In an ironic twist, today Jack and I played with an old cardboard box for about twenty minutes.
I have yet to order the book from yesterday, but rest assured I will, and I will get organized with my plan. People left some great links in my comments, so I recommend you check them out.
Showing posts with label Life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Life. Show all posts
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Monday, November 26, 2007
Not so fresh air
Today on Fresh Air, Terry Gross interviewed Mark Schapiro who has written a book called Exposed: The Toxic Chemistry of Everyday Products and What's at Stake for American Power. Because I was driving, I didn’t get to listen to the whole show, I didn’t get to listen as carefully as I would have liked, and I am unable to find a transcript online, so what I’m about to say must be taken with a grain of salt. Nevertheless, I learned two particularly horrible things from this interview.
First, there is a family of toxic industrial chemicals called phthalates that are used as softeners in PVC plastics. Products made out of these plastics range from dashboards to toys to IV tubes. The E.U. has banned these products, but the U.S. has not. According to Schapiro, companies have had absolutely no problems conforming to the E.U. ban on phthalates. Toy sales have not decreased, and European children are not condemned to play with nothing but old cardboard boxes. And yet these same companies continue to manufacture toys and other products containing phthalates to sell in the U.S.
Second, and according to Schapiro, the E.U. has also banned carcinogens, mutagens, and compounds which affect the reproductive system from all cosmetics. The U.S. has not. Once again, the same companies which are carefully finding replacements for toxic cosmetics ingredients are simultaneously lobbying the U.S. government to stop legislation requiring the disclosure of the ingredients of cosmetics.
It’s getting to the point that I am seeing everything I own, everything manufactured, as a threat to the health of my family. I’m starting to feel like I should get rid of all of Jack’s toys and give him some old cardboard boxes instead. So here’s what I’m proposing: Let’s all send emails and actual, hand-written letters to our representatives, Senators, the president, toy companies, and cosmetic companies calling for a U.S. ban on the same toxic chemicals that the E.U. is banning. This should be a no-brainer; companies are already finding alternatives to comply with the E.U. law, so they should just make the same safer products available to us here. And I’m also asking all of my readers who have their own blogs, especially those of you with more than the 20 readers I have – I’m talking to you, Emily, Arwen, and Maggie – to put the call out to your readers as well.
I need a day or two to get a list of names and addresses of where these letters should be sent, and I need to buy Schapiro’s book to make sure my facts are right. But once I have the information, I’ll post it here.
I know it doesn’t seem like much, but if we could just raise awareness, maybe the American consumer would start to demand better choices, and better choices would become available. Maybe our own children won’t be doomed to a toy box full of old cardboard boxes.
First, there is a family of toxic industrial chemicals called phthalates that are used as softeners in PVC plastics. Products made out of these plastics range from dashboards to toys to IV tubes. The E.U. has banned these products, but the U.S. has not. According to Schapiro, companies have had absolutely no problems conforming to the E.U. ban on phthalates. Toy sales have not decreased, and European children are not condemned to play with nothing but old cardboard boxes. And yet these same companies continue to manufacture toys and other products containing phthalates to sell in the U.S.
Second, and according to Schapiro, the E.U. has also banned carcinogens, mutagens, and compounds which affect the reproductive system from all cosmetics. The U.S. has not. Once again, the same companies which are carefully finding replacements for toxic cosmetics ingredients are simultaneously lobbying the U.S. government to stop legislation requiring the disclosure of the ingredients of cosmetics.
It’s getting to the point that I am seeing everything I own, everything manufactured, as a threat to the health of my family. I’m starting to feel like I should get rid of all of Jack’s toys and give him some old cardboard boxes instead. So here’s what I’m proposing: Let’s all send emails and actual, hand-written letters to our representatives, Senators, the president, toy companies, and cosmetic companies calling for a U.S. ban on the same toxic chemicals that the E.U. is banning. This should be a no-brainer; companies are already finding alternatives to comply with the E.U. law, so they should just make the same safer products available to us here. And I’m also asking all of my readers who have their own blogs, especially those of you with more than the 20 readers I have – I’m talking to you, Emily, Arwen, and Maggie – to put the call out to your readers as well.
I need a day or two to get a list of names and addresses of where these letters should be sent, and I need to buy Schapiro’s book to make sure my facts are right. But once I have the information, I’ll post it here.
I know it doesn’t seem like much, but if we could just raise awareness, maybe the American consumer would start to demand better choices, and better choices would become available. Maybe our own children won’t be doomed to a toy box full of old cardboard boxes.
Sunday, November 25, 2007
Today's teatime was long and dark
For the first Sunday in weeks, The Husband, Jack and I went to church together as a family. Normally, The Husband goes to the 9:00 Mass and I go to the 11:15 and sing with the choir. Jack is usually napping at 9:00, so and The Husband has a hard time wrangling him all alone at the 11:15, so this is what has been working for us lately. But today Jack slept until almost 8:15 which meant no nap for him at 9:00, and I have laryngitis which meant no singing for me at 11:15. Thus, the family went to mass together.
As much as I like singing with the choir, today was actually quite nice. We only live about a quarter mile from the church, so we always walk and today was a beautiful sunny morning. We left the stroller at the back of the church and as Jack and I walked down the aisle together, I reveled in the expressions of the churchgoers admiring my adorable child. There was a minor kerfuffle when I accidentally chose the only pew with an electrical outlet at the end of it, but overall, Jack was pretty well behaved. I can't say I remember an awful lot of the homily (that's "sermon" to you non-Catholics) thanks to my reading "Little Duck" while the priest was speaking, but we didn't have to take Jack outside or anything. He hit his nap wall just about when Mass was ending, but that worked out pretty nicely for us.
And that is how we found ourselves at home at 10:15 on a Sunday morning with a sleepy baby and a whole day stretching out ahead of us with nothing to do. At first it was fantastic. I read the whole paper. The whole paper! We had coffee and doughnuts. I tried to do the Sudoku. Jack woke up from his nap and had some lunch, and then... it was Sunday afternoon. With nothing to do.
