I've Stepped Back In Time

Well, sort of anyway.... All was fine on Saturday. It was your typical weekend morning. Rob and Max were out doing errands and I was trying to get ahead of the laundry game. I was in pretty good shape and had just sat down with Miles to have a snack when I heard this horrendous squealing/grinding/not-good-for-your-dryer sound coming from the downstairs. I thoughtfully finished my mouthful, gave Miles a woeful look and proceeded to get a handle on the situation. My dryer was down for the count. When Rob returned home I broke the news to him and guessed it might be a belt, and when he took a look behind the panel he pulled out a broken belt alright. I was mightily distressed that my beloved laundry center was out of commission temporarily, but I was proud that I had correctly detected what the problem was! In any case, we ordered the new part and I have been anxiously awaiting it ALL week. I mean, c'mon, how long should this take?? I have a mountain of not-so-nice smelling clothes and towels that seriously need to be laundered. I have a drying rack, but folks, that will only solve the little problems. By little, I mean size five Sponge Bob underoos and baby socks. I have been trying to keep up with Max's pants, undies and socks since his wardrobe is the most limited and he is the messiest with his clothing, but the towel situation is dire. I will be forced to wash a load and hang them in various spots all over my downstairs. They will be crunchy people. I hate crunchy towels. I keep hoping the UPS man will ride in on a white horse (or a big brown truck) and save the day. The UPS man is slowly losing his favor with me. GET HERE ALREADY. So, when I say I've stepped back in time it's sort of true. I have wash ability, but I have to (gasp) hang dry!!! OH, the horror.

Painting Will Only Cause Headaches

Painting will only cause headaches. I'm not speaking about fumes, or leaning over in one spot too long making you lightheaded.... or concentrating on something too long.... it's the aftermath of a freshly painted room that will cause you to fret. Well, perhaps it's just me. In our home we have an entry way where the stairs go up and down (split level entry for those who are confused), and in that spot where the ceiling's so high and the thought of painting it (or even dusting the cobwebs out of it for that matter) is so unappealing, is this pink and blue floral wallpaper. Now, I've always loudly proclaimed my infinite distaste for wallpaper. It's a freakin' nightmare to put up. If it tears, it's a pain to patch. It's busy, very very busy. I just pretty much dislike wallpaper. So, here's this wallpaper on the walls. Not only is it wallpaper, but it's floral. Pink and blue floral. ICK. It's not so incredibly disgusting that I had to rip it down immediately upon moving in, but I've often sat on my sofa glaring at the little pink flowers and dreaming of a better day... a day when there is nothing on those walls but fresh clean paint. I don't think that's going to happen anytime soon. Wallpaper stinks to put up, but it's even less thrilling to remove. The thought of rigging some kind of ladder contraption over the stairs, to reach way up high, to scrape wallpaper has me putting color swatches up against the blue stripes in this said wallpaper to match for the rest of the living room's paint. If you can't beat it, join it. I decided to go with a light grayish blue for the living room to tie in with the wallpaper on the stairs and put some color behind our very neutral sofa. I finished painting it yesterday. I keep walking through the room from different angles, you know, sizing it all up. I thought I'd like it better when the curtains went up. I thought I'd like it better when the furniture was all back in place.... Or the pictures were hung back up. I'm still not sure. It matches that darned wallpaper just fine. Sure, it's colorful. It's just SO, so, so blue. It's like a little boy's bedroom. Also, our area rug no longer matches, so we now have no rug over the cold wood floor. The floor looks naked is really what it is. Our throw pillows.... Out. I keep wondering what lovely color I would've chosen if I wasn't imprisoned by the wallpaper the previous owners picked off a clearance rack at Home Depot. I know, I'm bitter. I am bound by wallpaper, my nemesis.

