So, it's Tuesday now and I have exactly 6 days left on maternity leave (including today). It's a bit shocking that an entire year has flown by...but on the other hand, as I've mentioned, I'm ready to go back.
I thought I was being quite smart by putting both kids in full-time daycare starting this week. It would theoretically give me 5 child-free days to clean the house, get organized and just relax a bit before I throw myself back into the 9-5 life, but of course, I should have realized that since this is MY life nothing ever QUITE works out to my benefit.
The kids have been on and off sick for the past month, at least. Last week, Kieran had a pretty nasty cold. Then on Sunday, Kaya slept in quite late and at first I was quite happy to be sleeping in myself since I had also caught Kieran's cold, but when I went in to get her, she was awake and burning up at a temperature of 105.2 degrees. Poor baby. Of course, this meant that yesterday she missed her first day of daycare and I missed one day (so far) of my child free week. It ended up not really mattering since this cold is brutal and I could barely function myself but I was down to FOUR child free days.
Today, Tuesday....I still feel lousy and need to get some sleep but I dropped both kids off. Kaya seemed fine (ish) so I wasn't going to waste another day. Although after I update this I most likely am going to take a nap. So, there goes day 2 of my child-free week.
Also, I've been trying to get myself back into at least the general ballpark of my pre-baby weight. It's been hard to find the time to work out since the only reliable time slot available in the gym is from 10-11 pm. I eventually came to the realization that nothing was going to ever magically happen that would allow me work out during the day or evening and that, if I wanted to establish a routine, that 10 pm was going to be "my time."
And since poor Eric usually finishes training his clients at 10 I don't really have the heart to ask him to put aside another hour for me, but I was feeling like I needed structure and a plan so I decided to order the videos from The Firm. I thought the video plan was quite smart since although I don't usually mind waiting until 10 pm to work out in our own gym, its nice to have the option of working out earlier upstairs if the kids are in bed.
I ordered the package in January - it was a whole kit which included a variety of DVDs and free-weights. The kit arrived in time...but there were no videos inside. So I called and they said they would send the 5 missing DVDs right out and that it would take 4 weeks. Annoying, I know. Especially since the clock was ticking on my return to work. 4 weeks go by and I call and am told that its actually 4-6 weeks plus an extra week to get to Canada. So after about the seven week mark I call again and tell them that its pretty clear the videos are NOT coming. They said they will send them out express and that I'll get them in 7-10 days (plus that extra week for Canada!). This would have put the arrival at some time LAST week. So sure enough, on Friday when nothing arrives, I call and they tell me that the package will most likely be delivered on Monday. So, low and behold when Monday rolls around, I open the mailbox there is my package. I was quite pleased. Until I opened it and it's the WRONG video set. They send the DVD set for their OTHER kit which requires some balance board type thing (which of course I don't have, so these videos are totally useless to me.)
So, I pick up the phone and have a terrible time restraining myself from calling the entire company a band of complete idiots. Really...how stupid are these people? I told her that maybe it would just be easier if they gave me my money back, but she said that they would ship out the correct videos right away and that they would credit my account. Ten dollars. (Whoo Hoo! Who wants a coffee?!) Whatever. I said OK that I would wait ONE more time. Although now I'm sure I'll be talking to them in 7-10 days, plus one week for Canada. Morons.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Monday, March 16, 2009
The Dream House
It's pretty clear to us, and everybody else, that our house is too small. It was probably too small when we bought it, but in the three years since we moved in we have managed to outgrow these four walls in a relatively spectacular fashion.
I remember when we were house hunting the first time. Our budget would have been decent in many cities except ours and every place we looked at required some kind of major compromise. Basically, if we wanted a nice area in a good school district the houses in our price range were basic and usually in need of a complete overhaul. The closer we looked to downtown (where both Eric and I work) the smaller and smaller the houses got, so we had to just keep moving farther in the 'burbs until we landed so far west in Mississauga we are a mere stone's throw from Oakville.
At the time, we were thinking of putting an offer on a sidesplit in our neighbourhood, but the backyard, though huge, was taken up by a pool and I was newly pregnant and looking for a safe backyard for toddler play, not a yard that would keep me awake at night wondering if Kieran, who I was just pregnant with, was jimmying the locks to get out of the house where he would accidentally drown himself. The other downfall to the house? It had a dreaded number 4 in the house number.
