I have a vague memory of being somewhere around preschool age and wanting to go to the playground in my Wonder Woman Underoos. There was no question in my mind, that there was nothing weird or inappropriate about a public display of my superhero-ism. I ran around that park, clad in a wonder woman undershirt, underwear and a red cape-left over from a more innocent little red riding hood Halloween costume.
A couple of days ago, I purchased Zack his very first super-hero costume, on a whim, while on a Target run. In the past several weeks (which have interestingly coincided with the start of preschool), Zack has taken on a sudden obsession with Super Heroes. One day he is Spider Man and the next he is Super Man. He often talks about the Green Lantern, although I have no idea who or what that is. So for a mere $24 dollars I bought a Halloween costume for Zack to be enjoyed a full month early.
Now I know I am the victim of total consumerism, however I must say it has brought great joy to my heart to watch the little guy prancing around in the over sized hero getup. He put the thing on as soon as we got home, and didn't take it off until bedtime, after he was informed that he could not use the outfit as pajamas.
For the next several days he has worn the costume constantly. Yesterday he showed off his his blue and red outfit on a trip to the fancy-pants Cherry Creek Crate & Barrel, where we were headed to purchase a new sofa for our California home. We received smiles and winks from upscale shoppers and sales clerks. Later that day Zack ran around our backyard "flying" with the use of this polyester cape. He asked me "mommy do you know how fast I am?" "How fast?" I answered. "Faster than a skeeting bullet" he informed me. Yes buddy, you certainly are. I didn't correct him, it was too cute.
He has had so much enjoyment from this silly Target impulse buy. It takes him to another world, and provides him with this super-powers. It was the best purchase I have made in a very long time.
Oh how I wish I could be four years old for just a day, and run around with Zack in my underoos, cape flapping in the breeze behind me, not a care in the world, faster than a skeeting bullet.
Friday, September 18, 2009
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
The Renting Game
Renting, it's kind of like dating, or at least I imagine that it is. Lucky for me I have not dated in many, many, many years. I have never dated as a true adult, but I envision finding renters has some very real similarities. It is the whole, this is who I am... do you like me? Do we fit, scenario.This is our home. There isn't much more personal than your home. If people don't like your home- you have to start to wonder, is there something wrong with it? Is there something deficient in me? I can't take this rejection.
So far we have had a variety of home suitors stop by for a look. The first potentials described themselves as a "young professional couple, with no kids". They walked through the house, I felt hopeful, I did my sales pitch-"take a look at the walk in closet! You just don't get that in this neighborhood", but as they walked out the woman told me "wish we had a family to fill all those bedrooms". Strike One. Another upbeat guy came over a couple of days later. He was a bartender at The Capital Grill, and his wife is a student. They planned to share the home with his best buddy, another bartender from the restaurant. He looked at the way our house was laid out and quickly decided that unless his buddy wanted to live in the dungeon that is the basement, he would be awfully close to the marital bedroom, leaving every opportunity for an invasion of privacy. Strike Two.
I was very hopeful when a gentlemen called me and informed me he and his family were relocating from Minnesota. Finally a family! My heart dropped when he told me was moving from Coon Rapids-that gave me a hint that they were suburban folks. I told him right away that this was an urban neighborhood, but he assured me he was still interested. He showed up, toured the space in about 3 minutes and headed for the door. I asked him what other neighborhoods he was considering and he answered-Parker & Highland's Ranch. Well there you have it. I am quite sure he left unimpressed with my large kitchen, and instead was disgusted by the "charm" of the home. Strike Three.
Today we had three bachelors spin through the house, and left with the "will call you" cliche. This place just doesn't have bachelor pad written on it does it?
Sigh. There are no four strikes in baseball, but we will have to keep trying.
So far we have had a variety of home suitors stop by for a look. The first potentials described themselves as a "young professional couple, with no kids". They walked through the house, I felt hopeful, I did my sales pitch-"take a look at the walk in closet! You just don't get that in this neighborhood", but as they walked out the woman told me "wish we had a family to fill all those bedrooms". Strike One. Another upbeat guy came over a couple of days later. He was a bartender at The Capital Grill, and his wife is a student. They planned to share the home with his best buddy, another bartender from the restaurant. He looked at the way our house was laid out and quickly decided that unless his buddy wanted to live in the dungeon that is the basement, he would be awfully close to the marital bedroom, leaving every opportunity for an invasion of privacy. Strike Two.