The day just stretched interminably. If Jack were older, I would have suggested a movie, but alas, that was no option. We brought Jack outside for some fresh air, and he had a great time throwing the leaves around. When he started to get cranky I said, "Let's go inside and have some supper," only to discover that it was merely 4:15. There were at least thirty more minutes to endure before we could reasonably give Jack his dinner.
Thank goodness Jack thoughtfully was ready for bed by 6:30 ending our Sunday afternoon ordeal. The hours between 4:00 and 6:30 are usually difficult, but today 4:00 seemed to start around 2:30 or so. And now I've reread this and feel like an enormous jerk for complaining about having a lazy Sunday with a basically well-behaved adorable baby. Man, I have such problems.
As much as I like singing with the choir, today was actually quite nice. We only live about a quarter mile from the church, so we always walk and today was a beautiful sunny morning. We left the stroller at the back of the church and as Jack and I walked down the aisle together, I reveled in the expressions of the churchgoers admiring my adorable child. There was a minor kerfuffle when I accidentally chose the only pew with an electrical outlet at the end of it, but overall, Jack was pretty well behaved. I can't say I remember an awful lot of the homily (that's "sermon" to you non-Catholics) thanks to my reading "Little Duck" while the priest was speaking, but we didn't have to take Jack outside or anything. He hit his nap wall just about when Mass was ending, but that worked out pretty nicely for us.
And that is how we found ourselves at home at 10:15 on a Sunday morning with a sleepy baby and a whole day stretching out ahead of us with nothing to do. At first it was fantastic. I read the whole paper. The whole paper! We had coffee and doughnuts. I tried to do the Sudoku. Jack woke up from his nap and had some lunch, and then... it was Sunday afternoon. With nothing to do.
The day just stretched interminably. If Jack were older, I would have suggested a movie, but alas, that was no option. We brought Jack outside for some fresh air, and he had a great time throwing the leaves around. When he started to get cranky I said, "Let's go inside and have some supper," only to discover that it was merely 4:15. There were at least thirty more minutes to endure before we could reasonably give Jack his dinner.
Thank goodness Jack thoughtfully was ready for bed by 6:30 ending our Sunday afternoon ordeal. The hours between 4:00 and 6:30 are usually difficult, but today 4:00 seemed to start around 2:30 or so. And now I've reread this and feel like an enormous jerk for complaining about having a lazy Sunday with a basically well-behaved adorable baby. Man, I have such problems.
Monday, November 05, 2007
(Insert clever title here)
Tonight I went to a Tae Kwon Do class for the first time in over four years.
Ouch.
The Husband and I used to practice Tae Kwon Do; we’re both blue belts, but I’ll be honest, he could wipe the floor with me. (I win at air hockey though, lest you forget.) He used to take classes at a studio in the town where he lived, and I practiced with a club at the university. My classes were free. Sadly, we had to stop when we got married because we couldn’t afford to pay for both of us to go to classes. We miss it.
So last week I decided to call the academy near our house to find out how much the classes cost. The master didn’t tell me, though; instead he offered to let us each take a class and see how we like it. And that brings us to the reason I’m typing this incredibly dull entry whilst lying on the couch nursing my aching back. I went to my free class tonight, and I loved it, but four years off from TKD didn’t do me any favors.
Unfortunately, The Husband and I realized when I got home from class that this is not going to work, not if we hope to see each other for more than fifteen minutes a day. So when we finally discover that the classes will be too expensive for us, it will not be a terrible blow.
Ouch.
The Husband and I used to practice Tae Kwon Do; we’re both blue belts, but I’ll be honest, he could wipe the floor with me. (I win at air hockey though, lest you forget.) He used to take classes at a studio in the town where he lived, and I practiced with a club at the university. My classes were free. Sadly, we had to stop when we got married because we couldn’t afford to pay for both of us to go to classes. We miss it.
So last week I decided to call the academy near our house to find out how much the classes cost. The master didn’t tell me, though; instead he offered to let us each take a class and see how we like it. And that brings us to the reason I’m typing this incredibly dull entry whilst lying on the couch nursing my aching back. I went to my free class tonight, and I loved it, but four years off from TKD didn’t do me any favors.
Unfortunately, The Husband and I realized when I got home from class that this is not going to work, not if we hope to see each other for more than fifteen minutes a day. So when we finally discover that the classes will be too expensive for us, it will not be a terrible blow.
Saturday, November 03, 2007
A shot in the dark
On a trip to Cape May in 2003, The Husband and I played some skee ball, because I have a general rule to play skee ball whenever given the opportunity. It is similar to my rule of playing air hockey whenever possible. The difference is that, while I just play skee ball for fun, I play air hockey to WIN. I am really good at air hockey.
But, as there were no air hockey tables to be found in Cape May, we were forced to stick to skee ball. We decided to save up our tickets for the whole week and get a good prize. Maybe even a back scratcher! On our last night, we pooled our tickets and scanned the prize counter to see what we could afford. Five minutes later, we were the proud owners of a superball and a shot glass silkscreened with the words “Cape May” and a picture of a lighthouse.
That shot glass inspired us, and we decided to start a collection of shot glasses from every place we visited. It seemed like a great idea; shot glasses were small, cheap, and useful! About fourteen trips later, I started to have second thoughts about our plan. We had just moved into our new house, and displaying twenty shot glasses in our formal dining room didn’t quite achieve the look I was going for. I was trying to go for “classic contemporary,” not so much “frat house.”
So it’s just as well that the collection has stagnated, as we no longer go anywhere. I relocated the shot glasses to the more casual china hutch in the kitchen, and they made fabulous practice cups for Jack. The whiskey really seems to calm him down.
