to add to the problem, our new car has a DVD player May 16, 2008

When I was a kid, my dad wouldn’t let my mom read fairy tales to me. He thought there were too many scary parts, and didn’t want me to have nightmares. The evil stepsisters in Cinderella, the witches of Snow White and Sleeping Beauty, the Big Bad Wolf in Three Little Pigs. Now obviously (and mostly thanks to Disney), I eventually heard and learned these stories like every other kid. My mom and I always gave my dad a hard time about it. I remember I never even saw the “Thriller” video until 8th grade, even though I was a huge Michael Jackson fan as a three-year-old. Dad just thought it would be too scary, and put his foot down. 

Now I’m starting to see the wisdom in his plan. Sherman loves the movie Cars. Honestly, I do too. It’s not annoying yet, and he’s been watching it at least 5 times a week for a few months now. I like the Sheryl Crow song in the beginning, and Mater’s jokes that only adults understand, and the super realistic animation. Plus, I guess any time your kid gets excited about something it’s hard not to get into it yourself.

But what I like the most about this movie is that there are no scary parts. Lightning begins the movie a total jerk and ends up as a totally different car, and does what is right, not just what’s best for himself. The only sad part is when he and Sally talk about the good old days of Route 66 and how the interstate killed Radiator Springs, and the awful James Taylor song that plays during this scene.

Since he enjoyed Cars so much, we added a few more movies to our Netflix queue to see what else he would get a kick out of. We started with Finding Nemo. Train has seen this movie at work about three million times. I had not seen it, and when I walked in on the part where two fish are about to be swallowed by the whale, I got pissed that he hadn’t warned me. It brought back flashbacks of Pinocchio, which (to me) was a dark and scary movie/story. Then he tells me that Nemo’s dad is really overprotective, and never let Nemo swim in open water. “Where else do fish swim?” I ask. “Well, that’s how his mother died.” “WHAT? His mother dies?” “Yes, in the beginning.” “Like in Bambi?” “Well, yeah. And then Nemo goes swimming in open water and gets separated from his father and ends up in a fish tank”. “WHAT?” “And he doesn’t think his dad is coming for him because, well, he doesn’t have a lot of faith in his dad.” At that point I didn’t really want to hear any more. Finding Nemo went back a few days later.

So then we tried Toy Story, which I actually have seen. Bright and sunny. Yeah, the part where the toys get separated from Andy is sad, but at least the toys are together, not left all alone to fend for themselves. Except I forgot about the evil neighbor that burns and mutilates toys. Um, okay, I was 14 when this movie came out and that kid still gave me the creeps. So we found ourselves hovering around the DVD player so we could skip the worst parts of Sid. That one went back immediately, but he actually has asked for “toys” a few times.

I’ve put myself in a bad place here. I recognize now that my dad understood that he and my mom could control the images and ideas that were deposited in my brain for a short time only, and for that time he wanted to keep my world as simple and innocent as possible. Even now Dad gets angry when my uncle tells his daughter that there is an alligator in the bathtub drain. But obviously kids have to learn that not everything in life is easy and happy. I just don’t want to deal with nightmares or weird phobias from a kid who still (STILL) isn’t really verbalizing very much, and would just as soon throw a tantrum than try to communicate.

I think next we’re going to try Ratatouille. What am I getting myself into with that?

life is a highway May 11, 2008

Why can’t anything ever be simple? Ever since we found out about baby #2, we’ve been contemplating our vehicle situation. We have a small SUV and a pickup truck. It works fine for now, but we’d like something with a little more room for actual human beings and all of their legs.

We bought the truck my senior year of college, during Train’s first year of teaching. I say “we” because if it were up to him he’d still be driving his shit brown 1987 Ford Ranger (I know all my sorority sisters are recalling that truck fondly right about now). But let’s face it, we were engaged at that point, and no husband of mine was going to be driving a car almost as old as me. He has an F150 extended cab 4WD, and it has served him well. Me, on the other hand…well, it’s kicked my ass a few times and I’m not particularly sorry to see it go. The reason it has to go is because Sherman’s car seat sits in the middle of the back bench, basically putting his legs in between the two front seats. Adding a second car seat, which we always thought we could do because there are anchors, means each kid would sit behind one of the front seats, and also means Mommy and Daddy in the front would be eating dashboard every time we were in stop-and-go traffic. NOPE! Selfishly, I’m also tired of Train being the neighborhood and family haul guy just because he has a truck. Dude, Home Depot rents those things for $20/hour, move your own damn couch. We’ve gotten to the point where if someone needs the truck we just give them the keys, but that has resulted in some unfortunate air-freshener incidents which I don’t care to repeat. Plus, have you seen gas prices lately? Yowza.

Our other car is a CR-V, which we bought new about two years ago right after Sherman was born. I really love this car…pretty much the only thing that would make it better would be a line-in jack for the iPod. Or maybe XM radio. Anyway. I love how it handles, and it is plenty roomy for the three of us and all of our junk. It’s not too hard to get in and out of (like the Civic we had before, which was too low to the ground for me to wrestle Sherman into). The only problem is that in this car we have our Britax Marathon, which, holy jesus is that thing big. It’s in the middle of the backseat, and I asked Train a few months ago to move it to one side so it would be easier for me to get Sherman in and out. His verdict was that it is so large front-to-back that it wouldn’t fit behind one of the front bucket seats. Plus, we don’t go on a whole lot of car trips - the furthest we go is North Carolina, which is about 5 hours - but when we do, the CR-V is usually packed to the gills with luggage, pack n play, toys, snacks, computer, DVD player, etc. Adding a second child and all of his accompanying gear was overwhelming. So the idea is that we could get something bigger for serious family travel, and I could keep the CR-V just to get around.

