Pride in My Ride

Actually, I aspire to a true Swagger Wagon. My piece o' crap Ford works for now; but someday, I'll rock the SE, too.

We're Not the Jeffersons

Well, we moved! (Almost, but not really.) And to Phoenix, no less. Crazy, eh?

Jay told me a month or so ago about a job he was applying for--he's always applying and looking and scheming, so I thought nuthin' 'bout it. A week or so later, a phone interview. Whatever, I'm busy with diapers and dishes and important stuff like that. Then he tells me that he was flying to Phoenix the next week for an interview. What?! Phoenix, as in that dry desert out west, far from here, that has no water, trees or green grass? He flew out early on a Monday morning, got back late on a Tuesday night and said it went well. Holy snot, Batman! Phoenix? Then they tell him he's a finalist and they want to call references. Then they do a background check. In the meantime, I'm scoping out towns in the area, doing research online for the schools that are "Excelling" and start making calls to moving companies to get quotes. Serious, folks, serious. Can't make definite plans, or tell anyone important like his parents or my mom, until we know how soon they want us out there, what to do with this house, etc. Just waiting on an official offer...

So I'm excited, worried but mostly excited to make the move. What an adventure! And we can get a bigger house with maybe storage space and a garage we can put a car in and a wider driveway that we don't have to play leapfrog on. Bonus--lots more Mormons in Phoenix. Woo hoo! And how exciting would Phoenix be? What a big change. Then the offer finally comes in. What?! Seriously? We're supposed to move our entire lives--which we would totally do for the money, don't get me wrong--for that? With the cost-of-living difference, we'd be living poorer there than we are here! Our skinny driveway, one-car-garage/storage Cape Cod here would be $100 K more there, much less movin' on up in the world.

Very, very disappointed. Jay was excited at the job, the possibilities for advancing, I was excited for the adventure, maybe a newer minivan (I'm still dreaming of ya, Sienna!) and no snow. Bummer. No Dee-luxe apartment in the Sky-hi-hi.

More posts to come later. Maybe I'll even toss in a few pics of my posse for your viewing pleasure, including the further proof why you're a better mom than me.

Equality

Jay and I have been holding our breath, crossing our fingers over which vehicle would die first. My fabulous Ford van (2002) chugs along, leaving a trail of fumes and parts in its wake. Jay's '98 Camry, the one we bought a month before we married, sniff, since I totalled my little '92 Sentra named Sophie on the day my nephew Drew was born, sniff sniff, was making it but not by much. It needed a new timing belt and some water thing or air thing or something. Well, Jay won that bet!

His car, full of kids, limped home and sat. He promptly went searching for a replacement, deciding on another Camry (good cars). He got the parts for the crippled car and along with help from a car-fanatic neighbor, fixed it! Saved us over $1200 in labor costs. (You're such a stud, babe. That's why I married you!) Sold it and it's gone, but now we've got car payments and a snazzy, shiny newer car in the drive. Right next to my Fantastic Ford!

Now I was feeling a bit miffed since we lost a hubcap somewhere in western KY during the Christmas travelin' season and Jay hadn't replaced it yet. My helpful home teachers informed me that WAL-MART carries hubcaps. Who knew? What does Wally-World not carry? So I promptly purchased shiny new hubcaps for my FF, Jay reluctantly installed them and then shined up the tires. And I look gooood, driving my herd around in the FF. Sorry Jay, I know you're wishing you had the FF now, but you can't have it. You'll have to be content with your new '07 silver Camry that includes sunroof, Bluetooth, gazillion disc CD-player, charcoal leather interior, heated seats, radio buttons in the stearing wheel, fin on the back, sporty thingies at the bottom on the sides, and voice activated cell phone calling. Yessiree, I look good in my FF!



BTW, Jay, the cruise control stopped working last month, I never use my blinkers anymore (I like to live on the edge, baby.) and Spencer's door doesn't lock/unlock with my super-powers power lock. But I love my new $22 hubcaps and I look goooood.

Eight

More gray, less hair.
More weight, less perkiness.
More wrinkles, less tone.
More memories, less memory.
More responsibilities, less money.
More frustrations (3 in particular), more rewards (eternal).
More joys, more tough times, more sorrows, many more laughs.

July 14, 2001

More and less, I love you, Jay. I was lucky enough to find my best friend, catch him and keep him. I'm so happy I'm on this journey with you. Happy Anniversary (+1 day). I love you.