If you are familiar in any way with Chinese superstitions you will understand the tragedy of this occurrence. Apparently, the word for the number 4 in Chinese, sounds the same as the word "death" in Chinese and, as such, no self-respecting person of Chinese descent (even a total banana like Eric) would EVER buy a house with a 4 in the number unless they were willing to endure a lifetime of misfortune. And since we were already loaded down with some iffy karma based on a radical (to put in mildly) split from Eric's family (the story of which is too sordid for this blog and even if I were to share I doubt the internet has enough bandwidth for me to properly describe those shenanigans) we decided it would be unwise to anger the Asian Gods any further that we already had. So any and all houses with 4's were struck off the list, usually sight unseen.
So, to make a long story short, we ended up in our three bedroom, one bathroom bungalow on a quiet street in an OK neighbourhood with a huge backyard and lots of trees and the Chinese neutral number of 2355. Now, three years, two kids and one gym later we are dying for more space.
Recently, Eric had started hearing at work about a bunch of people buying and selling houses and getting unbelievable mortgage rates. He mentions it to a client of his who says he has a fantastic finance wizard who can help us figure out what we can afford. And with that the ball is rolling. In short order, we've talked to both the mortgage broker and the bank about what we need and how to get there. I even went so far as to meet with the bank to go over some details and as it turns out we can make a drastic upgrade from where we are now and ended up paying the SAME as we are now. So far, so good.
Market-wise now is the time to buy. Season-wise, spring is the time to both buy and sell. The problem? On a personal side, the timing is actually quite horrible. I'm back at work in two weeks after having been on maternity leave for an entire year, so we haven't exactly be saving up for closing costs and moving expenses. When I go back, a large chunk of the money I make will be forked over to our daycare provider.
However, since the ball is rolling, we decided to roll with a little further and since we have kept in touch with our real estate agent we gave her a call and, naturally in no time flat she was sending us listings. Don't let anyone tell you, by the by, that houses are not selling and prices are falling. Judging from the "standing room only" situations at a couple of Open Houses we stopped at, it is clear that the market is hot and, at least on paper, our own house has increased significantly in value (although we have done quite a few upgrades, so I hope so.)
I was apprehensive though about actually going out to look at houses. I didn't want to get sucked into the urge to buy before we were ready, but on the other hand, we wanted to see what was out there. Besides, we sooo aren't ready that buying right now isn't even really an option, so it seemed pretty harmless. And it was. The first three houses we saw, which were all in the different areas, had the exact same layout. I realize that when you head into the 4 bedroom home market in the suburbs, every house is depressing similar. The worst part, of course, is that this apparently so-popular-all-houses-have-it-layout is not even a layout that I remotely like nor would ever buy. I'm all about flow and feng shui and open concept not choppy rooms, sweeping staircases and ridiculously over-sized master bedrooms (although don't get me wrong, I want a bigger bedroom...I just don't need one that could sleep an entire village in Africa). So, after leaving the third house I was relieved that we hadn't found a house that I would remotely consider buying but also disappointed that these cookie-cutter houses might be our destiny. As we followed our agent to the last house I said to Eric wistfully "I just want to walk into a house and be excited."
And then we pull up in front of My Dream Home.
From the second I stood on the porch I knew I loved this house. More than loved it. If I could have designed a house to my own specifications, this would have come close. Among my first words once we stepped inside: "Oh my God, Oh my God." Pause. "I want this house." But I was also colossally disappointed, because, although within our budget, there was no way we could buy that house right now and worse, there was no way it was going to sit for a few months while we get our act together.
As we were leaving, the homeowner was coming up his perfect manicured walkway and we asked him a few questions...he was not only clearly the handiest of handymen, he was also a perfectionist with attention to detail. He answered our questions, said he was absolutely in no rush to move and would be willing to wait....except, he had to tell us, that there was an offer coming on the house at 5 pm that day. I was torn between the feeling of horror that someone else was going to buy my dream home and relief. I knew it wasn't even an option anyway, so at least this way, there was no need to go home and lose sleep over it (which I did anyway). We drove away, past the perfect little park two houses down where I could see my kids playing already.
