Saturday, November 22, 2008

Every time a bell rings

I found a vintage cruiser in a junk heap outside our apartment building that no one laid claim to, so i decided to fix it up. Paul helped me with the rusted nuts and bolts and i degreased, cleaned and de-cobwebbed the rest of it to reveal an electric blue J.C. Higgins classic cruiser. There was one part that we needed to order so we took it to a logical place, the REI bike shop. I could have taken to a bike shop that was closer but since Paul worked at REI it seemed more logical. First, they said that they just needed to re-build the axle on the front tire...3 weeks later they decided they needed to just order a new front tire...4 weeks later, forgetting to put the order in they said they'd expedite at no cost...1 week later the "new tire" comes in and Paul puts it on my bike. The next morning I carry my newly working cruiser down 3 flights of stairs and throw my bag of teacherly goodies in the rear baskets and push off. The front wheel weebles and wobbles and I nearly crash. Clearly the axle is loose and the front tire is not working. Having lost 2 months of riding I decide to take her to a different bike shop. They take a look and tell me that the "new" front tire is not new and that the axle had been stripped. Not cool. Return parts to REI along with some unpleasantries. A "for real" new tire is ordered and less than 5 days later she's up and running beautifully, complete with a bike bell that says, "I love my bike" a gift from my friend Beth before she returned to New Zealand. This morning I take her for her virgin voyage and look down at the newly shined handlebars...some punks stole my bell.

I'm not sure what the moral of the story is here...i'll get back to ya after i kick some thieving booty.

Friday, November 21, 2008

Sesame Street's got nothing on me

There are people in this world who continually collide with disaster. I am one of those people and one of my disasters is two and half years old who I'll refer to as, Mr. Bean. I try not to let his English accent woo me, especially when it emits, with miniature Tony Blair vocals, "Jessy, I've soiled my trousers." Cute it may seem -until I have to help him change his poopie drawers. For some bizarre twist of fate I always seem to be just in the perfect vicinity to be sneezed on, peed on and pooped on. A couple weeks ago we were having our morning meeting on the carpet and my red-headed Mr. Bean, during a particular rousing song, looks me in the face and sneezes. Not only do I get a snotty booger on my cheek but it happened so quickly I didn't even have time to shut my eyes. (Did you know that sensitive baby wipes hurt if you try to clean your eyeballs with them?) Today I barely survived two attempts at my hygienic life. The first was this morning. His mother bid him goodbye and he went over to our art studio, sat at the table and promptly pooped his pants. I recognized the "poo face" seconds too late. He waddled to the bathroom with me as I gathered a fresh pair of "trousers", gloves and wipes. Being the conserving type that I am I didn't want to throw away the undies, now hosting a rounded turd resembling a dirty baseball, nor did I want to send the turd home. I leaned over the toilet and tried to gingerly roll it into the basin. It fell with a kur-plunk. Back splashing me...IN THE FACE. I managed to keep my breakfast down. The second attempt was this afternoon when I reminded him to go pee. Apparently uncircumcised preschool-aged urinary members are harder to aim because just as I was reminding him to hold "peter" down pee shot up at my leg and I leaped away with no seconds to spare, saving only what hadn't already been previously "poo-splashed" on.

I came home to check the numbers on my pay-check stub. Nope, not enough digits.

Wednesday, November 19, 2008

Uhhh....

There seems to be a rash of moments lately that have just taken me by sheer shock and as a person who prides myself in being able to adjust and adapt and think quickly in my current vocation i have been utterly incapable of functioning. Today two of my preschoolers (who happen to be twin girls) decided to go "swimming" in the inner-tube that some of the boys and I have been conducting experiments in rolling with. These two girls are the oldest in the class and youngest in their family. My co and I have the worst time trying to convince them to keep their clothes on. After 5 or 6 negotiations they know they have pushed my last button. When I saw them stripping, yet again, I asked them what they were doing. When they answered "going swimming", I saw potential for constructive dramatic play and frankly, one less battle to fight. I said, "When you are done swimming can you put your clothes back on?" They both answered yes with a laugh as if I was the lunatic. Not 45 seconds later I look over and see one of them sucking on the other's nipple. Louder than I intended, I asked, "What are you doing?", still trying to allow for a reasonable explanation. "I'm the baby" the suckling one answered. I stood there, frozen. My brain not even processing how to handle the situation appropriately. "Uhhh, put your clothes back on. Baby's done drinking."

Saturday, November 15, 2008

Dashboard confessions

You know when you are feeling all chummy and you start to share life secrets with friends, acquaintances, or maybe even people you just met? Its insta-regret the moment something slips from your mouth and you realize nanoseconds too late you wish they didn't know what you just told them, then, if you are really bad, like me, you even go so far as to maybe write it out on a post-it note just so they don't forget what you told them. Yeah, i did that. again.