Posts filed under 'Moving moving moving'

No Self Control

Weeeelll, that’s right, friends, I have a blog. Life, it seems, is returning to normal. I hope. This past week was a mishmash of deadline (Glee, and though I love writing those things, they take me FOREVAH) and unpacking and honestly, just stupid dumbass insanity. Without going into it, allow me to share a brief glimpse, bullet-style:

— Our car broke on Adam’s first day of work. Luckily, he took my (newer, fresher, made in this decade) car to work just in case. Had car towed, $550 worth of repairs enacted and … car still broken. More repairs. Three days later (THREE DAYS. OF ME NOT LEAVING THE HOUSE AT ALL. WITH A TODDLER), learn that the car is NOT broken, but Adam had given me his “spare” key, which is an uncoded VALET key, which means it cannot start the car. $250 worth of useless labor expenses, not to mention $100 for a rental car, later, and our car was returned to us in exactly the same condition it was when I tried to start it.

Awesome, right? AWESOME. AND YET!

— Thrush! I got thrush again, and stuffed myself silly with probiotics and kicked it. Again. But not before those three days of being house-bound with a cranky kid and an assload of THRUSH! And no way to fix it! Because I could not get to Whole Foods!

THRUSH! And cabin fever! WIN WIN WIN.

— Bizarre suicide hostage crisis a few blocks from here! With rifles! And SWAT teams! And what the hell! We live in ADORABLE SUBURBAN USA. Not, say, Compton at the height of the crack epidemic.

— A hair appointment that wasn’t, wherein I was dicked around by the first receptionist, when I scheduled a consult and (long) appointment to have my frightening, frightening long-overdue hair colored. Then, when I got there was told I only had a consult, and not a real appointment, which would be fine, except that then the second receptionist said there was no way I EVER had a real appointment in a totally mean tone of voice and then, when I tried to explain, RAISED HER VOICE and said there was no way that happened, and have I ever had my hair colored at a reputable salon before? Because I should have known better.

Me. The customer. Who booked the appointment that they screwed up. I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN BETTER. And she yelled it, too. And for some reason this makes it worse, but she was TWENTY THREE at best, and I’m all, BITCH, I’ve been getting my hair colored LONGER THAN YOU HAVE BEEN ALIVE.

So I said thanks, but no thanks to that haircut to nowhere, and stormed off, only to realize I had nowhere to go, because HA! we hadn’t picked up the car yet! So Adam dropped me off! For what he thought would be THREE AND A HALF HOURS! So I had just stormed out to … nothing. I had to sit on their porch while they glared at me out the window until Adam came back with Sam. Ha ha? HA HA HA.

Drama queen fail.

There was more, but I think that covers the highlights. It was a rough week. Smaller, more cheerful events include:

— Complete lack of impulse control now that I’m in sight of actual stores that carry actual things. I am going to send us to the poorhouse, not on extravagant things, but because I completely lack the ability to resist the vast array of cleaning products and other random sundries available at Target. Which brings me to …

— Swiffer! THE SWIFFER! How have I lived this long without a Swiffer? I can’t stop Swiffing! The house is sparkling! There isn’t a single speck of dog hair in sight! I Swiff three times a day! It’s so SATISFYING, all that Swiffing! I also picked up the Swiffer duster and have Swiffed the shit out of my baseboards! My mom suggested the WetJet, and oh dear, the can of worms she opened. I think I spent $60 in Swiffer products alone.

–I have lost (and regained and lost and regained) a lot of weight since having Sam and no matter what size the rest of my body is, my fingers have remained a half size bigger than they were before getting pregnant. Also? My feet are bigger, forever. Like, a whole half size. Which, um, ew.

Ergo, I gave in, friends, and took my wedding rings to be resized at the jeweler where we got them seven (SEVEN) years ago. It was a sad day, but it was time, I’m afraid.

But also? $200 to have them both done. I DIED. I REALLY DID. I know they’re diamond and platinum and it’s not like adjusting one of those rings you get in the gumball machine, but … really? I was floored by this, though I suppose there’s no real reason why. It’s not like I’d ever done it before, but perhaps had I known that, I wouldn’t have done it the same week I spent an ungodly amount on cleaning products, mythical car repairs and other sundry items purchased for no other reason than Because I Could, Dammit, and Finally.

