Men at work....

Excuse any spelling errors, dear readers, as I can barely see the keyboard for all the dust in my eyes.  What dust do you ask?  The dust from ripping the kitchen out of a one hundred year-old house...or from my sanity crumbling to bits.

This kitchen project has been a long-dreamed-of project for H and me.  He, being the chef he is, because he will finally get the stove he has always wanted.  Me, being the obsessive compulsive I am, because I will get the pristine white sink and immaculate counters I have always wanted.  To each his own.  Unlike other projects that have pushed me to the brink of insanity, such as replacing both bathrooms simultaneously last winter, we decided to use a designer.  We were tired of wandering around Home Depot pointing things out to each other, asking "I don't know.  What do you think?"  She was, and is, a God-send, vastly improving our experience this time, but some things related to a construction project, no matter how you plan, will never change.


- Working with a contractor/plumber/electrician is like working with an entire crew of my husband.  I get little to no advanced notice of when important information or materials are needed, and once they are, they are needed yesterday.  Just like when H has forgotten all of his suits need to be brought to and picked up from the dry cleaner before his evening flight to Brazil, the contractor informed me he'd be needing the ceiling tile I have yet to purchase by Friday.  There go all my plans for the day and Little Man spends his morning in an orange cart at Home Depot.

- Nobody under the age of fifty at the Home Depot knows anything.

- Having good taste means the item you need most desperately will be the one on backorder.  Take for example, these light fixtures:

This one is available tomorrow:

This one will take 6 - 8 weeks:

- Most home improvement professionals are either blind to or do not give a shit about damage inflicted to surfaces or materials not included in their job.  Sure, sure, my guy throws down a few old bedspreads from the 1970s as a nod to not scratching my floors.  His concern about floor covering vanishes apparently, when I leave a small square of my new carpet uncovered and he decides to put the old cabinet hardware, coated in black dust, right in the middle of it.  And speaking of dust, if you think the half-assed piece of plastic they hang in the doorway to hold back the clouds of lead paint powder created when they demolish your ancient walls, get ready for your kids to lose some IQ points.  If you don't want to clean it or repair it, cover it or pack it.

- Any of these guys can be intimidated by a lot of eye contact from a woman.  I'm not sure if it's they usually work with men, but give them too much of a direct gaze and they crumple like a house of cards.  B calls it The Stare of Quality.  You can't get that permit?  Really?  Stare for three beats and it's a whole new story.  All of this is made even more effective if I'm wearing my Yankee cap and break out my Bronx accent.

- Once you get the workers to trust you, they will start explaining things to you.  It will sound like Charlie Brown's teacher talking.  Nod knowingly, then run out of the room and Google it all.

- Do not let any home improvement professional you have given money to leave without giving you their cell number.  Along with mothers, contractors, plumbers and electricians love texting because they can get the maximum amount of information with minimal interaction.

- Abandon all hope of a normal life.  Whether you are showering at the gym or washing your dishes in the bathtub, life as you know it is over for a while.  And like pregnancy, there is no exact date when the madness will end, only a vague timeframe.  Embrace the chaos.  Enjoy not having to clean, - it's pointless anyway - get takeout, wear your yoga pants.

Just remember to cover your wine glass.

"I'll meet you in the break room, Big Bird."

"Yooour backyard friends, The Backyardigans, Toooogether in the backyard again..."

Two bars into this song and I feel slightly nauseous.  It's not that I can't stand Nick Jr.'s The Backyardigans, it's that hearing this song immediately transports me back to The Little House, lying, half-dead with morning sickness from an unborn Little Man, knowing I only have twenty minutes to get #1 and #2 ready for preschool, but I have to lie down right now or I'm going to vomit.

Am I the only one who has such deep connections to the music and characters in children's television?

Blues Clues, Sesame Street, Bear in the Big Blue House, these shows were the timemarkers of my baby days.  This is not to say I plopped my kids in front of the tube for hours at a time, but when our only commitment of the day required us to be out of the house at the leisurely hour of eight forty-five, and I had a baby to nurse and most likely bathe because he had pissed himself, the TV kept my other two kids from becoming curious about the knife drawer.  Speaking of nursing, back in those days when I was waking several times a night to feed, then having to get up with a three and five year old at six-thirty, Steve from Blues Clues was more of a parent than I was at that hour.  I would stagger out of bed, change #2's diaper, hand her and her older sister their sippy cups of milk, turn on the boob tube (not meaning myself), make coffee and thank God the baby was still sleeping.

We didn't even have a the DVR back then so everything was real time.  There was no twenty-four hours of Nick Jr.  Noggin, the only non-commercial pre-school network at that time, came on at six a.m. and went of the air at six p.m.  If we were up before Moose and Zee made their appearance on screen, it was going to be a rough day.  Similarly, the hour of TV I indulged the girls in* to cook dinner, ended at the perfect time.  They sang their goodnight song and then it was time for baths and bed.  No haggling for "one more show!", because there was none.

