Ooma?

Mr. Tonks and I are cutting out the cable bill at the end of the month. We would’ve done it before but they wanted too much to break the contract. We’re keeping internet, bidding adieu to cable (God bless Hulu for providing me with free access to Glee and Top Chef) and are trying to figure out what to do about the phone. Internet will be around $25/ month. The stupid phone will be over $40. Uh, thank you no.

We’ve got two options so that we can communicate vocally with the outside world.

1) Cell phones. This is all well and good but the reception in our house sucks. We’ve got super cheap-o phones so I wonder if upgrading to a better phone would help the situation? I blame the stone basement because I can use my phone in Costco and get crystal clear reception. The same holds true if I take the phone outside- all is well with the world. Inside? Not so much.

2) Ooma. This is a fairly unknown entity and I’ve read mixed reviews. Most are positive and it seems like a good deal but I’m hesitant.

Of course we could also try a tin can and string but that seems fairly tedious to me.

Thank you, officer sir

I got pulled over today. I didn’t do anything so when the lights flashed and he beeped his siren at me it took everything I had to pull the van over and not put my head on the steering wheel and laugh hysterically. Instead, as the officer walked towards me, I stuck my head out the window and called, nice as could be, “Hello! What did I do wrong?”

Turns out my registration was expired. Which it actually wasn’t but Mr. Tonks didn’t put the ‘10 tag on when the renewal came so it looked it expired. He realized my registration and insurance were current, then asked if he could see my license.

Fuck.

I handed it to him and waited for him to get in his cruiser and realize that the damn thing was expired by over a year.

When the officer came back he started to hand me my license and I said, “I can explain” and proceeded to do so. Last year, when I was supposed to renew my license, I was sick as a damn dog because of the pregnancy and never got my over-nauseated self to the DMV. What I didn’t tell him was that I didn’t go to the DMV once I was well (and haven’t gone since) because I wasn’t having my picture taken when I was fat and bloated. No one wants their picture taken when they feel yucky, right?

This guy couldn’t have been nicer. He let me off with a warning, which was basically me promising that I’d get the tag on the license as soon as I got to my parents’ and that I would go, by the end of the week, to renew my license. Sure! Fine! Done! I was so delighted that I called Mr. Tonks and announced that I’d gotten pulled over and our luck had turned around because I didn’t get a ticket. Perhaps it’s a little premature to make that declaration but, dammit, I’m going to take what I can get. I’m also going to hope  I lose 10 lbs. by Friday so I can look slim in my driver’s license picture.

Oddly calm

If Mr. Tonks get fired in the next 48 hours I won’t be surprised. I should, for all intents and purposes, be freaking out. However, other than being antsy, I’m feeling pretty okay.

I’m really, really, really proud of my husband and am pretty much in a state of shocked disbelief.

Mr. Tonks lost it with the managing principal (for purposes of the blog, we’re going to call him Dick) in a big, grand, loud way.

Dick somehow figured out that Mr. Tonks was unhappy so he pulled him into a conference room for a chat. I’m pretty sure Dick thought he’d be able to smooth talk and placate like he’s been able to do for the last few years but Mr. Tonks lost it.  He pretty much called him on every lie and misrepresentation that they’ve fed to him and he did it LOUDLY for over an hour. Another principal got pulled in when it was clear that Mr. Tonks was not conceding and the conversation went on (more calmly) for another 90 minutes.

You have to understand that this is entirely out of character for my husband. I’ve known Mr. Tonks for 12 years and never in that time have I ever seen him as upset, angry, etc. over anything like he is over this promotion. Not ever. Truly, it is the straw that broke the camel’s back. He maybe slept for two hours last night and that was mostly due to just how rankled this has him. It’s not so much that he didn’t get the promotion but that he feels like they’ve constantly lied and misled him for the last 9 years (particularly in the last 3).

The partners would be foolish to fire him because there’s a lot at that firm that only Mr. Tonks is able to do- not because he won’t let anyone else do it but because a) they depend on him and b) no one else is willing to learn. They’re shooting themselves in the foot if they fire him but, as Mr. Tonks pointed out, that conference room wasn’t sound proof so the principles may deem it necessary to prove a point or make an example.

Whatever. I should be scared shitless but I’m just so damn proud of him for standing up to them. I hate that they’ve broken him- and they have. He loves his job and is so passionate about design. I’ve watched him, especially in the last few months, become so disenchanted by it all. He told me tonight he wants out of the business so he doesn’t have to deal with the political bullshit that comes from working in a corporate office.

This weekend he began working on my painting. I had a little extra money from my birthday and an awesome craft store coupon so I bought him a nice easel that we set up in the dining room. Watching him paint is vicariously calming. He’s so content and at ease and happy. Tonight we talked a lot about him getting out of architecture* and having him start a mural and custom art painting business. Time has always been an issue before (murals take a lot of time) but, hey, if he gets fired and can’t find a job, he may have a lot of time on his hands.

If reality strikes, if he is fired, I’ll freak for sure. For now, though, I’m basking in the afterglow of him taking a stand for himself. The timing may pretty much suck but, dammit, it needed to happen.

*Obviously he’ll actively keep looking for another job (so will I) so that life’s incidentals (like feeding the kids and having health insurance and not living in a cardboard box) can be met but I think he definitely needs a break from trying to climb the corporate ladder and may try to make a go of being an artist. I also don’t think  he’ll ever leave architecture entirely- he loves it too much.

I hate you and your ass face

Mr. Tonks got passed over for a promotion today. This would sting less if it was given to someone who actually deserved it. Instead it was given to someone who’s the managing principal’s hunting buddy.