— Our kid is sleeping through the night. DING DONG and HELLO. That only took … fourteen and a half months. She’s sleeping past 5, too, and I owe it all to Twitter, who provided some awesome advice when I threw out a random APB for assvice, and to Accidents, who shared her nightweaning plan. We moved from two naps to one (still a struggle to get that nap to be any length, but …) and I did a little Lite Ferber action (not even any effing crying, just yelling for about five minutes) and WHAT? THAT’S IT? THAT’S ALL IT TOOK?

There is also the small matter of Mr. Mouse, her chosen lovey, and let me tell you, my world is brighter because of Mr. Mouse. She gets EXCITED to go to bed with Mr. Mouse. She SNUGGLES Mr. Mouse. She PLAYS with Mr. Mouse before bed and at the moment, I am currently purchasing the entire stock of Mr. Mouse NATIONWIDE, so don’t even think about trying to buy a mouse toy right now. I’m on that shit and I will SNIPE YOUR ASS ON EBAY. (Or just order it from Kohl’s for $5. Whichever.)

— Sam’s walking! Sort of. She’s still holding on to stuff one-handed for comfort, but if she, say, has two shoes in her hands, she forgets that she’s not holding on to the wall and she just goes. The second she realizes she doesn’t have training wheels, she panics, gives up and crawls. But still! Steps! Oh my girl.

I am shocked — shocked! — at how much more I love the toddler vs. baby phase. I thought I would LOVE having a baby-baby, and, well, I didn’t. Not really. I mean, I loved her, of course, but it’s only gotten better and better and though I know I am in for a shitstorm when she turns three or so, I appreciate a communicative kid over a blob of inscrutable screaming any effing day of the week. Oh, this kid. She is so, so awesome.

*Insert adorable photo here, which I would totally do if I could find the camera, which I cannot. Not even a little*

Happy Wednesday! JE REVIENS.

*Peter Gabriel

75 comments May 18th, 2010

Already Home

HELLLOO!! We’re here! We MADE IT!

And the boxes are almost all entirely unpacked, thanks to my completely neurotic and wonderful husband, who can’t let a packed box lie there and while I’m wrestling a kid and trying to unpack two boxes, he’s got an entire room done and is moving on to the next. It’s fantastic. Fantastic!

My kid, however, doesn’t think sleeping is all that important, and is getting up at 4:40 a.m. and it’s all making me want to KILL MYSELF SLOWLY, because she’s pulling NEWBORN-TYPE SHIT with her schedule — up every two hours, then up FOR THE DAY around 5, but USUALLY EARLIER. I’m a zombie. No wonder I’m not unpacking boxes with any sort of speed.

Speaking of speed, um, our first night here we stayed in a hotel because our furniture wasn’t arriving until the next day, etc. etc. and there was a small incident with the luggage cart that I can’t even BEGIN to explain with any sort of clarity, really. All I can really tell you is that while Adam was unloading the car, I helpfully went to get the luggage cart, baby in hand, and … oh God, you guys. The parking lot was on a steep angle that I hadn’t noticed, and although two people tried to help, I brushed them off, thinking I could handle it, when HA HA! I could not handle it! Not even a little!

The next thing I knew, I was RUNNING DOWNHILL towards Adam and the car with Sam on my hip, desperately trying to outpace the runaway luggage cart, my eyes so wild Adam didn’t know what the hell was wrong with me. I just kept yelling, “GRAB IT! GRAB IT! It’s GOING TOO FAST!” and oh you guys, it WAS. It was INCHES from crashing into like, SIX CARS.

AN EMPTY LUGGAGE CART! And then Adam was laughing too hard to really help me, so I was half on my own yelling, “PLEASE! I CAN’T HOLD IT MUCH LONGER!” And again with the running downhill and the … oh God. He caught it in the nick of time, thank you God.

And then OH THEN, after our stuff arrived and we had mostly unpacked the Fios guy came! FIOS! Look at us, with the modern conveniences like more than one Internet provider and fiber to the home and stuff! And I only had to show my vagina to get it! Oh wait – what?

Yessss. Sometime during the four to five-hour (!) installation process, I had to pee, natch, so I went in the bathroom/laundry room off of playroom (WE HAVE A PLAYROOM) while Sam hung out. I didn’t shut the door to the bathroom so that I could keep an eye on her, but I DID shut the door to the playroom and HALLO, I DID NOT REALIZE THE FIOS GUY WAS GOING TO BE IN THE PLAYROOM. So all of a sudden I looked up and saw the FIOS guy slinking out of the room, clearly hoping I did not see him — apparently he walked in, spied me on the toilet, staring off into space for I don’t even know how long, and tried to escape.