But, as there were no air hockey tables to be found in Cape May, we were forced to stick to skee ball. We decided to save up our tickets for the whole week and get a good prize. Maybe even a back scratcher! On our last night, we pooled our tickets and scanned the prize counter to see what we could afford. Five minutes later, we were the proud owners of a superball and a shot glass silkscreened with the words “Cape May” and a picture of a lighthouse.
That shot glass inspired us, and we decided to start a collection of shot glasses from every place we visited. It seemed like a great idea; shot glasses were small, cheap, and useful! About fourteen trips later, I started to have second thoughts about our plan. We had just moved into our new house, and displaying twenty shot glasses in our formal dining room didn’t quite achieve the look I was going for. I was trying to go for “classic contemporary,” not so much “frat house.”
So it’s just as well that the collection has stagnated, as we no longer go anywhere. I relocated the shot glasses to the more casual china hutch in the kitchen, and they made fabulous practice cups for Jack. The whiskey really seems to calm him down.
Thursday, October 18, 2007
And we've moved this box at least twice.
The Husband was looking for a ruler, any ruler, any one of our several rulers, but they have apparently all disappeared into the ether. Maybe they've slipped through a wormhole and are living on a planet in a dimension uniquely suited to the ruler lifestyle, somewhere near the Byro planet.
At any rate, I tried to help him and decided to look in the cabinet of the desk. The cabinet which I had completely forgotten existed. An although I found no rulers, I found all kinds of interesting stuff. What was it? Well, I'm glad you asked!
1. Our film camera. That's where that is!
2. About fifty 3.5 inch floppy disks. Clearly these contain critical data. I bet one of them is my Engineering 101 project from freshman year in college.
3. A plastic stand-alone drawer full of receipts from 2003 from a short-lived bout of determined organization combined with an obsessive-compulsive urge to save all receipts for a month.
4. About thirty zip disks. Remember zip disks?
5. A box labeled "knick-knacks" which is itself a treasure trove of hilarious artifacts. Namely:
a. A jewelers box containing a cheap shell necklace that was clearly a free gift from the airline that took us to Hawaii in 2004.
b. A baggie of nails and mysterious little wooden dowel caps.
c. A pink paper bag of new buttons for my black trenchcoat that I bought in Nantucket on our honeymoon in 2003.
d. Directions on how to grow a Plumeria.
e. Harry Potter glasses.
f. The "Doc" pin (Doc of the Seven Dwarfs) that I received as a gift from The Professor and Mr. The Professor.
g. A key chain with the meaning of our last name.
h. A cork.
i. A lanyard that is clearly supposed to go to something specific.
j. A broken watch.
k. Black thread.
l. White thread.
m. A tealight.
n. Seven Mr. Pickleses, which are small little chickens made out of pipe cleaner material that I have never explained on this blog, but now I will have to.
o. Two packets of extra buttons.
p. 6 drinks umbrellas from Hawaii.
q. Two drinks swords from Hawaii.
r. A small crucifix. Naturally.
s. A ridiculously out of date collection of business cards which I will not go through.
t. Look! More receipts!
u. Plane ticket stubs.
v. Store cards.
w. A "buy 10 get one free" card from the smoothie place at the food court at grad school. One hole has been punched.
x. A St. Andrew medal.
y. A pen cap.
And last but not least,
z. Three capacitors.
What? Where do you keep YOUR capacitors?
At any rate, I tried to help him and decided to look in the cabinet of the desk. The cabinet which I had completely forgotten existed. An although I found no rulers, I found all kinds of interesting stuff. What was it? Well, I'm glad you asked!
1. Our film camera. That's where that is!
2. About fifty 3.5 inch floppy disks. Clearly these contain critical data. I bet one of them is my Engineering 101 project from freshman year in college.
3. A plastic stand-alone drawer full of receipts from 2003 from a short-lived bout of determined organization combined with an obsessive-compulsive urge to save all receipts for a month.
4. About thirty zip disks. Remember zip disks?
5. A box labeled "knick-knacks" which is itself a treasure trove of hilarious artifacts. Namely:
a. A jewelers box containing a cheap shell necklace that was clearly a free gift from the airline that took us to Hawaii in 2004.
b. A baggie of nails and mysterious little wooden dowel caps.
c. A pink paper bag of new buttons for my black trenchcoat that I bought in Nantucket on our honeymoon in 2003.
d. Directions on how to grow a Plumeria.
e. Harry Potter glasses.
f. The "Doc" pin (Doc of the Seven Dwarfs) that I received as a gift from The Professor and Mr. The Professor.
g. A key chain with the meaning of our last name.
h. A cork.
i. A lanyard that is clearly supposed to go to something specific.
j. A broken watch.
k. Black thread.
l. White thread.
m. A tealight.
n. Seven Mr. Pickleses, which are small little chickens made out of pipe cleaner material that I have never explained on this blog, but now I will have to.
o. Two packets of extra buttons.
p. 6 drinks umbrellas from Hawaii.
q. Two drinks swords from Hawaii.
r. A small crucifix. Naturally.
s. A ridiculously out of date collection of business cards which I will not go through.
t. Look! More receipts!
u. Plane ticket stubs.
v. Store cards.
w. A "buy 10 get one free" card from the smoothie place at the food court at grad school. One hole has been punched.
x. A St. Andrew medal.
y. A pen cap.
And last but not least,
z. Three capacitors.
What? Where do you keep YOUR capacitors?
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
Aragog junior
We have had a spider living essentially on our back door for the better part of the summer. The web stretched across the topmost corner of the door and didn't really get in the way of anyone trying to go in or out. And since spiders are known to eat other, peskier bugs, The Husband and I were more than willing to allow this spider tenancy on our back door.
Now, the back door is not one I use very often, but The Husband uses it once a week when he takes out the trash. For the past several weeks, he has been returning from the trash duty with reports that the spider was getting larger and the web more intrusive.
"Pish tosh!" I always retorted, because The Husband is well known to have a thing about spiders. "How big can it be?"