Simply Fabulous

Tuesday is my little Maxer's birthday. I don't know how we managed to fly into October so fast this year, or how it's happened that my first born is already almost four! Rob and I have been discussing the important stuff... presents. Now, I don't really think we need to do much seeing as how my mother is a deal shopper and three boxes arrived for his birthday a week ago. She claims it was buy two get one free and she got a "heck of a deal". Anyone who knows Grammie Garzone knows just what this means. (Love you Mom!) I know she didn't blow her retirement or anything, but this kid's got three large gifts sitting in the downstairs closet (good thing he can't read this yet). I hardly think Rob and I need to get ANYTHING else for him, but alas, we don't buy toys much throughout the year and darnit, it's fun to buy toys! Actually what he really needs is clothes. This kid is a tank and instead of looking like a preschooler, he looks more like he belongs in the 2nd grade. He's got Burden/Jordan genes and he's a big-boned lad. Virtually all of his clothing from last year is outgrown and he needs it all. So, while he was at school today, I had a two hour window to whisk Miles over to Sears and KB Toys for a quick spree. The clothes shopping was not as easy as I anticipated. I recall something my sister-in-law said recently about how picky my nephew's taste in fashion is. I wholeheartedly sympathize as Max has a keen eye as to what is "in" and what is not. And I don't mean "in" as far as current trend or what the stars are sporting. He decides what is worthy to wear and what will be neglected at the bottom of the drawer for ever-more. He has one red sleeveless shirt that gets worn as soon as it hits the shirt drawer. It could be 40 degrees.... he could be freshly dressed already.... he could be on his way to church and that red sleeveless shirt will find it's way onto my son. So, while I was browsing through the boys section at Sears I had a sudden overwhelming sense of panic. It had to meet with Max's style needs, as well as mine and Rob's checkbook needs. (While I'm not nearly as skilled at bargain shopping as Grammie Garzone, I am definitely not into spending oodles of money.) So, I finally decided on some cords and a striped turtleneck (his new favorite this season), also some comfy loungewear. I was running out of time and money so I called it a day at the store. Who'd have thought that at such a tender age a boy could be soooo hard to shop for?

Awww... Can You Believe It??

It was 11:30 am, Thursday. I was hauling my 11-month-old heavyweight, Miles, down three houses to pick up Max from preschool. I was navigating through the cluster of small people and their parents, trying to get to the door, when a friendly woman I know only as "Hailey's Mom" asks me if I'm "Max's Mom". I smile and nod (as that is, of course, my new name since having kids- I no longer go by Catherine). The nice lady declares she thinks Hailey has a little crush on Max. Every day after school Hailey recounts to her family what funny things Max has done, or that Max got a little scratch above his eye today, or that Max got a new haircut. Apparently the nice lady called him Max casually and Hailey sternly corrected her that it was MaxWELL. I had to grin hearing this, as they are in PRESCHOOL. Max is just shy of four years old. That is simply too darned cute. TOO CUTE. I laughed with Nice Lady and said I'd definitely heard Hailey's name around the dinner table a couple of times when talking about school, too. Maybe someday they'll date each other, lol. I feel like a very proud mama... my little boy is a preschool stud.... (sigh). Are we there already? Oh, and by the way, Nice Lady's name is Julie.

It's a Date!

Rob and I had a date Friday night! The Community Little Theater in Auburn was doing Beauty and the Beast, and my friend Carmen's husband Mitch was playing Lumier. I got James to sit for the boys and Rob and I actually had a night out! The show was great, Mitch was wonderful (very, very funny!), and just being in the audience in the theater was a breath of fresh air. It's been ages since I've been to a show! This seems like a super little community theater group and several cast members were local high school students. Maybe one day when I have courage I will audition for one of their productions. Thanks for babysitting Uncle James!