What really made me mad about that whole thing, was up until we toured my Dream House, I was actually feeling pretty good about our little bungalow again. It's small, but in many ways the layout totally works for us. Bedrooms on the main floor are quite convenient and the main rooms are open so I can see the kids playing in the family room while I make dinner or do the dishes. There is also a side entrance with stairs that go straight downstairs so Eric's clients come in and out unseen and we have put in a new bathroom beside the gym so nobody has to come upstairs to my bathroom that may or may not have a pantsless two-year-old spraying pee on the floor. None of the houses we saw - including the Dream House - had basement access from the outside.
Anyway, I'm assuming my Dream House has been sold. Seeing my reaction, I think our agent felt quite bad for even bringing us there, but on the upside, she said that it will happen again, there will be OTHER dream homes that come up when we are ready. She was certain of it. And now we start the process of sprucing up and decluttering (ha!) in order to get this place looking roomy and sellable.
In the end, despite seeing and losing my Dream House in the space of a half-hour , we had another breakthrough. The Dream House? Which we both loved? It was house number 1401...and even with that dastardly lurking 4, Eric was willing to overlook it. At least he said he was, which, although he reserves the right to change his mind, is progress.
I remember when we were house hunting the first time. Our budget would have been decent in many cities except ours and every place we looked at required some kind of major compromise. Basically, if we wanted a nice area in a good school district the houses in our price range were basic and usually in need of a complete overhaul. The closer we looked to downtown (where both Eric and I work) the smaller and smaller the houses got, so we had to just keep moving farther in the 'burbs until we landed so far west in Mississauga we are a mere stone's throw from Oakville.
At the time, we were thinking of putting an offer on a sidesplit in our neighbourhood, but the backyard, though huge, was taken up by a pool and I was newly pregnant and looking for a safe backyard for toddler play, not a yard that would keep me awake at night wondering if Kieran, who I was just pregnant with, was jimmying the locks to get out of the house where he would accidentally drown himself. The other downfall to the house? It had a dreaded number 4 in the house number.
If you are familiar in any way with Chinese superstitions you will understand the tragedy of this occurrence. Apparently, the word for the number 4 in Chinese, sounds the same as the word "death" in Chinese and, as such, no self-respecting person of Chinese descent (even a total banana like Eric) would EVER buy a house with a 4 in the number unless they were willing to endure a lifetime of misfortune. And since we were already loaded down with some iffy karma based on a radical (to put in mildly) split from Eric's family (the story of which is too sordid for this blog and even if I were to share I doubt the internet has enough bandwidth for me to properly describe those shenanigans) we decided it would be unwise to anger the Asian Gods any further that we already had. So any and all houses with 4's were struck off the list, usually sight unseen.
So, to make a long story short, we ended up in our three bedroom, one bathroom bungalow on a quiet street in an OK neighbourhood with a huge backyard and lots of trees and the Chinese neutral number of 2355. Now, three years, two kids and one gym later we are dying for more space.
Recently, Eric had started hearing at work about a bunch of people buying and selling houses and getting unbelievable mortgage rates. He mentions it to a client of his who says he has a fantastic finance wizard who can help us figure out what we can afford. And with that the ball is rolling. In short order, we've talked to both the mortgage broker and the bank about what we need and how to get there. I even went so far as to meet with the bank to go over some details and as it turns out we can make a drastic upgrade from where we are now and ended up paying the SAME as we are now. So far, so good.
Market-wise now is the time to buy. Season-wise, spring is the time to both buy and sell. The problem? On a personal side, the timing is actually quite horrible. I'm back at work in two weeks after having been on maternity leave for an entire year, so we haven't exactly be saving up for closing costs and moving expenses. When I go back, a large chunk of the money I make will be forked over to our daycare provider.
However, since the ball is rolling, we decided to roll with a little further and since we have kept in touch with our real estate agent we gave her a call and, naturally in no time flat she was sending us listings. Don't let anyone tell you, by the by, that houses are not selling and prices are falling. Judging from the "standing room only" situations at a couple of Open Houses we stopped at, it is clear that the market is hot and, at least on paper, our own house has increased significantly in value (although we have done quite a few upgrades, so I hope so.)
