And Karma is back on my side

We had a structural engineer come to our house tonight and look at the foundation and all around the house. It was quite simple to do - he is the husband of my mother's best friend - and he did it for absolutely nothing. He and B went over every inch of the house and he says our foundation is actually in remarkably good shape! The crack in the foundation that we discovered on Sunday as well as the one near the stairs are not endangering our house (as far as he can tell,) and the believes that they can be fixed up with injection of silicon - and that he probably has the stuff we need to use to do it and he can show B how to do it himself. Even if he doesn't have the stuff, it's only going to cost us around $100 max to buy it.

We went from thinking about taking out a $10K loan to maybe spending $100 and some elbow grease!!!

Man, I feel like I could walk on air.

Oh, and we got new gutters yesterday, too. So, a new roof, new gutters, and the news that our foundation isn't going to be destroyed the next time it rains is making me one happy happy mama! :-)

Quote for the day

Today I asked Stealth, "Stealth, why did you just rub peanut butter all over your clothes?"

 

Duck answered.

 

"'Cause that's what he does best!"

 

The $150 P

You know, just 'cause my life is destined to be this interesting, I submit this little gem.

We got a new roof a couple of weeks ago. It's a great roof, we're pleased with the color, pleased with the speed and skill of the crew, loved the contractor (I may very well be the only living breathing human being to ever have uttered such words....) It all seemed like a great deal - at the time.

The bill came and was $150 over the estimate. Not surprising, in fact, we were prepared for this - the crew had to replace several pieces of rotted wood in the roof. This money was to go directly to the crew because of some strange thingamajiggy that really doesn't matter. $150 of the nearly $3K bill was to go directly to the crew. We pay the contractor, he pays the crew. Okay, fine.

And then B and I took a lovely little walk around our property and found something eye poppingly bizarre.


We have the 2 most beautiful trees in our neighborhood - the most amazing Oak I've ever seen in the back yard and a glorious Maple in the front. The work crew used this huge maple as a shade tree during their breaks and during lunch - who could blame them? Apparently, however, one of the crew didn't manage to get his graffiti fix at the overpass the night before and decided to tag one of the roots of our Maple tree with a P.

Yep, those are roofing nails embedded into the root of our tree. Embedded so deeply, in fact, that attempting to remove them will only do more damage to the tree than is already done.

Sweet!

So the owner of the company came tonight and took one look at the tree and crapped his pants. He cut $150 off our bill for the trauma to Mabel the Maple. That $150 will come out of the crew boss's paycheck and will, undoubtedly, filter down through the crew.

As for us? We have an extra $150 and a pierced tree.

All I know is that if Mabel had really wanted to rebel, I'd have thought she'd have gone for mohawk or a nipple piercing. Toe bling soooooooo has been done.

Not all hippies stink alike-

Or

 

Why I hate the previous owners of my house with a bloody passion.

 

We have an old house - it needs lots of work.  Old houses *always* need lots of work.  We knew this going in and we were cool with most of what was going on.  We bought the house from some old hippies who were just leaving society to join a commune.  They were actually just going to let the bank foreclose on the house, but we could get it for relatively little money and we were looking for a home, so we grabbed it.

 

We knew it would need a new roof.

We knew the bathroom needed some work.

We knew that basement was only partially finished.

 

We did NOT know that there was a HUGE HUGE HUGE split in the foundation.

Until yesterday.

 

Yesterday morning I walked into the playroom and felt a distinctive *squish.*  The carpet was soaked.  In a place where we had never had water in our basement before.  Lovely.

 

We ripped out all of the carpet (well, my sewing and designing still has carpet it in there for now...) and then took a look at the wall.  B punched a whole in the drywall in the area where the carpet was the wettest and lo and behold, there was a crack.  A large one.  A HUGE one.  It went from the very top of the wall to the floor.  Upon investigation outside (digging up a front flower bed...) we discovered that the crack is all the way through.  yep.  Can see the whole fucking thing from the inside as well as the outside.