I was very hopeful when a gentlemen called me and informed me he and his family were relocating from Minnesota. Finally a family! My heart dropped when he told me was moving from Coon Rapids-that gave me a hint that they were suburban folks. I told him right away that this was an urban neighborhood, but he assured me he was still interested. He showed up, toured the space in about 3 minutes and headed for the door. I asked him what other neighborhoods he was considering and he answered-Parker & Highland's Ranch. Well there you have it. I am quite sure he left unimpressed with my large kitchen, and instead was disgusted by the "charm" of the home. Strike Three.
Today we had three bachelors spin through the house, and left with the "will call you" cliche. This place just doesn't have bachelor pad written on it does it?
Sigh. There are no four strikes in baseball, but we will have to keep trying.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
There is nothing like feeling organized. For too long I have been sloppy. Stashing whatever was in the way, or messing up my counter space into the 10 million drawers and closets that I currently have. All of that is changing with The Move. Yes, The Move means half of the space, and I need to get creative.
I have spent time trying to recall episodes of the now cancelled, "Queer Eye For The Straight Guy", that fab five used to work miracles with tiny Manhattan apartments. Oh, how I wish I could get them out to our new pad to do their magic. I am quite sure they would do some promotional plug for The Container Store, my new most favorite spot. Even Tina Fey has endorsed the organizational palace on "Third Rock", when on a shopping spree in the store she proclaimed she would now be "fabulous" because of her new sense of organization. I have had that very same rush each time I have set foot in the plastic wonderland.
I am now the proud owner of seven under the bed organizers, housing everything from sheets to sweaters to shoes. I also now have an on-the-wall spice rack, although it only holds about 1/3 of our current spice collection. (Who needs tasty food anyways?). I purchased a make-shift jewelry box- a cheap plastic container with many small colored boxes to keep my ridiculous collection of earrings in. (A girl with hair as short as mine needs LOTS of glittery jewels to add a touch of femininity to her look).
I invision many more trips to the store of all stores, in an attempt to make our new much, much smaller space enjoyable.
AHH yes, there was a time when I would deposit my paycheck directly to Banana Republic or Express, but these days it is all about practicality. It is all about The Container Store.
I have spent time trying to recall episodes of the now cancelled, "Queer Eye For The Straight Guy", that fab five used to work miracles with tiny Manhattan apartments. Oh, how I wish I could get them out to our new pad to do their magic. I am quite sure they would do some promotional plug for The Container Store, my new most favorite spot. Even Tina Fey has endorsed the organizational palace on "Third Rock", when on a shopping spree in the store she proclaimed she would now be "fabulous" because of her new sense of organization. I have had that very same rush each time I have set foot in the plastic wonderland.
I am now the proud owner of seven under the bed organizers, housing everything from sheets to sweaters to shoes. I also now have an on-the-wall spice rack, although it only holds about 1/3 of our current spice collection. (Who needs tasty food anyways?). I purchased a make-shift jewelry box- a cheap plastic container with many small colored boxes to keep my ridiculous collection of earrings in. (A girl with hair as short as mine needs LOTS of glittery jewels to add a touch of femininity to her look).
I invision many more trips to the store of all stores, in an attempt to make our new much, much smaller space enjoyable.
AHH yes, there was a time when I would deposit my paycheck directly to Banana Republic or Express, but these days it is all about practicality. It is all about The Container Store.
Monday, September 14, 2009
Dead Cat Walking.
1997
Boyfriend: "Move to Minneapolis with me. You can get a cat"
October 1997: Trip to the Golden Valley Humane Society. We select a lovable orange cat and Dave names him "Wiggum", after Ralph Wiggum of the Simpons. (Think "teacher, my cat's breath smells like cat food".)
1998: Me: "Wiggum needs a friend-please, pretty please with whipped cream and a cherry on top". Boyfriend: "alright".
Thanksgiving Weekend, 1998: We find an animal shelter in the middle of rural Minnesota. We pick out a small orange kitten, born to it's feral mother. We name him Flanders (think "Hidely Ho neighbors! How diddly do you do?")
