Just a little rant...

Thomas has several recent-happenings posts that will be upcoming, but in the meantime, just a little rant...

If one more of Carter's teammates' parents uses the team connection to attempt to sell me something, I may have to boycott sports teams altogether. At least until he's old enough to be dropped off so I'm not a sitting duck for other parents/salesmen who know full well that I don't have anywhere else to be.

Does this really usually work? Oh, you coached my kids team, of course I'll be happy to recommend your totally unrelated business on Linked In. You're a very fair t-ball coach, I'd love to entrust my finances to you! You  know, I've just been sitting around soccer practice hoping that someone would offer to solve all my legal woes -- please do go to your car and get me a DVD about your services! (at least that one gets me a few minutes of peace...)

I've have successfully cultivated a "leave-me-alone" persona that works great on airplanes, but I've been trying to be somewhat more approachable in my parenting life. But I'm seriously considering earphones and perhaps a lengthy, urgent, phony call  for our next soccer practice...

42 inches

If you are 42 inches tall, you don't have to take a parent with you on the rides at the zoo. And if your parent wants to ride with you, they have to pay.

I discovered this yesterday, when I took Carter to the zoo (in the cute new overalls he's sporting below). I noticed this because Carter happened to stand next to the sign, and his slightly messy hair hit the 42" mark. I've since measured and discovered that he's only 41.5" (in shoes) when his hair isn't so poofy. But still. I don't think they really WANT kids that are under 3 going on the train alone. I checked growth charts, and a six year old girl in the 5th percentile could still take her parents on the train for free, but on a bad hair day, my two-and-a-half year old couldn't?!

What's the deal with using height as the determinate? Where money is involved, I get that they probably don't want to use age because it would entice folks to lie. So, I don't really have a better solution to propose. I only know that my little boy is going to be very sad someday when all his friends are playing in the balls at Chuck E Cheese, and he isn't allowed in. The upside would be that he's allowed in earlier than his peers, but in many cases that would be dangerous and scary for him now.

For the record, no one hassled us about his height at the zoo, and even if they did, I wouldn't MIND paying the $1.50. But I'm starting to see our future, and I think it might involve a good bit of slouching...

Uncle Patrick (and parents), we're going to need some of your advice in this area over the next 16 years or so!

Fender Bender

When we first moved to Atlanta, I very nearly blogged about how soon I expected to be in a car accident. Suddenly being thrust back into driving regularly after being car-less for four years was a shock to my system. I realized how out of practice I was and how incredibly dangerous parking lots are (especially given my history of hitting inanimate objects at slow speeds). I was just sure that I'd be having an accident within the first month. I wisely didn't blog on it because I didn't want to jinx myself. I'm happy report that I've now been a car owner for over six months, accident free. Until today.

I had a little fender bender this evening (well, actually, a side swipe). I'm pleased to announce that it wasn't my fault. Of course, given that I'll still have to arrange taking the car to the shop, talking to the insurance company, etc., it's not exactly a cause for celebration.

As I always say, car ownership is a losing proposition. You lay out money for a car and all it does is punish you with bills, gas, maintenance and the occasional accident or ticket. Of course, as Thomas often points out (depending on how the train ran on a particular day), the public transportation system in Atlanta can do a pretty good job of making your life miserable too.

Growing Up

There have always been things about myself that I assumed I would outgrow, and for many things, this has proven to be true. I now eat brussel sprouts; I rarely run late; I enjoy reading non-fiction. But, as I contemplate turning 30 this summer, I'm starting to realize that there are some things about myself that I might not outgrow.