 

The kicker?  It has very obviously been patched and re-patched many times and then nicely covered up by fresh drywall. 

 

There was NO mention of this when we bought the place.  Not a fucking word.

 

B and I worked into the way early hours of the morning scraping and scrubbing and bleaching the concrete basement floor.  I work down there.  My kids play down there.  It's part of our living space.  And it's screwed all to hell.

 

So now we're hunting for a company to fix our basement for which we'll have to take out a loan.  ACES!  Fortunately, we'll only need to take out a few thousand dollars and that can be accomplished easily enough and we have a great lead on who can do this for us, but SHIT SHIT SHIT.

 

I thought about calling Flower That Smells Like Ass and Sunshine That Fries Your Soul (previous owners,) but that wouldn't solve anything.  It's not like I want them to reimburse me with peanut butter and rope sandals. 

 

Man, my kind of hippie just doesn't do others this way.

Boomer

 

Tipsy, anyone?

Okay.  You go to get your hair cut.  The bill is $35.  You're paying with a check.  To what amount do you make the check?

 

Having dinner?

 

Checking bags?

 

Getting a massage?

 

What about your postman at Christmas?

 

The UPS guy?

 

Your devout dry cleaner who has never once ruined your precious leather pants?

 

 

 

Tipping.  It's serious business.  I've had a large tipping conversation about tipping with my husband recently.  Up until the last few years, he didn't realize that you tip your stylist.  Now, of course, that's partly because he went 12 years without a haircut and prior to that, his mother was so desperate to make her hippie son look presentable that she paid the tab for his trims. But SWEET HOLY MOSES, you always *always* tip your stylist - unless you wanna look like Yule Brenner.

 

I once knew a gal who tipped $2, regardless of the bill.  Didn't matter if she was having coffee or creme brule, swordfish or Shasta.  Now, of course, times have changed and I'm sure she has changed her deal, but I was always intrigued by her tipping style.  Why $2?  Why not $1?  Or $3?  Or $1.78?

We've all heard that tipping $.01 (one penny) is the standard symbol for terrible service.  But what about 5%?  Is that significant of bad service or cheap patron?

 

I've always been a big tipper.  Always.  But, of course, I've worked in food service, in bars, in places where tips made my rent.  I've been stiffed on tabs, given phone numbers and drugs for tips (phone numbers are NOT tips, drugs, well, that depends ......)  I've also been tipped 200% of the tab.  And I promise, I've given the same service to everyone.

 

In this day and age of mortgaging our homes to pay for gasoline and selling our plasma to get good, wholesome, organic foods for our children, tipping is a hot topic.  There's been a multitude of magazine articles written about it, lots of morning news spots in reference to tipping, and gawd knows Emily Post gave herself carpal tunnel syndrome writing about tipping.  It's a big deal.  For some people, it's just extra money.  For others, it's a place to live.

 

I've been enamored with Waiter for the last couple of years.  He has some serious opinions about tipping.  In fact, he was recently on NPR's Voice of the Nation talking about tipping.  IF you missed it, you can hear the entire segment here.  Maybe it'll make you think.  Maybe it'll open your mind.  Hopefully, it will open your wallet.

 

Folks, the people who serve you make next to nothing.  Do you think they wake up every day just dying to wash your dishes or make you that 27th Shirley Temple?  Be generous.  I promise, they'll give right back.

 

Oh, and for the record, B now tips his stylist.  And he tips well.  Amazing what a threat of a sedative and an electric razor can do to a modern day Samson.

 

 

It ain't true

what they say about Mothers-in-law.  They really aren't wretched and evil and conniving and manipulative.  They are not the enemy. 

 

Well, at least mine isn't.

 

While I do sometimes complain that my MIL is flighty, habitually late, forgetful, and compulsive, the fact of the matter is that those faults pale, possibly even disappear entirely, in comparison to her attributes.

 

Most notably, her desire to spend as much time as humanly possible with my children.