HA HA. HA HA. OMFG. And then I did what any normal person would do in that I SLAMMED the bathroom door shut, effectively blocking my view of Sam, which apparently signaled to him that he could come back IN and then we just pretended like it never happened, although I frankly would like to kill myself slowly, maybe with an asp on my bosom, because seriously.

Nothing is without humiliation. Nothing.

Beyond that, we’ve been getting a thrill a minute, quite literally, as we act like nothing less than the Beverly Hillbillies, going in and out of the various stores and marveling at all the STUFF you can buy. So much stuff! So many stores! The STORES! We stood in a plaza about five minutes from our house and discussed how there was more shopping in this single plaza than in all of Middlebury. And restaurants, OMFG. Indian! Chinese! Middle Eastern! KNISHES. That you can buy in a grocery store! KNISHES! Meat knishes!

And with that, I really have to go. I should be around a lot more lately, but my chapter of Glee is due next week, so I am working a bit, plus the chaos of the house and … yeah. I’ll be around, but also busy. Speaking of Glee, there is still time to contribute your essay for the contest, and have your work included in the same book. Go here for details.

Happy Monday! Happy Adam’s first day at his new job, too.

PS, have you joined the Book Lushes? We’ve got a new book for May (Olive Kitteridge!) and are selecting June’s book now.

*Jay-Z

58 comments May 9th, 2010

Catch you on the flip, yo.

Movers come tomorrow morning (Tuesday). We arrive Wednesday and should maybe sort of have internet by Thursday night.

I hope against hope this settles things down a bit, and I’ll see you guys a little more often. I miss actually TALKING to you, rather than reading your comments and emails, smiling and moving on. I also think not responding makes me a tiny bit of a douche, and for that, I apologize. I’m not REALLY a douche, I’m just playing one lately.

See you at the end of the week!

(OMG)

38 comments May 3rd, 2010

Get ‘Em Out By Friday

First of all, it snowed several inches last night and this morning. Yesterday afternoon, I could handle, and it seemed almost quaint. How very Vermont, I thought. How … special, that just before we leave, it’s snowing! Just the kick in the ass we needed! See you later, Vermont! I love you!

Then, this morning, I woke up (at 5 a.m., thank you Sam, and also, what the hell? FIVE AM IS TOO EARLY) and it was an effing WINTER WONDERLAND out there. Sam’s little face was pressed against the window marveling at it. Tons and tons of heavy, wet snow — like, actual accumulation. Enough, if you can believe it, that schools were delayed and/or canceled all over and my friend Kate lost power (still doesn’t have it, in fact) and got more than a foot of snow.

A few days ago, I was wearing a T-shirt and capris. I mean, what IS this? I went to Syracuse, for chrissake! I know spring snow! It snowed the day before my college graduation! And yet six inches to a foot three days before May, really? REALLY, VERMONT?

I mean, come on, if you’re trying to push me out, this is the way to go. Fine, I’ll leave, if you’re going to be a cold, wet crankypants about it. FINE. Massachusetts is warmer, anyway, AND it’s a coastal state! Up yours, Vermont!

(I’m sorry, Vermont! I’m just kidding! I love yoooooooouuuu!)

So! In Mashed Potato Watch, in case you weren’t following along on Twitter, we had a plumber come. A plumber who was almost cocky in the beginning and found the whole thing mildly amusing when he squeezed our supposedly-tiny job in between several OTHER jobs and was all, this shouldn’t take but a moment folks! Oh, mashed potatoes! How adorable, he almost tittered.

An hour and a half and not one, but two different snakes later, he was singing a different tune. I heard him on the phone with his colleagues, “Well it ain’t working, because there’s a whole goddamn box of mashed potatoes down there.” Pause pause pause. “Yes, I TRIED that … No. No. I don’t think you heard me: A WHOLE BOX OF INSTANT MASHED POTATOES … Fine. Fine yes fine. I’ll get the bigger snake. This is ridiculous… FINE. Fine. I’m TRYING. FINE.”