1999: Newly Weds return from honeymoon to find cat pooh all over the carpeted floor of a no-pets allowed apartment complex. Us: opps-time for Science Diet Sensitive Stomach.
December 2002: Our "family" Christmas Cards are homemade-by yours truly, and feature a photograph of Wiggum & Flanders side by side in the living room window. I carefully pasted santa hat stickers on their furry heads.
2002: We pack up our family (Husband, Wife, Wiggum & Flanders) and drive out to our new home in Sunnyside, Denver.
2003: Me: How about a Dog? Husband: Are you totally sure?
2003: We trek to the Dumb Friends League and find a little black lab puppy Bascom. She rides home on my lap.
Upon arriving at home with dog:
Flanders: Howls, runs and hides in the box spring of our bed. We hardly see him again until we have to pack up and move to our new home a year later.
September 2005- The arrival of our first son Zachary. Our pride and joy. Flanders now appears only after midnight, and remains hidden among the boxes and ruins of our attic.
Summer, 2006: We start to notice the strong stench of cat urine coming from the attic. We know who is to blame.
June 2008: The arrival of Evan. Flanders joins me in the moonlit nursery for midnight feedings when Bascom is snoozing downstairs. We bond.
September 2009: We make the decision to pack up the family and head to Berkeley California. We will now be renters in a much smaller home. We know there will be fewer kitty hiding spots, and that we can't take the risk of soiling someone else's home with cat odor. We make the decision that Flanders will not join us for the next phase. Since he will be all but impossible to find adoptive "parents" for (anyone want a scardy cat, don't touch me, I pee on everything orange tabby?), and the no-kill shelters are not accepting new cats, he will need to go to the Table Mountain Animal Shelter, where there are no guarantees. I feel like I am feeding a lamb to the wolves, sending an innocent convict down death row. He doesn't deserve this.
Im a bad cat mommy.
Boyfriend: "Move to Minneapolis with me. You can get a cat"
October 1997: Trip to the Golden Valley Humane Society. We select a lovable orange cat and Dave names him "Wiggum", after Ralph Wiggum of the Simpons. (Think "teacher, my cat's breath smells like cat food".)
1998: Me: "Wiggum needs a friend-please, pretty please with whipped cream and a cherry on top". Boyfriend: "alright".
Thanksgiving Weekend, 1998: We find an animal shelter in the middle of rural Minnesota. We pick out a small orange kitten, born to it's feral mother. We name him Flanders (think "Hidely Ho neighbors! How diddly do you do?")
1999: Newly Weds return from honeymoon to find cat pooh all over the carpeted floor of a no-pets allowed apartment complex. Us: opps-time for Science Diet Sensitive Stomach.
December 2002: Our "family" Christmas Cards are homemade-by yours truly, and feature a photograph of Wiggum & Flanders side by side in the living room window. I carefully pasted santa hat stickers on their furry heads.
2002: We pack up our family (Husband, Wife, Wiggum & Flanders) and drive out to our new home in Sunnyside, Denver.
2003: Me: How about a Dog? Husband: Are you totally sure?
2003: We trek to the Dumb Friends League and find a little black lab puppy Bascom. She rides home on my lap.
Upon arriving at home with dog:
Flanders: Howls, runs and hides in the box spring of our bed. We hardly see him again until we have to pack up and move to our new home a year later.
September 2005- The arrival of our first son Zachary. Our pride and joy. Flanders now appears only after midnight, and remains hidden among the boxes and ruins of our attic.
Summer, 2006: We start to notice the strong stench of cat urine coming from the attic. We know who is to blame.
June 2008: The arrival of Evan. Flanders joins me in the moonlit nursery for midnight feedings when Bascom is snoozing downstairs. We bond.
September 2009: We make the decision to pack up the family and head to Berkeley California. We will now be renters in a much smaller home. We know there will be fewer kitty hiding spots, and that we can't take the risk of soiling someone else's home with cat odor. We make the decision that Flanders will not join us for the next phase. Since he will be all but impossible to find adoptive "parents" for (anyone want a scardy cat, don't touch me, I pee on everything orange tabby?), and the no-kill shelters are not accepting new cats, he will need to go to the Table Mountain Animal Shelter, where there are no guarantees. I feel like I am feeding a lamb to the wolves, sending an innocent convict down death row. He doesn't deserve this.