These shows didn't just allow me to get things done like cooking and cleaning, these characters became like my coworkers and I grew to love and hate their personality traits like you would the people with which you share your daily grind. Caillou made me want to rip my ears off with his whiny voice like the music teacher I used to avoid at the copy machine at all costs.  Maria from Sesame Street was the no-nonsense Puerto Rican school secretary I loved, but was also a little afraid of.  I noticed changes in these friends, like when Steve from went from pleated to flat-front khakis and grew out his 90's Caesar haircut.  I would've complimented him in the teacher's lounge.  I wondered if Tasha and Uniqua would ever end their power struggle on The Backyardigans and felt Elmo's frustration when Abby Cadabby made him talk to that stupid rock of hers.

The songs were also the sound track of my life.  Noggin had this cool thing where they played kids' music videos between shows.  Laurie Berkner became my new Joni Mitchell.   Ditties like  "I'm Not Perfect" bolstered my flagging confidence when I couldn't get #2 to potty train.  Before he became the Steve Jobs of the children's music scene with Music for Aardvarks classes, David Weinstone made me feel better about needing some space from my cranky kids by singing, "If you want to be a grump, that's OK, but could you be a grump a little further away?  It's not that I don't love you, you know I do, sometimes I'm grumpy too."  I was also given the gift of spontaneous small moments with my kids when songs like "Lovely Love My Family" by the Roots would play and we would dance and be silly and just be happy to be together.

Oddly enough, my kids watch less TV than ever now.  With all of our activities and their ability to play without the danger of someone sticking their finger in a socket if I leave the room, there's just no need for an electronic babysitter**.  And despite my efforts to provide him with the same young childhood experience as his sisters, Little Man watches much less Little Einsteins and way more Good Luck Charlie.  But some mornings, when the girls are at school, I have house stuff to do and I've played my obligatory twenty minutes of Hot Wheels, I turn on Playhouse Disney or Nick Jr, or PBS, and there are some of my old friends.  A few have retired (Bear in the Big Blue House) and some have moved onto other jobs (Steve), but there are plenty of my old co-workers still around for me to mentally reminisce about the days when my world and my kids were little.

Maybe it's not a TV show for you, maybe it's a particular toy, that when you hold it in your hand, or hear its annoying repetitive song being played, it's like stepping into a time machine.  Either way, aren't we lucky to have such easy triggers for such wonderful memories?

OK, maybe not all good.  I did do a lot of vomiting to The Backyardigans theme song.

*Yes, I used the TV like a babysitter.  I had three kids in five years.  Give me a break.
**Sunday mornings are an entirely different story as Daddy and I sneak in a few extra hours of sleep.  Wii, Nintendo DS, TV - if it has a screen, it's OK!

"Twas Right After New Year..."

(Inspired by "Twas the Night Before Christmas", which was obviously written buy a man since there is no mention of frantically wrapping last minute gifts)

'Twas right after the New Year, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;
The stockings still hung by the chimney, who cares?
Now that St. Nicholas had already been there;

The children received many toys that were cool,

And now, thank God, they were all back in school;
Mommy in her yoga pants, and green Yankee cap,
Had just settled down for a long winter's nap,

Why was she sleeping, with the house all a-clutter?
But getting to bed used all the energy she could muster.

For a month she had slaved for her family’s fun,
And now, come the New Year, this Mommy was DONE.

The month of December so lively and quick,

Begins so calmly, but then makes me sick,

With exhaustion from doing damn Christmas chores,

Makes me want, in my skull, a large hole to bore.

Christmas card addresses need to be checked,

Then there are the halls needing to be decked,
Gifts for the teachers, the principal and mailman,

Those cards we addressed?  Will somebody mail them?

To Target, to Justice, to Game Stop and such

To Michaels, to Hallmark, and damn Toys R Us,

Ordering online, rushing through the mall,

Purchasing, purchasing, now wrap it all!

There is plenty of fun stuff to balance this work,

If I didn’t enjoy it, I would be a jerk,

Cookies to decorate, parties to throw,

To the tree at Rockefeller Center we go.

The holidays are fun, but we moms can attest,

Upon our weary shoulders does firmly rest,

The pressure to make each December count,

For the magic might wane as our kids’ ages mount.

So while I enjoyed most of this time,

I am so grateful to now have some that is mine,

To be done with the wrapping and baking and cleaning,

To return to my writing and running and reading.

So I will take my rest, and deservedly so

I loved the holidays, but am glad to see them go.

So hear me exclaim as I snuggle up tight,
HAPPY NEW YEAR TO ALL, AND TO ALL A GOOD-NIGHT!