Well sure, just throw in another major appliance while you are at it!

We never seem to have any luck when we’re making a big purchase. We always seem to get the Trainee at the check out, for example, or the lackluster sales assistance.

Today was a mix. We went out in search for a new dishwasher. (Insert joke about Robby here.) Our’s has been on the fritz now for days and we’re both tired of washing dishes by hand. Washing dishes by hand is fun if it’s the wedding china. Not so fun if it’s the soup pot. Or all the glasses. Or, my personal nemesis– silverware. Ugh. We’re lazy. We’ve been spoiled by the dishwasher. So off we went in hopes of landing a good Memorial Weekend Sale. After all, isn’t this what our brave soldiers had in mind when they paid, in full measure, the ultimate cost for our freedom? Yeah. I didn’t think so either. But tell that to Sears.

At Sears not one but two nice men helped us. Especially since we were also half-heartedly looking at refrigerators. (At some point, when you are up to your eyeballs in mortgages and debt it occurs to you that, hey, why not go on up to the eyebrows?) Our fridge, we think, has a little bit of munchhausen by proxy syndrome with the stove. Both are acting a little wonky. It might be a solidarity thing with the nonunion dishwasher. Because, let’s face it, the stove and the fridge are a little more necessary than the dishwasher… but why should they work so hard if the dishwasher’s going to slack off. Maybe they want a long weekend. Maybe they’re pushing for better working conditions. Regardless, the fridge door doesn’t shut properly anymore. And it groans. So, between the nice cooling effect it now has on the rest of the kitchen and the horrid sounds it sends out into the night we thought it prudent to at least look.

Sadly, lesson number one in all this was that I really wouldn’t be all that successful on the Price Is Right as I’d previously and arrogantly assumed. I had no idea that dishwashers could be had for so little and that refrigerators could be the price of a small, used automobile. Or at least the big, pretty ones.

We took the nice man from Sears’ card and headed over to the nearby Home Depot. Which, by the way, I hate for many reasons. It’s too orange, for one (and I like the color orange. I’m wearing my favorite orange sneakers as I type this.) and too big. And it smells like grass seed all year long. Ick.

Again, we were pounced on when we crossed aisles to view two different appliances. Our new best friend Michael oohed and aahed over Jack, who, to his credit, grinned back from his perch in the baby carrier. Michael’s approach was much more aggressive than the Sears man and, within an hour, convinced us to go with Home Depot. (I’ll admit I was an easy sway. It meant not having to endure yet another expedition to Lowes. Which I love. It’s blue. And also grass seed scented but more pleasureably so. My back was killing me. And, frankly, Jack wasn’t smelling all that wonderful himself. The grass seed smell was starting to seem downright pleasant.) Michael’s kicker was the HD gift card, the additional 10 % off, the free delivery and pick up of our old appliances, and the one year free financing. Well whoopidi whoo woo woo.

I’m just hoping that we don’t hate the new fridge. It’s an up and down model (freezer on top) because they are considerably cheaper than the down and up (freezer on bottom) models that I love and even the side by side (really? you can’t figure this one out on your own?) that we currently have. The new one will make ice all by itself– I may forgive the whole freezer on top thing for that alone.

The dishwasher I’ll love regardless– I don’t have to wash them. Hooray. (Though why anyone would put an entire cake in the dishwasher is beyond me apparently I can do that now. I don’t understand the sales tactics of appliance people.)

Our luck ran out about the same time Jack’s diaper nudged towards full capacity. Between my back, Jack’s aroma, and Michael’s computer crashing I was ready to agree to just beat the dishes on the rocks by the river and drink only room temperature coke. Dear God in heaven.

Our joy decreased in fold when we hit the Most Idiotic Home Depot Clerk ever. There’s a show on MTV called “Boiling Point” where contestants are unsuspecting people who are put into ridiculous situations and tested to see how long their patience holds… I started looking for the hidden cameras after the first 10 minutes of her trying to figure out how to page Michael to help her figure out the receipt. Holding his business card she asked us, “Do you know what his last name is? What department he works in?” Then she had to wait for a coworker to walk by to ask how to page because she couldn’t page anyone for help. Finally she gave up and sent us to the customer service desk where we now greeted two other customers that had fled her line in search of some assistance.