It Starts With a Tickle

For the past two weeks Max has had a brutal cough. No runny nose to speak of, no fever, no sneezing... just a horrible horrible cough. Then one day, Rob started coughing so hard I thought I caught a glimpse of intestines hanging out of his throat. Gross, I know. I shivered with disgust every time I heard this emphysema-like, chest-rattling, vomit-inducing cough. Finally it seemed that Max was on the mend. I no longer heard him coughing at night in bed and it seemed like he was overcoming this chest cold. Rob, on the other hand kept going strong. A few days ago I felt a tickle at the back of my throat. Oh, wonderful I said to myself. Here we go. I am currently in the midst of a horrendous chest cold that has me hacking with every breath I take. For two nights I have been in between light sleep and mid-cough. My brow is sweaty. My stomach is nauseous. My kids are aggravating me. Oh wait, that's normal... heh heh. I'm (violins, please) really, really sick, and I'm really, really cranky. I keep doing my normal daily stuff; making beds, fixing meals, cleaning up dishes and clothes and sticky faces. I just happen to be doing these normal daily things in a thick fog. I suppose somedays having a regular old day job would be nice. I could call in sick, stay in bed and eat soup. But alas, I'm a mommy and those days don't exist anymore. Ok, I'll stop with the poor-me routine and go get some DayQuil. Ok, a lot of DayQuil.

Fun Fish Facts

Ok, so I last blogged that our beloved friend Plop was found early in the morning by me ....er.... "resting" on the bottom of the tank. After some time, he came to and resumed his normal fishly routine of swimming in circles, picking up and dropping rocks, and blowing bubbles at the top of the tank (I'm telling you, this fish is a card!). So, as predicted, Rob was horrified when I recounted my experience and he did some investigating online. Apparently fish "rest" periodically. They "snooze" so to speak, although they don't have eyelids, so they look freaky. They're called "diurnal" and they go into a "trance-like" mode at night. So, my feisty little aquatic acquaintance wasn't dying, simply in a trance! And when I mentioned he blinked, his eyes must've been dilating or something (because as I know now, being a fish expert and all, fish don't have eyelids!). Anyways, I know most of you out there were on the edges of your seats waiting to hear the fate of Plop and I couldn't leave you hanging like that. The news is in... yes, fish sleep.

The Sad Tale of a Fish Named Plop

It's early. My little Miles woke up at 4am, had a bottle and then snoozed back off. Unfortunately, I have a cold right now and after getting up for fifteen minutes with him, my cough got all worked up and I'm wide awake. So, what else is there to do when you're wide awake at 4:30 besides have some coffee (of course), throw a load of laundry in and fiddle on the computer. It's actually quiet peaceful because since Max is still in dreamland, I don't have to haggle over who gets computer time!

anyways, this post is titled after our beloved family pet, Plop. This morning when I turned on the light in the living room, Plop was laying down. Now, I've had fish before, but I'm no expert when it comes to these underwater friends.... but.... fish aren't... SUPPOSED to lay down, right? He definitely looked like he was not doing well at all. I sighed a heavy-hearted sigh and sat down. Maybe feeding him would make him feel better (it has always worked for me). I pinched in some food. Nothing. I got some coffee and came back. He was blinking at me. I went to the bathroom and came back. He was waving his fins a little. I decided not to watch him so closely because maybe I was giving him some kind of anxiety. I flicked through the stations looking for news. After kind of side-looking over to see how Ploppy was doing, I noticed he was king of limp-swimming and even trying to eat some of the food bits floating up top.

It's now been an hour since I saw him looking so sad and he is swimming about and he has eaten. I have a sad feeling deep inside though, I sort of know that this is the end of days for poor, poor Plop. Rob is closest to him. Rob always asks if Plop's been fed and how Plop's doing. He laughs it off saying if anything ever happened to him, Max would be devastated. You know, I'm not so sure Max would care much. Not that my super-intelligent dramatic four-year-old is callous or cold.... it's just that he's got bigger things on his mind; Rescue Heros, what's for snack, are we going outside? I think the news will be harder to break to Rob.

Well, stay tuned for updates about Plop. I hear footsteps upstairs and I better go say good morning.