I was apprehensive though about actually going out to look at houses. I didn't want to get sucked into the urge to buy before we were ready, but on the other hand, we wanted to see what was out there. Besides, we sooo aren't ready that buying right now isn't even really an option, so it seemed pretty harmless. And it was. The first three houses we saw, which were all in the different areas, had the exact same layout. I realize that when you head into the 4 bedroom home market in the suburbs, every house is depressing similar. The worst part, of course, is that this apparently so-popular-all-houses-have-it-layout is not even a layout that I remotely like nor would ever buy. I'm all about flow and feng shui and open concept not choppy rooms, sweeping staircases and ridiculously over-sized master bedrooms (although don't get me wrong, I want a bigger bedroom...I just don't need one that could sleep an entire village in Africa). So, after leaving the third house I was relieved that we hadn't found a house that I would remotely consider buying but also disappointed that these cookie-cutter houses might be our destiny. As we followed our agent to the last house I said to Eric wistfully "I just want to walk into a house and be excited."
And then we pull up in front of My Dream Home.
From the second I stood on the porch I knew I loved this house. More than loved it. If I could have designed a house to my own specifications, this would have come close. Among my first words once we stepped inside: "Oh my God, Oh my God." Pause. "I want this house." But I was also colossally disappointed, because, although within our budget, there was no way we could buy that house right now and worse, there was no way it was going to sit for a few months while we get our act together.
As we were leaving, the homeowner was coming up his perfect manicured walkway and we asked him a few questions...he was not only clearly the handiest of handymen, he was also a perfectionist with attention to detail. He answered our questions, said he was absolutely in no rush to move and would be willing to wait....except, he had to tell us, that there was an offer coming on the house at 5 pm that day. I was torn between the feeling of horror that someone else was going to buy my dream home and relief. I knew it wasn't even an option anyway, so at least this way, there was no need to go home and lose sleep over it (which I did anyway). We drove away, past the perfect little park two houses down where I could see my kids playing already.
What really made me mad about that whole thing, was up until we toured my Dream House, I was actually feeling pretty good about our little bungalow again. It's small, but in many ways the layout totally works for us. Bedrooms on the main floor are quite convenient and the main rooms are open so I can see the kids playing in the family room while I make dinner or do the dishes. There is also a side entrance with stairs that go straight downstairs so Eric's clients come in and out unseen and we have put in a new bathroom beside the gym so nobody has to come upstairs to my bathroom that may or may not have a pantsless two-year-old spraying pee on the floor. None of the houses we saw - including the Dream House - had basement access from the outside.
Anyway, I'm assuming my Dream House has been sold. Seeing my reaction, I think our agent felt quite bad for even bringing us there, but on the upside, she said that it will happen again, there will be OTHER dream homes that come up when we are ready. She was certain of it. And now we start the process of sprucing up and decluttering (ha!) in order to get this place looking roomy and sellable.
In the end, despite seeing and losing my Dream House in the space of a half-hour , we had another breakthrough. The Dream House? Which we both loved? It was house number 1401...and even with that dastardly lurking 4, Eric was willing to overlook it. At least he said he was, which, although he reserves the right to change his mind, is progress.
Friday, March 6, 2009
The Countdown Begins...
So, its official. I'm pretty much counting the days until I go back to work. Which is March 30 for those who may be interested in counting with me.
In general, staying at home with 2 year old and an infant has been OK. There are somethings I love about being home with the kids but, overall, Mama needs a break. With Eric working more or less 7 days a week, every week, I am going a bit crazy. There are times, when I think I can feel my brain turning mushy. As mushy as...something. See, the old me would have been able to find something vaguely clever that her brain would be as mushy as...but all I can think of now is a long list of baby-related mushy things...like the pieces of banana that get tossed from the highchair and land in the MOST annoying places and then have to be cleaned up only to have the entire process start all over again.
You can probably even detect my lethargy from the dearth of blog posts. I keep thinking "who wants to read about my kids being sick (which they both are AGAIN)" and there just isn't much else. That and Eric's band had a long break during February due to some of his bandmates having actual vacations (of which I can only dare to dream) and I typically update my blog on weekend nights when I'm home by myself and am feeling too cheap to order a movie from Rogers On Demand. (Although we rented one last night...Ghost Town. See it!)
