Friday, August 11, 2006

Patience is a virtue. But complaining is more fun!

I am actually a very patient person. Stop laughing like that! I am too! It just depends on the circumstances. For example, I don't have the patience to wait for a coat of paint to dry before adding the second coat. But standing in line at a store usually is no big deal. I browse the ends of the aisle, peruse magazine covers, make conversation with those around me. My theory is, we all have to stand here. I can stand and be miserable or I can "visit", which is much more pleasant. But if the line turns out to be long because of incompetency, idiocy, or bad manners - I lose my cool more quickly. I can't make certain baked goods because they have to be started the day before, and I can't keep my interest up for two days. Numerous science experiments have started in my kitchen, when I was all gung-ho to make the starter but ran out of steam and interest when it came to make the actual product, leaving the beginnings to ferment and grow and languish. When it starts to act threatening when we walk by I toss it. But I can sit in a waiting room for hours on end, without complaining, and without feeling slighted as long as the final result is satisfactory. Today I waited three hours total to have my entire exhaust system replaced. I had the forethought to bring some knitting so it wasn't a big deal. But after that wait, I got back a Ford Escort that sounded like a race car, and shook like an old diesel truck. No matter, I just let them know that perhaps they strapped the new exhaust too tight (it has happened before on this car) and could they please just fix it. Only they CAN'T fix it again today because they are now fully booked and can I come back next week? Waiting three hours and the car not being fixed made me hotter than fish grease, I can tell you. Driving home nearly shook the fillings out of my teeth and people kept craning their necks to see what hotrod was coming up the street, and looking quite perplexed to see my half-green-half-blue dinky car where the sports car should be. All I could do was give a sheepish grin and shrug my shoulders weekly in acknowledgement. I didn't expect the car to purr like a kitten, but is it too much to ask that it not cause my vertibrae to rattle like maracas or cause small animals to hide from the din? Sigh. I got home to discover that DH had scorched my favourite (and very expensive) saute pan. Diamond coating. You can use a coat hanger to scramble eggs and it won't make a mark on it. But spray it ten ways from Sunday with cooking spray, place it on the heat, and get distracted by the TV and let's just say it was done like a dinner. I don't know that it damaged the coating (did you know that cooking spray, when overheated, turns into a rubbery coating that is almost impossible to remove?) but the handle melted and the rim is all distorted. I would have taken a picture, but some mad woman tossed it out onto the patio during a screaming fit, and it disappeared after that. Secreted away by my DH no doubt. He kind of stayed out of my way after that. Before I get angry notes, while I am demanding and impossible to live with (don't get me wrong. I know very well that I am a bitch), he knows he isn't to touch my saute pan. We have countless other skillets and pans to use. He had to climb a ladder and get this pan off the top of the cupboards. Seems the other two pans that size were dirty (grilled cheese in one and eggs in the other) and he didn't feel like washing them. And the reason he was banned from the pan, is that he managed to scorch and destroy the other two matching pieces in other sizes. This three piece set cost me almost 1000.00 dollars in the 80's when my culinary interests were running to the extreme. Do you know how long it takes a student working part time for minimum wage (paying rent and gas and insurance) to save that much money to buy freaking pans? A long time, my friends. And while I now know better, at the time spending that much money on three commercial grade pans that were almost impossible to get 'on the street' was like fulfilling a dream. I also had pro grade knives (all sold except for two or three). There was a time when I thought I was going to be a chef. Until I realized that you work 24 hours a day, make like no money, and spend all of that time sweating, burning and cutting yourself, and touching food you will never get to eat LOLOLOL. I think that is why I watch Hell's Kitchen like it is my heroin. I hate it, I need it, I have to watch it! Ahem. There is a nice little lady in my mind, and when things like this happen she is the first to say "He didn't do it on purpose. It is just a pan. Be glad nobody got hurt and it didn't start a fire". Then the other woman that resides in my mind comes forward. She is more like Elvira. She says things like "Kill him and compost him, paint his name on the pan, then shove the handle into the dirt so it can be his tombstone". I don't often follow her advice, but darn it, she is amusing to listen to! I don't often listen to the nice little lady either, but mostly end up with a mix of both. Dh doesn't get composted, but I am pretty hostile about it for a few days. If he is smart, there will be presents to follow in the next few days. He is very rarely smart. DD's daycamp let me know that they lost three post dated cheques I gave them. "You can just put a stop payment on them, and write new ones". Those stop-payments cost money! And how exactly did they lose them? There is personal information on those cheques. I know it was an accident, but I didn't feel they were treating the issue with the severity it deserved. They were so casual about it. I asked them to let the person who runs the camp know that I was not happy, and won't be issuing any new cheques until he called me. So we will see what happens Monday, because one of those would have prepaid for next week and I don't plan on writing any new cheques or paying cash. I wonder if maybe they won't accept her. We will see. We have a busy week-end, but busy in a fun way. Crafts tomorrow morning, a campfire tomorrow night (hot dogs and smores). More family fun Sunday, and for part of it I get to sneak home and have a nap. I love Sundays with naps. Don't you?