I found out yesterday when I had to bring our trash down to the garbage bins outside and was very nearly killed by the biggest spider I have ever seen. Its web stretched across the top third of the doorway, and when I opened the door, I apparently caused the web to shake and the spider scuttled down extremely close to my head to find out what tasty treat it had snared. Naturally, I screamed and slammed the door shut, because I am well known to keep a cool head in these sorts of circumstances.
I could not bring myself to pass under that web, so I found an old stick (the back entryway is where we store our leftover wood from our never ending home improvement projects) and attempted to swat the spider off. Unfortunately, I was only able to manage to knock of bits of the web in between ducking behind the door to protect myself from the giant spider who was rebuilding the web even as I destroyed it. I could actually see the silk coming out of the spider's butt. I ended up taking an old stick and going out through the front door and around to the back so that I could knock the spider off from a safe distance, because I could not bring myself to walk under that web. What if the spider had landed on my head? WHAT THEN?
This post is brought to you by Emily who inspired me to write about my own spider incident. Sadly, I do not have a picture of my spider, but it was almost as big as Emily's and a sort of speckled tan. Emily definitely wins, however, since her spider was black and hairy and IN HER KITCHEN.
Now, the back door is not one I use very often, but The Husband uses it once a week when he takes out the trash. For the past several weeks, he has been returning from the trash duty with reports that the spider was getting larger and the web more intrusive.
"Pish tosh!" I always retorted, because The Husband is well known to have a thing about spiders. "How big can it be?"
I found out yesterday when I had to bring our trash down to the garbage bins outside and was very nearly killed by the biggest spider I have ever seen. Its web stretched across the top third of the doorway, and when I opened the door, I apparently caused the web to shake and the spider scuttled down extremely close to my head to find out what tasty treat it had snared. Naturally, I screamed and slammed the door shut, because I am well known to keep a cool head in these sorts of circumstances.
I could not bring myself to pass under that web, so I found an old stick (the back entryway is where we store our leftover wood from our never ending home improvement projects) and attempted to swat the spider off. Unfortunately, I was only able to manage to knock of bits of the web in between ducking behind the door to protect myself from the giant spider who was rebuilding the web even as I destroyed it. I could actually see the silk coming out of the spider's butt. I ended up taking an old stick and going out through the front door and around to the back so that I could knock the spider off from a safe distance, because I could not bring myself to walk under that web. What if the spider had landed on my head? WHAT THEN?
This post is brought to you by Emily who inspired me to write about my own spider incident. Sadly, I do not have a picture of my spider, but it was almost as big as Emily's and a sort of speckled tan. Emily definitely wins, however, since her spider was black and hairy and IN HER KITCHEN.
Monday, August 13, 2007
Mama? I know not this, "Mama."
Attention, Internet! Achtung! Achtung!*
Jack can say "clock." Granted, it is a distorted version of "clock" that is closer to "cok" and occasionally just "kuh," but he consistently identified the kitchen clock as a "kuh" or "cok" many times this afternoon. And I successfully recorded it as proof. He also unfailingly pointed to the clock when asked where the clock was. Whether this will continue after he wakes up from his nap is unknown, because he no longer raises his hand and squeals when I ask him who the best baby is even though he seemed to have that down last week.
This clock thing is interesting for a couple of reasons. The most significant is that I feel like I've only told him what the clock is a few times, whereas I am constantly telling him what the fan is, but he can't say fan and is also unsure of the proper response when I ask him where it is. The other interesting reason is that he knows where the clock is, and he knows where daddy is (provided he's in the room), and he recognizes the SIGN for "daddy," but the syllables "mama" have no meaning for him WHATSOEVER.
Here's how it goes in our house. "Jack, where's the clock?" (points to clock, possibly says "cok.")
"Where's daddy?" (looks over at The Husband)
"Where's the fan?" (gets expression on his face indicating that he feels he should know this one, the fan, the fan, it's somewhere in the room...)
"Where's mama?" (blank stare)
Sigh.
*As I was writing this entry, I had a flashback to the summer I interned at a chemical company in Germany even though I don't speak German. Every Friday there was a test of the emergency alert system, and there would be a alarm followed by a woman's voice calmly saying, "Achtung, achtung. Sprechen ziety scmesty oiken. Blah blah blahbitten blechen." Except the part after "Achtung" probably wasn't spelled like that and didn't even sound like that and was apparently some sort of instruction about how to get out of the building**. Or something.
**In an orderly manner, undoubtedly. I was in Germany.
Jack can say "clock." Granted, it is a distorted version of "clock" that is closer to "cok" and occasionally just "kuh," but he consistently identified the kitchen clock as a "kuh" or "cok" many times this afternoon. And I successfully recorded it as proof. He also unfailingly pointed to the clock when asked where the clock was. Whether this will continue after he wakes up from his nap is unknown, because he no longer raises his hand and squeals when I ask him who the best baby is even though he seemed to have that down last week.
This clock thing is interesting for a couple of reasons. The most significant is that I feel like I've only told him what the clock is a few times, whereas I am constantly telling him what the fan is, but he can't say fan and is also unsure of the proper response when I ask him where it is. The other interesting reason is that he knows where the clock is, and he knows where daddy is (provided he's in the room), and he recognizes the SIGN for "daddy," but the syllables "mama" have no meaning for him WHATSOEVER.
Here's how it goes in our house. "Jack, where's the clock?" (points to clock, possibly says "cok.")
"Where's daddy?" (looks over at The Husband)
"Where's the fan?" (gets expression on his face indicating that he feels he should know this one, the fan, the fan, it's somewhere in the room...)
"Where's mama?" (blank stare)
Sigh.
*As I was writing this entry, I had a flashback to the summer I interned at a chemical company in Germany even though I don't speak German. Every Friday there was a test of the emergency alert system, and there would be a alarm followed by a woman's voice calmly saying, "Achtung, achtung. Sprechen ziety scmesty oiken. Blah blah blahbitten blechen." Except the part after "Achtung" probably wasn't spelled like that and didn't even sound like that and was apparently some sort of instruction about how to get out of the building**. Or something.