Im a bad cat mommy.
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Open House
I am sitting here in my immaculate, beautiful home. I am waiting. Waiting for the hoards of potential tenants coming to view the splendor of a super clean, charming Victorian. We have worked hard over the past week, organized drawers, updated the kitchen hardware, cleaned out the linen closets, the medicine cabinets, shampooed the carpets and spayed Windex on the mirrors. There is a cheerful bouquet of peach roses on my coffee table, and the toys are put neatly away in the boys bedrooms. Now this is home. I feel proud of this place. I wonder why the heck didn't I do this before?
Here is the problem. It isn't like Field of Dreams. "If you build it they will come". I've built it, my house has never looked so amazing....but nobody is coming. Not a soul. The open house will be over in exactly 40 minutes. I am contemplating running to 38th street with a sandwich board advertising "RENT OUR HOME!!", but I don't have any poster board.
I am panicking at the thought of paying our ridiculous California rent and carrying our mortgage for God only knows how long. I invision our "cushion" getting eaten away, and ending up on a budget that leaves little room for anything other than ramon noodles and Yellow Tail. (Does anyone actually like Yellow Tail?).
Where oh where are my hoards of people? For God's sake-the boys will be home soon, and the house will be pulled apart, the counters will be dirtied, the toys will be pulled back out, the clutter will begin again, and my flowers will die. Then I'll have to start all over again.
Here is the problem. It isn't like Field of Dreams. "If you build it they will come". I've built it, my house has never looked so amazing....but nobody is coming. Not a soul. The open house will be over in exactly 40 minutes. I am contemplating running to 38th street with a sandwich board advertising "RENT OUR HOME!!", but I don't have any poster board.
I am panicking at the thought of paying our ridiculous California rent and carrying our mortgage for God only knows how long. I invision our "cushion" getting eaten away, and ending up on a budget that leaves little room for anything other than ramon noodles and Yellow Tail. (Does anyone actually like Yellow Tail?).
Where oh where are my hoards of people? For God's sake-the boys will be home soon, and the house will be pulled apart, the counters will be dirtied, the toys will be pulled back out, the clutter will begin again, and my flowers will die. Then I'll have to start all over again.
Saturday, September 12, 2009
BFF
I am having a fabulous weekend, and it HURTS. I see everything in a different light now. I see it as loss. Look what great friends you have Rachel, in three weeks, your going to be alone. Look what a great neighborhood you have, in a few weeks-it will all be different.
Last night Shannon and I went out for girls night downtown. It was wonderful, kind of like the old days, but not exactly. When I first moved to Denver Shannon quickly became my closest friend. She and Darren lived directly across the street from us. Neither of us had children and we all had a taste for Coors Light and a good Rockies game under the sun. We started spending most weekends together, and would often get together mid-week for a American Idol and cheap pizza. They were good friends, and easy friends. We never fought, we were neighbors, and we developed a very un-fussy friendship. Over the years, the bonds tightened. We went on vacation together to Costa Rica and had a truly amazing time, full of sun, pina coladas and laughter. I cherish that memory. We had our first babies around a year apart from each other, and then by total surprise were pregnant with our second at exactly the same time, the boys were born two days apart. Shannon was there for me in my darkest postpartum colicky baby moments. We became stay-at-home moms together and joined the same "June babies" playgroup. We both transitioned from partying-DINKS, to coupon snipping parents. So last night we got dolled up and went to my favorite champagne bar on Larimer Square and sat on the patio sipping cocktails. There were a few tears, but mostly we just had fun. We finished off the night in a reenactment of a drunken night out many years ago-ordering two desserts apiece at The Market.
Today was a cool, gray, fall Saturday. Dave went to the mountains with the guys for a golf/poker weekend, and I took Zack and Evan to the annual Sunnyside Music Festival. As soon as we arrived I found our neighbors and sat down to lunch with them. Moving on I met my friend Amy with Luke & Ella, and the kids bounced in the bounce house together, we sat and listened to our favorite local children's music-sensation "Anya and the Music Train", we found Darren there who snuck me a little Baily's for my coffee. It was that feeling of totally fitting in, knowing everyone, being home.