Thursday, August 10, 2006

Ruby went to show and tell

The theme of the day camp this week was pets and animals, and DD wanted to bring Ruby in for show and tell. The kids sat in a circle and we told them all about pugs. How they take some special care, don't handle heat well, shed buckets, and love to snort/snot/sneeze. Ruby obliged by panting like a maniac and giving her beautiful pug smile while leaving a trail of coarse black hair everywhere she went. She snotted on a few kids, gave lots of kisses, and in general was adorable. Although every once in awhile she would try to sneak out of the circle to check out the kitchen LOL. I was showing the kids about how Ruby doesn't have a curly tail, but holds it that way when she is happy, and how her tongue perfectly curls up to cover her nose, and so on. We discussed her ancestry and that pugs were bred to be companions only. Dogs with face wrinkles that made characters for words like "prince" or "luck" or "money" were considered very valuable, and some people think the word pug means 'fist'. So I had all the kids make fists and see if they looked anything like Ruby's head LOLOL. When we were done and going home, DH said "You give good show and tell". First I laughed for five minutes. How can he manage to make something like show and tell sound perverted? Then took the compliment and said of course. I am Martha Steward without the money and conviction, what did he expect? If I had more time I would have made them all pug keychains or cupcakes with curly tails LOLOLOL. It's a sickness, really. Oh, and by the way. A curly tail made out of icing looks like dog poop, or deformed male genetalia, in case you are ever tempted to make pug cookies or cupcakes. Don't say I didn't warn you. We got an automated message that my package is out for delivery today, so I should be able to post some pictures tomorrow. I finished the baby sweater and hat I was working on, and it is so darned cute I have to show it off LOLOL.

Wednesday, August 09, 2006

No need to call all the kings men

DD had her x-rays this morning, and they can't see any breaks. Good good news! No more itchy hot splint, no more wrapping and rewrapping the bandage to keep it on. And no more worrying about her arm LOL. She looked at him very serious and said "And now for the important question. SWIMMING". He told her she could swim to her hearts content, which thrilled us all. She is a water bug, after all. She was not pleased at another entire morning of sitting in a waiting room, however. I think I have figured out the whole thing. It's a conspiracy. They charge you 3.00 per hour to park, then keep you just long enough that you stupidly run out and pay for another hour. At which point they come out and call your name immediately. This morning, no less than six people were called after they went to put more time on their parking. DH and I were smart, I sent HIM out while DD and I continued to wait. Because if they call your name and you aren't there (paying for more parking, going to the bathroom, grabbing something to bring back and eat since you didn't intend to be there past two meals and a holiday), they pass you and you have to sign in again. Talk about sucking rocks. Felt pretty bad for those people. Not bad enough to give them our place in line, but pretty bad all the same. She listened to my ipod for a while, and entertained the people waiting by singing songs like La Vida Loca, and Barbie Girl while dancing in her spot. What a nut LOLOL. She waited reasonably well, considering she was wrenched from her bed at daybreak and made to sit and wait without benefit of breakfast nor proper wakening. Being the bad mother I am, I brought no snacks. Mostly because when I do she devours them and continues to whine that she is hungry, so they just ramp up her appetite. And I refuse to bring a full meal into a hospital waiting room, there is just no way. I think bringing food into the hospital is about as bad as bringing it into the bathroom and eating it on the toilet on my scale of "horrors and atrocities that cause my brain to short circuit". Just slightly worse than wet coughs in an elevator and touching produce in the grocery store with a rumpled kleenex in your hand. The waiting room was packed, and that caused her some concern. She is a friendly child, but still not fond of strangers. Especially strange men, and the distrust gets worse the older the man is. And I am doing nothing to remove that from her, because I am just fine with her not wanting to talk, go with, or interact with adults she does not know thank you. She usually looks at me and waits for a sign that it is okay to answer if somebody asks her a question. Today there was no room to have a buffer of even one empty chair between us and others waiting. She was on the end, so was safe there with me on her other side. But next to DH there was an older gentleman. DD would smile at me, smile at DH, then GLARE at the man ROFL. I kept saying "you don't have to look at him like THAT for heaven's sake!". She would say ok, then a few minutes later I would catch her glaring at him again, willing him with all her might to move to another spot. Didn't work though. Her attitude toward strangers sometimes causes a conflict in me. On the one hand, I don't want her to think it is fine to talk to or go with people she doesn't know even if they seem very nice. On the other hand, I don't want her to think it is okay to be rude to people either. It's teaching the difference between being outright rude and being polite but wary that is hard, and what causes my inner turmoil. The in-laws and I used to fight about the fact it made them very angry, when they asked her to hug or kiss somebody she didn't know, that she would resist. I respected her desire to resist. I don't think she should be made to hug or kiss ANYBODY, even me, if she doesn't want to. They felt I was teaching her to be insolent and impolite, I felt they were teaching her that it was okay to let others roll right over your personal boundries. We never resolved that conflict and it still comes up with MIL when she tries to made DD do a dog and pony show for people they meet and DD resists. DD clowns it up all the time on her own. If she suddenly stops and gets shy I have to assume there was something that made her feel that way, and respect her instincts. So. I suppose I should start posting some pictures soon, huh. Well, I managed to forget a tiny part from the cord in Chicago. And I can't get one here anymore, and they are mailing it to me. So until then, we are pictureless. But I have an idea. Why not go out on your porch, right now. Take a look at the sky. Maybe it is blue with fluffy clouds. Maybe it is white with whisps. Maybe it is dark and starry and there is a haze around the moon. But whatever the sky looks like, let that be your picture for today. 'Kay?

