Housekeeeeping!

Today was the start of something new and wonderful.

A beautiful relationship that I would love to see go on and on for years.

A combination of sweet utter wonder and thrill...and the tingle of a new love.

I will sacrifice and give all that I can give to keep the thrill.

I hired a Housekeeper.

Oh yes I did.

And she freaking  rocks!

I admit I was nervous. 

It was all I could do last night to not clean the house. 

I didn't want her judging me.

But as I spent my evening chasing The Toddler, wiping up after the Dog, chasing the Toddler, wiping up after the Dog...etc...I lost time to get anything done.

So this morning, I frantically emptied my dish drainer...swiped the countertop down, loaded my dirty towels in the washer and started the dishwasher...and threw The Toddlers clutter into a few bins.  Plus, I made sure I moved the Mater pillow to the futon so that she wouldn't change the pillowcase by accident.

It was just going to have to do.

I'm sure she has seen worse.

So all day, I kept wondering...

Is she done?

Did she judge my mess?

Did she roll her eyes at the kibbles of dog food that are always in the floor, no matter what I do?

Would I even notice that she had been there?

I pull in the drive...The Toddler informs me that the house is still dirty.

No kidding...the power wash guy isn't coming until next week...and we have a white house...plus pollen and mold from winter...you can imagine.  It's kind of yellow/green/white right now.  It's just gross.

We open the door, and I knew in an instant that the Cleaning Fairy really does exist.

She does.

And she rocks.

My house was beautifully clean.

And my counters were clean and organized.

My kitchen sink was shining like new!

The floors were grit, dog food, crumb free.

Even the pillows had been fluffed on the couch.

The ceiling fan had no special Halloween decorations hanging from it.

My sheets and The Toddler's sheets were neatly pillowcased and waiting in the laundry room.

Our beds were made with little turned down corners.

And she had made fans out of the ends of the toilet paper in all the bathrooms.

Now how damn neat is that!

So now to figure out how to keep this in my budget after The Husband gets back from his Big Adventure next year.  I gotta work this out!

Cause this freaking ROCKS!

Learning a lesson

The Toddler is three and a half.

And has grandparents, parents, friends and neighbors that spoil him rotten.

To curb some of the gift giving, we do 'no present' birthday parties.  It works out super well for us.

At Christmas, I desperately try to reign in the gift giving, and will hold shipped presents for after the holiday...but still tell the sender 'he loved it!'  He gets the present eventually...usually mid January or so.

My parents LOVE to send packages...all the time.  Usually cute shirts or something like that.  Once, my mom sent an entire priority mail box full of white underwear for him...that she had unpackaged to pack easier, and they were all the wrong size...like WAY too small.   And there was nothing I could do about it, but hand them down to The Husband's co worker for his son.   At least they were brand new!

Lately, The Toddler is picking up on  the concept of 'prizes' and packages in the mail.

The last one that my parents, sent...in February around Valentines Day...he wanted Rocky so bad he could taste it.  For those of you not familiar with Thomas the Train and the racket they have going on in marketing, Rocky is the big ass maintenance train thing that costs a ridiculous amount of money.

My mom had no idea who Rocky was...she sent some new shirts.

The Toddler cried.

I tried to explain how that wasn't very nice and you should say Thank You anyway.

Yeah...that didn't fly.

He wanted Rocky.

Big Fit ensued.

We explained some more...he cried some more.  I called my mom and told her not to send any more packages for a while...

And by the way...The Easter Bunny is bringing Rocky...thanks to his friend Ebay.

Sooooo...received another package from my parents yesterday.

The Toddler was ALL kinds of worked up that Diesel was in this box.

Uhm...I'm doubting it.  (Diesel is another marketing ploy)

So I explained...'probably not...Nana sent you some really neat Thomas shirts'.

Oh hell.

What a fit!  There were so many tears, and hiccups, and gasps, and squalls....it was rather embarrassing.  He sat in Time Out to see if that would calm him down.  He got up from Time Out and shook the box to check.  He threw the Easter Bunny card my mom had packed.  His tail landed in Time Out again.