 

Some of my friends never get a free night.  They never have free time away from their children.  Asking for their folks (or inlaws) to watch their children is like asking them to pierce their nipples and drop some acid - it ain't gonna happen, or if it does, they'll be paying for it for the rest of their natural lives and probably well into their first few reincarnations as well.

 

My life isn't quite like that.  Nope.  My MIL calls me asking to keep the kids for awhile.  She and my FIL cannot go much more than a week without seeing the kids.  They go into "withdrawals."  Frequently, they ask if the kids can spend the night.  They have a bedroom set up for my boys and all the necessary kid crap.  I don't even have to pack a bag.  And, on top of that, 75% of the time they have them, they call and ask if they can have them stay for "just a couple of more hours."

 

Heh.  All that and she brought my man into the world, too.

 

So, folks, lets raise our glasses to our in-laws.  They aren't as bad as we'd like to make them seem. 

 

Of course, if they really are as bad as we make them seem, raise your glass a few more times.  I swear, nothing looks bad from the bottom of a bottle of Jim Beam.

I'm so sad

School has started again.  That means that my best friend and partner in crime has turned from JP back into Mrs. P.  She's a teacher and also does home visits in the evening.

 

Put away are our long days of listening to Kid Rock and drinking bourbon and trying on clothes and wayyyyyyyy too much lipstick.

 

At least for awhile.

 

We still have the weekends! 

Lovely Lori

This morning I finished this bag for a dear friend in Wisconsin. It's been so long since I made one, I had forgotten how beautiful these purses can be .... 

Diva-ine night

So last night's show was amazing!  The place was packed and steamy (seriously, Arnie, turn on the fucking a/c, huh?  You got 150 liberals in the basement - you know it's gonna get hot!)  There was some seriously good mojo in the place and, although it was cramped and hot as Hell on Easter, everyone was in great spirits.

 

Backstage was a whirl of sequins and feathers and boas and leather and bells and lots of nekkidness - just the way I like things.  I set up my little seat and within seconds was doing some make up magic that would make Max Factor himself proud.  I don't know how many faces I painted, how many sets of false eyelashes I glued on, and, to quote Dolly Parton, I sure as shit "banged some hair!"  Did a Geisha, a raging school girl, a Frida knock off, a lovely Rosie the Riveter updo for my beloved DDFF, the eyes of the gorgeous designer, lots of cheeks and lips, but I think perhaps the topper was the groupie - complete with tri-colored lids, heavy brows, more liner and mascara than anyone should ever put on, and a triple tiered bouffant of rat-tail combed goodness.  By the time our set was ready to take the stage, I was covered in more makeup and hair goo that I could ever have imagined -and I had a smile on my face as big as Groupie's hair.

 

The ladies did such an amazing job - totally hip, completely professional, just sooooooooo great!  Everyone was hooting and hollering and bless my bourbon, I think every breathing soul in the place was utterly impressed.  They damned well should have been - they were in the presence of greatness and if they couldn't see it, well, there's someone named Tiffany down at the Gap ready to take their order.  Puh-Lease!

 

Imagine my surprise when all the fabulous women in our group took the stage for their final bows with the designer - they pulled me out on stage, too!!  I was blushing in my boots.

 

Dancing afterwards to a couple of local hip hop dudes (seriously, these guys *owned* that house by the time they were done,) was a much needed release and a fantastic celebration of the female body and what it can do!   Fun Fun Fun

 

And after it was all said and done, Rosie (DDFF) and I went to a nice place around the corner for dinner and appletinis and some much needed laughter.

 

Fabulous.  Absolutely Fabulous.  And yeah, Patsy and Edina would be proud.

Come on out to the Uterine Groove TONIGHT!

All right, all you locals, come on out to the 2006 Pro-Choice Pro-Fashion Show at Maude V. on Broadway! This is your time to let your voice be heard. For just a few little bucks, you'll get to see some amazing work by a few brilliant up and coming designers, can get some education, and have a rocking good time. Always funny and Always unpredictable, the Pr-Choice Pro-Fashion Show is an event NOT to be missed.