**In an orderly manner, undoubtedly. I was in Germany.
Wednesday, August 08, 2007
Save the milk! The MILLLLLKKKKK!
Yesterday, when I took my nightly "sip" of The Husband's daily Coke, I noticed that it was not really all that cold. This was odd, because he had just removed it from our only two-year-old Maytag refrigerator. You know, the brand of appliances that portrays the really bored repair guy on the commercials? Because he has no work to do? Because their appliances so rarely break down?
I commented on its lack of coldness. "Well, it was in the door, closest to the part that opens, and you've been going in and out of the fridge and it's hot out," he replied. So I didn't worry about it.
Those of you smart enough to pick up on my incredibly subtle foreshadowing probably know that I should have worried about it, because this morning we discovered that the fridge is not so much keeping things cold. Nothing beats throwing the baby into the car to make an ice run at 7 in the morning! But I did get to the store and moved the daily-use stuff into the cooler with some ice, and called my friendly neighbors to ask if they had space in their fridge for the rest of it. Luckily, they have an extra fridge, and Mr. Neighbor even came over to help me transport all the condiments and beer. He would have done so even if I had not told him he could drink the beer if he wanted, because he's a good neighbor.
"Is that everything?" he asked.
"Yeah," I answered. "The freezer still seems to be working, so I just needed a place for our refrigerated stuff."
Then I called Sears to get an appointment with their repair service. The first available was for Friday, which is two days from now. Two hot, summer days. Fortunately, they were able to narrow the scheduling window down to "sometime between 9 and 5," so, you know, there was that to console me.
I hung up the phone and glared at the traitorous refrigerator. "At least the freezer still works," I thought. And then I thought again. What if the freezer doesn't work? What if it just takes longer to warm up because it's starting from a colder temperature? I thought about the four days' worth of breast milk I had stored in there. And then I packed it all up along with the frozen pot roast and chicken drumsticks and hustled it right over to the neighbors. Happily, they also have an extra freezer. Apparently, they need to keep lots of things cold.
When I got back, I tried calling Maytag directly to see if they could come earlier than Sears, and the oh-so-helpful automated voice menu guided me through the scheduling steps. After several painstaking, clearly enunciated menu choices, Maytag asked me for my model number, "one digit at a time." Since I am incapable of speaking all of the digits simultaneously, I assumed this meant I should pause between each digit. I assumed wrong. I got as far as "M... F..." when the phone robot interrupted me to say, "I'm sorry, I need you to give me your model number, one digit at a time. If you don't know your mode number, say 'I don't know.'" Heaving a sigh, I said, "M...F..." and the phone robot broke in again to say, "Thanks! Let me check for the next available appointment."
Needless to say, there are many more digits in the model number after "MF." And then the next available appointment was for Saturday. So I hung up on the phone robot and called a local place to see if they could come today to repair the fridge, and of course they could not. They could, however, come tomorrow, and they gave me three two-hour windows from which to choose.
Suck on that, phone robot! In your face, Sears!
To sum up: Maytag and Sears are on notice; but my neighbors are awesome. And it is too muggy to come up with a clever ending.
P.S. Can babies have nightmares? I'm pretty sure mine did last night.
I commented on its lack of coldness. "Well, it was in the door, closest to the part that opens, and you've been going in and out of the fridge and it's hot out," he replied. So I didn't worry about it.
Those of you smart enough to pick up on my incredibly subtle foreshadowing probably know that I should have worried about it, because this morning we discovered that the fridge is not so much keeping things cold. Nothing beats throwing the baby into the car to make an ice run at 7 in the morning! But I did get to the store and moved the daily-use stuff into the cooler with some ice, and called my friendly neighbors to ask if they had space in their fridge for the rest of it. Luckily, they have an extra fridge, and Mr. Neighbor even came over to help me transport all the condiments and beer. He would have done so even if I had not told him he could drink the beer if he wanted, because he's a good neighbor.
"Is that everything?" he asked.
"Yeah," I answered. "The freezer still seems to be working, so I just needed a place for our refrigerated stuff."
Then I called Sears to get an appointment with their repair service. The first available was for Friday, which is two days from now. Two hot, summer days. Fortunately, they were able to narrow the scheduling window down to "sometime between 9 and 5," so, you know, there was that to console me.
I hung up the phone and glared at the traitorous refrigerator. "At least the freezer still works," I thought. And then I thought again. What if the freezer doesn't work? What if it just takes longer to warm up because it's starting from a colder temperature? I thought about the four days' worth of breast milk I had stored in there. And then I packed it all up along with the frozen pot roast and chicken drumsticks and hustled it right over to the neighbors. Happily, they also have an extra freezer. Apparently, they need to keep lots of things cold.
When I got back, I tried calling Maytag directly to see if they could come earlier than Sears, and the oh-so-helpful automated voice menu guided me through the scheduling steps. After several painstaking, clearly enunciated menu choices, Maytag asked me for my model number, "one digit at a time." Since I am incapable of speaking all of the digits simultaneously, I assumed this meant I should pause between each digit. I assumed wrong. I got as far as "M... F..." when the phone robot interrupted me to say, "I'm sorry, I need you to give me your model number, one digit at a time. If you don't know your mode number, say 'I don't know.'" Heaving a sigh, I said, "M...F..." and the phone robot broke in again to say, "Thanks! Let me check for the next available appointment."
Needless to say, there are many more digits in the model number after "MF." And then the next available appointment was for Saturday. So I hung up on the phone robot and called a local place to see if they could come today to repair the fridge, and of course they could not. They could, however, come tomorrow, and they gave me three two-hour windows from which to choose.
Suck on that, phone robot! In your face, Sears!
To sum up: Maytag and Sears are on notice; but my neighbors are awesome. And it is too muggy to come up with a clever ending.
P.S. Can babies have nightmares? I'm pretty sure mine did last night.