• I will probably never remember to return a movie or pick up my dry cleaning on time. (Case in point, I am currently in NYC, and today I received a FedEx from Thomas containing the dry cleaning I forgot to pick up this weekend, which I need to get through this week if I wasn't going to go to work naked.)
• I don't start the laundry until someone is out of socks or underwear.
• I will likely never remember to wash my face every night, and I don't think will ever want to shower everyday.
• I don't unpack my bag fewer than 5 days after returning from a trip (Last week, Thomas and I both, separately, looked at the full suitcases in the floor of our closet and thought, "Thank goodness he/she is just as lazy as me!")
• I do not enjoy getting up in the morning (The definition of "early" has changed over the last couple of years, but the misery of getting out of bed is the same, regardless of the time, and regardless of the cuteness that is rousing you from sleep).
• I do not like raisins in my food (yuck), and I only like mushrooms if they are prepared by a very good chef.
• I will never put my clothes back in a drawer or closet when I get undressed. I will always prefer a bed, bench, coat rack or the floor.

Those of you who know me know that I'm really quite responsible (they didn't call me "grandma" in college for nothing), but there are some areas of my life where I'm just a little sloppy, forgetful and dirty. I don't think I'm going to outgrow it.

Apt Hunting in NYC

I just thought I would give a little background and edu-ma-cation on apartment hunting in NYC and answer all the questions everyone has been posting about the new apartment (well, mostly just Dad). First, let me just state for the record as clearly as I can, apartment hunting in New York SUCKS.

Basically the first step is realizing that any normal person can not afford to live in Manhattan. At least, not without 18 roommates or about 6 sq. ft to call your own.

Once you accept that, you start looking at places close to Manhattan (New Jersey, Brooklyn, Queens). Then you realize that normal people can not afford to live in the nice parts of those places either (and by nice I mean close to Manhattan, like a couple of subway stops).

Finally you realize that there are "nice" neighborhoods that are a little farther out, but offer more space and almost affordable rents. That brings us to Park Slope, Brooklyn.

Once you have decided that Park Slope is for you, you can narrow down the search and really get serious about what it is you want in place and what you are willing to pay. Well, by the time we had decided on Park Slope, we had done quite a bit of research and seen a few apartments - which caused us to up our max per month price by $400 and be willing to pretty much take anything that had 2-ish bedrooms that was not in the ghetto. Now we were really looking for that apartment.

Let me digress a bit regarding how one searches for an apartment in New York. In most other normal cities, one looks in the paper, or online, or walks/drives around the potential neighborhood looking for "For Rent" signs. Then you call the landlord, see the place, see it again with a friend, negotiate a price and move in date (usually 30-60 days in the future), and finally, sign the lease. In New York, that does not happen. Most every apartment is listed with a "broker" which is basically a real estate agent for rentals. The issue with that is that as agents, they have no vested interest in who is renting the apartment, just that you can pay the rent, how soon can you move in and how high can the rent be (because, of course, they get a huge fee when the place is rented...more on that later). That being said, the process is generally to find a broker who will scour their listings for places that meet your needs and show them to you. Of course, they show you the crap first to try and get it off their list. They only show the good stuff to well established clients and their friends.

If you are lucky enough to find a place that you might want to live, you then fill out an application and submit your entire financial history for a credit check (which you also have to pay for, up to $75/person who will live there). Mind you, you have to make this decision the moment you see the place because it is all about first come, first serve. 5 minutes after you, someone else will be seeing it and putting in their application. And if someone came 5 minutes before you, you're out of luck. Thus, we started carrying a checkbook and copies of our credit history (last 3 pay stubs per person, 2 years of W2s, last 3 bank account statements, letters of employment and salary, and a DNA hair sample). Once you finally have the place, you get to pay, all at once, as much as the following: first month rent, last month rent, security deposit (often 2 months rent), and the brokers fee.

Now the brokers fee, for this person who has shown you crap, forced you to make decisions on the spot and generally not given a crap about you at all, is typically 10%-20% of the YEAR'S rent. Yup. For those not versed on apartment math, 1 month rent is approx 8% of the year's rent. So you get to pay an extra 2 months rent (on average) just for the privilege of being forced to take the first not totally crappy apartment you were shown and move in immediately, ready or not. That totals up to 6 months rent in one check, then you still have to move and pay for that. Thus goes the typical NYC apartment search.

