record it.

Examples: "The Hangover" "Sense and Sensibility" "Role Models" "The Holiday" You see the pattern. Offensive comedies and cheesy romance. That's what I live for. Throw in
"The Transformers" and I'm good to go.

So last night, while in the middle of watching "Glee," our cable box froze. Then it started rebooting...again...and again...and again. I tried everything. But I knew I was going to have to face the inevitable call to AT&T.

At 8:00 AM this morning I made the call. First, trying their automated system trouble shoot, but that of course didn't work, because that NEVER works. I'm not even sure why it is an option.

At 8:15 AM (yes, it took me 15 minutes to do something I knew wouldn't work) I was placed in the queue for tech support.

At 8:48 AM (yes, that is 33 minutes later) a "tech support" person answered the phone. I told her the system kept rebooting and wouldn't let me turn it off. She asked the obligatory dumb ass question (there has to be one) "You mean your TV or your cable box?" Now why in the hell would my TV be rebooting? And even if it did, why would I call my cable company about it?

"Well, let me try to run a system diagnostic from here and reboot it."

"Yes, please do, because even though it's been rebooting for the last 12 hours without success, you pressing the button will make all the difference."

5 minutes later she is back on the line. "I'm sorry, I can't do it. I can either try getting you back to your factory settings, or you can schedule a technician to come look at all the lines. Do you have anything on your DVR?"

DO I HAVE ANYTHING ON MY DVR!? Last count: 95 recordings.

"Please send the technician."

"Okay I can give you the noon to 4 appointment." (Again, not an "appointment" ma'am, window of time.)

"Fabulous."

4:05 PM. Technician arrives and presses button on cable box. (after I move toys in his path)
4:06 PM. Technician goes to modem and disconnects/reconnects main line. (after I move toys in his path)
4:07 PM. Technician goes to basement to see where line comes into house. (after I move shoes in his path)
4:08 PM. Technician comes back upstairs, disconnects box, and on his way to the truck says, "I have to issue you a new box from the truck. Be right back."

AHHHHHHHH! He just stole my 95 recordings! Without me getting to say goodbye. I mean, I had prepared myself for this, but how prepared can you be...to have it ripped from you so suddenly.

4:15 PM. New box installed.

I had to break the news to Morgan. "No more "Race to Witch Mountain" or "Princess Protection Program" or "Wizard of Oz" (yes, I had a commercial-free recording of "The Wizard of Oz")."

"But, Mommy, those are movies. We can just buy them."

Ugh...smart girl.

From the Department of Health and Safety

We have a family membership to a gym. It's a nice place, but monthly rates are reasonable. Lately my visits have been limited to taking the girls to their swim lesson, but that's another story. This story starts after this Monday's lesson.

I usually take the girls to one of the private "family" locker rooms to rinse them off and wash the chlorine out of their hair. It's easier than trying to deal with the women's room and the multiple shower stalls. The family rooms are like a big personal bathroom.

Morgan likes one better than the other, because it is wheelchair accessible and has a seat that can be pulled down in the shower. You know her delicate condition. God forbid she have to stand up to take a shower. So we make our way there and I turn on the light.

I notice something on the ground near the toilet and on closer inspection see that it is human feces. Yes, that is right. Then I look at the toilet itself and it is covered in it and toilet paper. (Sorry, no pictures.) I quickly removed the girls to the other family room. This room didn't have any towels left, so I had to run back to the women's room.

Since one of the housekeeping ladies was there I informed her of the situation. She slowly shook her head and asked, "Who does that?"

I had no answer for her at the time, but here are several possibilities I've come up with.

1. Someone disgruntled with the club. But this is ridiculous. That doesn't hurt the club? The only person that hurts is the poor woman who has to clean it up. And what the hell do you have to be disgruntled about in a health club? Did they give your tennis court time to someone else? If so, why don't you go take a dump on the tennis court? If you're going to do it...do it right!

2. Juvenile delinquents being funny. I'm not sure who started the rumor that spreading disease through your excrement is a way to stick it the man, but somehow this has caught on. I find this one hard to believe as well, because they only people besides us that seemed to be in club that night were there for some sort of tennis clinic. A bunch of young ladies in short white skirts starting at the pro with puppy-dog eyes. There was no way they could make that mess without endangering the pristine-ness of their outfits.

3. Spawn of Satan children. But Zoe's disqualified because she was with me the whole time and is on her best behavior during swim lessons, because Miss Mary might dunk her if she doesn't. And even if it had been Zoe on a rampage or just uncontrollable diarrhea, this mom would have cleaned it up herself, no matter how many times I had to puke in the process.

So I am out of ideas. Feel free to take of few of your own guesses.