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
Neither do I bungee jump
While we were driving up to Maine, The Husband and I spotted a flying contraption. Yes, contraption. "Merlin's pants!*" I exclaimed, pointing at the contraption. "What the heck is that?" There seemed to be one person in the "cockpit" which was not enclosed in any way, and, to my untrained eye, appeared to be powered by pedals a la Leonardo da Vinci. The Husband, however, was familiar with the flying contraption in question and told me it was called an "ultralight trike" or something, and that it was a perfectly legitimate air vehicle**.
"Legitimate nothing!" I cried. "You would not catch me in one of those things! It's completely open! It doesn't have an INSIDE! I require an inside on any vehicle that will be transporting me through the air."
"Oh, come on," replied The Husband. "It's no worse than a hang glider."
A hang glider. Right. Good argument, The Husband. Because, of course, hang gliding is a perfectly reasonable pastime. I go hang gliding all the time. Why, I was just out hang gliding this morning.
Look, I'm sure that both hang gliding and the ultralight trike are thrilling. I bet it feels just like you're flying on your own without mechanical assistance. The sights, the sounds, the feel of the wind in your face... all wonderful I am sure. But that is only if you can get yourself past the blind terror of knowing that there is nothing but a few straps and buckles preventing you from experiencing the sights, sounds, and wind in your face caused by plummeting one thousand feet to the earth. And, given that I am the chicken who refused to go down a water slide for about five years after that one time when I was seven and I accidentally turned around backwards en route, I think that I will pass on the flying contraptions.
Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to put the training wheels back on my bike.
*The Husband and I are trying to clean up our language before Jack is old enough to start repeating things back to us, and I'm attempting to replace my naughty phrases with wizarding curses. The funny looks will all be worth it if we can get Jack to imitate these phrases.
**Apparently, this is one of those products that emits guy particles.
"Legitimate nothing!" I cried. "You would not catch me in one of those things! It's completely open! It doesn't have an INSIDE! I require an inside on any vehicle that will be transporting me through the air."
"Oh, come on," replied The Husband. "It's no worse than a hang glider."
A hang glider. Right. Good argument, The Husband. Because, of course, hang gliding is a perfectly reasonable pastime. I go hang gliding all the time. Why, I was just out hang gliding this morning.
Look, I'm sure that both hang gliding and the ultralight trike are thrilling. I bet it feels just like you're flying on your own without mechanical assistance. The sights, the sounds, the feel of the wind in your face... all wonderful I am sure. But that is only if you can get yourself past the blind terror of knowing that there is nothing but a few straps and buckles preventing you from experiencing the sights, sounds, and wind in your face caused by plummeting one thousand feet to the earth. And, given that I am the chicken who refused to go down a water slide for about five years after that one time when I was seven and I accidentally turned around backwards en route, I think that I will pass on the flying contraptions.
Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to put the training wheels back on my bike.
*The Husband and I are trying to clean up our language before Jack is old enough to start repeating things back to us, and I'm attempting to replace my naughty phrases with wizarding curses. The funny looks will all be worth it if we can get Jack to imitate these phrases.
**Apparently, this is one of those products that emits guy particles.
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
The boy (or mom) who cried, "Tooth!"
Remember those teeth I claimed were coming in? Twice? No sign of them yet. Unless, that is, you count crankiness, neediness, a slight fever, and very bad sleeping habits a sign of teeth. And maybe they are! I certainly hope they are. But the very best sign of teeth I could have right now would be an actual tooth, because I would be immensely relieved if there were a clear reason for the recent behavior. Especially for the poor sleeping behavior.
I have an easy, easy baby. I realize this. In fact, I often find myself thinking, "Man, I'm glad Jack doesn't do that," when I hear or read the horror stories moms tell about their crying, screaming, tantrum-throwing babies. Unfortunately, my comfortable smugness never lasts long, because I always follow up that thought with, "Moron! You mean you're glad Jack doesn't do that yet." It is true; Jack does not throw toys at my head, scream, "NO!" and fling himself on the floor, kicking and wailing. But he is only 9 months old. He doesn't yet have the coordination to throw toys at my head, scream, "NO!" or fling himself on the floor, kicking and wailing. He does have the wailing part down, though. He's been practicing.
So these past three or four days have been my first real wake-up call that Jack is not going to stay relaxed and easy forever and ever. We're going to have some tough times. I understand that molars won't come in till he's one? At any rate, today I am in a funk. I'm having one of those days where I'm lonely but I don't want to talk to anyone, it's too hot to go for a walk, Harry Potter is all done, and there are ninety more minutes till The Husband gets home to keep me company. I have therefore decided that instead of cleaning up the kitchen from lunch, I am going to make a list of the top ten things that are impressive, but only if a baby does them.
Top Ten Things That Are Impressive If Done By A Baby
1. Using hand gestures to reveal the fact that that thing up there, that ceiling fan thing? It goes 'round and 'round.
2. Using a similar hand gesture to explain that the washer and dryer also go 'round and 'round.
3. Possibly using a similar hand gesture to say goodbye, but then again, maybe just waving your arm around at random.
4. Asking for a book by pointing.
5. After five minutes of playing with a completely different toy, remembering that there is a decorative bird hanging from the china closet when someone says, "Tweet tweet!"
6. Snuggling your face into a blanket.
7. Drinking from a cup.*
8. Self-serve breastfeeding.
9. Rolling a plastic circle across the floor.
10. Discovering the Grand Unification Theory.**
*This would be even more impressive if it happened more than once.
**Technically, this would be impressive if done by anyone.
I have an easy, easy baby. I realize this. In fact, I often find myself thinking, "Man, I'm glad Jack doesn't do that," when I hear or read the horror stories moms tell about their crying, screaming, tantrum-throwing babies. Unfortunately, my comfortable smugness never lasts long, because I always follow up that thought with, "Moron! You mean you're glad Jack doesn't do that yet." It is true; Jack does not throw toys at my head, scream, "NO!" and fling himself on the floor, kicking and wailing. But he is only 9 months old. He doesn't yet have the coordination to throw toys at my head, scream, "NO!" or fling himself on the floor, kicking and wailing. He does have the wailing part down, though. He's been practicing.