What a show!

I was appalled.

And really embarrassed at the whole debacle.

I got tired of talking and trying to make it less of an ordeal...I just walked into the kitchen and finished dishing out dinner.

He kept screaming.

So about fifteen minutes into the tantrum...I decided to teach him a lesson that I was taught.

He had to pick out toys to give up to another boy or girl since he was being so incredibly rude and ungrateful.

Yes...I know he is three.  Time to start learning some lessons I guess...

So after much deliberation, more tears and wailing, he is giving three of his big floor puzzles to daycare today for the other children to play with.

And he stopped crying.

And he called Nana and Pawpaw to tell them Thank You and that he liked the shirts.  But he did manage to throw in that he really wanted a toy in that box.  We made a little progress.

I felt a little better...and somewhat proud when he told my mom "Thank You Nana"

I explained the story about my birthday when I was six...and The Toddler was rather upset about it.  And told Nana he was going to buy me a girl present since I didn't have any.

Oh kay.

Background here:  When I was six...I had a big birthday party.  My parents didn't have a lot of money, and for mom to throw a big birthday at an actual restaurant for my class was a HUGE deal.

One Little Girl, that lived up the holler (or street for those that don't know what a holler is) was a good friend of mine.  She was VERY poor.  I mean DIRT POOR.    I lived in a trailer, she lived in a shack kind of poor.  She liked coming to my house because my mom just let her eat whatever she wanted. I remember her eating an entire bag of oranges one time at a sleepover... Looking back.  It was really sad.

So many layers of sad...that I can't even go into here.

I had no idea...I was six.

When it came time to open presents, I turned into a little bitch.

I received two of the same Barbie...and I made a scene.

I received something else that I didn't care for, and I made a scene.

Then, I proceeded to count my presents and realized someone hadn't brought me a present.

It was that Little Girl.

So I called her out...in front of EVERYONE at the party.

My mom was appalled.

Little Girl cried.

I was not nice at all.

So when we got home...I went to get into my presents, and my mom proceeded to teach me the greatest lesson of all.

I had to pack all, but one, of my presents up and we took them up the road to the Little Girl's house.

And I had to apologize, and give her my presents.

I will NEVER EVER EVER forget that.

So it's time to start teaching about being thankful, and not pitching a fit about not getting the toy you want.

I really don't want to have to repeat my mother's lesson on him.

And this is going to take a while.  Tantrums will ensue.  Life will go on.

Cause, Thirty years later, I VIVIDLY remember it....and how ashamed I was.  And the look on my mom's face.  And I remember her hand, reaching over mine, and taking the Barbie and putting it in the bag to take to Little Girl.  And I cried. 

And the fact that I did not get another birthday party until I was Ten kind of set it home.  And then, it was a family cookout at our house followed by the worst stomach virus I have ever had.

Sweet huh?

Uhm...duuuuh?

I apparently am attracting weird conversations...let me share the most recent.

The scene:  CVS, at opening this morning.

Clerk is ringing out my Easter cards, and stamps, and obligatory Peanut Butter Eggs and Caramel Eggs.  She knows The Husband is in the Army from prior conversations...asked if he was leaving anytime soon...

Me:  "Yes...in a few weeks...he's going over to (insert war zone here)"

Clerk :  "Oh!  I'll keep you in my prayers"

Me, as I am gathering up my purchases..."Thanks"

Clerk 2...out of nowhere "Is he Army?"

Me:  "Yes"  Putting receipt in pocket...

Clerk 2...'How long will he be gone?'

Me, still gathering and stuffing stuff in bags "A year"

Clerk 2.."What?!  My fiance is Army.  Is this what I get to look forward to?"  And then she stomps her foot.

I stopped and just looked at her.  Uhm...duuuuuuh.

Me:  "Probably"  Insert shrug.

Clerk 2:  "I couldn't stand having him gone so long.  What will I do?"

Me:  "You go to work, you keep busy"

Clerk 2:  "You can't go with him?!"

