Not with a bang, but a whimper...

....this is how my relationship with Manny with Totsy will end. Though I should add that we were all set to bang it out. Rick had compiled a borderline blackmail-ish email stating that he was prepared to go global with his anti-totsy campaign via his City Museum Facebook and Twitter accounts should Manny not cough up the goods within a weeks time. While he was compiling the email, I was busy assaulting Totsy's facebook page with comments about their atrocious customer service. Apparently I was spoiling the mood of the Totsy fan page, because they sent in their "cleaner", Sophie (is there anyone in this company that doesn't end their name with a "y" or "ie"?), to shut me up. I received a private message via facebook from Sophie with Totsy saying that she was "so sorry" about my issues and what can she do to help (in other words: What can we do to shut you up, you insufferable twit?).

Long story short, Sophie contacts Manny, and Manny contacts me. Manny's a real problem solver these days, and his solution to the problem is to offer me a full refund and a shipping label for us to ship everything back to them because now he has NO IDEA when this stuff will come in. For a nano-second I thought that was reasonable. Then I remembered the size of the box the stroller came in, the fact that we would have to take the stoller apart (once we found an ark-sized box to fit it in) and then somehow have blind faith that they would give us our money back. Well, we all know where I stand on blind faith these days. Please see any basement construction related posts...

So I politely responded to Manny applauding his ability to offer the one solution that was actually MORE of a hassle to us than what they had already put us through. That takes serious skill, buddy. The only thing that would have been more inconvenient was if Manny had offered to ship me a pair of roller skates and a map to his office, so I can stroll that thing back to him myself. Jerk. After pointing this out to him, and outlining several other options that I felt reasonable regarding us keeping the stroller and them offering a pro-rated refund, Manny finally counters with an offer to refund a portion of the costs incurred. Fine. You have a deal.

As it stands, we should be getting our partial refund "any day now", and so the saga with Manny and Totsy concludes. Everyone keep your eyes peeled for deals on the Easywalker Carrycot!

Triple the fun!

I have previously discussed my cousin, Kate, who was pregnant with triplets. Yes, you read correctly. Past tense. As in, already done been borned. They came into this world yesterday, slightly ahead of schedule, but all three baby girls and Mom are doing well.

These are not real babies.

Jane (3 lbs 1 oz), Emma (3 lbs 15 oz), and Julia (4 lbs 5 oz) continue the trend of tipping the scales even further in favor of the female contingent in this family. Sorry fellas. I am sure one day they will all marry wonderful men and you can increase your male bonding at that time.

I have been taking comfort in the knowledge that as long as Kate is still pregant, that means that we still have time before Super is born. So now that little comforting thought has gone out the window. See you soon, Super!

A fuzzy, dusty blur

My husband is a machine. An obsessive compulsive, attention deficit disorder, insomnia-ridden machine. And when you combine all those traits with his desire to keep his pregnant wife from burning down her house out of sheer insanity, you get a man that spends almost 48 hours straight in a basement priming, painting, spackling (sp?) and sanding to just get this project FINISHED! If I wasn't so thrilled with the results, I might feel a little guilty. However, there were a few things he was working on that were not wife-driven that occupied a large portion of his time, but more on that later.

We went to dinner and an art show with Liza and David on Friday night. We had met previously in the evening at Home Depot and placed our carpet order and FINALLY narrowed down our paint selection to three colors. We purchased samples of all three and some primer and we were set to go. While I was sleeping on Friday night, Rick primed the entire basement and placed the sample colors on the walls. I woke up on Saturday morning, we agreed on the "Light French Gray" and then headed off to BIRTHING CLASS! Woohoo! Yes, amidst all of this, I keep having to remind myself that there is a child coming in a few weeks and we should probably look into caring for this little one at some point. Easy to get distracted these days.

But our eyes were on the prize for about 8 hours on Saturday. We learned all about what to expect when we get to the hospital. Rick learned that we don't need to rush in the second I start with contractions (we all know how he loves to be early), and for a brief second I started thinking I could handle natural child birth. I blame paint fumes for this moment of insanity. Just when I think I couldn't love my husband more after staying up all night painting for me, I got to watch him furiously taking notes, entering milestone dates in his iPhone and his intense focus when learning how to bathe and swaddle a newborn.

Here he's burping the doll. It was absolutely the cutest thing I have ever seen. I felt like my heart was going to burst. I had to channel this emotion later in the weekend.

After baby class, we went straight to Home Depot to pick up more paint and various other supplies. I will take this time to describe Rick's "other project". Long about Thursday of last week, Ricker began to focus on the fact that the original drywall in the stairs going down into the basement had a slightly different texture from the new drywall that had recently been added. The old area has a slightly rough texture and the new was smooth. My solution/observation was that the difference was more significant because they hadn't been painted the same color yet, and that it would be less noticable once paint went up. Rick wasn't having it. Not on his watch. There will be no unmatching walls in his house!