So these past three or four days have been my first real wake-up call that Jack is not going to stay relaxed and easy forever and ever. We're going to have some tough times. I understand that molars won't come in till he's one? At any rate, today I am in a funk. I'm having one of those days where I'm lonely but I don't want to talk to anyone, it's too hot to go for a walk, Harry Potter is all done, and there are ninety more minutes till The Husband gets home to keep me company. I have therefore decided that instead of cleaning up the kitchen from lunch, I am going to make a list of the top ten things that are impressive, but only if a baby does them.
Top Ten Things That Are Impressive If Done By A Baby
1. Using hand gestures to reveal the fact that that thing up there, that ceiling fan thing? It goes 'round and 'round.
2. Using a similar hand gesture to explain that the washer and dryer also go 'round and 'round.
3. Possibly using a similar hand gesture to say goodbye, but then again, maybe just waving your arm around at random.
4. Asking for a book by pointing.
5. After five minutes of playing with a completely different toy, remembering that there is a decorative bird hanging from the china closet when someone says, "Tweet tweet!"
6. Snuggling your face into a blanket.
7. Drinking from a cup.*
8. Self-serve breastfeeding.
9. Rolling a plastic circle across the floor.
10. Discovering the Grand Unification Theory.**
*This would be even more impressive if it happened more than once.
**Technically, this would be impressive if done by anyone.
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
Done and done
Attention, Internet:
I have finished the book. You may commence discussion.
What? You mean people have already been discussing it? But I told you not to!
I have finished the book. You may commence discussion.
What? You mean people have already been discussing it? But I told you not to!
Saturday, July 21, 2007
Muffliato!
At least, that's the spell I'd like to use on myself until I get a chance to finish HP7. The Husband and I got to go see Order of the Phoenix last Monday night*, and during the movie I realized that I have forgotten many things and must re-read HP6 before I can read HP7. I'm only a quarter of the way through it. (If I could hold it open with one hand, I'd be much farther along because I'd be able to read it while nursing, but such is life.)
So I'm asking the internet as a whole to please refrain from posting anything about the last book before I have time to finish it. That would be great, thanks.
*At first we couldn't find a babysitter, but then Father-in-law volunteered to drive to our house after work and sit for free while The Husband and I went to the movies with Leah Lar and D and then went for ice cream afterwards. Jack was awake when we left, asleep when we got home, and stayed asleep until 6 the next morning. It was AWESOME.
So I'm asking the internet as a whole to please refrain from posting anything about the last book before I have time to finish it. That would be great, thanks.
*At first we couldn't find a babysitter, but then Father-in-law volunteered to drive to our house after work and sit for free while The Husband and I went to the movies with Leah Lar and D and then went for ice cream afterwards. Jack was awake when we left, asleep when we got home, and stayed asleep until 6 the next morning. It was AWESOME.
Thursday, July 12, 2007
Non sequitur
This is a bit out of left field, but I just felt the need to tell the world that I cannot believe that "bling" has become an acceptable word for non-ironic use. It reminds me of how I used to jokingly give people a thumbs-up which slowly transitioned from being an ironic hand gesture into a way for me to genuinely tell people I thought something was well done. It had just become a habit! And while an ironic thumbs-up does not detract from a person's cool quotient, an earnest one most certainly does.
Tuesday, July 03, 2007
Signs you're getting older
1. Bridal shower gifts are no longer dull; in fact, you sort of covet those hand towels.
2. You know what wainscoting is.
3. You care what wainscoting is.
4. You really wish you had wainscoting in your kitchen.
5. Conversations about mulch are now interesting.
6. As are conversations about wainscoting.
7. After falling down the stairs and skinning your knee, you find that your entire body is sore and achy, not just your knee.
8. You think staying up till 11:00 is crazy.
9. Kids you used to babysit are getting married.
10. Married, people! You remember when they were BORN.
11. You no longer want to go swimming if the water is too cold.
12. Although you can still sit on the floor with your legs bent under you, you really really wish you hadn't when you try to stand up.
13. All you ask for in life - besides wainscoting - is to get your hardwood floors refinished.
14. And to get the rest of your woodwork painted.
15. And your yard landscaped.
16. With mulch.
2. You know what wainscoting is.
3. You care what wainscoting is.
4. You really wish you had wainscoting in your kitchen.
5. Conversations about mulch are now interesting.
6. As are conversations about wainscoting.
7. After falling down the stairs and skinning your knee, you find that your entire body is sore and achy, not just your knee.
8. You think staying up till 11:00 is crazy.
9. Kids you used to babysit are getting married.
10. Married, people! You remember when they were BORN.
11. You no longer want to go swimming if the water is too cold.
12. Although you can still sit on the floor with your legs bent under you, you really really wish you hadn't when you try to stand up.
13. All you ask for in life - besides wainscoting - is to get your hardwood floors refinished.
14. And to get the rest of your woodwork painted.
15. And your yard landscaped.
16. With mulch.
Monday, June 18, 2007
Two thousand what now?
A couple of weeks ago, one of the moms in my playgroup asked me how long The Husband and I have been living in our house. This question always stumps me, because I have absolutely no concept of the passage of time. It was not until I had been dating The Husband for about three years (then again, who knows how many years?) that I figured out the main reason I was always late to everything: You have to account for the time it takes to get somewhere. For example, if a movie starts at nine, you can't plan to leave at nine. The Husband is a very punctual person, and those three years were very long for him. (Side note: The Husband was early for our first date. He was very early. He was a half hour early. I had wet hair and was still wearing sweatpants, and no one else was home to answer the door.)
