Suburbia @ Large

Tuesday, February 15, 2005

I need a drink, and a more interesting bathroom.

I haven't had a drink in about six million years and I would give my right arm for an ice cold bourbon and ginger right about now. It is the world's worst cosmic joke that a girl cannot have a drink when she is preparing to become a new mother, as this is arguably the time when a girl has most reason to put on a light buzz from time to time. Think about it: the scale reports numbers she has NEVER seen in her entire lifetime, she can't sleep for more than a few hours straight without either visiting the bathroom (hi again! hi tiles! hi sink!) or waking up to project manage a Turn Over Maneuver, and, of course, there's the fact that she's not so much walking but waddling from meeting to meeting. It's difficult to look serious about product revenue when you're wearing pink-fringed maternity clothes. And let me tell you that if you think it is easy to find neutral maternity clothes at a decent price, well, then...you can just ... just go right on thinking that. Yeah. Go ahead.

Given the number of times a pregnant woman visits the bathroom over the course of the day, I wish mine were either a more interesting bathroom or that the visit itself was a more interesting one. I've already managed to inventory every single irregularity in the paint job I gave the bathroom last year. I've already decided to redecorate the room by adding some pictures to the wall, and, having already imagined what these pictures might be in my mind's eye, I've already decided where to hang them. Beyond that, I've run out of things to do or think about while zipping in and out of the bathroom. I'm thinking I might set up an enormous jigsaw puzzle on the floor so that at least I can gain some feeling of accomplishment for all the time spent in there of late.

I would like to stop right here to say that I've never given so much thought or ink to the subject of my bathroom. I am hoping, as perhaps you are hoping, that this trend does not continue. On some level I'm aware that it's uncouth to discuss one's bathroom. My mother, who has not fully recovered from the glider rocker story, has probably been thrown right back into a deep, embarrassed wince. Cheer up, ma! At least you can drink.

Besides my general need to tie on a light buzz and my quest to make bathroom visits either more visually interesting or more productive, all else is going well here in Suburbia. Fab Husband was a romantic Valentines Day hero, and, thanks to some much-needed prodding from a girlfriend, just about every item has been knocked off The List Of Baby Stuff We Need. All in all I can't complain (though of course I will), since life is good and we are lucky people.

Posted at 8:45 pm by Suburbia
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Thursday, February 10, 2005

Dry cleaning is not "dry".

I should start a separate section of entries entitled "Things I never knew but everyone else appears to have known from the time they were children.". It would be a large category.

If I had such a separate section of blog entries, I would add this little tidbit to it today: the process of dry cleaning is not, in fact, "dry". Your clothes get wet. Your wools, your silks... they get wet. Your clothes are dipped in a vat of (very wet) chemical, then dried.

WTF?

I know, I know. I have already tested this out at work and discovered that pretty much every single one of you already knew that.

But how do you know that? When did you learn that? Don't even try to tell me you learned that in school, because I went to school and I did not learn that.

Did you learn that because, say, you were driving along with your parents one day, saw a sign for a dry cleaners, and asked, "Mom? Dad? You know that sign that says 'Dry Cleaning'? Does that big sign just lie?".

Or did you learn that at university from one of your fellow students in one of those deep, philosophical discussions?

Did you learn it from the Discovery channel? Or are you all the type of people who regularly read Dry Cleaning Today magazine?

WTF?!

Posted at 7:05 pm by Suburbia
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Tuesday, February 08, 2005

Glider rocker, cheap

Last Saturday found me rocking back and forth in a glider rocker in a parking lot at a Home Depot located about an hour from my home. It was 30 degrees outside, and I had driven there to meet a couple - complete strangers - who posted said rocker on Craig's List.

My mother is so cringing right now. Don't worry ma, I brought mace.

Now, I did this partly because Sandie says that a Glider Rocker is something of a must-have for a nursing mother. Actually what she said was some version of "Your ass will thank you", except she didn't say "ass" because she doesn't really swear very often, at least not with any deep, visceral conviction. But that is partly why we are friends; because I will swear more liberally than she will (note: mother continues cringing), and I think it's funny that I can edit her words on my blog and make it seem like she said "ass" when in fact she did not.

So anyway, Sandie says that a Glider Rocker is a must-have for a nursing mother. Yet our bank account says that $400 for a Glider Rocker is a must-forget for a soon-to-be-at 70% pay nursing mother.

So where does a woman go when a woman needs an expensive thing cheap? Craig's List or eBay, of course. And that is how I ended up with a lovely Glider Rocker for a mere $35. But that is also how I ended up testing out said rocker in freezing weather in a Home Depot parking lot in front of two strangers in New England.

Mother, relax. It was a very busy parking lot; lots of other people around. I was not in any danger.

The only small complaint I will register is that The Bonhnams, the lovely young couple from whom I purchased the rocker, Febrezed the hell out of the cushions such that I had to drive an hour home with the windows down.

Could we talk about Febreze for a moment? There is absolutely no component of that smell that is available in nature. It is a chemical cocktail. Clearly The Bonhnams, in spite of the fact that Mrs. Bonham happily nursed her child for 2 years in the glider rocker that is now in our home, are not riders on the organic product bandwagon.

But that is okay. I've since aired out the cushions. The long drive, the Febreeze, the bizarre-o moment where I'm rocking back and forth in a freezing Home Depot parking lot -- all of that is worth the $350 we can now put toward our daughter's education fund. Or, perhaps more realistically, toward a car seat and a diaper genie.

I'm feeling rather smug about the whole thing at the moment. Go, me.

Posted at 10:27 pm by Suburbia
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