It’s a terrible slap in the face to Mr. Tonks who called me after walking out of his office. He was utterly livid. Those of you who know Mr. Tonks know that it takes a lot to make my husband angry. A whole lot. He’s one of the most even tempered people I know. You almost have to try to piss him off and, lo, his firm wildly succeeded this morning. He was so angry, in fact, that when I offered to pick him up from work (he couldn’t leave because he carpooled) he readily agreed. He says he doesn’t know if he’ll go to work tomorrow.

I wish he could quit. I wish he could go in there, give them the verbal lashing they deserve, tell them to fuck themselves and walk out the door. But he can’t. We have two tiny glimmers of hope job-wise. Fingers crossed, prayers, good karma, etc. are all appreciated. He truly deserves better.

Too bad he can’t pull a Peter. It’s an Office Space kind of night.

There’s a hole in my side (complete with grodie pic!)

MRSA strikes the Tonks’ house yet again. I’ve had several minor infections that I was able to catch early and treat but this one raged out of control at lightning speed.

Neat.

(The picture doesn’t illustrate how swollen the sore is. It looks like I’ve grown a third boob.)

I went to the doctor’s today and had it sliced open, got put on antibiotic every 6-hours for 10 days, there’s a new ointment I’m supposed to use and I’m waiting for the pediatrician to call me back so XC can go on medication for thrush (preemptive strike, if we don’t he’ll surely get it). Now I’ve got this oozing hole in my side (roughly the width of a pencil and quite deep), my mouth tastes like metal (side effect of the antibiotic) and I feel all run down and sicky. Meh. I’m not even going to get into how much all the medicine cost, let’s just say it’s a good thing the kids are fans of cereal for dinner.

I’m really very tired of this. It’s my understanding that MRSA will hang around for months and months and even up to a year or two. In theory I need to wipe down all surfaces with bleach water at least daily, change all sheets daily, have everyone use clean towels daily, keep everyone’s nails short, keep little fingers out of noses (MRSA colonies reside in your nose), do the Hibicleanse scrub down every other day…it’s overwhelming.

The fact is, I really suck at the housewife gig. You could drown in the laundry that’s piled up in the basement. I have issues getting sheets changed every Sunday, much less every stinking day. And at least once a week you can’t wipe down the kitchen counter because you can’t SEE the kitchen counter- you get the picture. It’s not that I don’t mind a cluttered house- it drives me bananas- I just don’t manage my time well and there are a whole host of other things I’d rather do and/or need to do and those usually win out.

Household chores are so defeating. I mop and the floors are clean for maybe an hour. I get caught up on laundry* only to have to start the process all over again at the end of the day. I vacuum and SG decides to dump the contents of her crayon box. See? What the hell is the point? Well, alright, I suppose now the point is that I’d really rather not endure another MRSA infection (holy crap it hurts so, so bad) and in order for that to happen I have to be June Effing Cleaver. Phooey.

Oh squalor, why hast thou forsaken me?

*A couple months ago we had a coupon for a laundry service. At $1.10 per pound it cost over $80 to get the laundry done and we didn’t include the baby’s clothes, sheets, towels or underwear. See- World’s Worst Housewife**.

**I hate that word.

Just call me Mulder

Baby X

I love, love, love this picture- taken by my friend who’s an extraordinary photographer.

Projects

Here’s my dining room:

I found the table at a consignment shop  for a bargain. It needed some work but it’s teak and I loved the lines and thought it held tons of potential. Five years later, it needs serious help. It still has tons of potential, of course, but now it really looks like crap. The chairs were a helluva bargain off eBay. They’re Bentwood Thonets that are also in need of TLC but their shabbiness is eclipsed by the deplorable condition of the table.

This is what happens when a 4 1/2 year old dumps half a bottle of glue onto a piece of purple construction paper and walks away:

This is what happens when a six-year old colors a piece of paper using Sharpies:

If you look hard you’ll notice some bare spots. This is from when I decided to refinish the table one afternoon just hours before Scurry and her boyfriend were to come to our house. Obviously two hours is not enough time to refinish a table. I definitely need to sand it down but am debating on what to do next- apply a coat of wax or a coat of polyurethane. Hmm…must check teh Google on what to do with inside teak. I’m hoping to get this done by the end of the month.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

I have 16 days to make SG’s donut costume. Here’s what I’ve got to work with:

I have to sew all those cursed bugle beads on by hand. Meh. Laggin (along with a couple other fabulous crafty people) have offered to sew the donut circles together. Bless them because otherwise I’d have to do it by hand. This may be a fiasco of epic proportions. What will be completely awesome is SG’s hair. We’re dying it pink! I met a girl who works at Spin! last week whose hair is a dyed rainbow of fabulousness (seriously, if I were 10 years younger I’d beg her to color my hair) and she took a liking to Sam and offered her services for Halloween. Yay! She’s a stranger but my friend also works there and he assures me that she’s good people.

Also, I’m not abandoning my blog. I’m just sick of whining and bitching about life being such a fickle bitch but all that’s on my mind is whiny bitchiness. I mean, come on, do you really want to hear about how shitty things are right now? No. You want  to laugh and mock while I make SG’s donut costume. I assure you, there will be ample opportunity to do so.

I’ve seen better paintings in hotel rooms

What a douche of a painting.

Jesus H. Christ.

Dear 2009, How ’bout I bend over a little farther?

I backed into my neighbor’s POS car after dropping my other neighbor’s kid off after school.

FML.

Shit.