But I was talking about my concept of the passage of time and how I don't have any. If something didn't happen within the past week, I have absolutely no idea when it happened. Two weeks ago? Two months ago? Who knows? Sometimes I can date events by where I was living at the time, but sometimes that only narrows the date range down to a certain window. I lived in the same place for about three of my five years in grad school, for example.
So when my friend asked me how long we'd been in our house, I didn't know what to say. "Um, two years? I think?" I tried to do the math, but that's when I ran into my second problem. Sometimes - not always, but sometimes - I sort of forget what year it is. I did not realize that I was somewhat unique in this until this conversation with my friend. "I think it's two years, but I always have trouble remembering. You know how sometimes you forget what year it is?" I said.
"Uh, no. I always remember what year it is," she replied. And she also gave me a very funny look.
I have been doing some thinking about this since the conversation, and I decided that this happens to me because I am always surprised that things that seem so fresh and recent in my mind happened so long ago. It can't be 2007, because that would mean I got my Ph.D. three years ago, and I only just graduated! Still, that's not really a good excuse for forgetting what year it is. So let's all hope I never hit my head, because the doctors will think I have a concussion.
"What year is it, you ask? Wait! I know this one! It starts with a '2', right?"
But I was talking about my concept of the passage of time and how I don't have any. If something didn't happen within the past week, I have absolutely no idea when it happened. Two weeks ago? Two months ago? Who knows? Sometimes I can date events by where I was living at the time, but sometimes that only narrows the date range down to a certain window. I lived in the same place for about three of my five years in grad school, for example.
So when my friend asked me how long we'd been in our house, I didn't know what to say. "Um, two years? I think?" I tried to do the math, but that's when I ran into my second problem. Sometimes - not always, but sometimes - I sort of forget what year it is. I did not realize that I was somewhat unique in this until this conversation with my friend. "I think it's two years, but I always have trouble remembering. You know how sometimes you forget what year it is?" I said.
"Uh, no. I always remember what year it is," she replied. And she also gave me a very funny look.
I have been doing some thinking about this since the conversation, and I decided that this happens to me because I am always surprised that things that seem so fresh and recent in my mind happened so long ago. It can't be 2007, because that would mean I got my Ph.D. three years ago, and I only just graduated! Still, that's not really a good excuse for forgetting what year it is. So let's all hope I never hit my head, because the doctors will think I have a concussion.
"What year is it, you ask? Wait! I know this one! It starts with a '2', right?"
Monday, June 04, 2007
The world may never know
It’s raining, and this morning I saw a couple of birds fly to the shelter of a nearby tree. This reminded me of a picture book I once read in elementary school, called, Where does the butterfly go when it rains? When I saw that book in the classroom library, my curiosity was piqued. “Where does a butterfly go when it rains?” I thought to myself. It seemed to me that a butterfly is fragile enough that a heavy rainstorm could easily kill it, but they must do something, or they would not have survived. So where did they go? I eagerly sat down with the book and looked for the answer.
“Where does a butterfly go when it rains?” it began. I turned the page and read, “A bird covers its head with its wing, but where does a butterfly go when it rains?” I turned the page again. “An ant hides under a leaf, but where does a butterfly go when it rains?”
The book continued on in this fashion for several more pages. I found out where a caterpillar, a mouse, a bumblebee, and a squirrel go when it rains. That was all well and good, but I was not reading for information on squirrels. The book had posed a question, and now I wanted to know the answer.
Well, too bad for me, because the book never explained where a butterfly goes when it rains. Although the question was raised on every page, the answer was not forthcoming. And if that isn't false advertising, I don't know what is.
So does anyone know where a butterfly goes? Anyone? Anyone?
Bueller?
“Where does a butterfly go when it rains?” it began. I turned the page and read, “A bird covers its head with its wing, but where does a butterfly go when it rains?” I turned the page again. “An ant hides under a leaf, but where does a butterfly go when it rains?”
The book continued on in this fashion for several more pages. I found out where a caterpillar, a mouse, a bumblebee, and a squirrel go when it rains. That was all well and good, but I was not reading for information on squirrels. The book had posed a question, and now I wanted to know the answer.
Well, too bad for me, because the book never explained where a butterfly goes when it rains. Although the question was raised on every page, the answer was not forthcoming. And if that isn't false advertising, I don't know what is.
So does anyone know where a butterfly goes? Anyone? Anyone?
Bueller?
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
Lessons in probability
Area of my kitchen floor: 209 square feet
Area of a Cheerio: 1 square centimeter
Probability that I will step on the single Cheerio on the kitchen floor and grind it into fine powder: 100%
Area of a Cheerio: 1 square centimeter
Probability that I will step on the single Cheerio on the kitchen floor and grind it into fine powder: 100%
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
Science magazine comes out weekly, too
Am I the only one who is consistently surprised that I have to buy groceries every week? And clean the bathroom? And vacuum? (Not that I vacuum every week. Ha.) It just always seems impossible to me that I have to do any of these tasks when I clearly just did them last week.
And by way of explanation for my non sciency readers, Science magazine is just about the most prestigious journal to publish in, and it comes out every week. Every single week. So if you stick your copy in a pile to get to later, you will quickly have a small pile of backlogged issues to read. And then you will have a large pile. And then you will have a large lump that used to be a pile, but the pile got too big and all the magazines slipped and you won't even bother to try to straighten it up because you know they will all just slip again. And then you'll let your dues lapse for AAAS because it will be the only way to get them to STOP SENDING THE MAGAZINES.
And by way of explanation for my non sciency readers, Science magazine is just about the most prestigious journal to publish in, and it comes out every week. Every single week. So if you stick your copy in a pile to get to later, you will quickly have a small pile of backlogged issues to read. And then you will have a large pile. And then you will have a large lump that used to be a pile, but the pile got too big and all the magazines slipped and you won't even bother to try to straighten it up because you know they will all just slip again. And then you'll let your dues lapse for AAAS because it will be the only way to get them to STOP SENDING THE MAGAZINES.
Monday, May 21, 2007
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