Posts Tagged 'family'

I Wasn’t In The Market, But If You Insist…

When I was pregnant with O3, and only had S-then-1, I drove a really cool four-door Jeep Cherokee. It had a little suspension lift and modest off-road tires, a roof rack that conveniently carried our skis and kayaks, four-wheel drive (which I used often, baby) and a nifty trailer hitch. I drove that truck for about 7 years. I loved that truck. But when we found out baby #2 was on the way, we knew it was time to look for something a little more family-oriented, especially since only one carseat could fit on the back bench.

A few months before O was born, we sold the Jeep and bought a minivan. The quintessential now-you’re-really-a-parent purchase, I quickly learned why it’s the vehicle of choice for many American families. With large, sliding doors and a foldaway rear seat, I could easily maneuver squirmy bitty bodies into carseats and haul home the groceries without breaking a sweat.

Our minivan, which is now three years old to us (but 11 years old on paper), runs well, but there are a lot of little things wrong with it. Most of them are just annoying, like the rear brake adjustor that squeals for no apparent reason (even after it’s been taken apart three times and tweaked and oiled and who knows what else). Some of the flaws are cosmetic, like the lemonade I spilled in the back hatch and which seeped into a strange and hidden crevasse of carpet and then promptly turned to a staining mildew, until it was discovered months later (too late, of course). A few things are actually broken, like the busted passenger sliding door-handle, or the tape deck that is now a jukebox (literally: the kids put all the coins from the coin organizer into the tape slot). (And, yes, my van is old enough to have a tape slot.)

Still, I hadn’t considered looking for another van, not yet. I had pretty much planned to drive this van until it croaked, figuratively or literally. But then my mom called to say that she and her husband were thinking of doing the patriotic thing and buying a new car. DH and I rolled our eyes at each other when we heard this. Her van is a 2005; mine is a 1999. Why she thought I would be sympathetic to the idea was beyond me.

But then she asked us if we were interested in buying her old van. Here was something we hadn’t even considered. And while it seemed silly at first, the idea grew on us, and we carelessly poked around at prices and values and Consumer Reports reviews and the like. But in the end, we decided that the blue book value (our price, should we accept) was a fair deal, but not a good deal, and with DH having some of his work hours cut back it seemed frivolous. We thanked my mom for asking us, but declined.

This morning, at approximately 9:32 AM, my mom called to say that they had found a new van and were going to purchase it. They had planned to trade in her 2005 van, but she wanted to check again to see if we were interested in it before they did. The price to us this time around was significantly less than blue book value, since she was now going by what the dealer was offering them for their trade. I told her DH and I would discuss it and said I would call her back.

At approximately 10:15, we called her back to ask a few questions about maintenance issues, logistics of getting it up here from Florida, etc. We said we would discuss some more. I asked her when she needed to know for sure. “Oh,” she said casually, “DH will be back around noon and we’re headed over to the dealership then.”

Well, shoot.

Normally I would just refuse to make any sort of decision like this in such a ridiculously short amount of time. But this deal was thousands of dollars less than a comparable van would sell for. Not only that, but we knew the history of the van (seeing as it’s my mother’s and all). We’ve driven the van. We know more about it than any other used vehicle we might look at. And our current van is in pretty sad shape, even though it runs well. We waffled. We wavered. We discussed. We ate breakfast.

Finally, at noon, I called her back to say we were interested. If things worked out on her end, we would like to do it. She said she would let us know after she talked with her DH, the bank and the dealership.

I didn’t think very much about it this afternoon, to be honest. We went on some errands, did some chores, started dinner. Then at 5:30 my mom called to say we were the proud owners of a 2005 Chrysler Town & Country.

Hoo boy.

So I asked her how she wanted to handle getting the van up here. I figured they would drive it up in August, when they were already planning to visit anyway. “Oh,” she said casually, “I’m leaving Saturday morning to drive it up there.”

Well, shoot.

So my mom is coming in on Sunday at some point to bring me my new van, which is very exciting, albeit very sudden and spur-of-the-moment. The girls are very excited about buying Nana’s van, because, well, because it’s Nana’s, and anything that belongs to or belonged to Nana or has anything to do with Nana whatsoever is extremely exciting for them in any case.

I have already promised DH I would not spill any lemonade ANYWHERE, and the children have been banned from using markers or stickers in the new vehicle (seeing as there is evidence of both markers and stickers in quite a few places in the old van, this seemed prudent). I find it amusing and sweet that hubby is more concerned with me trashing the inside of the van than he is with me wrecking the outside of it. That says something very significant about our relationship, I’m sure.

Oh- and to my friend L, if you are reading this and wondering whether or not I cut-and-paste most of this blog post from my earlier email, the answer is yes, and while it has been edited for content and privacy the truth is I was just too damn lazy to retype the whole thing after writing it once already, so sorry about all that. But you get what you pay for, ya know?

To Heck With The Normal

My life has been so much insanity these past few days. It’s been so crazy, even the crazy people would say it’s nuts. So, in keeping with the theme, I shall relate the events of today backwards. I was never a fan of proper chronology, anyway.

Last off, my children are finally asleep. It’s 12:20 AM.

Before that, we had a long bout of screaming and crying (performed, at high decibel, by O2). She was ridiculously tired – probably overtired- and proceeded to morph, eerily Jekyll-and-Hyde-like, back and forth between the Sweetest Girl On The Planet and the Bride of Chucky.

No, really. Here is a sample of our conversation:

Me: speaking softly, gently, with my head on a fluffy pillow: Sweetie, you need to rest. Your body needs rest.