Me...trying super super hard not to make a 'duh' face at her..."No, they don't let spouses go to XYZ or XYZSTAN"

Clerk 1 starts to look at Clerk 2 like she has just lost her ever loving mind.

Clerk 2:  "What are you going to doooo!?"

Me:  "Get up, go to work, take care of The Toddler, keep busy"

Clerk 2:  "You have a kid!  I just can't do that...be alone so much!"  Insert another foot stomp.

Clerk 1 scowls at Clerk 2.

Really?  Really really really?  Sweetie...realllyyyy?

Me:  " Let's head to work!  Have a great one!"  As I go out the door.

What in the hell?

One:  Poor girl is in for a RUDE awakening.

Two:  Poor guy is in for a RUDE awakening.

Three:  Yeah, I hope the best for them.

Four:  Again...What in the hell?

Balancing Act...it's a Balancing Act

Ok...we are entering week Two.

The Husband was home all weekend, and we got a lot accomplished...grass mowed, house cleaned, clutter taken care of...

And he left this morning again, at 430a, to report to work at his Armory.

Two more weeks of this crazy on again/off again schedule, then he won't be coming home on the weekends anymore...
He'll be Officially Mobilized...

Then we will be a few days from the dreaded Departure Ceremony.

And that sucks.

But The Toddler and I are starting to get our feet under ourselves.

Tonight was much easier.  I cooked dinner on the side burner of the grill while he played in the sandbox.

I'm not a fan of processed foods, but sometimes they are OK.  So we had a bag of Stouffers Express alfredo.

Somewhere the clerks at Whole Foods just rolled over in their lanes.

But hell...build a store closer to my job or my house, and we'll talk more often!

Honestly, I'd rather have our local Italian restaurants fettuccine alfredo...but it'll do.

Hard to stop off, get out of the car, get The Toddler out of the car, schlep in...get our food...schlep out...stow the food, put The Toddler back in the car, get back in the car, and THEN go home...and unload.

I love Curbside to Go...but I am sick of Applebees...their 'chicken cheeni' isn't close.

The Toddler loved it my frozen processed foods dinner.

He has no taste buds anyway.

The proved it.

Face washed, smiley face on back of hand protected from the evil washcloth, teeth brushed, ears checked (looking good!  KNOCK ON WOOD!) and in his pajamas by 8p.  He is currently parked in front of the 4,589th running of Peter Pan.  Not the animated movie...the Broadway production that they have on Netflix.

He loves it.

I'm kind of sick of it.

But I managed to order the wedding gifts for The Husband's Lieutenants wedding.  (Yes, he is being Deployed too...but with another unit) Should be a fancy shindig according to the location's website.  I'm excited.  We've had our Sitter booked since we got the invite. 

And I bought a dress for the occasion.  If you knew me...you'd know this was HUGE.

I don't wear dresses.

Ever.

Well, I don't since I turned 25.

I used to participate in pageants.  I wore gowns, and swimsuits, and dress suits in front of audiences.

I wore my wedding dress quite willingly.

But now, that I am older and wiser...

If it doesn't come with a crotch, I won't wear it.

I despise skirts.

I hate how my butt is just a draft away from being flashed to everyone.

I hate how I can't sit comfortably without wondering if someone can see my drawers.

I just despise them. 

But I guess I felt the need to look pretty...so I bought a dress....and shoes...and earrings...and a necklace.

HUGE...I mean this is HUGE.

Like Peace Treaty HUGE.

Like Federal Budget being passed HUGE.

Full Lunar Eclipse HUGE.

Just hope I don't give anyone a full lunar eclipse...that's a goal.

That and never making the People of Walmart website.

That's my other goal.

Stay at Home Day

The Toddler has been wanting to Stay Home for about two weeks now. 

I know his tail is tired of making the commute to Daycare everyday.  And he has been sure to totally lay on the guilt because of it .  "Mommy...I don't want to go to School today...I want to stay home with you"   I have to keep explaining that I am not staying home.  That I am at my office, right down the street, all day...every day.   And I feel awful...but if I don't work...well,  no fun things.   He doesn't get it. 

