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no. 640 - Flip This House

We are doing our best to make our home's personality borderline schizophrenic. After living here for just shy of two years, the following changes have occurred (some even before they were ever enforced) - or will occur shortly:

On the blue prints, it was the "Formal Dining Room."

The idea of a formal dining room chafed Mr. DD so much, that it ended up becoming a "Den."

The den actually is the "Game Room" where we send XBoy to play his Leap Frog, Nintendo, Atari, L-Maxx, etc. I find Mr. DD in there a lot, too.

The game room is getting converted into the "Spare Bedroom."

On the blue prints, it was the "Baby's Room."

During construction, I miscarried. It immediately became the "Spare Bedroom."

The spare bedroom will once again become the "Baby's Room", but I don't think I'll be able to say that out loud for a long time.

On the blue prints, it was "XBoy's Room."

It will remain XBoy's room, but I will finally let him have a decision in how he wants it to look for the next few years, since I went very neutral (read: bland) in paint selection and decor. Oddly enough, this room will be the most labor-intensive.

I have a lot of work in front of me. A chair and sleeper sofa have been ordered for the spare bedroom, but that's as far as I've gotten. They will take about six weeks to arrive. I'll sit on my thumbs until then.

The chicks have been returned to be with their brethren on the farm. My mom and agree that XBoy has very little animal instinct in him, unlike his mother. While some things (like mice) now can send me shrieking, I was bummed that I couldn't move fast enough to catch the gardener snake in the yard to show XBoy. I think my mom's shrieking fit scared it.

More on that for another time.

no. 638 - Now What Part Exactly Do Chicken "Fingers" Come From?

Coincidently to the prior post, I notice the door to the laundry room is open while we were sitting down to supper. I bit my tongue instead of creating a scene ripe for a food fight and once we had finished eating, went to address my OCD wife-iness.

Before I shut the door, I saw a zip lock bag sitting on the floor full of yellow, powdery stuff. "Aw, hell, now what hazardous material has that man brought into our house now?" I thought. First let me show you what I saw:

It looks innocuous enough, doesn't it?

I go to stand over it, while also trying to figure out why that stupid bucket is sitting in the middle of the floor (I have a few like that in the basement and there are several in the shop, leftovers from our cat-owning days, so it didn't immediately strike me as whacked).

When I did, something in the bucket moved. I startled. I leaned in for a closer look...

MOTHERFUCK!!

Literally.

Kind of.

My mother dropped these off for us, presumably for XBoy.

Don't ask what will happen next to them. Mr. DD is less than pleased with his MIL and asked if I was going to take them out and shove them down a badger hole. After briefly considering it, of course I told him no.

We haven't told XBoy yet. I'll wait to see if they make it 24 hours in the house, which is unlikely. It's probably not warm enough for them, even though I have the bucket situated over that heat vent and have the opening draped with a towel to reserve heat. I even threw in some easter grass for them to sit in instead of that lid with food.

Normal kids get goldfish. Grandchildren of farmers get livestock. And since it will be impossible (whether physically or mentally) to flush these poor bastards down the toilet if they die, I'll also be out in the field somewhere digging a shallow grave.

no. 637 - Ask You Once, Shame On Me; Ask You Twice, Nag On You

Do you know what the difference is between politely requesting a domicile task and nagging?

When you've made the request tenfuckingmillion times already, it becomes nagging.

Here's a list of the things I now nag about:

If you had to open the door to get into the room, shut the door when you leave it, e.g. the laundry room door, especially when the 20 year old dryer is grinding and pounding as if a rabid badger was trapped inside. This makes it impossible for me to hear Tyra Banks snark on one of the model wannabes inability to look "fierce".

Put your clothes in the hamper. Not just your pants/shirt. The underwear and socks, too. Especially the underwear and socks since they are completely vile and it's bad enough I have to touch them at some point to transfer them to the washing machine. Make a game of hoops out of it, if you have to. I don't leave my pregnancy panties strewn about, now do I?

On a related note: Do not put your dirty socks on the kitchen counter, because Duuude! that is so fucking janetjacksonnasty! And c'mon, you just walked by the laundry room (that you left the door open on....again), how hard is it for you to just put your socks in the basket?