We had settled on a minivan some time ago, thinking that it would give us plenty of space and extra passenger room if needed. I was SUPER psyched about automatic remote sliding doors. Every time I walked out of daycare with my arms full of keys, backpack, and Sherman I had a nice little daydream about the Honda Odyssey. But there is still the whole “minivan” stigma, and how we couldn’t really see ourselves in one, and Train didn’t think having two or three extra seats in the car just for when my parents came to visit was all that worth it.

So we had kind of decided on a Honda Pilot. We are obviously pleased with our current Honda and everybody knows they last forever. We do all of our service through our local Honda dealer who is just down the street, and the anal-retention in me likes having all of our records at one place. The Pilot has a third-row seat that could be kept in the fold-down position until needed (although with two car seats anchored in the second row, it would be next to impossible to actually sit in the third row, but hey…THE OPTION IS THERE).

We’ve kicked this into high gear recently because the Honda dealers around here have been doing promotion after promotion, and my bank at work has great auto loan rates. We’re in the position that what we make by selling the truck privately (probably Craigslist) can pay off the CR-V, so we can still have one car payment.

Train and I hate the whole car buying process. We are terrible negotiators and never stick to our “out the door” maximum that we agree on going in. We have purchased three cars together (new and used) and we still don’t feel like we’ve gotten the hang of this game.

My preference is to buy a new car because it’s easy. You have a warranty and you don’t have to worry about finding some guy’s fingernail clippings in the ashtray (Britt, looks to me like you need to re-tell that story). There are no variables about condition or mileage or Blue Book values. Sign the papers and you’re done, on the way home with the paper floormats in place and the new car smell. It’s fast, and time is something we have very little of lately.

Alas, we can’t afford a new Pilot and keep a similar car payment (obviously, since a Pilot is bigger than a CR-V). So we hit Craigslist to see what is out there and I was overwhelmed by all of the details. There’s this Pilot that’s newer, but has higher mileage, but a lower price. But then there’s this one, with less mileage and leather. Nothing is equal, there is no baseline. It’s exhausting.

So my second-favorite option is to buy a certified used car from the dealer where we bought the CR-V. They had quite a few 2005 Pilots and, oh darn, they are all EXL with leather interior and alloy wheels. Shoot.

We did the internet request-a-quote last night on 4 different 2005 Pilots, all with varying mileages and one with a Rear Entertainment System, which I had mixed feelings about. Of course the salesman looked up our records and got Train’s phone number and called us today on the way to our Mothers Day lunch from hell. I told him we could stop by this afternoon or maybe tomorrow. He told me he had just gotten 9 additional used Pilots in that were in the process of being certified.

After we got home from our disaster of a lunch-that-wasn’t-lunch-at-all, it was raining and I went up to the dealership to meet with the salesman. He had three PIlots with great low mileage, all the same color and trim level. I mentioned the truck and how we might want to trade it in (although really we want the cash, if we can save any hassle in this process we at least should check).

He takes the VIN for the truck and runs a report. I won’t even tell you what the trade in offer was because it was laughable as they always are, but come to find out there is an odometer discrepancy on the Carfax report. Some IDIOT at the Ford dealership here keyed in the wrong mileage on a routine service back in 2004, so when the truck was inspected in 2005 and the correct odometer reading was entered, it appeared to be lower than in 2004 which sends up a red flag. No dealership will accept a record like this as a trade-in, and any Craigslist buyer with half a brain would have questions about it. So we spent the evening digging through the glove box and our file cabinet looking for mileage verification. Luckily, Carfax wants a receipt from within 6 months prior to the error and within 6 months after, and we were able to find oil change/inspection receipts within that time frame. Hopefully it won’t take too long, but it’s still a pain in the ass we don’t need.

As far as the Pilot goes, the salesman told me his internet prices were the bottom line. I was so stunned by that bullshit I thanked him for his time and left, because…whatever. He obviously didn’t need my business enough to do anything but point to the sticker. Not to mention that we are repeat customers, and Train also brought his brother there to buy his first car. So we’re back to Craigslist, and the unending comparisons and hand wringing about which is the better deal, then chasing them all over northern Virginia.

on size of family March 7, 2008

I may be beating a dead horse here…but will someone please tell me why there is this assumption that having or being an only child is the worst thing that could EVER happen to a child in the HISTORY of the world?

Because if you listen to a lot of the comments I’ve gotten recently as news of our little addition to the family has spread, all of you that are second- and third-born can assume that the sole reason you were brought into this world is to be a distraction for your bored, lonely, nuisance older sibling. Sorry to be the one to break it to you.

Apparently there has never been a mother who lamented the end of her first-born’s days of sole attention.

Apparently there has never been a mother who worried so much about her heart’s ability to contain love for yet another wonderful offspring that she delayed the decision on whether to get pregnant again.

JUST BRING ON THE BROOD SO I DON’T HAVE TO ENTERTAIN THIS KID BY MYSELF ANYMORE.

It drives me nuts that these women with 2, 3, 4 children have forgotten the days when their first born was their only child. I find it very hard to believe that most mothers of young children are simply biding their time and tolerating their single child until they are able to have another baby. Do you get what I’m saying? This is asinine.