And so on. For more than three hours, to the tune of $300. At one point Adam asked him to put it on a scale of 1 to 10, 10 being the worst. “Well, we just moved from 7 to 8,” was his reply. By hour three? He said we were at a NINE POINT FIVE. We were one half-point away from him having to bring in some kind of JET thing into the house — something he’d never had to use in a kitchen and, he explained, something we most definitely do not want.

“The pressure has to go somewhere, and if it doesn’t push out the clog, it usually ends up all over the walls and stuff. It just shoots everywhere, and we have to line the house with plastic. Like a giant fire hose of nasty plumbing stuff, you know?”

Oh boy, did I know. Or rather, I did not want to know. And when he left, it seemed I wouldn’t have to know, for things were moving freely.

But you know what? IT SEEMS I AM GOING TO HAVE TO KNOW. Because hours after he left, we cleaned up after dinner and VOILA! THE SINK DID NOT DRAIN. And then Adam got all excited, like HE is a plumber (“I watched what he did, and I can totally do it, Jonna”), and he put our snake down there, and a few hours (!) into it, he came over with a snake that smelled like … well, vomit, actually, and waved it in my face excitedly, “LOOK I GOT POTATOES! POTATOES ARE ON THIS THING! I GOT POTATOES!” And behold, yes, there were chunks of mashed potato at the end of the 30-foot snake he was noodling around with there, and … oh whatever.

It was to no avail. The plumber is coming back tomorrow, and people, I am never eating mashed potatoes again. Or any potato product. French fries, you’re dead to me.

(I’m also going to whisper that after the plumber left, Adam used the garbage disposal. “What’d you put in there?” I asked, tentatively. And it turned out, he’d put in some PORK LOIN down there, and now I’m like, FOR GOD’S SAKE, YOU ARE BANNED FROM THE GARBAGE DISPOSAL. BECAUSE SERIOUSLY, ADAM, PORK LOIN, ARE YOU SERIOUS OH MY GOD.)

***

The movers arrive Tuesday. Tuesday! Tentatively, that is. I mean, they’re coming tomorrow to do an estimate and … yeah. Our lease is signed, sealed, delivered, deposits made and now it’s all like, DUDE. We’re moving! How did this happen? I’m currently making the final plans with local friends (MEG WE NEED TO PICK A TIME), and I’ve got big girl evening plans at a big girl place with big girl drinks with my friend Kate, and what kills me is that it will be the first and likely last time we do this, and what took us so long? BAH.

The house is packed, mostly (see also: silverware, no coffee spoon and oh, it’s probably for the best because we can’t wash anything anyway) and yet, it doesn’t seem real. But you know, having done this twice before, I know that nothing seems real until you get there, and the first few weeks are almost vacation-like, as you wait for your two weeks to be up before returning to your real life. Your real life, which is still going on in the state you just left. And then one day, without even realizing it, you notice that this is your real life, and it’s pretty good.

Wow, that was … deep, right? OMFG, please punch me in the face.

It’s weird, in a way, to think we might not ever do this again. Nice, and a little comforting, now that the emotional rawness of it all has worn off. Missing my friends is the last remaining heartache, and that won’t ever go away, honestly, but we’ll email and talk, and I’ll see them again. I will! (SNIFFLE)

Finally, I spent some quality time reading my own archives recently — it always happens when a family member or longtime friend is combing through them. I wonder what’s in there, and what I was like back then. And wow, was I insufferable and depressed and HELLO INTROSPECTIVE. HELLO JONNA, PLEASE GROW UP AND THANK YOU.

I’m sorry, Dad. Also, to the rest of you out there, reading through your own archives is a spectacularly bad idea, because all you want to do is hit DELETE DELETE ANNOYING DELETE, SHUT UP WHINY GIRL, DELETE.

I hope you guys have a great Thursday! Obviously I won’t be around much the next few days, because, um, moving. You know. (OMFG)

*Genesis, from 1972.

24 comments April 28th, 2010

Gives You Hell

HELLO TEAM!

(Wait, are we all not on a team? Are you not on my moving team? Do you want to be on my moving team? Quick! Come wrap some glasses! GO TEAM!)

So, we’re moving. And I am MUCH happier about it, as I suspected I would be once I figured out where we’d be going, and I went back to the area and we figured out where we want to live, etc. etc. SO MUCH HAPPIER ABOUT IT. Thank you for talking me off of the ledge. We found a house! That we love! With a giant yard for pug and baby to roam freely! And it’s so PEACEFUL out there, which is nothing like where we used to live in Boston, and … what a grand idea this is suddenly seeming like. Now, if only I could bring my friends.