Throw your nose tampons in the trash. Do not leave them on the bed/couch/counter/nightstand. (What? You don't know what a nose tampon is? It's when you take a tissue and roll it up into a tampon-shaped device and shove it up your nose to clear out those pesky boogers that won't come out through regular blowing.) Again, I don't leave my tampons around the house, all willy-nilly.

When you are done with the dishcloth, please rinse it, wring it, and lay it next to the sink. Now this one, being multi-directional, can be confusing, but please....a dishcloth shouldn't be an all-you-can-eat buffet, complete with a fountain drink, to errant cockroaches and mice.

And finally after you come inside from the garage, please take off your shoes and put them away. Yes, those shoes that you have tracked through spilled motor-vehicle paint, solvents and adhesive from work. No, I don't care that you are going to put them back on, because you aren't going to be putting them back on for at least another two hours since you will insist on taking a break to lounge around on the couch in your spilled motor-vehicle, solvent and adhesive soaked work clothes to watch America's Next Top Model with me (even if you make some really funny remarks about Tyra's current weave).

I'm going to put my shoes back on in 12 hours, but I don't leave them somewhere a pregnant woman could trip and fall over. Plus, you see this area that divides the garage from the kitchen? It's a "mud room"! With built in cubbies! For each of us! To hang your coat and put your shoes in! How fucking awesome is that! I know it's been only two years since we've lived here and it can take you a decade to figure these things out. I respect that in you, a man, who is oblivious to anything that doesn't have gears, or control buttons, or a flat screen. I still love you.

Of course, you could always refer to this website about why women nag and how men should respond to it. I'm not quite sure why the very simple solution to nagging wasn't mentioned and that is LIVE IT - LEARN IT the first time and then, Dear Heart, you would never have to hear me mention it again.

Otherwise, there's the old stand-by, Common Sense, right? Oh, yeah, you're a man. Never mind. I lost my head there for a moment. I can't be the only one...am I?

no. 634 - ** 44 **

I've been blogging since Summer 2005 so I didn't get to wish a Happy 41st Birthday that year to Mr. DD.

April 2006, I was "enjoying" IVF number two and his 42nd was mentioned only in passing.

April 2007, for his 43rd Birthday, I shared this picture I used in the local paper for his 40th. He swears I photo-shopped the second from the left picture. I swear I didn't. See prior post for hair reference.

April 2008. Today. Mr. DD is 44. He lamented this age by reminding me that when Murdock turns 16, he will be 60. While we both wish we would have started a family earlier, we have been able to take pleasure in acting out the things that Kindergartners enjoy...like potty jokes, burping contests and blaming farts on each other.

Maybe at 60, Mr. DD will get a kick out of showing Murdock how to convert a muscle car into 4WD. He did it once, why not again?

He doesn't read here even though he knows about my blog, but someday when I convert this all to Blurb, I want him to know that I think of him with love and frustration and joy and irritation every single day.

Happy Birthday, Mr. DD.

no. 632 - I'm in Lust

Speaking of shopping, I saw these shoes in a magazine. Completely impractical during one's third trimester since they won't be available until June, but, oh. my. god. I want them.

no. 631 - PSA on SBS Scam

My husband asked me recently what I had to pay for my TypePad account. I told him it was than $50 a year. Why?

He noticed on our credit card statement a $9.95 charge for the past couple of months. The first time saw it he just figured it was something related to my blogging or something for XBoy. But a second time?

I looked at the statement and saw that the charge was associated with "SBS Fun Family Rewards". I had no recollection of signing up for anything so I did some internet searching and just by typing in that string of words, "credit card scam" and "unauthorized" popped up everywhere.

I called the number on our statement and after asking how they acquired our credit card information, I was told that based on an online purchase I made from JCPenney (for some items my Mom took to Jordan to give to her grandkids), somehow I had "agreed" to this program and that an email containing information was sent to us.

I was furious as I always try to make sure to unclick/click those damn default boxes for special offers and emails. In the meantime, Mr. DD saw that the charge went back four statements. I told the rep to cancel the membership and demanded a full refund. When he tried to protest, I countered that he can take care of it now or I can file a dispute through our credit card. He finally confirmed the cancellation and a credit.