I know it’s useless to be frustrated by these things, but why is the assumption that the reason we are having another baby is to “give Sherman a little brother or sister”? No. What we’re doing is adding another person to our family. We are thrilled and excited and nervous. We can’t wait to see how he/she is the same and different from his/her magnificent older brother. To be frank, I find it offensive that the only thing this child is considered to be is a playmate for Sherman.

Many people are now asking if we only plan to have two children. I give them an unequivocal YES, and if I’m feeling playful I might throw in that I wasn’t even sure I wanted a second, so there is certainly no consideration of a third. More often that not, the response I get to that was “OH! You don’t want Sherman to be an only child!”

Well, what if I did? I mean, I was an only child and I’m certainly not SCARRED. I never wished for siblings and never wanted to share my clothes, toys, or house with a brother or sister. I had plenty of friends to keep me occupied and enjoyed spending time with my parents. It’s especially nice now that it doesn’t take an act of God to get my entire nuclear family together, and I am beyond blessed that in their retirement, I don’t have to share my parents with any siblings or nieces or nephews. I think I would lose my mind being so far from my family (i.e. my parents) if I wasn’t able to look forward to their long visits.

The fact is that no one knows what it’s like on the “other side”. You either had siblings or you didn’t. Even if you have step-siblings you may consider yourself an only child because they didn’t live with you. You either had to share your parents’ attention with another child or you didn’t. When all of your kids are grown, you hope you will look back and say, “That was fun. I wouldn’t have had it any other way.” But you couldn’t have had it any other way. Because if you had, you still would say, “That was fun. I wouldn’t have had it any other way.”

I see the value in brother/sister relationships firsthand in my husband’s bonds with brother and two sisters. I can appreciate, if not always understand, that those relationships are as important to him as the ones with his parents, because they were the bonds that shaped his childhood. But that doesn’t discount the bond I have with my own parents by comparison, just as my relationship with my parents isn’t more important or more sacred than his simply because I didn’t have to share my parents. It’s just different.

I imagine a childhood like Train’s (in a large family) to be full of mischief and chaos, where at the end of the day the family all sits down at the table together. I imagine shared jokes and long games of make-believe and one sibling shoving the other off the porch and older sisters dressing their younger brothers up as Raggedy Ann and everyone sitting together in church while their mother sang in the choir.

But when I think about my own childhood, I think of carefully arranging the pepperonis on a frozen pizza with my father while Mom was at night school getting her bachelors’ degree. Of turning off the TV on Friday nights so the three of us could play Trouble. Of Mom and I propping our pillows against the picture windows in the back of the house so we could spend an icy, electricity-less afternoon reading in the weak daylight. Of jumping on the trampoline in the backyard for hours, singing to Paula Abdul’s “Spellbound” on my tape player.

I think they both sound wonderful, because we were happy, healthy, and loved.

When we talked about having a second baby, part of me wanted to stop with Sherman just to prove a point: that you don’t have to have a sibling to be well-adjusted or compassionate. You don’t have to have more than one child to have a full life. When you take into account the amount of work it takes between the two of us to keep our household running financially and logistically, even Train (formerly Mr. “I-want-my-own-basketball-team’s-worth”) was open to the possibility of Sherman being an only child.

When it came down to it, our main hesitation was that we were/are unsure how we would/will pay for daycare for a second child. And we decided that if that was our only reason not to have another baby, it was a terrible reason (in our situation). That in 5 years, if we could look back and say the only reason we didn’t have a second child was because it would have put a financial strain on us, that we would have serious regrets. The only way Sherman factored into the decision is because we didn’t want him to be too much older than his sibling, not that we wanted to have a permanent playdate for his entertainment.

I hope this diatribe made some sort of sense. There are stereotypes and unsolicited comments all throughout society that we are guilty of perpetuating, and this is, by all comparison, a benign one. But it gets under my skin EVERY SINGLE TIME. How can you sit there and say to me, “The way I lived my life and raised my family was right. You’re doing it differently, and it’s wrong.” By whose definition? At what consequence?

it’s not an omen…right? February 26, 2008

Thanks for your input on my dilemma last week. I was leaning towards #2 (have Sherman stay with my friend who has a son his age) with #4 as a backup (stay with mom’s friend and have her keep Sherman) but you have convinced me to give #7 a shot (see if Train’s sister will go with us). We’ll see what she says.

So is Gmail chat a jinx for anyone else? After a couple of conversations with Britt about ear infections, runny noses, and sleeping through the night, I totally hosed myself and we had two weeks of runny nose and intermittent night wakings. I obviously didn’t learn my lesson, because after drooling over Jen’s new ring, I mentioned how I used to get my own engagement ring cleaned or tightened or something every 6 months at the friendly family jeweler where Train purchased my ring. I had a little certificate and the jeweler would make a notation each time I brought it in (every March and September!). I’m not sure if I was doing this for warranty purposes, or insurance, or what. But I stopped doing it after Sherman was born (I may have done it once since then). The jeweler is in Train’s hometown, about 45 minutes away, and I don’t want to leave my ring for more than a day so it’s hard to time it right.

My ring is gold, while the setting that holds the diamond is platinum. There are two “prongs” of the ring that don’t touch the actual setting. I remember waking up the first morning after our engagement and noticing that and having a minor freakout, thinking I had somehow broken my ring. HA HA.

Early last week, one night while I was giving Sherman a bath, I noticed my engagement ring looked funny. The two upper prongs didn’t touch the setting, which was fine, but one of the sides of the ring, WHERE IT ATTACHES TO THE PLATINUM SETTING, wasn’t touching either! Holy crap. My diamond was hanging on by a gold thread.