Be sure to check out the set put out by House of Van Sickle - she's outdone herself this year, folks. I'm doing the make-up for her models, so you know they'll be the most fab in the house!

And get this, there's a rock the house dance party to follow. Oh yeah.

So, grab your lipstick and your favorite uterus and come on out! 

Duck, aka The Monkey, Jr.

The last couple of weeks have been very hard at my house: Duck has discovered politics.

 

I have always been terrified that B and I were going to give birth to and be forced to live with at least one strict Republican -some sort of Karmic payback for us being so die hard liberals.  Family Ties comes to mind and I have spent the last few years in agony wondering if I would wake someday to another Alex P. Keaton.

 

Last week, Duck started asking about The Monkey in the White House non-stop.  He wanted to know all about George W.  Is he a good president?  What does he like?  Where is he from? What does he do?  Is he cool?

 

Then, to my horror, he started to PRETEND that he was The Monkey and actually asked me to call him, "George W. Bush."

 

I flat out refuse, telling him that I just cannot force my mouth to make those words in reference to him, someone I love so much.

 

This has been very difficult for me because, as our dear librarian friend said today, "We want our kids to think like us, but we want them to come about it on their own."  Crap on a cracker, how could I possibly be non-biased about W???

 

Eventually, I just told him the truth. I told him that some folks do like him, but that I honestly cannot understand why.  I told him that I'm sure W thinks he's doing the right thing, but sometimes people don't think very well.  And, I told him what I felt about him and why, but encouraged him to do his own "research" and decide for himself.

 

And this little 6 year old guy did just that.  He checked out books from the library.  Asked folks he knows for their opinion.  Watched the news. 

 

He still is pretending to be W. nearly every day, but he's doing it in a way that makes me smile.

 

"Hey, everyone, I'm sorry I stole your money.  Here, have it all back.  I'm sorry I lied to you.  I'm sorry I sent your family to war.  I'm sorry I caused folks to be killed.  I'm sorry that I've been a horrible president.  I'm gonna try to do better, but if not, just pick someone else in a couple of years.  Hey, how about a woman? I think my mom would be great!  Just try her PB&J sandwiches!"

 

Man.  I love that kid.

Holy shit, there went my brain - and I liked it!

I like movies. In fact, I love movies. There's just about nothing that I like more than sitting on the couch with a big ol' bowl of popcorn with nutritional yeast (don't knock it 'til you've tried it because oh sweet Elvis, it's outta sight,) and watching a good movie.

I said a GOOD movie.

For years, that meant something about a thousand hours long that required an atlas, dictionary, and Freudian interpreter whispering in my ear. OR it meant lots of British ladies running around and drinking too much wine. OR it meant some documentary or docudrama about some sort of societal issues. At the very least, it had to at least have a kick ass soundtrack.

But then I became a woman and I put away all my prudish things.

I confess to enjoying a mindless night of movie watching. I like laughing just for the sake of laughing. I like watching a movie and getting nothing out of it but pure, unadulterated entertainment. I enjoy spending a couple of hours with my brain *not* stretching. In fact, I've learned that I also rather enjoy it when I bring the garage into my living room and kill off a few of those pesky and un-needed brain cells in the name of parental liberation. I particularly enjoyed this Tuesday night while B and I spent a couple of hours trying to find a White Castle with Harold and Kumar.

Let me just say right now, if you're a tight ass, don't even attempt to watch this movie. You won't get it. You'll spend half of it looking away and the other half looking at the person with whom you're watching the movie to see if they are clueless, too, or if it's just you.

BUT, if you have ever found infomercials life changing, if you've ever discovered that peanut butter does, on occasion, make a great addition to pickles, if you've ever called information and asked where you left your socks, this movie is for you. MY LORD AND BUTTER, this movie is for you.

Laughed so hard my brain fell out.
And I loved it!

I am the champion of the universe

So, B mentions that he heard this song ages ago.  Couldn't remember who did it, but knew that it was a cover of Bob's Johnny Was a Good Man.