I should have paid more attention to the contents of the basket at Home Depot on this Saturday trip, but again I was blindly accepting that all was under control. There was a huge bag of "quick setting something" that looked a bit technical, but I figured he had a plan and he seemed confident. To show what a team player I am, I donned my protective mask and put up the first coat of paint on about 70% of the basement before my back started to ache. I resigned myself to the bedroom for the evening and left Rick down in the basement for the night.

I awoke at 3:00 am to the sound of sanding. He's got it under control. Sure, he's not sleeping, but he tends to get a bit hyper focused on things like this. No big deal.

I woke up again at 6. Still sanding.

I finally went down at 7 when the sanding stopped, figuring it was finally safe. I noticed a bit of dust around the house, but it was hard to tell if this was drywall dust from earlier in the week or new stuff. Again, no big deal.

I was met at the top of the stairs by someone that was barely recognizable. Rick's eyes were bloodshot, he was covered in a fine white powder and he seemed a little manic. I started to get concerned at this point when he talked of "one more coat" and that he felt he was close. At this point, I figured the train had left the station and there wasn't much I could do but say "Ok" and do what I could to be supportive. To demonstrate that, I even went on a supply run for him (I am a enabling spackle mule now) that morning. This is something I am now regretting. I was asked to pick up something that was different that the material he was using for the first coat. Whatever. I ask no questions. Blind acceptance.

I left to meet some friends for coffee/lunch (I was double booked!) while Rick did whatever he was doing and met his family for lunch. When I came home, he was just about to start sanding down this second coat. I retreated to the bedroom (which is upstairs, he is in the basement) and while checking emails, I started to notice the sensation of film on my face and keyboard. I looked over at my phone, which had been sitting for maybe 30 minutes and it had a fine, white powder all over it. I immediately ran down to shut off the heat/vents and told Rick that there was something going on. He screamed "Viva la revolucion!" and kept sanding (not a direct quote, but captures the essence of Rick at this point). The dust situation downstairs was significantly worse than upstairs and I felt a little ill at this point. But, again, I was told we were close.

At around 4:30 in the afternoon the sanding stopped. Rick emerged from the basement looking like father time on a cocaine bender and proclaimed that he was finally finished and satisfied. I then noticed that he had forgotten to take the entire spice rack (that is about 4 feet high) off the back of the basement door while all this sanding was taking place. Each of the 100-ish little spice bottles had their own little dust mountains on them. Here's where Rick got lucky, because the pre-pregnancy Kaly would have likely flipped ye old insanity switch at this point. However, my long dormant nesting urge kicked in hard core and I got to cleaning spice jars and vacuuming that house for all it was worth.

Doesn't look too bad.....

....but then you pick up the stuff on the table and this is what you are left with.

Because GB had warned me this might happen, I felt she she get a dusty shout-out.

The dust continues to literally and figuratively settle at the house. We still have a ways to go and the offer has been made (and accepted) to bring in professional cleaning people to help with what is left. Rick has learned that sometimes the collateral damage along the way might not be worth the end result and I have learned that blind acceptance is no way to go through a home project. But at the end of it all, I am thankful for a husband that not only wants everything to be perfect for his new family, but is willing to take himself to the brink to make it just so, and that makes my eyes a little watery.

Though it's probably just the dust.

Cultural Experience

I am surrounded by construction. They are also renovating our office building, which has recently included varnishing all wooden surfaces and repainting. It's a fume-a-palooza. If I wasn't concerned about the VOCs or whatever else is in the air, it smells of rotten mayonaisse and shoe polish and it's more than I can stand. The fumes are no better today, so I found myself at the Panera in Creve Coeur working for the day. I sat down next to a table of 70-something jewish gentlemen (not stereotyping; this becomes a relevant item shortly) and am equal parts disturbed and enchanted with their conversation (these are not soft talkers):

Round 1
Man #1: "My sister in law said her goal this year is to go on one date."
Man #2: "Is she do-able?"
Man #1: "No"

Round 2
Man #1: "I am thinking of giving up golf and taking up tennis."
Man #3: "I like tennis, but I look horrible in those outfits."

Round 3
Man #2: "(Insert someone's name here) is a total anti-semite. He called his assistant a f-ing (insert horrible defamatory jewish term here)."
Man #1: I will never watch another Mel Gibson movie again. Though he was good in 'Bird on a Wire'".
Man #3: "Was it Goldie Hawn or Meg Ryan in that movie?"
Man #2: "Meg Ryan. I haven't watched a movie with her since she cheated on Dennis Quaid. It's just not the same."
Man #1: "She was great in that movie with Billy Crystal, Sleepless Seattle or something."
Man #3: "oh no, that wasn't the name. It's on the tip of my tongue. The one with the diner scene. I'll have what she's having."

Hilarity ensues.

The conversations were peppered with f-bombs and it was hilarious. I might have to hang out here more often. Maybe they'll make me one of their crew. Anyone that has such strong opinions about Meg Ryan is ok by me.

Squash anyone?

What a strange word....squash. Sqquuuuaaaassshh.