I finished off the day at Gelmans for dinner with Amy, Luke & Ella. I adore that woman. She at first seemed an unlikely friend. She was married to David's coworker, Bill (whom I also adore). They were a little older than us, and and when I first met her, I thought of her as a simply Dave's co-worker's wife. That certainly changed. We also got pregnant at the same time, she had her twins a few Dave's before Zachary was born. For the first few months after the babies arrived we would get together weekly, annoying waiters with our strollers and requests for bottles of warm water to mix with formula, we joined a Music Together class, and met up for an occasional glass of wine sans offspring. She quickly became one of my most admired and loved friends. She is an amazing mother, and an incredibly giving woman. Tonight we shared a hectic meal out, complete with a screaming-food-throwing-Evan, and dinner entrees that took over 45 minutes to arrive at our table. But we had fun, and we were happy to be out together with our mess, rather than at home alone.
What a full, wonderful weekend. How much I am leaving behind. How empty that feels.
Last night Shannon and I went out for girls night downtown. It was wonderful, kind of like the old days, but not exactly. When I first moved to Denver Shannon quickly became my closest friend. She and Darren lived directly across the street from us. Neither of us had children and we all had a taste for Coors Light and a good Rockies game under the sun. We started spending most weekends together, and would often get together mid-week for a American Idol and cheap pizza. They were good friends, and easy friends. We never fought, we were neighbors, and we developed a very un-fussy friendship. Over the years, the bonds tightened. We went on vacation together to Costa Rica and had a truly amazing time, full of sun, pina coladas and laughter. I cherish that memory. We had our first babies around a year apart from each other, and then by total surprise were pregnant with our second at exactly the same time, the boys were born two days apart. Shannon was there for me in my darkest postpartum colicky baby moments. We became stay-at-home moms together and joined the same "June babies" playgroup. We both transitioned from partying-DINKS, to coupon snipping parents. So last night we got dolled up and went to my favorite champagne bar on Larimer Square and sat on the patio sipping cocktails. There were a few tears, but mostly we just had fun. We finished off the night in a reenactment of a drunken night out many years ago-ordering two desserts apiece at The Market.
Today was a cool, gray, fall Saturday. Dave went to the mountains with the guys for a golf/poker weekend, and I took Zack and Evan to the annual Sunnyside Music Festival. As soon as we arrived I found our neighbors and sat down to lunch with them. Moving on I met my friend Amy with Luke & Ella, and the kids bounced in the bounce house together, we sat and listened to our favorite local children's music-sensation "Anya and the Music Train", we found Darren there who snuck me a little Baily's for my coffee. It was that feeling of totally fitting in, knowing everyone, being home.
I finished off the day at Gelmans for dinner with Amy, Luke & Ella. I adore that woman. She at first seemed an unlikely friend. She was married to David's coworker, Bill (whom I also adore). They were a little older than us, and and when I first met her, I thought of her as a simply Dave's co-worker's wife. That certainly changed. We also got pregnant at the same time, she had her twins a few Dave's before Zachary was born. For the first few months after the babies arrived we would get together weekly, annoying waiters with our strollers and requests for bottles of warm water to mix with formula, we joined a Music Together class, and met up for an occasional glass of wine sans offspring. She quickly became one of my most admired and loved friends. She is an amazing mother, and an incredibly giving woman. Tonight we shared a hectic meal out, complete with a screaming-food-throwing-Evan, and dinner entrees that took over 45 minutes to arrive at our table. But we had fun, and we were happy to be out together with our mess, rather than at home alone.
What a full, wonderful weekend. How much I am leaving behind. How empty that feels.
Friday, September 11, 2009
Sticker Shock
First of all I have to stop with these 3am blog posts, but it appears I now have a touch of insomnia. I lie awake, my head swimming with details "remember to clean out the hall closet before Sunday", "I wonder where on earth we are we going to put the spice rack in our new-no-space-what-so-ever-kitchen? " and a big one "How are we going to afford all of this?" It's never ending. I can't seem to shut it off.