On the upside. I think we hit 17 degrees today! This is a pleasant turn of events. I'm sure, naturally, that we will plunge back down into another deep freeze any second, but today was an excellent day. Eric and I even managed to clean out our hideous carport which we pretend is a garage and store things in and then are routinely shocked when said things become ruined. Today, we went to the garbage dump to drop off our old mud-covered highchair and our old stroller, which had first rusted shut and then, after Eric broke it trying to force it open, rusted open. (Although since my dad fixed our carport roof last fall things are getting ruined a much slower pace...)
Also, Sassy is gone. To a good home without children or a continual parade of sweaty strangers. After a particularly horrible stretch where she peed every single day in Eric's gym, we decided it was time to call the Humane Society. But before we arranged to drop her off, someone answered Eric's last Facebook plea. She apparently hadn't seen any of his previous ones ...and she came to pick Sassy up the next day. According to her new owner, Sassy is doing well and is using the litterbox as she should. I am using that tidbit as evidence that Sassy was totally miserable here and that we did the right thing. Which it was. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how I get to sleep at night. When the children aren't crying. Or needing medicine. Or coughing...
Save me!!!
In general, staying at home with 2 year old and an infant has been OK. There are somethings I love about being home with the kids but, overall, Mama needs a break. With Eric working more or less 7 days a week, every week, I am going a bit crazy. There are times, when I think I can feel my brain turning mushy. As mushy as...something. See, the old me would have been able to find something vaguely clever that her brain would be as mushy as...but all I can think of now is a long list of baby-related mushy things...like the pieces of banana that get tossed from the highchair and land in the MOST annoying places and then have to be cleaned up only to have the entire process start all over again.
You can probably even detect my lethargy from the dearth of blog posts. I keep thinking "who wants to read about my kids being sick (which they both are AGAIN)" and there just isn't much else. That and Eric's band had a long break during February due to some of his bandmates having actual vacations (of which I can only dare to dream) and I typically update my blog on weekend nights when I'm home by myself and am feeling too cheap to order a movie from Rogers On Demand. (Although we rented one last night...Ghost Town. See it!)
On the upside. I think we hit 17 degrees today! This is a pleasant turn of events. I'm sure, naturally, that we will plunge back down into another deep freeze any second, but today was an excellent day. Eric and I even managed to clean out our hideous carport which we pretend is a garage and store things in and then are routinely shocked when said things become ruined. Today, we went to the garbage dump to drop off our old mud-covered highchair and our old stroller, which had first rusted shut and then, after Eric broke it trying to force it open, rusted open. (Although since my dad fixed our carport roof last fall things are getting ruined a much slower pace...)
Also, Sassy is gone. To a good home without children or a continual parade of sweaty strangers. After a particularly horrible stretch where she peed every single day in Eric's gym, we decided it was time to call the Humane Society. But before we arranged to drop her off, someone answered Eric's last Facebook plea. She apparently hadn't seen any of his previous ones ...and she came to pick Sassy up the next day. According to her new owner, Sassy is doing well and is using the litterbox as she should. I am using that tidbit as evidence that Sassy was totally miserable here and that we did the right thing. Which it was. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how I get to sleep at night. When the children aren't crying. Or needing medicine. Or coughing...
Save me!!!
Thursday, February 19, 2009
My Barfing Valentine
So, we are emerging from is pretty lousy week. On the upside, it went fast. On the downside...well, there were a lot of bodily fluids of a decided unpleasant variety all over the place.
Kaya got a nasty (I'd like to use the word "killer" but since we were verging on the literal sense of that it seems wrong) stomach virus. All I can say is....OY. It started last Thursday (or possibly even the week prior to that since she had been behaving not herself for almost a week before the bug hit), but when it hit, it was hard.
After she was no better in 36 hours, we went to the walk-in clinic where the doctor told us to stop all food and bottles and give her only Pedialyte for the next 24 hours, which we did and which seemed to work. Except when the 24 hours was upand I tried to feed her again (dry toast) we went right back to square one. Only by this time she was already quite low on fluids and it was almost impossible to get enough liquid into her to replace the vast amount she was losing.