In all honesty, I kind of don't get it either.

So The Husband and I decided to just Stay Home yesterday.  No errands with him.  He can stay in his pajamas all day too. And he did.  All day.

The Dog had to go to the vet twice...that was my job.   Once to have stitches removed, then back to have his incision stapled after it popped open when we got home.  Just what I wanted to do.

Then I cleaned like a maniac all day and put The Husband to packing away knick knacks and junk before the cleaning lady starts in two weeks.   If she saw his side of the bed where he stores all of his 'stuff' in the back corner near the wall, she was going to charge me more.

The Husband hauled off the trash and recycling while I was putting The Toddler down for a nap.  And then he and I sat on the couch and watched Indiana Jones...and there was NO ANIMATION at all during the movie.

After a very long Stay at Home Day, as the Toddler dubbed it...we painted.  There is nothing more thrilling to The Toddler as me getting out the huge roll of leftover map machine paper from The Husband's job and the masking tape.  Then we lay out about four or five feet of it in the dining room floor.

And we have a blast.

The Toddler is starting to draw and paint things that looks like real Things...and its kinda cool...

Then he painted his name...which was really cool.

I have a picture of his name written in the sand while we were at the Beach. 

I had to cut out the smiley face and the name this time and save them. 

Day One...

The Husband officially left this morning to work Full Time at his Armory.

With a Paycheck...thank you Congress for coming in right under the wire.  I appreciate the heart attack.

Testing out the new healthcare legislation eh?  Thanks.  I needed that.

He rolled out at 430a to drive to his Armory to start the Mobilization stuff that he does.

He's explained it...I have no clue.  I mean, I sorta get it, but then he starts talking in code...I glaze over and nod on occasion.

I used to pay closer attention, before The Toddler.  Heck, I even trained in the simulator with him at Ft Knox and fired tank rounds during a weekend training session when his Gunner didn't show up (I'm pretty damn good at it too...even the Instructor said so).  I've studied Artillery with him, and helped with memorandums and stuff...I can even do Vehicle ID and the Phonetic Alphabet (which is INCREDIBLY handy).

Now, I am lucky to know what weekend he has Drill.

It works for us.

The Toddler and I get to Daycare this morning, and the waterworks came on.
Fully on.
He was screaming  "Please Mommy, don't leeeavveee me heeeeerrrreeee!  Mommy...UP UP UP'
OMG...Worst Mother in the World Award...right here folks.
Clinging to me...tears, snot...the whole nine yards.

The Teacher knows that The Husband has left.
And the Inlaws were all in over the weekend.
So it's been a little crazy at our house.

And I think The Toddler is catching on, even though we are desperately trying to not make this a Big Deal.

So I left Daycare...slinking away while my child is shrieking his head off.

I love Teacher.  She rocks.

I called about an hour later, because I felt guilty.

He was fine.

And when I picked him up...he was a perfectly happy little man...that proceeded to inform me that his caterpillar was sad, because he missed his mommy, just like him.

Insert Guilt Trip #356,743.

Drove home with him chowing on goldfish and asking a gazillion questions about Lightning McQueen...and listening to his plans to play in his sandbox as soon as we got home.

Problem...the sandbox is way out in the back yard.

I needed to put dinner in the oven.

So I closed the gate on the back deck, handed him a mini bottle of bubbles, left the back door open, and dashed to throw the chicken tenders in the oven.

I hear 'Mommy...I will clean it!'

Clean what?

I run around the corner of the bar, to find my adorable three year old, on his hands and knees, with the greasy black nasty grill brush...proceeding to clean the hell out of the rug in front of my backdoor.

Apparently that is how you get spilled bubble liquid up...in Three Year Old Land.

Awesome.

At least it's washable.

Day One...Done.

My Therapist said I am too nice

Dumbass conversation with Dumbass at gas station

Him…what a gross day…

Me…yeah

Him…you have National Guard plates

Me…yeah (in my head I am wondering where this is going...it could got in a lot of directions per past experience.  They either hate the Army, they are a Vet, they know someone who has served, they ask if you are a Trained Killer...got THAT one in the DC Metro center because I had a teeny tiny Army logo on my sweatshirt...they want to pay for whatever it is that we are buying...which is super nice but totally unnecessary...)