So the ring is back in its little white box, waiting for our next trip to see Fred. It’s funny how many people have noticed I’m not wearing my engagement ring. Train and I both have plain gold bands (mine has a notch cut out so the engagement ring can sit right up against it) and I’m obviously still wearing mine, in fact, very rarely do either of us take them off. But a lot of people have made a comment about why I wasn’t wearing my “wedding ring” - definitely a cause for alarm.

we were in WASHINGTON, for PRESIDENTS’ DAY, for god’s sake February 19, 2008

The weather here on Presidents’ Day was absolutely gorgeous. My parents are visiting (arrived last Wednesday night), and Train and I both had off work. We were having some repair work done on our furnace so I had taken a shower before the repairman arrived at 9am. After my mom’s shower, she had an idea that we should go into D.C. and walk around in the nice weather (by 10am, it was 60 degrees! heat wave!). At first I wasn’t sure…every time I think of the national mall I think of HOT, and WALKING, and HEAT, and SWEAT, and SWAMP. But there was nowhere nearby that we could spend the majority of the day outside, except our muddy, dog-poop-filled backyard. Plus, I’ve been wanting to take Sherman to the National Building Museum for a while. He could run around on the mall and people-watch. My dad passed on the trip as he’s getting over a sinus infection or something, and Train had lunch plans with his brother. We gathered up snacks, bottled water, and jackets just in case and headed into D.C.

We drove in and parked in a deck across from the Verizon Center. Sherman had slept for a little while in the car and woke up when we got in the deck. We put him in his stroller and walked the few blocks to the museum. The weather was gorgeous. My mom had on short sleeves and a light jacket. Sherman and I had on long sleeves and I had our jackets in the stroller just in case. Before we’d left the house, I asked Mom to grab Sherman’s hat. I meant his baseball cap (for the sun, because he refuses to wear sunglasses) but she grabbed his fleece/earflap hat. I left it in the car because I figured it would be too hot. 

We got to the museum and had to wait about 15 minutes to get into the little kids’ exhibit (there’s a 40 person capacity). We played there for about an hour, and then walked another couple of blocks to McDonalds. The sun was bright, in Sherman’s eyes, and I was kind of sweating by the time we sat down for lunch. We finished our meals and brought Sherman’s fries with us in the stroller. We walked around our asses to get over to the closest Metro stop and I was excited because Sherman has just recently started saying “choo choo” and we thought he would get a kick out of the train.

Of course the Red Line train was leaving right as we got down to the platform and we had a 10 minute wait for the next one. I had forgotten about the major holiday weekend track work with “delays up to 30 minutes“. Even when the train arrived we sat for a good 5 minutes before it moved, with Sherman freaking out just like on an airplane. He was actually pointing at the doors like, “Let’s get the hell out of here!” We only had a couple of stops and a train change and he did okay, but I had to hold/carry him until we got to the Smithsonian station. We decided we’d walk the 10-or-so blocks back to the car when we were ready to leave since he had not enjoyed the Metro and it was running so slowly.

We came up the escalator and it was like we had been transported to a different world. It was overcast, windy, and cold, and then a raindrop fell right on my nose. “Mom,” I said, “it’s going to rain.” We shrugged it off. Surely, after we came all this way into the city, and spent the beautiful morning INSIDE at the museum, it wasn’t going to crap out on us now. But I would have loved to have Sherman’s fleece hat (as a kid visiting DC, the winds whipping between the buildings gave me an ear infection, so I always try to keep his ears covered when it’s cold like that). We crossed the mall and ended up at the Carousel which I haven’t been to in years. I forget it’s there.

The rain picked up in intensity. Mom showed Sherman the horses and asked him if he wanted to ride and he said yes. This is after the nuclear meltdown he had at a street carnival in Key West when I tried to get him to ride some of the kiddie rides. We figured I should go with him in case he freaked out. We waited for our turn with a bunch of high school kids, trying not to get wet. I picked a horse near one of the stationary bench seats so if he didn’t like it I at least wouldn’t have to stand and hold him during the ride. Of course he didn’t like it, and of course he wouldn’t sit on the horse, and even when we sat on the seat he still fussed for a while (even I was getting dizzy!). About halfway through he kind of calmed down and watched the horses go up and down, and as the ride slowed I let him pet the horse and look at it. Well, then he wanted to ride and pitched a fit when we had to get off.

By then, it was freaking pouring. People are running for the museums and the information booths, just trying to get out of the rain. We figured the only thing to do was go back to the Metro where at least it was dry. We ran back to the station on the gravel, with Sherman in the stroller. It was so damn cold. Mom was wondering if it hadn’t started sleeting, the rain felt so cold. Of course we couldn’t run the whole way because we were out of breath, so we got even wetter as we walked back to the escalator.

We immediately caught a train back towards our parking deck, but when we had to switch trains at Metro Center, everyone was on a single platform and there wasn’t a train in sight. Mom walked Sherman around in his stroller while I used my trusty map and got my bearings. We were about 5 blocks from the car and the thought of waiting around in the station for 20 minutes with a soaking wet Sherman, then crowding onto the train just to go one or two stops and still have to hike to the car was enough to make me decide that we could just walk. The station manager let Mom and I use the restroom and Sherman was doing OK in his stroller (I see kids who sit in their strollers while their moms browse or chat and I am so jealous…if the stroller isn’t moving, Sherman is FREAKING).