In about 10 days I’ll have new appliances.

And, hopefully, an appearance on MTV.

Up Up and Away!

Jack’s whole world has changed. He’s figured out, in the space of the last 10 days or so to sit up on his own, scoot around, and pull himself up to his full standing height (almost 2 and a half feet) using the furniture (or us).

It’s very startling to suddenly see his little head pop up over the rail of his crib (Daddy had to lower the mattress again) or the coffee table or the back of the couch. He’s so pleased with himself. When he started to roll we took to calling him Magellen after the great explorer. Now we need to add height to it somehow– maybe Armstrong?

The change is staggering. His body is catching up to his brain. He’s figuring things out. When I leave the room he knows that I haven’t just disappeared… he’s figuring out which cry (or screech) will get me back. He tracks the dog’s movements and it’s only a matter of time till the pup will have to learn a new route of safety. Jack’s quicker with his hands.

Yesterday we wanted to get some yard work done so we hauled out Jack’s pack-n-play to the front yard so that we could weed before nightfall. He’d speak his little dolphin language screeching to us and we (or at least me) would reply. This filled him with glee. (Me, too, truth be told.) And a part of me appreciated his presence as a buffer against the block’s inhabitants– our yard has been only maintained (and barely at that). We stand out in the land of perfectly kept yards and gardens. Most of our street is retired. Retired with income. Most of the yards on the street are tended by lawn services. The guy across the steet from us actually vaccums his lawn– and no, I’m not making that up. I figure Jack buys us a little bit of time– maybe they won’t descend upon our stoop (that needs repair) with torches if the baby is visible.

Everyday his world gets bigger and bigger. And our’s shrinks?

Girls Weekend (plus one small boy)

I love Chicago. My Dad did, too… our weekends there are legendary. There are very few places in that great city that I don’t meet some happy ghost of the past and think of my Dad.

This weekend Jack and I went there with my sister and Maddie. We had a blast. And we did a lot considering we had an 8 month old in tow. Ed Debevic’s, WaterTowerPlace, the Art Institute, the State St. Marshall Field’s, Lou’s Pizza… My sister treated us to a horse and carriage ride that took us along Lake Shore Drive which, all told would have been enough– but the carriage driver took it a step farther and pulled over so we could watch the fireworks explode over Navy Pier in the dark sky. Amazing.

We left a lot of good ghosties of our own– Maddie and Jack in Jack’s first swimming pool (“What are all these people doing in my bath?”), my poor sister trapped in line at Debevic’s with the World’s Loneliest and Oldest Parents (the fact that she now knows that their older daughter is on Prozac and in therapy over the birth of her unexpected baby brother is a little TMI), Maddie as Hershey Factory Worker overfilling her little bucket with kisses, and the sparkle and gleam of her new sequin shoes tip toeing through the Art Institute’s Degas dancer sculptures….

All told though what stands out the most now is the luxury of sitting in a cab and getting to cuddle Jack… I know that car seats are important. I know they keep Jack safe. I know and understand and advocate their existence… but oh! How nice the 60’s must have been when you could cuddle a baby in the car. I would have taken a cab back to Michigan I hadn’t been down to my last $40.

Again. I love Chicago. And the J. Jill store… and Marshall Fields… and Moonstruck Chocolate…………

Why I watch Oprah on “mute” mode

Okay. Most of us agree that Tom Cruise is a good looking fellow, right? And he’s a decent Oprah Show guest. He has a lot of good energy.

But dear Lord in heaven– when I watched him on O’s show today it was utter chaos in the audience with grown women weeping and jumping and clutching each other. He’s Tom Cruise. Not one of the Beatles. Not Elvis. Not Bono. I don’t get the hysteria. Squealing. Screaming. Pandimonium.

And Tom was just as unrestrained. More than once he bounced up from his leather chair to stand on it and jump or fall to his knee in a weird little Vegas stage move. And ENOUGH already with his “celebratory” love of all things Katie Holmes.

She’d better appreciate that. He’s good looking and romantic?

Maybe I’d be less bitter if O had given me a car?

The Postman Always Rings Twice… then runs away fast fast fast!

If I haven’t mentioned it before I am remiss… Friend Ericka has a knack for popping up in my mailbox in the most unusual ways.