So how are we going to afford this new California life? When we arrived in Oakland for our house hunting trip I was fully prepared to be appalled by the cost of housing, so seeing the price tags on the nothing-special homes didn't shock me. It's a fact of life that we are going to pay more for less. It stinks to see the new bigger paycheck get eaten up just with the basics. What I wasn't ready for was the cost of other necessities. One shining example is preschool. Yesterday I began the process of searching for a new school for Zack. Zack has been in some sort of daycare or educational program since he was three months old, he enjoys it, and we both benefit from shall we say,some needed space. He will be four in a few weeks, so no preschool is simply not an option, particularly if I am to remain a functioning member of our society, rather than being locked away in the nuthouse.
I found a program that I was excited about at the JCC, a mile from our new home. It sounded like a solid school, with the added reward of joining a real community. After leaving the administrator numerous messages, I finally connected with the less-than-friendly woman. She didn't have the time of day for my questions. She seemed exasperated when I asked about openings, class size and registration. Hello? Don't you want to fill up your partially empty classroom? Finally I inquired about the tuition that we would be required to pay for the privilege of attending. The lady didn't miss a beat "$850 per month, and we require a one year commitment". Excuse me? Did she say $850 per month? Are we talking about a half day preschool? You know the place you drop your four year old off for a whopping three hours a day? The place where they draw a few pictures, run around on the playground, eat a few graham crackers, mess up their new clothes and then leave at lunch time? Is there something extra special about the JCC preschool that I might be missing? Are the teachers Nobel prize winners? Are they serving brie and shrimp cocktail for snack? Trying to hide my disbelief I asked the lovely administrator if this is an unusually high priced school. I inform her that here in Denver the cost for Zack's early education is less than $400 per month. She pretty much slaps me with the "your not in Denver anymore sweetheart" speech and we hang up agreeing to meet when I arrive in Berkeley.
After researching other are schools I have come to find that in fact, $850 per month is about the average. You can't find much cheaper, but you can certainly find more expensive-I looked at some programs with an annual tuition fee of $13000 for 15 hours per week.
Mama's gonna have to get a job.
So how are we going to afford this new California life? When we arrived in Oakland for our house hunting trip I was fully prepared to be appalled by the cost of housing, so seeing the price tags on the nothing-special homes didn't shock me. It's a fact of life that we are going to pay more for less. It stinks to see the new bigger paycheck get eaten up just with the basics. What I wasn't ready for was the cost of other necessities. One shining example is preschool. Yesterday I began the process of searching for a new school for Zack. Zack has been in some sort of daycare or educational program since he was three months old, he enjoys it, and we both benefit from shall we say,some needed space. He will be four in a few weeks, so no preschool is simply not an option, particularly if I am to remain a functioning member of our society, rather than being locked away in the nuthouse.
I found a program that I was excited about at the JCC, a mile from our new home. It sounded like a solid school, with the added reward of joining a real community. After leaving the administrator numerous messages, I finally connected with the less-than-friendly woman. She didn't have the time of day for my questions. She seemed exasperated when I asked about openings, class size and registration. Hello? Don't you want to fill up your partially empty classroom? Finally I inquired about the tuition that we would be required to pay for the privilege of attending. The lady didn't miss a beat "$850 per month, and we require a one year commitment". Excuse me? Did she say $850 per month? Are we talking about a half day preschool? You know the place you drop your four year old off for a whopping three hours a day? The place where they draw a few pictures, run around on the playground, eat a few graham crackers, mess up their new clothes and then leave at lunch time? Is there something extra special about the JCC preschool that I might be missing? Are the teachers Nobel prize winners? Are they serving brie and shrimp cocktail for snack? Trying to hide my disbelief I asked the lovely administrator if this is an unusually high priced school. I inform her that here in Denver the cost for Zack's early education is less than $400 per month. She pretty much slaps me with the "your not in Denver anymore sweetheart" speech and we hang up agreeing to meet when I arrive in Berkeley.
After researching other are schools I have come to find that in fact, $850 per month is about the average. You can't find much cheaper, but you can certainly find more expensive-I looked at some programs with an annual tuition fee of $13000 for 15 hours per week.
Mama's gonna have to get a job.
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