The next morning, as had been our worry, we knew we had crossed the line from sick baby to dehydrated baby, so off to the emergency room we went. We got there and I was pretty happy because it was virtually empty and we were the only people in the pediatric room. But we waited and waited and waited. And people just kept coming until there must have been 100 people waiting. Finally, after almost 4 hours, Eric saw a girl he knew who happened to be working there. We chatted for a bit and then two minutes later she comes back out and escorts to the back. I'm pretty sure that if we never had that "in" we would still be waiting there. Anyway, they told us to give the Pedialyte by syringe every 15 minutes (which once the novelty wears off, is a huge pain. Anyway, it more or less did the trick. It still took almost two days to have a normal wet diaper.
Anyway, it's all good now. Kaya has bounced back 120 per cent. She seems even happier than she was before she got sick, if that is even possible. Today she was giggling at everything. However, we have taken it easy this week. I was so bored, I was actually thinking how nice it would be go to work where nobody ever asks to watch a Tonka DVD for the millionth time.
So, yeah, I know this was a boring blog, but that's all I have.
Kaya got a nasty (I'd like to use the word "killer" but since we were verging on the literal sense of that it seems wrong) stomach virus. All I can say is....OY. It started last Thursday (or possibly even the week prior to that since she had been behaving not herself for almost a week before the bug hit), but when it hit, it was hard.
After she was no better in 36 hours, we went to the walk-in clinic where the doctor told us to stop all food and bottles and give her only Pedialyte for the next 24 hours, which we did and which seemed to work. Except when the 24 hours was upand I tried to feed her again (dry toast) we went right back to square one. Only by this time she was already quite low on fluids and it was almost impossible to get enough liquid into her to replace the vast amount she was losing.
The next morning, as had been our worry, we knew we had crossed the line from sick baby to dehydrated baby, so off to the emergency room we went. We got there and I was pretty happy because it was virtually empty and we were the only people in the pediatric room. But we waited and waited and waited. And people just kept coming until there must have been 100 people waiting. Finally, after almost 4 hours, Eric saw a girl he knew who happened to be working there. We chatted for a bit and then two minutes later she comes back out and escorts to the back. I'm pretty sure that if we never had that "in" we would still be waiting there. Anyway, they told us to give the Pedialyte by syringe every 15 minutes (which once the novelty wears off, is a huge pain. Anyway, it more or less did the trick. It still took almost two days to have a normal wet diaper.
Anyway, it's all good now. Kaya has bounced back 120 per cent. She seems even happier than she was before she got sick, if that is even possible. Today she was giggling at everything. However, we have taken it easy this week. I was so bored, I was actually thinking how nice it would be go to work where nobody ever asks to watch a Tonka DVD for the millionth time.
So, yeah, I know this was a boring blog, but that's all I have.
Sunday, February 15, 2009
These Are the People in Your Neighbourhood
Seriously, my neighbours are nuts. How did we get so unlucky as to have people on both sides of us that we absolutely cannot stand?
Of course, the Oldies next door (who have not spoken a word to us in 2 years - well, except to tell Kieran to get out of their driveway) have been embroiled in a decades long war with the Trashies on the other side of us. I know this because prior to the Oldies ceasing to speak to us, the wife would corral me every chance she got to TELL me how much she hated the Trashies and all the horrible things he'd done (apparently he'd stalked the woman who lived in our house, he drove his kids to school drunk and other horrible things).
And Mr Trashy next door, who is also a yammerer, would tell me how the Oldies have a vendetta against him and would complain about every single thing...such as his young kids being "too loud" in the pool on a Saturday afternoon. His kids ARE loud in the pool but aren't ALL kids? It would never even cross my MIND to complain about kids having fun in their own yard during the daytime.
After living here three years I'm still not sure who to believe because they are both so unlikeable, but it's like living on the border between Israel and the Gaza Strip. I'm half expecting grenades to lobbed over our flower garden.
