Calling It Quits (For Now)

The blog thing has just not fit into my life lately. I have just been too busy, well, living. And right now I kind of like it that way, enjoying LIVING my life instead of WRITING about it. I imagine I might be back, but I am not sure. We'll see what the future holds for me. So tata for now, and I hope you are enjoying YOUR lives as well!

World Cup, Henry-style

Yesterday I went and bought Henry some shinguards for his soccer camp. I returned home from the store with shinguards in hand at 12:45. Henry was so excited that he put them on immediately! I went to my students' graduation and returned home at 4 pm. The shinguards were still on. We went to a friend's house for dinner. Henry wore the shinguards in the car. At approximately 9:45 last night, we finally peeled them off his clammy calves.

That boy is SO excited about soccer camp! We have had some variant of this conversation every single day for the past week or so:

Henry: Mom, when is soccer camp?

Me: It starts on the Monday after my school is out.

Henry: So how many days is that? Is it a short time eeeyur (that is how he ALWAYS says "or" -- I love that) a long time?

Me: Pretty short. Just a few days.

Henry: So is it that we have tomorrow, and then it is the day after that. Eeeyur is it the next day after the next day?

Me: Three days, Henry.

Henry: So is it the next day after the next day after the next day, and THEN it is soccer camp??!!

Me: Sure.

Quinn: Mo-ohm, when ith MYYYYY thoccer ca-amp???

I think that Quinn thinks that I like Henry better because why else would Henry get to do soccer camps and museum camps, while HE gets to do nothing but hang out with Mom? He must think I am cruel. How do I explain the concept of age requirements to a two year-old?

School's Out!

Today was the last day of school. Man did those seniors need to go! They had the worst case of senioritis that this world has ever seen.

Anyways, grades are due Tuesday, and then my summer officially starts, so I imagine that this here blog might actually start getting updated on a regular basis! I know, I know, you are peeing in your pants with eexcitement.

Why Does This Even Surprise Me Anymore?

The #1 rule of remodeling is that anything that can go wrong WILL go wrong. Every fucking time.

We went to pick out a tree last week for our median. The city is very strict about the type and size of tree that you plant, and we have to have an appropriate tree to get our final inspection (and END this remodel, finally).

I went to a local nursery to pick out a tree. I took a tape measure with me to make sure that I picked one with all the right requirements. I spent a full hour measuring trees until I found a perfect one. Hooray! A perfect tree! Feeling victorious, I tagged the tree with the neon orange ribbon that the nursery had given me, and then I returned to the cashier.

This particular nursery is enormous, as in SO enormous that you have to drive around in it to find your plants. So I returned to the front desk and had a long conversation with the cashier about exactly where my tree was located. I wanted to make sure that when their delveries guys went to get it, they would know exactly where it was.

The cashier seemed to understand me, nodding along while I pointed to the map. So then I paid and tried to arrange the delivery. Well, it turns out that they can DELIVER the tree, but that they have no way of getting it off of their truck once they arrive at your house (and all of this service for only $100 -- I guess gas prices really ARE high!). It is a BYOF kind of deal (the "F" is for forklift). With this new, utterly ridculous information, I canceled the delivery.

We instead hired a guy to go pick the tree up and plant it. I called the nursery and explained that someone else would be getting the tree for me. They said no problem, so long as he had the paperwork. So I gave him the paperwork, sent him on his way, and went to my job.

When I came home on Friday, how excited I was! For there, in our median, was planted our new beautiful city-code-abiding magnolia! Yay!...Wait. Fucking mother fucker, that is NOT the tree that I picked out. NOT the tree that I sunburned my shoulders for while spending an hour measuring tree trunks with my trusty Stanley measuring tape. NOT the tree that I wrapped my orange neon ribbon around. And certainly NOT the tree that I paid $576 for and another $400 for someone to pick it up and plant it. Man was I pissed. Really fucking pissed.

It turns out that they just gave our guy some random tree. He told me that he had to trim a lot of branches off the bottom since the city wouldn't like that. I thought, well no duh the city wouldn't like it which is why I PICKED OUT A TREE WITH NO LOW BRANCHES!!!!!

So off my husband and I went to the nursery yesterday to find out what in the hell happened. We arrived, found our tree still sitting out there with the orange ribbon around it, and went to go talk to the cashier. She explained that they had a strict policy that they don't take returns if something has been planted. Okay, fine for most cases, but when your company fucks up, don't you think you should bend the rules? She explained that the receipt did not say "tagged" on it, which it should have, apparently. Okay, fine, so yet again YOUR company messed up because the cashier didn't type "tagged" on our receipt. She went and talked to the cashier who helped me the first time. That little blonde bitch said that, no, I never told her that I tagged a tree. No, no, she absolutely does NOT recall me pointing to the map, her nodding her head, etc. Fucking blonde bitch. She said there had been a "miscommunication." Miscommunication, my ass -- YOU fucked up.

After some talking back and forth, they said that they would take the tree back. I said that that was great, but that they ALSO needed to pay the $400 dollars that it would take to plant it AGAIN. No dice. So we got the manager's name (due to return on Wednesday) and walked out.