Can I please bring my friends? Friends who are reading this, would YOU like to move to Boston?

That remains the saddest part of it all, and REALLY, by me acting okay with the move, it does not mean I won’t miss you. I PROMISE. I AM BEREFT.

MetroWest Bostonians, holler at me! And further, if you see someone who looks like me in the Natick Mall, it could very well BE me! Look at that!

So, that’s the good news. Really! The good news! Other good news: We got some actual sleep in the hotel, as we got a suite, as per EVERYONE’S recommendations, and HOO BOY, it was a NEW WORLD up in this piece. Sam slept! We slept! We woke up in the morning without wanting to die! LOOK AT US GO, SMRT PEOPLE THAT WE ARE. WE GOT THE BABY HER OWN ROOM.

JEENYUS.

At any rate, that’s kind of where the good news ends, and don’t get me wrong, it is all good news, and I will take it served hot, with a spoon and with a hearty helping of pleasure. What is not good news is that I lost my wallet somewhere in MetroWest — err, MetroNorth? What is Lexington, anyway? — and I had to go through EVERYTHANG and cancel all my credit cards and get new insurance cards and put an alert on my credit in case anyone tries to steal my identity and BAH BAH BAH. What perfect timing! Tomorrow we get to ride for an hour to visit the DMV so that I can get a new license and begin the process of reconstructing the flexibility I once had. You know, to leave the house by myself with access to money and the ability to drive.

And this was all happening RIGHT before an in-depth, up close and personal examination of my credit history! HUZZAH.

(All seems to be well. Identity secured, precautions taken, etc. Mess with me at your peril, malfeasance-doers!)

We COULD be moving in like, um, a week. Maybe. On the fast end. Which is insane, but it might happen if the movers can’t do anything later and hello, does anyone have a paper bag for me to breathe into? My whole body aches from bending over and packing and dragging boxes through our once-tidy house, and this afternoon, Sam came royally undone as we packed up a good portion of her room, because there we are, putting her precious possessions in boxes and it’s like, what the hell, Mom and Dad? Where my books at? You said that stuff was MINE and you LIED and … oh look! A toy hammer! All is forgiven.

Well. I also packed all the silverware and had no spoon for my coffee this morning and then later, oh HO HO LATER, Adam went on some kind of CLEANING FRENZY and decided, for reasons that still make no sense to me at all, to dump an entire FAMILY-SIZED JUMBO BOX of Hungry Jack instant mashed potatoes (HUNGRY JACK. Is that supposed to be appetizing? Like a hungry … lumberjack?) down the disposal and added water! HOT WATER. As in, he MADE AN ALARMING AMOUNT OF INSTANT MASHED POTATOES IN OUR GARBAGE DISPOSAL! And they expanded! And blocked the sink!

Which, you know, DUH. And for some reason, he insists that he asked me if this was okay and I guess I said yes, but I was distracted at the time, and you know, I didn’t think he’d put the WHOLE BOX DOWN THERE AT ONCE and I don’t even know why he didn’t just pack them or throw them away or … oh, what’s the use in dissecting it all, really. Just imagine, if you will, having this conversation with your husband:

Me: Is it clogged?

Him, exasperated beyond all belief: OF COURSE IT IS. I AM MAKING A BOX OF FUCKING HUNGRY JACK MASHED POTATOES IN OUR SINK.

Oh, hindsight, you are a cruel bitch. A cruel potatoey bitch.

This certainly puts the mild irritation of two-day old apple juice spilling in your diaper bag into perspective, doesn’t it? (Hint: it smells like a bar floor that’s been mopped with Woodchuck. DELISHUS.)

What’s saving me right now? I’m embarrassed to tell you. It’s … it’s the Glee “Power of Madonna” soundtrack, and y’all, I don’t even LIKE Madonna. It’s Jesse St. James, who I now have a futile crush on, and yes, of course I checked and yes, of course he’s gay and as it turns out it doesn’t matter! I crush anyway! And yet, I checked! EVEN THOUGH I AM HAPPILY MARRIED AND HE IS GAY. You see how these things work?

Me neither.

Hey, have a happy Monday!

*Um. I only have it from the Glee cast, so … Glee cast! Rachel Berry! Wait, you mean there’s someone else?

45 comments April 25th, 2010


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