We got up to the top of the escalator and luckily we were still under cover because it was still raining. There was a SAM there with a huge umbrella that we were about to pay her for. Anyway, we speed-walked the 5 blocks to the Verizon Center, trying to stay under building awnings but literally weaving through people on the sidewalk. Our hair was dripping and the legs of Sherman’s jeans were too. Mom mentioned that Sherman was being awfully quiet…”probably thinking this couldn’t get any worse!” It was pouring. Mom pointed at the umbrellas through the window of the H&M.

FINALLY we got to our parking deck and ducked into the garage entrance. I peeked down at Sherman WHO WAS ASLEEP. Mom and I try to use our Sherman-napping-time very wisely. We don’t like to waste it on things like RUNNING THROUGH THE FREEZING COLD RAIN, we like to be watching Tivo or browsing at Target. We were stunned that he was asleep and at this point we were pretty much beyond hysterical from the mess of the day. Mom insisted we try to get a picture of the three of us, right there on the ramp of the garage.

We got to the car and took off Sherman’s pants and sweatshirt jacket. His shirt was dry and I put him in his carseat with a spare towel I had in the car as a blanket (of course, he woke up and didn’t go back to sleep). I put the stroller in the back of the car next to the humongous golf umbrella we always keep there.

We both needed a drink, but I would settle for a fountain Coke on ice, which always makes anything better in our family when alcohol isn’t an option. I circled around to the McDonalds where we had had lunch and Mom ran in to get some big drinks for us and milk for Sherman (he was sweetly snacking on Cheerios while we waited). Of course traffic going home was worse than my regular workday traffic and it took us almost and hour and a half to get home (including screaming at the mulch-filled dump truck who tried to cut me off in the HOV lane, and giving myself a nosebleed in the process). We considered not telling Train and my dad about our day but Sherman - with no pants on - was a dead giveaway that something was awry. Either way, it was fun to get out of the house and spend the day with Sherman. Although I could have used another day off after all of that exercise.

—————————————

Let’s kick it HollowSquirrel style and have you settle a family dispute:

Without looking it up ANYWHERE (internet, food label, book, etc.) - how would you define “toffee”? First thing off the top of your head.

yes, Miley Cyrus is on there and I’m not ashamed…any more February 12, 2008

This past Christmas, Train and I bought ourselves an iPod nano.

I have to go off on a tangent here, because Train just loves it when I say “we” bought it for “ourselves” and compares it to the time “we” bought a new digital camera for Fathers Day.

Well here’s the thing about that. We don’t exchange gifts for Christmas, Valentines, etc. I just went into a whole long mental diatribe about WHY, but that isn’t really important and came off kind of condescending. I’ll just say it’s just not for us.

So if you’re not exchanging gifts, and your husband in particular hardly ever wants anything for himself, and you (as a family) need a new camera because yours (as a family) totally sucks, doesn’t it make sense to just buy one? And if it happens to be around the middle of June, which also HAPPENS TO BE near your birthday which also HAPPENS TO BE ON FATHERS DAY THAT YEAR, doesn’t it make sense to just get the damn camera?

Anyway. Train likes to get very superior about this which obviously gets under my skin. We got the iPod because I was sick of all the CDs we had lying around. In college I got rid of all the jewel cases and most of our CDs are in a Case Logic book. But I hate having to drag that whole thing out when we get into the car, and I don’t want to leave it in the car (which is the only time we listen to CDs), and then there are those CDs with the one really good song but the rest of the album sucks so who wants to load that in the player just for one song? And who even remembers those CDs in the back of the book, each time you just start at the beginning again. One day last fall when I was making Train help me clean out our joint CD collection, I had an epiphany that if we had an iPod to catalog all of the music, I wouldn’t have to deal with these CDs anymore. Train said if I got all the CDs uploaded to iTunes, we could get an iPod.

I didn’t do it for a while but as December approached I set out a stack to be uploaded on the desk. Both of us would do it as we sat at the computer. It didn’t take too long, we probably only have about 250 CDs after the fall purge.

We decided to get a nano instead of a Touch, mostly I just didn’t want to get a “first generation” anything in case it didn’t work as well. And damn is this thing small. Of course, the nano wouldn’t talk to our Windows 2000 desktop computer, so all the music had to be transferred to the Vista laptop before it could be loaded onto the iPod. Then I had way too many albums without album artwork, so I had to go fill in those holes. All the music from our “mix” CDs, for which I had already typed in the song names one by one during uploading, needed to have artists so that I could search on the iPod that way, and then some still needed to be considered “collections” (for instance, all of the cheesy country songs we listened to when we first started dating). Basically, the iPod fulfilled every organizational need I’ve ever had.

We took the iPod and its FM transmitter when we went to Key West and it worked pretty well. It was still hard to listen to a good mix of songs…the easy thing is to just pick an album, but just like CDs, sometimes there’s only one song you like. If you do a shuffle, you still have a likelihood of getting the crappy songs. Plus, I get in moods where I could listen to the same song twenty times in a row. Train is…not like that.

So back to iTunes I went, and ranked every song. For some reason I didn’t give any songs 5 stars, so my top ranking is 4 stars. Then I made a “smart” playlist of 4-star songs, and one for 3-star songs. Then I went crazy and made a “smart” playlist for each of the 70s, 80s, and 90s. So far I’ve only used the 4-star playlist and I like it. I’m avoiding all of those crappy songs that I never liked but uploaded for the sake of completeness. (We only use the iPod for longer car trips, and I listen to it on the rare occasions I drive in to work alone.)

