Love in the Time of Dirty Fridges

I already started a whole entry about all the insane fun I had this weekend with my friend CC in Phoenix. But Quake has been sick so I didn't finish it. Then life threw me a curve ball today. A small curve ball, but enough to completely disrupt the evening.

I dropped my cell phone today while getting something out of the fridge for one of the boys. The key protector popped off, and the actual little slip with the keys on it, disappeared. Under the fridge. Two letter magnets and huge case of "ewwwws" later, I realized that my tiny paintbrush handle was not going to be long enough to find my key pad.

It's not a huge deal. So I miss a few text messages. Oh, and all those calls from Quake's friends because that's the number I used as the RSVP for his birthday party this weekend. Fuck.

I convinced Monkey Man to help me out when he got home. He moved the fridge out. No key pad. We did hear a loud crack that so far doesn't seem to be related to anything functional (cross your fingers). I then convinced Monkey Man we could see better if we pulled off the front grill on the bottom of the fridge. There are no words to describe the grossness we found. Yeah, I heard once you were supposed to clean that stuff out once a year. That hasn't happened around here. Obviously.

So then we spent 20 minutes clearing a huge wad of gross out of the vacuum hose.

Monkey Man checked the floor in the pantry. I checked under the stove. Monkey Man checked under the crisper drawer when I told him the fridge door had been open. We grabbed more wads of gross out from under the fridge and then vacuumed what was left. Monkey Man tried to tilt the fridge to no avail.

Then I opened the freezer.

Just to check.

Because maybe the freezer had been open too.

Oh look, a key pad. Not only did Monkey Man not kill me, he didn't even scream at me! Now that's love.

Unfortunately my phone still doesn't work.

Silly Things Make Me Happy

This new bottle of soap I bought at Target is making me ridiculously happy. After I snapped this photo I also replaced the pathetic diffuser. Now my bathroom smells like mango.

This little bottle represents more than just a cute new soap pump though. Gretchen Rubin over at The Happiness Project has a commandment called "Spend Out". Basically she has a bad habit of buying new things to replace old things and then continuing to use the old things while "saving" the new ones.

I have a similar problem in that I never even bother to replace the old things so I don't even have new, pretty underwear.

I am trying to change.

The old soap pump in the bathroom hasn't worked in months. I looked for a replacement but never found one I really liked. Which of course is code for saying I never found one I liked that didn't cost $25. Haven't I mentioned that I'm cheap? You'd think the $10 pump that broke quite quickly would be a hint that it might be worth a little splurge. Anyway.

I spotted this in the soap aisle at Target. Not something I'd usually pick up because it was a few more dollars than the store brand. And remember that bit about me being cheap? But Ms. Rubin's meditations on spending out made me toss the bottle in my cart before I could think about it too much.

And every time I notice this pretty little bottle? I grin. And every time I use it instead of reaching for a grungy bar of soap perched on my sink (which has since been removed)? I grin.

Worth.every.penny.

Meet The Perfects

We spent Saturday evening in Phoenix at a little Easter Eve shindig that brother #3 put together. Basically he put slate tiles on his patio and needed an excuse to show off.

You may remember my earlier rants about my in-laws from these two entries: The Fat Sister-In-Law and I Wish I Had That Kind of Time. I've decided on a new nickname for brother #3 and sister-in-law #3 - The Perfects. As in Mr. and Ms. Perfect. As in I would weep with envy if you weren't so fucking smug about it all.

One of Ms. Perfect's sisters was there. She weighs about 90 pounds, soaking wet. Which would be totally normal if she were 4'5". But she's not. She spent a good 15 minutes when she first got there, getting confirmation that her new pants didn't make her look fat, i.e. wasting our time. You cannot imagine how tempted I was to tell her they did make her look a little chunky.

Oh, honey, just stand next to me all night. Actually, gain 30 pounds, stand next to me, and still have people think you're anorexic. I think the lack of food in her diet may have affected her creative problem solving skills.

A bit later someone make the mistake of admiring a picture of Ms. Perfect. Who responded with, "Oh, that was taken in my skinny days." To which I responded, "Fuck you." And then I snapped her skinny little neck in my bare hands.

Well maybe only in my head.

Things I've Learned This Week

• Williams-Sonoma Meyer Lemon hand soap and hand lotion is totally worth the price.


• Williams-Sonoma Meyer Lemon hand soap will not, however, remove the smell of vomit from a 4 year old's favorite teddy bear.


• Being in a funk and being in a funky groove are nowhere near the same thing.


• More exercise, better food, and fresh air will not cure my funk.


• Long, funny conversations with a wonderful friend that make me late for picking up my son, will bring on a funky groove.


• In the retail world, Easter is already over.


• Sometimes, a cigarette really does help.


• Shopping for little girls is wading into a swamp of gender stereotype issues. Thank goodness I have boys.
• Toddlers will eat an entire strawberry, green parts included, if given an entire strawberry. At least mine will...

More Reading

This past week I finished the second novel in my recent book buying binge. It was Special Topics in Calamity Physics by Marisha Pessl. And once again I was surprised by loving a novel.

Pessl's reviews were all over the place for this, her first, novel. It's a bit messy, more than a bit over the top, and filled to the brim with literary allusions (most of which I'm sure I missed). But in the end I decided I liked it because it was just plain fun.

It did take me a few weeks to get through it; it's just over 500 pages, and you'd better be paying attention. Actually I'm sure I still missed quite a bit.

So I rounded out the week by reading my 3rd novel, Bones to Ashes by Kathy Reichs. I finished it in 2 days. I love a good forensic detective novel, and Reichs has delivered for me every time I've read her.

That Karma...She's a Bitch

Monkey Man called early in the day yesterday to invite me down to the University Main Gate. Our babysitter and her younger brother were going to be playing in a jazz band at 6:30 so he figured we could meet there, have a bite to eat, let the boys listen to the music. One more night I could avoid cooking dinner - great plan!

I'd been having a completely bipolar day with the boys. One minute I'm getting kisses and thinking about how I'm the luckiest woman in the whole world. The next minute I'm contemplating abandoning them at Target. I'm not terribly cruel - they'd have lots to do and plenty to eat. I was looking forward to sitting down for a few minutes and letting Monkey Man chase Quake's conversations and just literally chase Cha-Cha.

There's a small brew pub across the street from where the jazz band was playing, and Monkey Man had left work a little early to catch a beer with our babysitter's dad (with whom he works). I fight through terrible post-work, pre-party traffic, get the car parked, get the stroller and the kids together, and then contemplate how I'm going to get the whole shebang to the second floor of the brew pub where the grown-up boys are... Ah, look! There's an elevator!

Quake loves elevators. He pushes the buttons for me. We go to the second floor...

Nothing happens.

The elevator goes back to the first floor. I laugh, tell Quake someone else must have pushed the button making the elevator go down before the doors had a chance to open. We arrive on the first floor...

Nothing happens.

Quake pushes #2 again. We go up. We stop...

Nothing happens.

I tell Quake to push the "open doors" button. You guessed it...

Nothing happens.

I calmly peruse the elevator button panel looking for the call button when my phone rings. Cell service in an elevator? Now that's a miracle. It's Monkey Man, wondering where we are. I tell him we're on the elevator, that I think we might be stuck. He thinks I mean the elevator is just really slow. He pushes the button for the elevator, and...

Nothing happens!

You know it's not broke until a man can't get it to work.

I got to spend 20 minutes in an elevator with two small children I wasn't particularly fond of at the given moment. One of whom was a bit frightened, the other one starving. And me without fish crackers - bad mommy!

And then, they didn't even offer us free beers. Bastards.