SBS (Stonebridge Benefits Services) Fun Family Rewards appears to actually be one of those insurance/benefit providers that tries to piggy back many credit card programs. As I read many complaints posted about both the program and the telemarketers from this company, I wondered how many others are getting charged $10 a month and do not even realize it, or have only filed a complaint and not called to cancel their "membership".

Mr. DD and I pretty much take our statement for granted. I see things that I assume are related to his work and RC Racing and if he doesn't recognize a purchase, he guesses that it's related to my shopping/blogging/charity/XBoy purchases.  We've agreed to make sure to ask each other every time we see something that doesn't jive, even if it's a nominal charge, like this stupid $10 which could have easily turned into $120 because we each assumed the other knew about it.

Look over your statements. And if you know you've made one from Penneys online in 2007 or more recently? Be especially wary.

no. 630 - Is MYODB an Appropriate Answer?

One of my friends/coworkers had a business lunch with a couple of women from another department. One of the women asked my friend if my pregnancy was an "oops" or was it planned.

Thank god she was the one asked that question because I'm sure I would have answered, "It could be considered an 'oopsy' if I had wandered into a darkened room, tired and needing a nap and fell into a valium-induced conscious sedation, spread-eagled and bottomless, on an exam table with my feet resting comfortably in some stirrups....and if four other people with masks wandered in and just figured every vagina looks alike via a ultrasound wand....and the embryologist accidentally slipped some fertilized embryos from a pipette into my uterus..."

Yep. That'd be one hell of an accident. I'm trying to cut her some slack because not EVERYONE knows, right?

I guess I'm irked since the woman who asked has absolutely no personal interest in me, or at least has never shown it much less acknowledged my existence. Purely juvenile snoopiness.

Maybe I should ask her to be the baby's Godmother since she's suddenly taken an interest in my gestational status?

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A couple of you remembered I had my 24 week OB appointment yesterday. I didn't mention it because it was uneventful, if not downright dull. Weight OK. Blood pressure OK. Uterine growth OK. I did ask for an iron screen, which came back ever-so-slightly below my doc's preference so I've been given a script for an iron supplement.

I return April 30th at which time I will get another ultrasound to make sure Murdock is on target for growth and I go through the glucose screening. We even threw a couple of dates out there for the c-section (no VBAC for me and I have no desire to even try). He's thinking about 7 days from the due date, but that could be problematic since I went into labor with XBoy 10 days early.

Maybe I should worry about getting through April, May and June first, huh?

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Things must be fairly tame around here since I haven't udpated my password protected blog. Of course, I'm sure I've just jinxed myself.

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Remember how Mr. DD asked me to wait on buying any baby-related stuff? I just found out that my little impulse buying behavior is nothing compared to his: he bought a frickin scissor-lift from ebay a few weeks ago and I just found out. A scissor-lift! Yeah, like he's going to have any time this summer to be messing with shop projects. What a twit. It's a good thing I love him.

no. 627 - The Thaw

I've made it no secret that I'm having a hard time accepting that everything could work out just fine with this pregnancy. Not to overuse a bad pun, but a positive outcome seems...inconceivable in my head.

But I really do try to out-shout those thoughts daily. I make myself walk by the maternity and infant sections in the department stores. I make myself look at sites like Babies R Us so I can know what's out there. I am trying to make plans for July.

I thought I was making some headway when this weekend I showed Mr. DD some items that I would like to get for the baby, including a play-yard nursery set and a stroller/carseat set. That was Saturday and he did nothing more than make a remark about the color. I expected nothing more or less as he is a guy after all.

Then last night as I was quietly sitting on the bedroom floor, folding the week's laundry, he came in and asked me to wait until April or May to make any purchases. "Just in case..."

I felt defensive about it and told him that having those things in the house even if something does go horribly wrong will not make it hurt any more, but he quietly insisted and asked for my patience.

After having him be so optimistic at almost every turn and twist we have gone through since 2004, this threw me, and hard.

