Sep
16
September 16, 2007
JB’s parents were planning to stop by our house on the return drive from their trip to Banff, and when I heard they were set to arrive on Monday I thought, sweet, that’s when the cleaning people come. No pre-visitor spit-shining necessary! (Note to any potential visitors: no actual spit typically involved. Well, not my spit anyway.)
Then the visit was rescheduled for Saturday, and I was all, fooey, now I have to 409 the guest bathroom with my own delicate petal-soft fingers. L’ennui est moi! And then on Friday afternoon while contractors swarmed our house like bees and every surface of my house had an inch-thick layer of sawdust and I was unshowered and unkempt and our evening plans contained nothing more taxing than perhaps a brisk lie-down on the couch in front of Season 1 Disc 1 of Dexter, JB informed me that his parents were in fact going to be arriving in, uh, about an hour and a half.
Now, I’m not totally against spontaneity as a general rule, but in certain situations I find it frustrating when there are DEVIATIONS FROM THE PLAN. When you have ninety minutes to make both your house and self marginally presentable, for instance.
Of course, once the flurry of preparation was over and everyone had arrived and there was a nearly disgusting amount of grandparent-grandchild bonding going on, it was all good, especially since their presence allowed JB and I to escape to not one but two movies (3:10 to Yuma and Shoot ‘Em Up, both of which were highly satisfying [in entirely different ways] and featured men with oh-so-lickable cheekbones), and even a sushi dinner (don’t even look at me like that, I had the cooked variety. And just a single serving of blowfish).
It’s a little chaotic having houseguests while the kitchen is off limits, in part because we’re limited to picnic-ware until I once again have a sink I can wash things in. I delivered my Destroy the Earth speech about how no, we aren’t saving the plastic utensils and re-washing them (specifically, *I* am not washing them, anyone else is more than welcome to do so), we are throwing them right the hell away, but JB’s parents are chronic savers (just try and throw out any leftovers that could technically be termed as “edible” around these guys, didn’t you know that someone could totally eat that half-bite of potato salad later? Except no one ever does, of course, and THAT is how you end up with raccoons in the fridge) and I kept finding these cups half-full of water with dirty forks and spoons stuck in them, multiple little pre-soak stations for the washing up that I had no intention of doing.
Also, I say this with affection, but neither of JB’s parents can eat an entire banana. Half is their preferred serving size, and so after breakfast there is always half a banana lying there like a sex crime victim, its peel barely covering the sadly exposed flesh within. And the next thing you know, you’re batting wildly at the air in front of you, because motherfucking fruit flies.
They left this morning and while the house feels a little more manageable now, there’s also a palpable emptiness in their wake. Riley has been a massive pain in the ass since their departure, and it makes me remember being a child myself and how my grandparents were magical, wondrous creatures whose visits were even better than Christmas. Grandparents are patient, they want to play all of the time, and they always think their grandchildren are perfect. No wonder he’s pissed off, now he’s stuck with his boring old parents, who in turn are feeling like those child-free evenings were very fine indeed, and in some cases if we are to be completely honest over here, a movie and a box of Milk Duds completely trumps parenting a toddler.
So that’s my news. Tell me, what did you do this weekend?
Sep
13
September 12, 2007
The other day I was driving home from work and an emergency vehicle appeared on the horizon behind me, and as it came wailing up the road everyone in sight obediently slowed and pulled off to the side, and as all the cars waited patiently I thought how oddly kind the whole scene appeared, like if an alien was observing us from space they would see this generous giving-way sort of group movement and think what a selfless, supportive species we are.
Of course, a few minutes later I was nearly sideswiped by a fetid chunk of dickcheese yapping on their cell phone while blithely cutting their Range Rover into the lane inconveniently occupied by my car, so my newfound faith in humanity was short-lived.
In general I don’t really mind my commute, homicidal Range Rovers notwithstanding. It’s a nice space of time to zone out, ponder my life, and blast Ministry at top volume if I so choose.
Traffic is problematic, though. I take advantage of my office’s lax core hours policy by leaving the house late enough to miss the lion’s share of morning traffic, but there’s just no good way to get home (for those who are familiar with Seattle, I work over by the University Village Mall, and I live in Bellevue—it’s a clusterfuck any way you approach it). I get home late, Riley is always tired and cranky, and I only have a hectic hour or so with him before it’s bedtime.
My workplace office is scheduled to move sometime in the fall/winter timeframe, and my commute will become longer and, I think, even more congested. I don’t know exactly how it’s going to be on a regular basis, but there is potential for it to really and truly suck.
I think ahead to a new baby next year, and the costs of having two children in daycare. I think about my salary, and how immensely useful it is despite those associated daycare costs. I think about my future career and how I would love to move into freelancing full time someday but I can’t figure for the life of me how I could make enough each month to pay for the childcare I would need in order to have the time to work to pay for the childcare alone.
My ideal situation for the future is to be self-employed, and have a part-time childcare solution so I can dedicate that time to freelance projects. I’d like a really great nanny/babsitter who can care for the kids at my house, while I head out to various public wifi-and-caffeine zones (pro: holds my more pathological hermity tendencies at bay, con: fuels a potentially budget-breaking latte addiction).
This seems like an attainable goal, doesn’t it? I’m not sure why it feels so utterly impossible to me right now. Why my head is filled with giant dollar signs and logistical roadblocks instead of faith in my own dreams.
For now, I drive my commute and play music and think about all of these things and more, like why it is that Range Rovers have the vehicular equivalent of shark gills on their sides.
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PS: Thanks for the blog name votes and suggestions—we’re still chewing on the various ideas. I’ll let you know when the blog is up and running.
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