And the picture was actually taken July 21st at our reception in Lexington, but you get the idea. And I look good in this one, so it's the one I'm using. And FYI, I really wish I still had that body--I look like a super-sized version today. Kids: they ruin your body, your mind, your home and your checkbook. But they're worth it, I guess, most of the time.

A Pinch To Grow An Inch

Uno turned 6 on the 17th. I really don't think that's accurate. I'm too young and look too good to be the birther of a 6-year old. He was partied out! We had cake on the 11th at my Mom's (after the egg hunt) for him and Spence (1 on the 30th), cupcakes at school on his actual birthday, our crazy little clan that night for dinner AND a friends' party on the 18th. I thought 2 hours of 5 little boys would be plenty but Jay added an extra half-hour here and there and that last 60 minutes sure dragged along. Two little neighbors popped over so the big time-taker had to be sent home. We were scrounging for ways to keep 5 boys entertained without breaking something or staging a wrestling match.

We couldn't decide what to get him as a gift. Jay really wanted a Wii (but that was mainly for himself, I'm sure.) That's way too big a gift for a birthday so I thought that maybe Santa could bring one for our family this Christmas--big enough for everyone. Uno's always bringing home rocks and twigs and digs around in all the nooks and cranies in the house exploring (Note to Self: hide the sexy nighties better) so we went with a science kit and eye magnifier-thingie. Jay was hip on the Eyeclops but I think it takes a big of technique to focus and sit still and Uno's just got too many ants in his pants for that right now. He loves ickiness and has already made fake snot with his kit. Actually, these were perfect choices for him: a few days before his birthday I went to put something under his bed and accidently spilled some experiment he'd created: looked like barf but smelled like salsa with alot of water and string cheese mixed in. Jay got to clean that one up; I was running late for Muffins with Mom at school with Einstein.

From the Trenches

I've been "commanded" by an unnamed in-law to update my blog 'cause she's tired at looking at my 5 AM Reflections. Uh, sorry, but my life is really just a repeat of those occurrences over and over and over and... So as follows:

-After 8-9 (depending on who's counting) ear infections from October to late February, #3 got tubes in late March. I'm asked "Oh, he must feel so much better; does he act different?" Um, no, but he wasn't really a grumpy baby before. As long as he was well-fed and snuggled, he was content. My secret hope was his horrible night-time sleeping habits were due to earaches and this would be corrected with tubes. No. Unfortunately, his bad sleeping habits were due to babyness on his part and exhaustion/laziness on our part and I get to correct them. Now. At the ripe old age 1-year old on the 30th of this month. And with the freedom of weaning looming.

-Leading to: I haven't had more than 4-5 hours straight of sleep in well over a year (middle of the night pee breaks included). College friends who are familiar with my love of and addiction to sleep, naps, dozing and rest in general will be quite amused. Go ahead and laugh, I'll wait.

-On Tuesday, my only day of partial freedom (where #1 & #2 are in school/preschool for about 2 hours at the same time) this week, since somehow #2's Methodist preschool was closed on Good Friday (I thought only Catholics did that.) and I'd have no partial freedom then, I was messed over by the Fates. We're running late, SURPRISE, since Her Royal Highness Princess didn't want THAT shirt, no to THOSE panties, no to the potty, no, no, no, NO! Preschool starts at 9:30; we leave the house at 9:30. Tick, tick, tick into my "alone" time, or as alone as I get with #3 around. Zipping along in our oh-so-zippy Ford minivan (see next point) I turn left, left, left and then before my right HRH Princess starts crying, "Mommy, Spen-suh fwew up. Mommy!" So I whip into a gas station, grab a wet wipe to dab his chin and hop out. Tick, tick, tick. Yank open the door only to find that Mount Vesuvius has erupted all over my son in his car seat! Clearly 1 little wet wipe is hopeless against these ruins. With much less zip we return home. HRH waits in the van, wanting no part of cleanup duties. First I unbuckle #3 and sit him on the ground. Unknown matter is all over his coat, his shirt, onesie, pants, socks and shoes. It attaches itself to my coat and shirt and a large puddle remains in his carseat. Tick, tick, tick. I carry in the carseat and leave it for later, carry him in and strip him, throw my coat and shirt onto the stinky, sticky pile and toss him in the tub. Quick wash (damnit, I forgot the cotton balls and vaseline to protect his new tubes!) and dry him. Try and dress him while he whines and licks/gnaws on my bra--Not Now, Spencer! New shirt, new jacket for me and we're out the door. HRH Princess goes in #1's seat, #3 goes in her seat and I toss in a random booster saved for whenever #1 gains weight and hits 40 pounds-he can use it for today. We're now off, again, and HRH Princess gets to preschool at 10:30, only an hour late. I get a bit before I pick up #1 at 11:36 at kindergarten so I go shopping for ME.