Anyhow, yesterday, as usual I am going about my business inside our house when I hear a commotion from our sidewalk. I didn't pay much attention because I figured it was just kids but then one of Eric's clients left and when the door opened I could hear that it was adults screaming at each other. Turns out, it was the middle-aged daughter of the Oldies (who does not live there) and Mr Trashy. Trashy is holding a hockey stick in a threatening manner and Oldie-daughter is screaming that she's going to call the cops. This is all happening on our sidewalk.
Eric's poor client, who is a young high school girl just trying to get to her car is totally freaked out. And we notice for the first time that she has parked (100 per cent legally) in the forbidden spot right across from the Oldies driveway which is the reason they aren't talking to us in the first place. Well, sure enough, Oldie daughter, who again might I mention DOES NOT LIVE THERE, marches right up to the poor girl and tells her not to park there ever again, which I'm sure scared her even more.
Unfortunately, I don't actually know what the argument was about. We were heading out a few minutes later and Trashy was still outside and tried to engage us in a regular conversation about our Valentines Day plans and all I wanted to ask him was what the argument was about but I chickened out.
I'm sure it was something ridiculous, but I'm just thankful that the Oldies don't acknowledge our existence let alone scream at us. Yet.
Summer's coming!!!
Of course, the Oldies next door (who have not spoken a word to us in 2 years - well, except to tell Kieran to get out of their driveway) have been embroiled in a decades long war with the Trashies on the other side of us. I know this because prior to the Oldies ceasing to speak to us, the wife would corral me every chance she got to TELL me how much she hated the Trashies and all the horrible things he'd done (apparently he'd stalked the woman who lived in our house, he drove his kids to school drunk and other horrible things).
And Mr Trashy next door, who is also a yammerer, would tell me how the Oldies have a vendetta against him and would complain about every single thing...such as his young kids being "too loud" in the pool on a Saturday afternoon. His kids ARE loud in the pool but aren't ALL kids? It would never even cross my MIND to complain about kids having fun in their own yard during the daytime.
After living here three years I'm still not sure who to believe because they are both so unlikeable, but it's like living on the border between Israel and the Gaza Strip. I'm half expecting grenades to lobbed over our flower garden.
Anyhow, yesterday, as usual I am going about my business inside our house when I hear a commotion from our sidewalk. I didn't pay much attention because I figured it was just kids but then one of Eric's clients left and when the door opened I could hear that it was adults screaming at each other. Turns out, it was the middle-aged daughter of the Oldies (who does not live there) and Mr Trashy. Trashy is holding a hockey stick in a threatening manner and Oldie-daughter is screaming that she's going to call the cops. This is all happening on our sidewalk.
Eric's poor client, who is a young high school girl just trying to get to her car is totally freaked out. And we notice for the first time that she has parked (100 per cent legally) in the forbidden spot right across from the Oldies driveway which is the reason they aren't talking to us in the first place. Well, sure enough, Oldie daughter, who again might I mention DOES NOT LIVE THERE, marches right up to the poor girl and tells her not to park there ever again, which I'm sure scared her even more.
Unfortunately, I don't actually know what the argument was about. We were heading out a few minutes later and Trashy was still outside and tried to engage us in a regular conversation about our Valentines Day plans and all I wanted to ask him was what the argument was about but I chickened out.
I'm sure it was something ridiculous, but I'm just thankful that the Oldies don't acknowledge our existence let alone scream at us. Yet.
Summer's coming!!!
Saturday, February 7, 2009
Timbits
I just read that a 56 year old woman has become the first person to swim across the Atlantic Ocean. Jesus. I'm happy if I make it to the mall. In a car.
*****
If I continually weep at the Biggest Loser, does that, ironically, make me the Biggest Loser? Seriously, this show is now on Season 6 and why have I never even once watched it before? I love it. I love the fact that even though it's ostensibly a competition where you are voted out by your fellow competitors it's not that irritating Survivor-type where deserving people go home right off the bat. Or maybe I just like to watch really, really large people run. Makes me feel better about myself.