So what is my plan, you ask? First, I am having the city come out to see if the tree is okay, even though it does not quite meet code. If it is okay, I will leave it in, but I am still contesting the entire charge on my credit card. I will cancel my contesting if they discount the tree 50% for making us do all of this crap. If the city says it is NOT okay, then we will definitely be returning it and getting our REAL tree, but STILL contesting the charge. They have a choice as I see it: Lose $400 by paying us to re-plant it, OR lose $600 by not doing what they should do. And I definitey will be calling the Better Business Bureau if necessary.


But people, ALL we had to do was get a freakin' tree!!! Honestly, can't one, just ONE little thing about this remodel go right? How could planting a stupid tree turn into yet ANOTHER castastrophe? I'll tell you how -- because fucking up simple things is what remodeling is all about. It is the law of the universe.

BUT...yes there is a but. I am adopting a new life philosophy. Instead of getting angry about things like this (because they are just happening way too often around here and I am losing years off my life with all of the stress), I am going to LAUGH at everything bad that happens. HA HA HA! Isn't this so ridiculously FUNNY that even our TREE is messed up! Who could have known such a FUNNY thing could happen? HA HA HA ha ha...ha...ha.................ha. Ha.

Hmmmm, this might take a little more practice.

Not So Fun Times At The Doctor

Henry needs surgery. I need a sedative.

We went to a urologist yesterday just "as a precaution," according to my doctor. It turns out that Henry has a birth defect where one of his testicles is filling with liquid. Apparently, there is a small hole at the top of the testicle that closes around the age of two, but when it does not close, liquid begins to seep in. The result is a swollen, liquid-filled testicle.

The surgery is apparently fairly minor, fairly common, and reasonably safe. What is really freaking me out is that they have to put him completely under. I just can't wrap my mind around that -- the image of my sweet little boy conked out on an operating table while someone cuts him open. I can't get past the fear that he will have a reaction to the anesthesia or will never wake up. Basically I am freaking out. But I am trying my best to NOT freak out in front of Henry.

Fortunately, Henry was born with a complete lack of awareness of other people's feelings, which up until now has been a rather annoying trait, but in this situation it is paying off. He doesn't even notice that my eyes are completely bloodshot and that I appear to be in a coma.

When the doctor told us about the surgery, Henry was fine. He had some questions but he was pretty calm. He was NOT fine when he heard me tell my husband that Henry would have to miss the last day of Kindergarten Camp for the surgery. THEN the tears came rolling. Welcome to the world of a five year-old.

The GOOD news is that there is no choice involved. He HAS to have the surgery, he HAS to be put under, the condition will NOT correct itself, and there are NO alternatives. So at least I don't have to rack myself with guilt about what to do. To me that would be much worse, such as if they told me it MIGHT correct itself and so did we WANT to do surgery.

The surgery is not until August, unfortunately, so I have lots and lots of time to dwell on it. I think I will be okay once the shock wears off. Hnery has already completely forgotten about it. I am trying to follow suit.



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In other news, Quinn is sick AGAIN, so I was cleaning up vomit AGAIN on Friday night. For those of you keeping score, that makes THREE weekends in a row that have involved cleaning up vomit.

A Parenting Tip

Henry saw something today that might have been a bit advanced for his young age. To help the rest of you avoid my mistake, here is a tip:

If you see a black bee in the garden and decide to look it up on the computer, just know that it is also the name for a sexual position. Soooooo, make sure your five year-old is NOT in your lap when you accidentally pull up a website with an animated demo of the position.

If this helps only one person, I have done my job.

My Brain Has Quit

I am too tired to post much because it was a loooong 3 day weekend, but just to give you a quick summary, here goes:

A) My kitchen counter now has knife marks across it. It turns out that you can't cut bread directly on it with a very sharp knife (I knew this already, but apparently Ally did not).

B) My TV room floor is spotless because we scrubbed vomit off of it. Again.

C) My home office looks like it threw up all over our living room because we are pretending that THIS time we are REALLY going to clean the office and keep it that way (but really we move everything out, clean about 10% of it, and then cram everything else back in -- we do this about three times a year).

D) My brain officially decided that if this Mother Effin' house remodel is not over SOON, as in YESTERDAY, that I may actually cross the bridge into Crazytown. Our builder has started coming about, oh, NEVER, and I am pissed. I am not kidding when I say that I am on the verge of a nervous breakdown about the remodel. Really. I am not kidding. Ask my husband. Poor fella.

E) Upon being inspired by seeing a paddleboat race in which everyone looked buff as hell, I have decided to get back in shape (not that I am way out of shape, but I could use some serious toning up). To get healthier, I have decided to exercise more and cut back on (gulp) alcohol. This seemed like an awesome idea at the time, until A, B, C, and D happened. Now it just seems plain nuts. So maybe I already HAVE crossed the bridge into Crazytown. I mean, what sane person would attempt to cut back on drinking while raising young kids during a remodel?

I need a psychiatrist.