Him…so what do you think of the budget thing?
CRAAAP...it went THERE

Me…it sucks.  Husband doesn’t get paid starting Monday.

Him…just don’t show up

Me…what?

Him…just don’t go.  They can’t make him.

Me…uhm…yeah they can…it’s called the military…he signed the dotted line…he has to go

Him…I wouldn’t

Me…clearly…you didn’t

And I turned my back on him…he kept talking.  I stopped listening.

Dumbass.

Squeak Rattle Thump

Now that I am calm, after two months of dwelling on this…I will write my Car Saga down for future generations to read and learn from.

 

I bought my Toyota Corolla S in 2005.  It was the first new car I had ever owned that I totally picked out on my own…and loved it dearly.  She was blue and had a spoiler on the back.

I drove that sucker for nearly 200,000 miles.   It was paid off in three years. 

I loved her dearly.

She was a wonderful car...not a hint of issues.  

The Husband decided that we needed to sell her back in the Fall.

No.

The Husband decided that we needed to sell her back in the Winter.

No.

The Husband set up a sell with a Fellow Co Worker without letting me know at the end of January.

Yes he did.

I relented.  She was getting older, and had a lot of miles, and we were crowded on drives.

So we sold her.

During the two weeks before the Sale of the Corolla…I was scrambling to find Another Car.

I HATE car shopping.  Despise it.  This was making me NUUUUTTS.

I liked Camrys.  And I liked Accords.

So I settled on a nice used pretty Camry from the Salesguy that has sold us every other Toyota we have owned.  This would be his fifth sale to us.  Clean CarFax…pretty car.  What could go wrong?!

Salesguy makes it quick and painless and we are headed home with our pretty New Camry.

Nearly home, and I start hearing this freaking fracking awful rattling from the roof.  What the heck?

Get into our neighborhood…the roof sounds like it is going to come off.

What in the world!

Get out of car…check trunk for the five gallon bucket that HAD to be rolling around in there…cause that’s what it sounded like.

No bucket. 

Trunk was empty.

Shit.

Call Salesguy.

He apologizes…apparently it is a common complaint amongst this year of Toyota for the sunroof to rattle.  Bring it in on Monday (this was Friday) and we’ll check it. 

Question 1:  Then why in the hell didn’t you fix it when you got it?  Huh?

Rattle Rattle Rattle all weekend. 

Take it in…

They call…it needs to go to the body shop to fix the roof.    We can take you next week.

No shit.  Could’ve told you that myself, and I am NOT a mechanic dumbass.

Ok.   Whatever.

So I drive the Rattle Trap another week and a half.

They fixed the roof after four days in the Body Shop.

Halfway home…I start noticing another noise. 

It isn’t coming from the Roof…it’s the freaking Floor Board or something under there on the passenger side

Thump thump…rattle…thump…pop pop pop.

Are you kidding me?

This is starting to tick me off.

Call Salesguy again.

Bring it in Monday…we’ll take a look.

Take it Monday…they keep it a few days.  It’s a broken blah blah blah part.  You are all fixed!

Uh huh.  I bet.

A few days later…Pop Pop Rattle Thump…Rattle…Thump Thump.

This time coming from the Driver’s Side.

Are you kidding me?  Really…are you freaking fracking kidding me?

Call the Service Manager from the cell phone with the toddler yelling in the background…So sorry!  We’ll order the part that we fixed for the Driver’s side…blah blah blah.

A week and a half later…the part is in.

I take it in…its in for a few days…I pick it up. 

And I take the longest test drive EVER. 

Up roads.

Down roads.

Parking lots.

Side roads.

Silence.

Blessed silence.

So I go for two weeks with the quiet non rattling car. 

I’m happy.  The car isn’t making any noise that it isn’t supposed to.

Let me stop here and clarify the picture a little...every single time I have had to drop this car off...I had to drive 25 miles to the dealership, remove car seat, move car seat to rental, drive 25 miles back to work...lather rinse repeat.