 

I found it and downloaded it, for free, in about 10 minutes.

 

Oh yeah. 

 

He-Man has nothing on me.

 

I am champion of the free universe.

 

Or, at least, my husband thinks so.

Don't tell him any different.

 

back in the saddle again

I've been dreaming about births lately.  I've been dreaming about the rush I get from being around the power of hard working mamas and the intoxicating head rush that comes when the birth mojo gets good.  I've been missing the feeling of rushing out of bed at 3 am and knowing that I'm off to be a part of the most special day of a woman's life.  I've missed seeing the world accept another contributor and a new soul accept his or her new home.

 

I took a long break from birthwork because I really needed it.  I was badly burned out and I wasn't able to clearly set limits for myself without feeling guilt.  I had taken some clients who weren't great matches, but I took them because they didn't particularly click with anyone else.  What I've learned, though, is I have just as much of a right to pick my clients as women have the right to pick their doula.  Ah, empowerment all around.

 

I've passed on several clients in the last few months and I'm sure I'll probably continue to pass on many in the future.  Nothing wrong with that.  I'm sure there are tons of new doulas who are still working under the Rosy haze of green newness who will be more than willing to take on the clients who pick the OB who has a 75% cesarean rate but swears that it won't happen to them because they're "different - Dr. X said so!!" 

 

Um. Yeah.

 

Today I got an email from a woman who is due in a couple of months.  She's chosen to birth her child in the most gentle way possible with the best care givers in town and my gal, DDFF, might very well be catching this baby.  This gal is looking for a doula and would like it to be me.  Everything about it says " GREEN LIGHT" and I've agreed to meet with her next week.

 

I'm excited.  I always love a good birth - and rebirth.

Busting at the seams with pride for Duck

Duck has always struggled with writing.  He will sit at the computer and type out a full page story, but when it comes to holding a pen or pencil and writing, forget it.  He was never interested in coloring and don't even think about flat out drawing a picture.

I've been really easy going about it, figuring that he'll learn how to write well enough by the time he needs to know how to sign a check or a contract.  Until then, what's the pressure?  But secretly inside I've been having to constantly tell myself it's no big deal.  He has great other fine motor skills - writing just isn't his thing.  This is where I really have to work on my tendency to be a control freak...

Anyway (sorry for the long lead up,) today I had him grab his journal and asked him to write a story while I was in the bath.  He sat in the bathroom with me and wrote a whole story AND illustrated it, too!  Now, of course, his story was only about 8 sentences long, but that is HUGE for him!  He used a good ol' #2 pencil and some colored pencils for the illustration.

I'm so proud of him!

 

Wonderful day

It was about time - I certainly needed a great day!

 

Last night, B and I decided we were long past due for some quality one on one time with the kids, so we decided that today was the day.  We got up early with the boys and B took Stealth on a special Daddy and Son fishing trip.  I grabbed Duck and we went swimming in a local lake, hit a playground, then got breakfast out and hit a local garden spot.  B and Stealth had a great time and so did Duck and I.  It was so wonderful to see him smile that smile that takes up his whole face, to hear him say, "Oh Mama, I love you!!," and to swim with the fish, and we even saw a rainbow!

 

My in-laws came around noon and took the boys out for a day of fun (and wayyyyyyyy too much sugar.)  B and I used the time to discuss some much needed topics and, after getting tired of the heaviness that these sort of conversations require, went out and saw a hysterical movie that required very little brain power to enjoy!  It was so refreshing to laugh out loud at such silliness.

 

Came home, made an easy dinner, put the kids to bed. 

 

I just returned from drinking a beer outside in our "gazebo" during a rainstorm.  There's nothing quite like the smell of a much needed summer rain - it just washes everything clean and fresh.

 

I'm about to soak in a hot bath with a great book and will eventually make it to bed with clean sheets and a fantastic pillow and my man.

 

Sometimes, life just smiles.

 

 

Dash

Occasionally something comes my way that remind me that the universe is so much smarter than I am.  Today, this little nugget made it's way to my life and I needed it so badly.