-About a month or so ago, yet another quirk revealed itself in our lovely Ford minivan. I was turning right to enter the minivan caravan for HRH's preschool, late obviously, and obediently blinking right. When I straightened up, I was blinking left. Huh? I didn't notice until after I dump off HRH and I can't get it to stop blinking left. Scratch head again. After a fiddle or two with the lever it cuts off. Zip, zip, zip along. Next time, I turn left and keep blinking left. A few fiddles won't fix it and then Ford started beeping at me that I've left the blinker on. Uh, Duh, I know it's on! It won't turn off! I almost break off the lever and it still won't stop blinking left. I turn right and it blinks both ways. I push my flashers button and the right blinker turns off but the left blinker is eternal, along with the beep, beep, beep. Good thing I'm only running errands all morning. After 3-4 days of the beloved quirk, it stops as suddenly and mysteriously as it appeared. At least, until today. We go to my mom's, an hour away, and Jay drives. Lefty starts blinking about 10 minutes before we get there, Jay fumes and I laugh. "Dear, you've left the blinker on." He he he. I get to drive home and blinky left joined when I started the van. Yeah! I missed you while we hunted eggs and ate chocolate. I drove all the way home, 70 miles, with my left blinking at me and Ford beeping me: DUMmy, DUMmy, DUMmy, you're blinker's on. So the next time you're driving down the interstate and sneer at the stupid driver who forgot to turn off his blinker, think of me and give him the benefit of the doubt. He could be stuck in his own little hell with a broken blinker and a beeping car.

Just keeping it real.

Amen, Brother!

Seems like more peeps feel like my rant, too.

Rant Follows

Parker: "Mom, how come we're not eating what Barack Obama tells us to eat?"
Me: "Huh?"
Parker: "How come we don't eat what he tells us to?"
Me: "Uh, like what exactly?"
Parker: "He's the President and we're supposed to eat what he tells us to."
Me: "Who told you that? This is America, the land of the free, we can eat--"
Parker: "And we don't wear what he tells us to wear."
Me: "Parker, where did you hear this?"
Parker: "He's the President and tells us what to do."
Me: "Honey, this is the United States and we can eat what we want and wear what we choose and no one tells us what to do."
Parker: "But he's the President and tells us what to do and we're supposed to do it."
Me: "The President doesn't tell us what to do. That's not his job."
Parker: "Then what does the President do?"
Me: "Uh...I have no idea."

So what do I tell Parker what the President does all day? I have no clue what he does, especially to put it in terms Park would understand. I don't understand it myself and I'm old.

So here's my rant: I don't trust a one of 'em in Washington. Jay told me that he was reading up on the stimulus package and Columbus is getting $1.5 mil to try and stop prostitution downtown and some other city got $900,000 for new doorbells. What?! So they're also taking my money from my wallet to give to idiots in Detroit and big banks and it's all supposed to stimulate me to part with what pennies are left? Give me a break! Since Detroit isn't making a product anyone wants, we should give them our money anyway 'cause they're so dumb? What happened to the $780 mil that went to banks but never got passed along to borrowers? Cities want a handout and Jay told me the porn industry wants a bailout. (I guess Americans are eliminating "luxury items" from their budget since so much of our money is going to the idiots.) Then there's the whole foreclosure thing. Yeah, I know it's sad that someone might lose their house, but why did they think they could buy a house bigger than they could afford? We'd sure like to move on up but we're realistic about what mortgage we can swing. Why do I have to let more idiots dip into my wallet, just because I've been trying to save and be honest and live within our means.

And the big mouths in Gubment claim they speak for average Americans, etc. I don't know if you got a call, but nobody asked MY opinion. Bull hockey!

Reminds me of a bit in the classic movie "Pure Country" which I'll clean up for y'all with sensitive ears:
Old Guy: "You know what the white stuff is on the top of chicken shiz?"
George Strait: "What?"
Old Guy: "Chicken shiz."

So the idiots are covered in "white stuff" and pretending it's not chicken shiz.