Take today for instance. Jack and I are playing with his little team of stuffed oxen (I have to combat his engineering genes somehow) when the doorbell rings. I leave Jack propped up in the boppy pillow and see, as I open the door, the back side of the delivery guy scurrying back to his truck. And I think, OOOh! Ericka.

In the past, when I’ve seen the mailman/mailgirl/delivery men (are there UPS chicks? I’ve never seen one.) hurrying away it can only mean that there is a missive of some shape from Ericka. Cans of corn. Mardi-gras beads and parasols. Unsigned postcards (in her most distinctive hand) with the most appaling lyrics (My favorite was the “Ring of Kerry/Terri” song that she sent from Ireland.) or pithy observations from the front. Once it was a picture postcard of Laura Bush and a couple of really bad civil war reenactor types. Recently it was ‘The Legend of the SandDollar’. Hands down the funniest yield of the mailbox was the time there was a plastic lobster claw peeking out from the lid. (MailGirl has a good sense of humor. Mailman does not.) Opening the mailbox revealed the rest of the lobster with my name and address scrawled on it and stamps covering the body.

The U.S. Postal system is committed to delivering anything with the proper postage. Ericka is singlehandedly testing that theory.

I’m not the only object of her mail affection. Just the luckiest one. Our pal John received a stuffed celery. The Gordy’s mailbox has opened to Indiana corn among other things. And I shudder to think about what Ericka’s sister– who works with the most high of high people at the Pentagon has found though I’m sure it’s all in a nice and tidy Government folder.

Back to today– today it was heirloom tomato plants. You might have read about the bilous tomato I ate the other day. And my longing for a farm tomato.

Thanks, Ericka. I’ve tucked them into their little containers again and watered them and even sang a chorus of “Annie’s Song” so that they might render forth an abundant crop.

How you do make me grin.

It might make you grin, Auntie E, to know that while I was typing this, Jack inched his way across the floor to me, out of his little sweat pants that he is now somewhat waving over his head. (Well. At least across his forehead.) Men.

One rotten tomato

Last night I bit into a piece of tomato that tasted so bad it ruined the rest of my dinner. It’s beyond description. Other than it tasted like bile. Robby, eating bits of the same tomato didn’t seem to mind it.

Blah.

Tomatoes are always a little disappointing anyway. The best ones I know came directly from the garden. I used to work at a farm where the kitchen garden yielded the most amazing heirloom tomatoes. Sitting in between the rows in the cool damp dirt I’d fill baskets with tomatoes, and occasionally, dust one off on my sleeve and pop it into my mouth. Tomatoes are best when still warmed by the sun. I am horrified when I see a tomato in the refrigerator. Ick.

Robby’s favorite factoid about his Grandpa Joe is that he had, on hand, salt and pepper when he went into his garden to work. It’s a bit of trivia that always comes up when Grandpa Joe is mentioned.

I’ve grown tomatoes at our house– in raised beds and in containers but usually they’re just what I’ve picked up from the greenhouse and not the heirloom varieties that require me thinking farther ahead.

That tomato last night was pure evil. It still has my tongue curling against the taste of it.

Yuck.

Out and about

Jack and I went to Ann Arbor on our own today. It’s not as daunting an outing as it would have been a few months ago but it was still a little overwhelming.

And yet we had a ball. I had the most handsomest luncheon date at Zingerman’s Deli. Bald, yes. Short, yes. Not a great conversationalist… Though his cheeky little grins make up for his faults.

We have to work on our table manners I’m afraid. While I ate matzo ball soup with my left hand, and fed Jack his vegetables with the right hand he began to turn red and grunt. Audibly. So that I ended up giving up on my soup and his veggies because I was laughing to hard to hold either spoon straight. Subtle my boy is not.

After a diaper change he lit into his jar of fruit happily– stopping only to stare at the table behind us. To be fair it’s a nasty habit his father has, too. And they were a hard table to ignore. One man held court with two other business types bragging about his lake property up north and his dabbling into whether or not he should get a jet for his new company. Blahdiddyblahblahblah.

Out on our own we are always short a hand. It’s easier when Robby or Momma or AunT are along. All three are quick with an offer to carry a bag or duck under the table for a lost nuk. The Koala Stations in public restrooms where you change a diaper are only halfway there– there isn’t ever a place to put the soiled diaper or the wipes. (I’ll put the Engineer on it.) Jack’s getting harder to change anyway– his legs are stronger and he likes to twist in mid-change.