The silver lining, however, can exist. After deciding that I was totally opposed to a broker fee we decided to do everything in our power to not have to pay one. We used Craigslist and no-fee services to help us. Well, that got us pretty much nowhere, but Elizabeth, super internet sleuth, found an apartment that we saw that same day (last Sunday) and put in an application because it was a no-broker apartment (rented by the owner) and beautiful. Of course, we were the ninth people that HOUR to see the place, so needless to say, we were not at the front of the line. The next apartment she found via the interweb (on Friday) was a broker represented apartment, but it hadn't even been listed yet (I'm still not sure how that worked). She called them up, left work that day to see the place at lunch. She immediately put in an application, so as to be first in line. She then called me and I saw it after work Friday, and we signed the lease Saturday.

We do feel lucky, because it has (almost) everything we wanted (more on Carter's "bedroom" another day), and the extra silver lining is that this broker, while still getting a crazy fee (though only 12%), really seemed to have our best interest at heart. He negotiated $100/month off the rent for us as well as convinced the owner to install a dishwasher for us (we will split the cost). At the signing, they had all sorts of neighborhood info and useful information for us. So while I still hate the fee, he did do everything he could to earn it (and the place has enough storage to save us a storage unit, so his fee can come out of that money). It still took pretty much ALL of our cash savings to pay for everything, so we will try to start rebounding in the summer, once the moving expenses have stopped coming in.

In the end, the place is good, the neighborhood is nice, and we don't move until Feb 1. Can't ask for much more.

I would, however, NOT recommend apartment hunting in NYC if you don't have to!

Unacceptable

So there I was just making a quick stop at the Eckerd Drug Store for a few items and there on the aisle end cap were several displays of Halloween decorations and kitsch, and then there was one with "Display Lights" that look remarkably like Xmas tree lights. I thought, well, the Xmas tree light marketing people have decided that these lights are now useful for all those elaborate Halloween decorations that apparently get put up everywhere, good for them. Then, I walked down that aisle...


NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!


A full aisle of FREAKIN' CHRISTMAS DECORATIONS!


NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!


IT'S OCTOBER 2 for crying out loud! And I did.

What is the world coming to? This is unacceptable.

It makes me sad. That, and Carter not sleeping anymore. That makes me sad. And tired. Mostly tired. That's sad.

Boycott all Christmas decoration buying until post-Thanksgiving, when Xmas should start.

Thank you.

Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes

Things are different now. After baby, I mean. There are the obvious things like newfound skills (such as being able to speedily change a diaper on my lap in a dirty public bathroom) and the fact that "sleeping in" now means staying in bed until 9am. But there are other things, little things that I didn't expect. I've been pretty much on-time to work every day since I went back (a totally new concept for me, made more remarkable by the fact that I'm generally the one that drops Carter off at school). I'm drinking a cup of coffee every day (I never got this routine before - but it's decaf as caffeine still doesn't do it for me). I use facial moisturizer every morning and night (a new-found fear of ageing?), and I put on some make up (at least eyeliner) before work every day. Also, my nails, which did not get the predicted length and strength of pregnancy, are now growing quite long. This is actually somewhat unfortunate as I need them short so that I can stick my fingers in Carter's mouth.

There is one thing, however, that hasn't changed at all. Despite my mother's insistence that my chronic knee pain would subside after the pelvic-altering experience of giving birth (as hers supposedly did, and which a doctor once confirmed was quite possible), my knees still creak. Of course, I notice it less because I'm so tired.

Birth Certificate Reflection

In reference to the below mentioned recently received birth certificate of my own, I feel I must air out a few thoughts I had upon comparing my birth certificate with Carter's.

First, take look at the above certificate and marvel. THIS is a birth certificate. Not some medical "Record of Birth" with only vital stats or, what Carter got, which is some 1/4 sheet of paper with balloons on it saying "Happy Birthday" where they pasted his footprint.

I began life certified, that right, CER-TI-FIED, by the hospital, that I had successfully completed all that had been asked of me up until that point in my life. Granted, that was pretty much developing enough internal organs to sustain my own life, but all in all that is a pretty impressive accomplishment for being zero to negative nine months old. And for all that I received a certificate with a giant GOLD STAR on it.