Super is the size of a butternut squash this week, weighing in at 2.5 pounds and just under 16 inches long. She continues to increase her fat deposits, her head is getting bigger and she will triple in weight by in the next 11 weeks (I am now focusing on what's left rather than how far we've come). That's some crazy growing! As a result, real estate in ye olde womb is becoming more and more precious and the jabs and kicks are more frequent and often startle me a bit.

Bump.com warns of extra gas during these next few months and tells me not to sip my drinks (?), chew gum, or talk while eating (I would never) to avoid swallowing air. They also talk about varicose veins and say to avoid sitting or standing for prolonged periods of time. Not sure what my other options are there. Not great on providing viable solutions over at Bump.com.

I did start to get sad yesterday thinking about how I will miss not feeling the little bumps and nudges after she is born. Of course, yesterday I also got sad about the lonely piece of bread left in the bag and how dirty my computer keyboard was, so not everything is 100% reasonable in Kaly-ville. But I guess a baby in the hand is much better than a baby in the belly, so I am sure that was yet another thing I shouldn't be sad about.

Investigative Journalism

It's that time of year again. The time when the weather is just a hint warmer on some days, and if you are really lucky, you hear birds chirping signaling what can only be the near onset of SPRING! As if spring wasn't enough of a hot bowl of awesome in and of itself, there are other spring bonuses that are just icing on the cake. Since I cannot currently enjoy a cold beer on a scenic patio (one of the first rites of Spring), I was pretty jazzed about another spring bonus: Girl Scout Cookie arrival. And since we have two nieces and live in a neighborhood filled to the brim with 6-9 year old girls, you better believe I got my order on this year.

Sure there were disclaimers issued when I was whizzing through the newly revised order form. I heard something about there being "new names" as a result of some bakery change and pesky copyrights or some such nonsense. I couldn't be bothered with these details. I had orders to place, people! You don't get a 9 pound weight gain in one month by resting on your laurels. You have to work at it.

Once the pencil shavings had settled on the order form, I wasn't quite sure what I had ordered, but I didn't really care because I knew I had ordered everything but Trefoils (the Almond Joy of Girl Scout Cookies) and how could I go wrong? They are freaking Girl Scout Cookies.

We picked up our boxes on Sunday. I was pretty excited and downed something called a "Thanks a lot" immediately. It was one of the new offerings and nothing to write home about. I was slightly put off by the name (kept imagining it said in a sarcastic tone) and thought it would seem less smarmy if they had named it "thanks so much" or "you are the best", but I figured those GS people know what they are doing. I was undaunted.

Somehow I skipped consumption of cookies on Monday because I must have been in a coma or something, but I remembered them yesterday when I was working from home and decided to treat myself to a sampler platter. The caramel delites (formerly Samoas) weren't much different, so no problem there. Then I moved on to the "peanut butter sandwiches" (talk about phoning it in on the name, formerly do-si-dos), which were dry and a little gross. To round out my experience, I decided to end on a high note and go with the unchanged, always a winner, Thin Mint.

So that's what disappointment tastes like.

As the room spun around me and I clutched the box of imposter Thin Mints to my chest as I slumped to the floor, I started having flashbacks to Parker talking about this new bakery issue. I really should pay more attention when she speaks; it's not like she's one to go spouting off useless information. I then headed to the computer to figure out what had happened. The results were shocking. SHOCKING!!!

Did you know that Girl Scout cookies have different names in all areas of the country? It's been that way forever. So don't go to Arizona and strike up a conversation about Tagaolongs. They won't know what you are talking about. They are called "Peanut butter cookies" in other necks of the woods. All this confusion is apparently the result of these two bakeries that were used: ABC Bakery and Little Brownie Bakery. What name you got was a result of which bakery the cookies came from. Little Brownie Bakery had the trademarks on all the fun names, and as evidenced by their own bakery name, ABC Bakery had the dumbed-down descriptive names. I guess "Thin Mints" was just dumb enough to make the name suitable for ABC Bakery, resulting in the wide acceptance of that cookie name.

It appears that Little Brownie Bakery is no more and all cookies were produced out of Another Bland Cookie (ABC) bakery this year, resulting in the less than stellar cookie review. Can you handle all this cookie knowledge? I know, it's a lot to take in all at once. All I know is that somehow, the Girl Scouts have managed to generate a cookie that repulses even a pregnant woman, which doesn't bode well for the future of that organization. I am sure I will still eat them, but let the record show that it's under protest.

Pile it on!

Have I mentioned that there is another project going on in the house? I know I have discussed the basement, which is being taped/mudded as I type, but I don't think I mentioned what is now being referred to as the "bonus room". It is a glorified crawl space over the garage, connected by a full size door to Super's room. Since we have serious storage issues here, we decided to convert this to a play room/storage area. That's currently being worked on and Joe seems confident he can knock this out in a week. Again, blind acceptance.

Of course, because this was a storage area, and the basement is currently occupado, all of the junk is now located in the nursery again. The storage shell game continues....But this is the door from the nursery into the Bonus Room.

This is inside the Bonus Room, which is actually pretty large.

Once the basement, nursery and Bonus Room are complete, that should be it for projects. Have I mentioned that there's a baby coming in 11.5 weeks? No pressure.