I already felt like I've been letting down Murdock. Not believing in him/her. Not believing in myself has been hard enough and now in a way that I'm sure Mr. DD did not intend, I sense his doubt as well, even though it stands to reason that he is finally admitting that all of the failed cycles and miscarriages have impacted him more than he's ever vocalized before now.

Instead of him trying to convince me everything will be alright as he's done in the past, I find the roles reversed, forcing me to commit more of my heart into something I've been trying to keep an emotional distance from. Somewhere along the line, I've fallen in love with this baby and that has led to feeling something that I thought had been frozen so deep inside it would never thaw: Hope.

no. 625 - Linked

I have added several links to blogs on my sidebar since the huge majority of you do like to see your name in lights.

I'm sure I've missed someone along the way, so let me know with an email to dd_tko@yahoo.com or a comment.

As I was going through this I remembered why I stopped trying to keep it updated: TypePad only alphabetizes on the blog itself, not in its file. So I have to print off the list from here; print off my list from bloglines and cross-reference the two....I'm sure there's an easier way but I have yet to be enlightened. (hint hint to any TypePad gurus)

Have a great weekend everyone. It's the first weekend in four consecutive that we haven't had to travel to either The Metro or to The Capitol to look/drive/buy a new mode of transportation. What's done is done. We said our final goodbyes to our Sequoia and I am actually enjoying my new status as a minivan driver (it looks just like the picture).

I may be driving a van, but I'm still repeating in my head, "Lead, Follow, or Get the Fuck Out of My Way!".

no. 624 - It's a Veritable Wild Life Reserve Around Here

Besides the rootin-tootin time my husband had shooting up my parent's house, this past weekend was just full of events that I had to mentally file away under "potential blog post".

Friday night I was heading to our basement (basement of a newly constructed home, unfinished - just so you know it's not a "cellar" or something like that - relevant) to do something irrelevant to this story. The steps go halfway before stopping at a landing, turning and more steps down. When I got to the landing I saw something at the bottom of the stairs sitting on a remnant of carpet. Here are some of the thoughts that ran quickly through my head:

• Did the dog poop down here? Oh wait, we don't have a dog.
• Did a raccoon get in the house and poop? Naahhhhh.
• Did XBoy poop on the floor?! No way.

With those thoughts, you can get an idea of what I might have been looking at.

Then part of the "poop" moved.

(EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeeekkkkkkk!!!!!!!!!!) *me silently screaming*

Mice! Again!

I dashed back upstairs just as Mr. DD and XBoy were getting home. What do you think the first thing I did was?

I grabbed my camera, of course, and told Mr. DD to keep XBoy quiet and occupied.

I popped on the telephoto lense, headed to the landing and snapped a couple of pictures. Want to see? Well, you can't because our good laptop is still under repair and this old one is like using dial-up even thought it's not.

Then I went upstairs to tell Mr. DD to take care of the problem. Except he suddenly has a heart attack.

OK, he didn't have a heart attack. It was a stupid case of indigestion that made him turn into a big pussy. (Get pregnant and then tell me what heart burn feels like, you ass).

I took the plastic bag out of his hands, put on my winter gloves (oh, shit, I just realized I wore them today and haven't washed them - Ick!) and headed down the stairs again.

I should mention that these were baby mice, but they weren't in a nest. There were no pieces of fabric or paper that indicates a nest. They were just all huddled together. I bent down and scooped up the cluster and one little fucker jumped and got away. The other three were dumped in the bag.

Another trip up the stairs with my prey. I stopped to let XBoy peer into the bag to see three tiny, furry mice trying to climb up the side of the bag, pleading for mercy staring up at us with their cute beady black eyes.

Xboy asked what I was going to do with them. I told him that I was going to let them go outside. When he asked to come with me, I told him no and that it would only take a second. I felt like the cruelest person in the world as I tied off the bag and placed it inside the cold burn barrel.

Even worse? Later that night, Mr. DD went down to the basement and found the fourth baby mouse had returned to find his siblings, squeaking for them. He bagged that one, too, who found himself faced with a similar fate as the other three.

We both felt pretty sad about those little vermin critters. That is until I realized there are at least two more mice running around. Sometimes, this prairie living is for the mice, deer, birds.