O2: sitting upright on the bed, snivelling and snorting between sobs: I n-n-n-no n-n-n-eed *snort* rest.

Me again with the soothing voice: Yes, you need rest. Your toes need to rest, your arms need to rest, your head needs to rest…

O2 relaxing slightly, leans her head against mine

Me: …your fingers need to rest, your eyeballs need to rest, your hands need to rest…

O2 relaxes a little more, lies down next to me

Me: …your legs need to rest. That’s it, bunny. Shhh… rest…

A tender mother-child moment occurs, but only for a brief instant. O2 stiffens, then bursts into fresh tears.

O2: Y-y-y-y-y-ou sobsobsob f-f-f-orgot sobsobsob th-th-th-e ELBOWS!!!

Before all this, I gave my heathen urchins a bath. They were quite muddy. More on that earlier.

Prior to the bath, I made homemade deodorant. I blatantly copied Angry Chicken’s recipe, without remorse. Well, I didn’t have any ylang ylang, however the hell you pronounce that. So I substituted tea tree oil. And I didn’t use orange; I used lavender oil, instead. So maybe it wasn’t a blatant copy. Maybe it was a half-assed copy. I tend to do that. But I’m wearing the deodorant now, and I like the way it smells. It reminds me of the Tone bar soap my grandmother used to have in her bathroom, only more New Agey.

Unfortunately, I should have done this before my previous activity, which found me busy lugging all manner of heavy items off the front lawn. These items mostly came from my mother’s house. Actually, it’s no longer my mother’s house. She moved out this morning. At this moment, she is somewhere in South Carolina, on her way back to Florida. Anyway, she gave me more things than I could possibly ever need or want. I’m grateful, but this means an awful lot of scratching our heads, trying to figure out where to put everything. And it also meant I was sweaty and smelly from moving heavy lawn furniture and kid toys all about.

So before I was hot, sweaty, and sticky from moving things off my front lawn, I was hot and sweaty from bringing in the groceries. Yes, I managed to do the shopping today, and I went by myself, which is actually very pleasant because it meant I could shop without interruption. When I shop alone, I can stop and read things, without other merchandise mysteriously finding its way into the shopping cart while I’m distracted. It means, if I want to dash into a store to look at something and then dash out again, I can do so, without it taking longer to buckle and unbuckle everyone from their carseats than the dash itself. It means I don’t have to constantly check that both children are visible, proximate, and not about to cause irreparable harm to themselves or some object that does not belong to us. I feel much less obtrusive when shopping alone. I prefer being incognito. One of the things I bought was half-pint jars to hold my homemade deodorant. I also bought pickles and Murphy’s Oil soap, among other things.

I went to the store via my in-law’s farm, which is where my nephew, J2-Today, had his birthday party. It was a nice affair, as these affairs go. We picnicked under a huge tent- a Big Top, if you will – and celebrated in style. The sun was out for most of the party, which was nice. Unfortunately, the sun was not out for the sixteen hours prior to the party, which meant that the ground was full of muck and mud and puddles and sloshy spots. And there were ten children present. Nine of them were mobile. Eight of them did not have casts on their arms. So we gave them squirt guns and filled a little pool up with water, so they could fill up their own guns and not need a grownup to constantly help with the filling up of squirtguns (which gets very tedious when you’re the grownup filling up all the squirtguns while trying to enjoy a party and trying to stay reasonably dry). We figured that they were going to get wet no matter what we did; the best we could do would be to minimize the mud quotient. Letting them hose themselves off with squirtguns seemed obvious. We were reasonably successful.

Before this, I left my mother’s house with the last of her unwanted worldly possessions hastily thrown into the bed of our pickup truck. We walked through her empty house and made sure the last soap dish, the last extension cord, the last coffee cup, the last trivial anything, was all picked up and put in a box and packed away. We got all the copies of her housekey together and put them on a ring in one of the kitchen drawers. The realtor even came and took away her Sold sign. And then that was that. It was kind of sad; I mean, this wasn’t a house I ever lived in, but we did make some very nice memories there, and it is hard admitting that my mom has totally and completely moved away. Even though she wasn’t here in Ohio very much, her house was still here. And it’s only a half- mile up the road, so I went by it nearly every day. Now it belongs to some other person. It’s no longer “Nana’s Ohio House”, as the girls call it. As S4 astutely noted today,

“Now Nana has ZERO Ohio Houses.”

Spot-on, kid.

And to start it all off, I got up at 8AM. On a Sunday. 8AM! That’s like the middle of the night for me. (Not really, but I’m trying to make it sound horrible.) Feel some pity, would you? Because this is just NOT how we do Sunday morning in our house. I missed out on the family breakfast-in-bed, where I bring a tray of toasts and fruit and other breakfasty-type foods into the bedroom (where we NEVER EVER EVER eat, except on super special Sunday mornings) and I read the paper while DH watches the news shows, and the kids read, and we all snack and lounge and laze about. And while you may be saying to yourself, “Huh! This sounds like ANY given day in MotherMe’s household,” you would be wrong, because we only take the paper on Sundays. The rest of the time, I watch the news shows, too.

So, that’s today. Most of it. The important stuff. I have pictures to post, but I’m too tired to post them, so maybe tomorrow you can see some plants getting down and dirty in the garden. There was some hot action in the pumpkin patch this weekend; and I suspect that there was a little light S&M happening on the cucumber trellis.

Later, I’ll catch you up on the search engine terms that the preceeding nifty paragraph managed to snag.


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