Tuesday, August 08, 2006

The law of averages

The law of averages basically states that if there is a slim chance of something happening, that eventually it will. It is the promise of a payoff, this law, that keeps people putting their quarters in slot machines and saying "hit me" at the card tables. It is what makes us buy those lottery tickets for years.....if we buy them long enough eventually we have to win SOMETHING. Right? Well, in this house the law of averages works a little differently. There is still a payoff, but it comes more often than wanted and usually is not so desirable to begin with. You see, in this house there lives a man, a child, and several animals. And when you live with such creatures as men, children, and animals....well....things could happen. Things like hairballs. And poop. Mostly hairballs and poop, really. One hopes that these items would come from the animals (okay, really, we hope they don't happen at all) but when living with men and children - well things happen. The law of averages has nothing to do with the poop or hairballs themselves, no, they are a static. A standard. A given. The payoff is who exactly will STEP in said item and track it through the house before noticing. While I have encountered my fair share of land mines (we are talking hot hairball juices between the toes in the dark here), I tend to notice before I have trudged it through every room and spread it across each carpet. But then again, I tend to walk around barefoot. DH and DD like to wear slippers. And when you step in a "deposit" wearing slippers sometimes it is hard to tell that you did it, and increases the chances that you will track it across the floor before you realize what is going on. And still, the law of averages has not come into play yet. Oh no. It is not the stepping, it is not the tracking. It is the argument and DENIAL. "It wasn't me". Never mind the offending slop is ON THEIR SHOE as they speak, and the tracks follow their each and every move and end at their heels. THIS my friends, this is where the law of averages kicks in. Because my reply to said disbelief is usually "The law of averages says two things. One is that the more frequently a thing happens, the more likely it is to happen again. Number two is that the longer you go without a certain thing happening, the higher the chances it will occur. Unfortunatly when it comes to stepping in poop or puke, the lady fate has it in for you". My husband has the unique ability to be standing in a foot-high pile of warm dung, then looking perplexed and asking me "Do you smell something?". I have mentioned before he is not perceptive, and I was not kidding folks. DD usually notices a little sooner, but she gets absolutely distraught and will cry hysterically because poop, pee, and vomit are the dirtiest of all dirt and she just can't hack it. We come running thinking she has hurt herself badly to see her holding a poopy flipflop with tears just streaming down her face. Now, speaking of the law of averages. Just what were the chances from the title of this post that it would be about poop? If you know me at all, you should have known better ROFLMAO! One of these little events happened just moments ago, and I nearly had a stroke when I went upstairs to find that DH had LEFT THE MESS tracked everywhere and was back down watching tv. He did take the time to wash his slipper, however. How nice of him. Now if only he would have noticed that the cat had missed the litterbox before spreading it hither and yon. And he blamed the dog. Men.