But the point of all of this is to remind you of the awesomeness of this Gwen Stefani song, which the iPod so graciously pointed out to me yesterday:

Tick-tock, tick-tock
Tick-tock, tick-tock
Tick-tock, tick-tock
Tick-tock, tick-tock
La, la, la, la, la, la, la (ah, ah, ah, ah, ah)

Like a cat in heat, stuck in a moving car
A scary conversation, shut my eyes, can’t find the brake
What if they say that you’re a climber
Naturally, I’m worried if I do it alone
Who really cares, cause it’s your life
You never know, it could be great
Take a chance cause you might grow
Oh, ah, oh

What you waiting
What you waiting
What you waiting
What you waiting
What you waiting for?!

What you waiting
What you waiting
What you waiting
What you waiting
What you waiting for?!

Tick-tock, tick-tock
Tick-tock, tick-tock
Take a chance you stupid ho

Like an echo pedal, you’re repeating yourself
You know it all by heart
Why are you standing in one place?
Born to blossom, bloom to perish
Your moment will run out
Cause of your sex chromosome
I know it’s so messed up, how our society all thinks (for sure)
Life is short, you’re capable
Oh, ah, oh

(Uh-huh, hu-huh)
LOOK AT YOUR WATCH NOW!
YOU’RE STILL A SUPER-HOT FEMALE!
YOU GOT YOUR MILLION DOLLAR CONTRACT!
AND THEY’RE ALL WAITING FOR YOUR HOT TRACK!

What you waiting
What you waiting
What you waiting
What you waiting
What you waiting for?!

What you waiting
What you waiting
What you waiting
What you waiting
What you waiting for?!

I can’t wait to go back and do Japan
Get me lots of brand new fans
Osaka, Tokyo
You Harajuku girls
Damn, you’ve got some wicked style

Go

LOOK AT YOUR WATCH NOW!
YOU’RE STILL A SUPER-HOT FEMALE!
YOU GOT YOUR MILLION DOLLAR CONTRACT!
AND THEY’RE ALL WAITING FOR YOUR HOT TRACK!

You’re welcome.

best by February 5, 2008

How much attention do you pay to expiration dates? I find myself obsessed with them lately. Not only for obvious reasons…getting products that are “past their prime” out of the house, but the sheer fascination (and embarassment) of how long stuff stays in my house.

This weekend, in a fit of pre-Super Bowl freezer purging (more on that tomorrow when I upload photos) (Super Bowl, not the freezer purging) (although it does look damn good and even Train said so), I threw out a ton of stuff. I felt guilty about it because even more than I hate clutter, I hate wastefulness. But Oprah says your home is your sanctuary, and going into our freezer (and the standalone freezer in the basement) was depressing me and probably affecting my spirit. Or something.

It’s mostly, of course, not my fault. When my parents come to visit my mom goes grocery crazy and we end up with a freezer full of Weight Watchers fudge bars, cube steak, frozen dinners (which I can’t stand but Mom always says I need to try), and chicken with actual bones in it, like we know how to cook that. And that’s just the stuff we don’t eat, the leftover detritus.

Anyway, beyond that, I threw away doggie ice cream with a 2006 expiration date. That’s downright embarassing. (I always forget, when I buy it, that it doesn’t digest well and then I never give it to the dogs after the first tub) If dog ice cream has gone two years past its expiration date, that means it’s probably been in your freezer about three. Yikes. That’s older than Sherman.

The other day for breakfast, we had two bottles of pancake syrup in the fridge and both had expired in 2007. That stuff really must not last long.

Whenever we have to buy a new bottle of spices (you know, when a recipe calls for 1/16th of a teaspoon of lemonwater bouillon or some shit), I have started writing the purchase month and year on the bottom of the bottle with a Sharpie, because (a) we don’t use a lot of spices in our cooking and (b) I know it lasts forever but damn, we’ve had that ginger a long time. That way if I ever get organized enough I can look up the shelf life of some of these to see what is poisoning us.

This is why I don’t wear makeup. Or even have it in my house anymore. I think I would rather eat something expired than put it on my face. I could never use it fast enough and I would start to freak about the germs and the oldness and I just had to get rid of it.

Hot dogs are supposed to be eaten within a few days of opening if kept in the fridge. Oops.

I’ve been taking prenatal vitamins leftover from a big bottle I got near the end of my pregnancy with Sherman (refusing to buy any more prescription vitamins that made me sick anyway). I kept them because the expiration date was March 2008 and I figured I could at least use some of them. Now I worry that they aren’t as “effective” and got me some new ones.

Even Neosporin has an expiration date. The little tube I keep in my desk at work has a little EXP 6/08 on the end…what if I forget and use it in July?

What about stuff like sour cream and yogurt which is basically…already spoiled? How long can that sit in the fridge?

One thing I am super-anal about is milk. If it’s even getting close to the “best by” date, or I even suspect a whiff of something “not right” (especially if we have an unopened half gallon still in the fridge) I don’t hesitate to dump it down the drain. Train hates this…but WTF does he care, he doesn’t drink milk.