I was sick of it.

Really sick of the car seat thing for sure.

We drove to Myrtle Beach…we drove to the Inlaws for the nephew’s Christening…

On the way home…

You guessed it…

THUMP

THUMP

POP

RATTLE

THUMP

The Toddler was asleep…so I started cussing…profusely.

Monday morning…I didn’t call my Salesguy.

I emailed him…and the Service Manager…and the Sales Manager…and told them to come and get the car.

I had had enough.

I didn’t have time for this shit.

I didn’t say shit…I deleted that word. 

I said ‘garbage’.

Told them that I didn’t have time to be driving it back out there.

So they called and profusely apologized.  I heard blah blah blah blah…and more blah.

And the tech showed up to pick up the car, and I took her for a ride in it.

Yes, that freaking thumping and popping is making me nuts for 80 miles a day…do you hear it?

Yes ma’am.

I unloaded all my crap out of the old car.  Car seat and all.  And tossed it into the rental.

I really hate installing a car seat now...even though I have it down to a science.

She drove away with Creaky.

Once it arrived at the dealership…the Husband decided at this point to pull his testosterone in the mix.

I had had enough.  I was in the state of mind to just tell them to keep it and just drive the truck for the year that The Husband is gone.

Ugly me was about to come out...and really make a stink.  

Again…I DESPISE car shopping.

The Husband called Salesguy and said to keep the car.  We want a New One.  We want a New Deal. 

Now.

And we will be keeping the rental car until it is done.

Thanks.

And after four days of negotiations, and Salesguy leaping through hoops and fire…we got a New Deal.

I picked up my brand spanking new Camry on Friday.

It’s very pretty…and it doesn’t make extra noises.

If it does…I will cry.

Obsessions

Ahhh...Therapy...there is no shame in it.
So in preparation for the Deployment, I've started seeing a Therapist.
She's awesome...and is my age...with a three year old, and aging parents that live in another state...and she gets it.
Her husband gets to stay home more than mine...but I won't hold that against her.  Because her job is to listen to people's trials and tribulations all day.  That would make me nuts.

First visit was nice...get to know you.

Second visit was a Vent Fest.  Vent about rude people questioning about having an Only Child.  Vent about the Deployment.  Vent about The Parents.  Vent about the In Laws.  Vent about The Dog.

She also found the story of me tossing The Husband's uniforms down the stairs, and me with my six month preggo self going down and kicking and stomping the hell out of them, quite amusing. 

That's the way I cope.  I bottle up and explode when I am alone.

I felt fifty pounds lighter when I walked out.

I also realized another one of my coping mechanisms.

I will chew the hell out of an issue.  Obsess, research, re-research...obsess some more...and then I will put it in the back of my head and say 'eff it'.

Then I won't obsess anymore.

Kind of like the three pound  can of Pecan Poppycock I buy from Target ever year around Christmas.  I eat that crap for three days, and then I am done when I get to the bottom of the can.  I'm good for another year.

I will latch onto something else.

Right now, I can't really mull anything over in regards to The Deployment.  The Husband just got details this weekend, and we will go over them tonight.

And I kinda just don't want to.

So instead...I am researching Birthday Plans for The Toddler's Big Four (in August I might add) and Tshirts for him to wear to the Deployment Ceremony...and a Banner for the Welcome Home.

Therapist said those were all positive things...and it helps.

Yeah, until you get mad because you are crying over all the designs on Cafe Press and want to go kick a wall because you are picking out another damned shirt for your kid to wear to a military function.  The last one was a Welcome Home Daddy shirt...this one is more smart ass than anything...I guess I want people to KNOW we feel like shit right now.

I'm a little narcissistic that way apparently.

I'm at ANGRY with coping.

Angry that I have to let him go for a year.

Angry that I have to deal with this again.

Angry that it is what it is and I have to play nice.

But it's ok.

It's his job...and the benefits are good...and blah blah blah.

It still suuuuuucks eggs.  Big rotten stinky eggs.