February 2007 Archives

So there's a little chip in my car's windshield, probably caused by a rock or other road flotsam being kicked up and slammed at great velocity into the glass. The funny thing is, it kind of looks like a little hat, or maybe a roof on the old-style Pizza Hut restaurants. I'm watching it to make sure it doesn't start growing, in which case I'll have to have it fixed. Maybe I'll rub toothpaste on it to see if it will go away (that probably won't work unless the chip is caused by tartar buildup or gengivitis). Worth a try. My car needs to be minty fresh.

In a few weeks, my blog will turn 4 years old. Judging by the other 4-year-old in my life, this is the point where the blog will refuse to pick up its toys, it will throw horrendous tantrums at bedtime and it will start saying the darndest things (including some words we don't like to hear coming from a 4-year-old). Go to your room, blog, and spare us the drama! According to my archives, I used to be a whole heckuva lot funnier than I am now. So sorry.

Parting shot: Do you think people named "Stan" get really sick of everyone saying, "Stan the Man"????

***Gold stars, or a tube of toothpaste, to whomever can name what inspired this post's title.

We knew that after the Petite Filet used up her vacation during her otherwise unpaid maternity leave, we’d be in a financial conundrum of epic proportions. We own a modest home, newish but modest cars and have a wee bit o’ the credit card debt. But to live within our means, we, like so many others, must both work like we mean it. We planned for this, scraped together pennies, took on some extra projects and pocketed some of the money from a vehicle sale to build up our savings. All is good.

And then we’re dealt the news that it won’t be just one month of tough times, but two consecutive months before the PF’s normal salary kicks back in. Panic time! Do I need to get a part-time job? Do we need to carpool? Sell half our stuff? Donate a kidney?

With tax time rolling around, we were waiting to get tax-related documents from our jobs, the PF’s now-defunct side business, childcare providers and our church. We finally got around to estimating our refund, and it’s a whopper. Normally, that’s a concern because one need not lend the feds your dough interest-free when you could use it paycheck-to-paycheck. But the addition of the Riblet in late 2006 (daddy’s little tax credit!) and our purchasing a new car in late 2006 (we can deduct the sales tax here), it equals more than a month of the PF’s salary. By e-filing, we will most likely get it in time to keep us fluid.

Add to that a nice bonus I’m getting from work, just for being so awesome. Not sure when that’s coming, but knowing it’s on the way is mighty fine indeed.

Our family will turn a large, stinking corner when Monday rolls around, as it will be the Petite Filet's first day back at work after 12 weeks of maternity leave. She'll go back to driving the Cutlet to school five days a week (instead of me driving him to his part-time schedule of three days) and I'll be taking the Riblet to his in-home childcare. None of this is easy for us. There are so many opinions on the work/daycare debate. "Why have kids if someone else is going to raise them?" "I can't believe you're not focusing more on your career." "How can you afford to do it? Why doesn't the PF just stay home with both kids?" "You suck, T-bone!"

I could tell you how we arrived at our decision, but it's all pretty boring. And our situation doesn't make us special; the world is populated with families in which both parents must work.

No matter how confident I am that this is the best thing, the right thing, just about the only thing we can do ... my heart will ache after kissing the Riblet on the forehead and heading off to work. My heart will ache until, a few minutes after 5, I'll latch his infant carrier into my car and we'll head home. Until we're all a family again, if only for a few hours, all under one roof, before we've got to do it all again. Magically craptastic!

I've never dove into a Dumpster to find treasure. I'd have to know for certain that there was something really really valuable in there before doing such a thing. But items at the curb are fair game. One need not necessarily shower after partaking in such harmless hunting.

Check out one of my favorite blogs. She's got some VD cards perfect for any occasion. The content isn't necessarily work- or kid-safe, so be forewarned.

Does anybody over the age of 11 like Valentine's Day anymore? Seems like everyone I talk to rolls their eyes, disgusted by the gross commercialism and overall fakeness of the Hallmark/Hershey holiday. But isn't it sweet to spread some love around? Isn't it a real shame we need to set aside a special day to do it on?

Good things about VD:
• It's an excuse, if you need one, to be sweet.
• Same goes for eating candy!
• It makes us think about the ones we love.
• What could be wrong with more love?
• That burning sensation has a cure.

Bad things about VD:
• It's for suckers! The cost of everything from dinner to flowers suddenly becomes statospherically ridiculous.
• The over-sweetness and fake sugar we're handed is bad when we're in a relationship. Good grief, why make single people feel inadequate? Many of them lurve being a-lone and wouldn't have it any other way, thankyouverymuch.
• If you're not sweet, loving and romantic the other 364 days of the year, any change in behavior on VD is patently suspect and deserves a good flogging (don't you wish!).
• That burning sensation has a cause.

Thoughts?

The Westminster Kennel Club's annual dog-a-palooza wraps up this evening in New York City. Only championship show dogs are invited, so it's obvious my pet's not going to be anywhere near that ring. In fact, he and I will most likely opt for a little "American Idol" viewing, and he'll keep proving to me why he's a better singer than half the contestants.