 

I'm passing it on here in case someone else needs it, too.

Nature Boys

 

Blasts from the past

Oh yeah, I remember most of these 80's Videos!!

 

How about you?

Duck's Silverware Shack and Stealth "Crasho" Kohl's Culinary Corner

At dinner tonight, Duck informed me that he was going to open a store called "Duck's Silverware Shack" and he needed some supplies.  So, out came my handy dandy notebook and we jotted down his list:

 

1. A couple of spoons
2. 14 forks
3. 29 knives
4. A magnetic Ferris wheel made out of silverware
5. 3 pounds of cheese
6. a small carnival
7. 9 lamp supplies
8. 1 million Christmas Trees
9. 9 pounds of salt
10. 20 magic carpets
11. 30 rings of power
12. 29 invisible guns with invisible tranquilizer darts
13. 999,999 dishes
14. 10,000 cups
    

 

Not to be outdone, Stealth decided that he needed his very own store and list.

 

 

 

Stealth "Crasho" Kohl's Culinary Corner list

 

1. a couple of spoons
2. 14 forks
3. magnetic Ferris wheel
4. 100 knives
5. 10 pepper and cheese
6. 11 bow tie pasta
7. 10 pounds of water
8. 1 Frozone Toy
9. 100 Rings
10. 1 Red video game

 

Don't know about you, but I sure as hell would shop at these places.

 

Oh yeah, they're my kids

Wow!

It's official!

 

I'm going to San Francisco for 5 days in October. 

 

No husband.  No children.

 

My dearest girlie is getting hitched to her mate and I'm gonna be there.

 

Thank you to those who are allowing this to happen. You know who you are and you know what I mean.  I love you.

 

I'm off to do a little dance now.  Okay, a very large and boisterous juicy dance.

 

Did I mention that I'll be in San Francisco for 5 days without my husband and without my children?

 

Okay.  Just checking.

 

I nearly totaled my van today

as Duck sees that we're headed to Clover's and I hear

"Oh, Snap!"

from the backseat.

That kid makes me laugh so damned hard.

Joy Darville is alive and well and living in my 6 year old son.

Sheer Brilliance!!!

Love it!!

I just wrote a whole huge post about this movie and of course, F**cking Blogger ate it.

So, I'm just gonna be short and sweet about this:
If you have any musical taste whatsoever, go out right now and watch a copy of this movie. It's mindblowingly amazing. Breathtaking, obsession worthy, dance your ass off in your living room great!

Don't believe me? Check out the cast -

Rick Danko
Levon Helm
Garth Hudson
Richard Manuel
Robbie Robertson
(The above combined Brilliance make up The Band)
Paul Butterfield
Eric Clapton
Neil Diamond
Dr. John
Bob Dylan
Lawrence Ferlinghetti
Emmylou Harris
Ronnie Hawkins
Howard Johnson
Michael McClure
Joni Mitchell
Van Morrison
Pinetop Perkins
Martin Scorsese
Mavis Staples
Roebuck "Pops" Staples
Ringo Starr
Muddy Waters
Ron Wood
Neil Young


It's just that good.

Viva La Band!

The bell doesn't ring after 10 rounds at our house

There's no such thing as a TKO here.  Nope.  All matches are to the death.

 

Tyson and Ali are upstairs battling it out.  It's been going on for exactly 72 minutes.  Occasionally they take a 3 minute break to be friends, but the second those 3 minutes are up, they both come out swinging again.

 

I finally just closed the door to the ring (their bedroom) and, until coming down here to post this, have been sitting on the couch reading a book.  There's really nothing else to do.  I've checked and we're stocked on band-aids.

 

I hope like hell the stop in the next hour or so ...

 

Don King is due home in 90 minutes.

 

 

Okay Okay Okay, they're not actually making contact with each other.  It's a battle of words only (they're not  physically violent.)  But sweet Elvis on velvet, sometimes I wanna knock them both out myself.