My dad’s mom was notorious for having expired stuff in her kitchen. These are my grandparents that lived in Key West when I was growing up, in the house where my parents now live. Grandma would buy things for when we came to visit (which was once a year, if that) that she and Grandpa didn’t really eat…ketchup, salad dressings, and namely COKE. Any Coke devotee knows that Coke tastes different everywhere you go - I’ve always thought it had to do with the local water where it was manufactured - so Mom and I weren’t real wild about the South Florida taste to begin with. Grandma would buy it on sale and keep it for us. I remember getting out a can with an expiration date 5 years past. Gag. Of course, since it was my dad’s parents he wanted us to just grin and bear it (not the 5 year thing, but like, ketchup that was past its prime) (ketchup that my mom or I would always stick on the beautifully set Christmas dinner table, in the middle of her heirloom china and Waterford crystal, which became kind of a family joke although it drove my grandmother INSANE) but my mom could never just let it go (I can totally relate to these tiny power struggles now that I’m married). I remember after my grandmother died, when we were cleaning out the cabinets beneath her termite-chewed china cabinet, we found a few 12 packs of Coke that had exploded in the cabinet (this was before the house had air conditioning). What a mess.

Today we’re told that the phthalates in baby shampoo, powder, and lotion are seeping into our kids’ skin and they cause-reproductive-problems-in-animals-but-the-FDA-still-says-it’s-inconclusive-if-they’re-dangerous-for-people-but-if-we-find-out-we’ll-let-you-know! It’s freaking BABY LOTION. And now you’re telling me it’s dangerous to put it on my BABY? WTF Johnson’s??? This phthalate thing is really starting to get to me. I’ve already decided that I’m going to replace all of the Playtex bottles Sherman used with something phthalate free because the whole thing gives me the heebie-jeebies. Now I’m thinking I should just douse him in water instead of giving him a daily bath. And forget the lotion. Ugh. I get so overwhelmed with these reports of all the environmental “toxins” we are exposed to now that our parents were not exposed to and I just wonder where it’s going to end. Everyone either has cancer or has someone close to them who does. This can’t all be a coincidence.

and if worse comes to worst, there’s always Supernanny January 16, 2008

Have you ever heard someone defend or explain their child’s tantrums or other behavior by saying that they are grateful that their child has a personality instead of being ho-hum and bland? Well, I have actually gotten to that point with Sherman, but I’m okay with it.

We are assuming that Sherman (at 21 months) is getting into the “terrible twos“. To be honest, I have suspected the beginning of the TTs several times, but it took our daycare provider (Alice) saying something for me to acknowledge that this is probably the real thing.

What am I talking about? The ear-splitting screams, the alligator tears, the red scrunched up face, the clenched teeth, the balled fists, the flailing on the ground. Sometimes because Sherman didn’t get his way and sometimes because Mommy sat on the left hand couch cushion instead of the right hand cushion, or because she flipped open the straw on the sippy cup before handing it to Sherman instead of after. 

Which leads me to the thing I dreaded MOST about parenthood: how to respond? No one wants to listen to a pissed-off toddler, so if spending a few more minutes banging on the computer will make him happy, I have no problem obliging. If I can get 5 more minutes to finish bill paying on the computer by letting him pull all of Train’s books off the bookshelf for the tenth time that day…yank away, baby. I obviously also don’t want to teach Sherman that the way to get what he wants is by COMPLETELY LOSING HIS SHIT for no reason, or by ignoring me when I say “no”. I can usually distract and redirect him into something that makes him forget what he was so mad about. But then there are times like last night, when we really had to get out of the the bathtub, and the tears and whining were so frenetic and sad, when you feel really bad. Like Sherman was devastated at leaving the bathroom, afraid he’d never get to go in again. And then as soon as he got a cup of milk and Elmo, he was all smiles and laughing again, and you realize he is simply testing his limits, and you pretty much feel like a sucker.

I’m assuming a lot of this is from his frustration at communication. He doesn’t have a lot of words, and he knows some sign language, but he can understand everything we say and he can’t reciprocate. I know it’s got to be frustrating, because it’s frustrating for me to watch him get frustrated when all he really needs to do is calm…down…and tell Mommy…what’s…wrong.

But then there are evenings after work when Sherman sits nicely at the dinner table, and signs politely for more banana, and helps me clean up the bath toys, and jumps up and down in delight signing “please” at the prospect of Sesame Street on Tivo, and gives me a huge hug at bedtime before he goes into his crib. And I try to freeze-frame those moments, file them for reference, and bring them out in the middle of the worst tantrums before I lose my cool too. Those tantrums when you think…how is this child ever going to deal with society, if he screams and kicks over diaper changes? And is it my fault that he acts like this?

But in moments of sanity, when Train and I can look at each other over a tantrum and laugh at his dramatics, I am thankful that Sherman is passionate about things, even if he is a little too passionate. Because we are not people who like to be told what to do, and when, so why should Sherman? And like Mom always said, “this too shall pass” and I can only hope it passes before we cause irreparable harm to his worldview.

art snob January 14, 2008

I have a hard time decorating the walls of our house. I prefer photos, but I get frustrated at how quickly they become outdated when you have a toddler running around. I feel a constant need to update them and I simply don’t have time for that. We do have a big photo collage in our living room of about 13 personal photos of varying sizes, with the center one being a 16×20 of our 2006 Christmas card picture. Every time I see it I am reminded that I need to get a new photo but by the time I get upstairs to the computer I am distracted by the laundry that needs to be put away or the little boy whose new favorite game is “slam-the-door-to-my-bedroom-and-scream-in-delight-until-Mommy-opens-it-since-I-can’t-open-it-myself-repeat”. The other art in the living room is two similar-looking square abstract painted canvases that I bought at Ross because the colors go nicely with our red furniture and brown/tan/red Target rug.