Why Max is a bad dog:
• He digs
• He tracks mud and dirt into the house
• He barks for no particular reason
• He licks the carpet, looking for crumbs
• He always votes a straight-party ticket rather than evaluating candidates for their individual merits

Why Max is a good dog:
• He loves all people and would never intentionally harm any living creature
• While on has twice-daily walks, he never barks - even when other dogs or people are being obnoxious
• He listens to me when I tell him something
• His massive tail wags whenever I talk to him, and it acts like a cooling fan in the summer
• He would play fetch all day long. So I guess that makes him a Border Collie Retriever.

"What are you waiting for?"

"Kick the freakin' ball already! You think I have all day?"

"Yeeeeeeah! That's what I'm talkin' about!"

The fam’s leavin’ on a jet plane Sunday afternoon to go to Okla Homer to vis extended fam. Having to work, I’ll hoof it on up Thursday to join them and bring ‘em back next weekend. It’s a bummer to see them go, but it does give me a sliver of freedom to live a decidedly boring version of temporary bachelorhood for a few days. Would be nice if I actually got some work done around the house, but I know better. Will be the first time since the Riblet was born that I’ll have the house to myself. Here’s how life will be different until we’re all under the same roof again ...

Sunday afternoon
I should be doing some yard work, washing the Petite Filet’s car and cleaning up the garage.
What I will be doing: Sitting around in my underwear, watching TV and seeing if the dog can catch Cheetos in his mouth.
What I’d be doing if my family was home: TV and the Cheetos thing, but I’d have to wear pants.

Monday
I’ll work all day long, but when I get home ...
I should: Be doing some laundry and deciding what to pack. Maybe clean out the fridge.
I’ll be: Too tired to care about much of anything, avoid walking the dog for as long as I can and then collapse into bed.

Tuesday
I’ll work, get home and then ...
I should: Set aside clothes to take, make sure the checkbook is balanced and call the newspaper to stop delivery until the day we get back.
I will: Order a pizza, eat half of it and then scour the house for hidden sources of chocolate.

Wednesday
I’ll work (my busiest day of the week) and then ...
I should: Charge up my cell phone, pay any bills coming due, check my work e-mail one last time and finish packing.
I will: Feel the effects of making the wrong lunch choice. And so will the dog.

Thursday
It’s time to hit the road, so ...
I should: Set my alarm to wake up early, maybe get a short bicycle ride in, shower, take the dog to the vet for boarding, load the car and head to Okla Homer no later than 10 a.m.
I will: Sleep in late, eat whatever is left in the refrigerator, play ball with the dog in the back yard for way too long, pack up the car, forget at least three things I was supposed to take, and then mosey on up the road some time after noon.

Friday-Saturday
Reunited with my family ...
I should: Be really happy to see them.
I will: Be really happy to see them.

Sunday
Somewhere between Tulsa and Fort Worth, I’ll regret what I chose to eat for lunch. And so will everybody else in the car.

I've written about the names of cars before and how they should really be more aptly named to how they look or who drives them. But because Ford execs feel that renaming the Ford Five Hundred as a Ford Taurus makes a difference, maybe it's time to bring it up again.

Last Saturday, it was kind of cold here but I decided I needed to start getting in some serious bicycling mileage in if I'm going to be ready to ride 100 miles in a day by August. I put on lots of layers. Filled my water bottle. Hit the street.

And then, I hit the street. Apparently, a sprinkler system at a business on my way had turned on that morning. Despite temperatures of about 25 degrees. Despite it's winter time and who gives a flip what the shrubs look like. I didn't see the patch of ice, but it leapt up from the road and bit me and my bike. I went one way, the bike went another, and we both went down.

I was in better shape than the bike. Sort of had to "limp" home because downshifting blocked my rear wheel meaning that hills meant resorting to walking.

Damage assessment:
• Left shoulder ... still sore days later. No bruising.
• Lower leg ... not too sore and no bruise.
• Bicycle ... smashed rear derailleur (this is the piece that allows gears to be shifted). It's in the bike shop until Friday getting a once-over.
• Pride ... some bruising.
• Confidence ... mild contusions.
• Bummer-meter ... BIG BUMMER!

Bill Murray didn't see his shadow today, so that means we won't have to watch the movie "Groundhog Day" until the weather gets warmer. What a relief!

Texas is known for weird weather. If you didn't already know that, it's not my fault. I've told you time and time again. Take notes next time! We had a ton of snow yesterday, but most of it hit the ground as water. Was pretty to look at, but some neighbor kids were making the world's lamest snowman (it was invisible) and laying on the ground to make mud angels. Pathetic!

Except for people who never go outside, weather affects us all. It unites us, binds us together, makes us wear silly hats and ugly coats. It gives us something to talk about. Complain about. Yearn for. Yes, there are some idiots who are actually wishing for the heat that will pummel us into squishy, melted mounds of flesh come summer. Whatever!

I hope meterologists never figure out how to predict the weather a month in advance. How lame would that be? "Hey folks! You'll need your scarves and mittens in three weeks!"