Now, that is how one should start life. Already ahead, feeling confident (a feeling I have not forgotten, just ask my friends), proud of what I have done and ready to expand upon it. Kids today, they have no direction, no motivation. I blame the lack of gold star. I'm not saying it can't be overcome, but just to be safe, I'm going to go get a big gold star and make sure Carter knows...


he's certified.

Things that Aren't Fair

I imagine that this may become a series on unfairness, as there are many, many things that aren't fair. But today, I'll mention just one.

The giant panda at the Atlanta Zoo gave birth this week. This is of special interest to us because Carter's favorite stuffed panda is from the Atlanta Zoo.

Giant pandas are, more or less, human-sized. They are 4-6 feet long and weigh 175-275 pounds, on average. And yet, their babies weigh only about 4 ounces, about the size of a human hand. For those of you who are blissfully unaware, a human baby weighs in at over 7 pounds on average. If you look at the video of the baby panda, you'll see how tiny the baby is compared to the mother. I wonder if the mother even noticed that she was giving birth.

Of course, giant pandas also start to reproduce between 4-8 years of age and only live to be in their late twenties/early thirties, so there are things that aren't fair to the panda too. But still.

On a serious note, there are very few giant pandas left in the world, so we do hope that Lun Lun and her cub are doing well, unfairness aside.

30 Minute Meals My A**

All I'll say is, even though she may be my girlfriend on TV, Rachel Ray is full of crap. In setting off on a delicious looking 30 minute meal (downloaded nicely from the food network web site), even having all the ingredients (well, all the ones I planned on using), and thinking "It'll be fun to see how long this takes, 30 minutes on TV is probably like 40 minutes max in real time..." I have now decided those food network PA assistant cooking types MUST do a huge amount of work.

In fairness to Elizabeth who made this 30 minute meal a couple of weeks ago in about 35 minutes, it can be done (though I've never seen such frantic washing, cutting, chopping, mashing, and creative time keeping from Elizabeth before or since).

And so, 30 minute Smoked Turkey Shepherd's Pie in exactly...

1 hour and 2 minutes.

30 minute meals my ass.

A Moment of Respect

I am a little sad right now as I think upon the future, and the fact that Carter no longer lives in a Solar System with nine planets. The loss of Pluto from the top tier pantheon list of official planets tugs at the heart strings and upsets the hand-me-down path of old books, stories, and posters. When Carter flips through dad's old space books and asks why they are all wrong, what can one say? He will observe, "Dad, why is Pluto listed as a planet in this book? Everyone knows it is just a trans-Neptunian spherical body orbiting the Sun without even sufficient mass to clear its own orbital path of celestial debris...."

So sad, so sad.

Tonight, I shall raise a glass in honor of our fallen planet brethren, Pluto. I urge you all to do the same.

A Study in Comparison

First, allow me to say that Carter has survived his first day sans mom. Grandpa Phil did an excellent job and Carter went to sleep just like normal and is still asleep 2 hours later.

Now, I'd like to offer a small observation and comparison of last night with mom, dad, grandpa, and baby, with tonight with only dad, grandpa, and baby (disclaimer: NO JUDGMENTS SHOULD BE IMPLIED OR ASSUMED, EITHER MORAL, CULINARY, OR OTHERWISE).

Last night dinner (with mom):
Sea Bass breaded in Japanese Bread Crumbs and Sesame Seeds
Sauteed Kale and Spinach
Cucumber Salad
and for Carter, farm fresh, piping hot (well, body temperature) milk of breast

Tonight's dinner (dad's in charge):
Steaks on the grill with veins of fat
Baked potatoes with butter (fat)
an encore performance of T setting food on fire (see video post earlier) - the food is a bacon, mushroom, peppercorn, brandy, and heavy cream sauce (for the potatoes with fat and the steak with fat)
and for Carter, frozen then thawed, lukewarm, 2 week old breast milk from a plastic container (contains fat).

If Elizabeth doesn't come home soon we'll all be dead from blocked arteries (though I think Carter will be fine).

No judgments, just information for those care. Kind of makes you want to say "hmmmmm."