*****
We had a family outing today. To the pawn shop. It's a really dingy little place, where you walk in to this tiny, foul smelling room that is essentially a cage and which makes Kieran cry. The sales people stand behind the bars and show you stuff that is apparently soooo valuable it must be separated from the patrons by Leavenworth-grade steel bars. We were there because Eric, last summer, while playing stupid baseball, got hit in the hand with a ball and had to remove his wedding ring just before he watched his finger swell up to 5 times its normal size. He says he thought he put the ring in the van for safekeeping but when he went to look for it later it was nowhere to be found. (I know, I know, likely story). Anyway, I had thought about replacing the ring for Christmas but decided to get him a computer keyboard stand instead. So, since obviously both of us have romance coursing through our veins we decided that we would check out this old neighbourhood pawn shop to see if we could get someone ELSE's ring. But there was nothing. Fingers crossed that more marriages break up so we can snag ourselves a good deal on used rings with bad karma.
****
I don't know what is going on with that baby of ours. For the past few nights she has been waking up at about 10ish and then again at about 1230 and screaming her head off inconsolably. Nothing will calm her down (bottle, soother, rocking chair, reruns of Lost, nothing. ) Last night was so bad she wound up sleeping in our bed for the first time in about six months. I slept fine with her there but Eric worries all night that he is going to crush her under his Hulk-like muscles so we'll see how tonight goes. So far its not good, but I made sure to guzzle some red wine early so with any luck I'll be able to sleep through her cries.
****
While eating his soup today and spilling some down his chin, Kieran mention again the apparent fact that he has a beak. He corrected himself, but I think it was half-hearted. I'm pretty sure he thinks he's a bird. But, I hope it's a cool bird like an eagle or a concord and not something wussy like a cockatoo.
*****
If I continually weep at the Biggest Loser, does that, ironically, make me the Biggest Loser? Seriously, this show is now on Season 6 and why have I never even once watched it before? I love it. I love the fact that even though it's ostensibly a competition where you are voted out by your fellow competitors it's not that irritating Survivor-type where deserving people go home right off the bat. Or maybe I just like to watch really, really large people run. Makes me feel better about myself.
*****
We had a family outing today. To the pawn shop. It's a really dingy little place, where you walk in to this tiny, foul smelling room that is essentially a cage and which makes Kieran cry. The sales people stand behind the bars and show you stuff that is apparently soooo valuable it must be separated from the patrons by Leavenworth-grade steel bars. We were there because Eric, last summer, while playing stupid baseball, got hit in the hand with a ball and had to remove his wedding ring just before he watched his finger swell up to 5 times its normal size. He says he thought he put the ring in the van for safekeeping but when he went to look for it later it was nowhere to be found. (I know, I know, likely story). Anyway, I had thought about replacing the ring for Christmas but decided to get him a computer keyboard stand instead. So, since obviously both of us have romance coursing through our veins we decided that we would check out this old neighbourhood pawn shop to see if we could get someone ELSE's ring. But there was nothing. Fingers crossed that more marriages break up so we can snag ourselves a good deal on used rings with bad karma.
****
I don't know what is going on with that baby of ours. For the past few nights she has been waking up at about 10ish and then again at about 1230 and screaming her head off inconsolably. Nothing will calm her down (bottle, soother, rocking chair, reruns of Lost, nothing. ) Last night was so bad she wound up sleeping in our bed for the first time in about six months. I slept fine with her there but Eric worries all night that he is going to crush her under his Hulk-like muscles so we'll see how tonight goes. So far its not good, but I made sure to guzzle some red wine early so with any luck I'll be able to sleep through her cries.
****
While eating his soup today and spilling some down his chin, Kieran mention again the apparent fact that he has a beak. He corrected himself, but I think it was half-hearted. I'm pretty sure he thinks he's a bird. But, I hope it's a cool bird like an eagle or a concord and not something wussy like a cockatoo.
Monday, February 2, 2009
And I Quote...
Kieran was jumping around between the ottomans and the couch and (predictably) ended up whacking his face off something.He comes over to me, weeping and rubbing his nose.
Kieran: Mommy, I hurt my beak.
Me: What? Your beak? Do you mean your nose?
Kieran: No, my beak.
Me: You don't have a beak.
Kieran: I don't? Oh.
Kieran: Mommy, I hurt my beak.
Me: What? Your beak? Do you mean your nose?
Kieran: No, my beak.
Me: You don't have a beak.
Kieran: I don't? Oh.
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