In our bedroom, I have a large wedding photo and an atomic clock on the wall. In our “office”, diplomas (Train and I graduated from the same college, so our degrees, tassels, honor medals, and almost-identical handshake photos are framed disgustingly alike). In the dining room, four mirrors in a row.

My problem with buying generic art like what’s in the living room is that it has no meaning. It really was just to try to fill up that big empty wall. I feel like a fraud when I buy stuff like that. I would prefer to buy a painting of something I love. Or something painted by someone I love. Of course, it needs to match the room it’s intended for. And it can’t be super-expensive.

In my Key West re-cap post, I mentioned that we spent a few afternoons at an art show near my parents’ house (at least, I think I…did, yep, there it is). We ended up with three prints plus some small photo-size prints. I say “prints” because we definitely did not buy any original paintings…we stayed in the “under $60″ range.

This first one is my favorite, and I think Train’s too:

This is a watercolor print of the Bahia Honda bridge on the way to Key West. It’s an old railroad truss from the Overseas Railroad. There is a state park on Bahia Honda that is one of my favorite beaches in the world. I just love this beach and I love this bridge and I could stare at this painting all day. Here it is hung in our bedroom, where I think it goes nicely. Artist Rocky Ferris. We paid $40 for this plus $20 (!!!) for shipping. I have no explanation other than I HAD to have it.

The next one is a photo on canvas:

This one is over the toilet in my newly painted purple bathroom. I have always had a semi-theme of seashells and the purple in this one stood out. However, I think it needs a frame. What do you think? My mom bought me this one as a Christmas present, I think it was about $40.

The third print has no explanation:

Something about the colors in this one just hooked me and I kept going back to it. It goes NOWHERE in my blue/green/purple upstairs or my red/brown/black downstairs. I’m not sure what I’m going to do with it, since we don’t even have a lot of hall space where I could put it. But I WILL find somewhere. I hemmed and hawed about it since it doesn’t go with anything, but my HGTV-obsessed mother berated me that “people worry too much about what matches instead of what they like.” Says the woman who can get away with decorating her whole house in fish and palm trees. But she’s right. I loved this print so it should be in my house to make me happy. This one was $20.

With the purple matting, I originally thought about putting this in the purple bathroom, but it didn’t seem mellow enough for that room. The artist had the original print matted differently, which I thought really brought out the colors of the painting. Here is some amateur photoshopping to show you how I want it matted:

Otherwise, we bought some small 4×6 prints of Key West landmarks…Schooner Wharf, Blue Heaven, and the sunset celebration. Not sure yet what we’ll do with those. Train is thinking we should do a “Key West wall” in the man room, so we may collect more things.

and if they had a blog…that’d be awesome January 11, 2008

You know how when you first set up a Facebook or Myspace profile, and you go through your school alumni lists on the site, and use their tools to cross-reference your email contacts, and click through your friends’ profiles to add acquaintences to your “friend” list? And then as the weeks and months pass, more people set up their profiles and find you with one of those methods and add you to their “friend” list? (Notwithstanding the fact that you probably never exchange an actual personal message.)

Well, do you ever wonder why some people never find you?

I mean, now that “Google” is a verb, I admit that when some long-lost classmate or neighbor’s name pops into my head, at some point in the near future I’m going to attempt to locate them. If you can find an email address, sometimes it’s fun to send them a note and spend a few days catching up (and, of course, never again corresponding). You probably think that’s weird. Well, people are ALWAYS happy to hear from me.

Most people you can’t really find that easily, and that’s about all of the effort I’m usually willing to expend. Without a picture to go with the Google results, it’s sometimes too creepy to assume that this particular medical research analyst is the first grade classmate whose mom gave him a Gloria Estefan tape at his birthday party at the skating rink (oh, Bryan! our mothers were certain we would end up together!).

Unfortunately, a lot of my old aquaintances have really generic names that are impossible to discern over the internet. More than a few Smiths, Williams, Howards, and Bakers. My high school boyfriend shares his full name with both a character on an NBC sitcom and a professional baseball player. And even some of the weird names have simply disappeared off the face of the internet.

While my maiden name is not unique, it’s pretty distinct and a long-lost friend could contact me without a lot of effort (and I’m not even talking about the dummy-proof Facebook search) (and it’s not like my Myspace name is Wonderdust Pancake or something, with a picture of my dog instead of my face). My married name is atrocious, and without a doubt unique, and anyone that knows it could find me in half a second, as well as my husband and all of my in-laws in about two pages of Google results. For better or for worse.

So my point is…if I can’t find you…why aren’t you finding me? Does no one ever remember me and wonder what I’ve done with my life? Does it take a Facebook list of alumni before you think, “oh yeah HER! wow, I forgot she even existed!”

I’m so curious to see what these people from my past, who were once a part of my daily life, are doing now. You know…the guy with eyelash gunk who was in my Rube Goldberg group. The kids I rode the bus with elementary through high school. The first boy I kissed. The middle school girlfriends I spent hours with at the mall during breaks. The brother and sister from the UK who were seated with my family at dinner during a Caribbean cruise. My frog-dissection lab partner who held my friend’s hair while she threw up at an end-of-exams party at an abandoned trailer in the woods. The girl who tried to dose her parents with sleeping pills so she could go to a 311 concert. The quiet guy in my Calculus class whose last name changed inexplicably during our junior year. The crazy couple that left college after our freshman year. All of these people made some sort of an impresssion on me. If one of them were to describe me, what would they say? And where the hell are they??