The nice thing about today though is knowing we can manage. And that, all said, we make a pretty decent team.

Napoleon Dynamite is just that

If you haven’t seen the movie Napoleon Dynamite I very strongly urge you to do so. Right now. Go.

We’d wanted to see it in the theaters and ended up missing it. Waited. Impatiently… then finally saw it for the first time with a group that included my sister, 11 year old Maddie, 10 year old Keegan, my brother-in-law, my Aunt B, and Robby. All of us giggled exceedingly.

We have a soft spot for Napoleon. And his pals Deb and Pedro. And Llama Tina. We quote the movie frequently, “Gosh!” “Go make yourself a quesa-dilla.” The sound of the casserole splatting over Tina’s fence kills us. As does Napoleon’s uncle’s steak throwing.

Imagine our utter delight then when we were invited to a Napoleon Dynamite themed graduation party. And a really, really well done themed party at that. Our joy was three fold:

1) The party was at Metts Estate. Elder Metts, Wallis, is thedaysman.com of which I am the /terri. Wallis is my professor from college and now my Friend. He’s a good Dad figure, too. And he makes a killer breakfast. His wife, Katie, once told me my torso would be good for child carrying. From some people that wouldn’t be a good thing to hear necessarily, but Katie-the-consumate-mother said it and it still makes me feel very good about myself. (I thought of it during labor though it didn’t help all that much then.) She is kind and gentle and dear. Robby and I love them both very much. Their children were small when I first met them and now they are all nearly grown. (Except for baby Pilgrim though he is taller now than me.) They are a good natured bunch. They tease each other and play easily. Daughter-in-law Ann is a hoot and a half. I adore her.

2) The Metts family throws a good gathering. Their St. Nicholas party was one for the books. My favorite parties are the ones with all different ages mixed in together. The Lake is like that. So are the Metts’ parties. Young and old. Teachers and Students. Family and Friends. And. Don’t. Get. Us. Started. On. The. Food. Always yummy.

3) Napoleon Dynamite is the perfect theme. It’s full of quirky details.

And the Metts’ covered them all. I got to skeet shoot for crying out loud. Jack and I had our Glamour Shots taken by Deb (Ann in a dead on pink dress with a side ponytail. Priceless.) We watched poor Pilgrim ride his bike in a circle with contestants battling to toss a steak at his hemeted head. There were lanyards and Rex Kwan Do and even a Tina… though she wasn’t a llama. (Pity that.) And, to Robby’s greatest delight, there were (Tater) “tots!”

Graduation parties are usually somewhat staid. This one rocked.

Viva la Pedro.

Eskimo baby love

Jack and I rubbed noses and laughed a lot this afternoon. Robby’s department where he works is having a gathering this weekend and I’m signed up to bring dessert. So, this afternoon was spent entirely in the kitchen making molasses, oatmeal, and chocolate chip cookies. I spread Auntie Ericka’s quilt on the kitchen rug and brought out Jack’s LeapFrog table so that he could play some banjo music for me… and we spent the time between batches rubbing noses and clapping and laughing.

It’s a good way, all and all, to spend a day.

And my kitchen smells amazing. We made pot roast, too.

Mother’s Day Episode 1

This weekend I woke up to my first official Mother’s Day. JackRabbit feted me with flowers and new jammies and a necklace that holds a wee picture of my boy.

We didn’t go out (too crowded. Yuck!). I didn’t get breakfast in bed (instead we trooped over to my mother’s with my sister and her babies in tow to serve her up breakfast…). Jack didn’t learn to kiss or coo, “Mommy.” But it was a great day. THe three of us spent it lolling around (most of it in my new jammies) and enjoying Jack’s little swing and the pretty flowers in our neighborhood. I am very grateful that of all the babies Jack is ours. I wrote him a thank you letter that is now tucked into his baby book…

Life has a lot of great little bonuses thrown in here and there… When I got married I was thrilled that I was feted with so many presents for doing something I would have paid to do. When Jack was expected there were more gifts and well wishes… and now that he’s here I get a whole holiday? Very nice the way that works out. Very nice indeed.

All hail me. Okay. And your mommy, too.