Unskilled Labor

I attempted to make brownies for the school/PTO Halloween party tonight and this happened:

 

They taste delicious, though

They are small, and stuck to the pan, and there are 13. And no kid in their right mind will buy them, because they are boring and un-Halloweeny. I was hoping to raid the kids' candy baskets for something Halloweeny to put on top, but they only had Necco wafers and those tiny paper dots, left over from Easter. So I pried the brownies out of the pan and dumped the crumbled bits in the cookie jar. A baker I am not.

Tuesday and Wednesday of this week were spent averting mini catastrophes.

I had convinced my father that "we" would fix the heating system so that the 2nd story of my house actually heats. This was part of my quest to start a new career in construction. My father proposed cutting the copper pipe and inserting two different valves, which seemed pretty straightforward. The project involved torches and solder, two things I hate, and flashlight holding, which I am ok at. It eventually involved calling in a plumber, who had magic tools at his disposal (and skills, and years of experience). I asked the plumber how I could become a plumber, because that seems like a great line of work. He told me how it's done, but I feel he doubted my abilities. Which is fair, because I'm pretty sure that's not the right route for me, what with the flames and solder and all.  He did mention his wife is looking to be a phlebotomist, which might be worth looking into.

The Baby's awake, so it's time to go back to my current profession:

-A Real Housewife of the North Shore

Who Am I?

I feel like I've been in an identity crisis for the last six months, since I quit my job and the Baby came along. A lot of times I feel like I'm living in an alternate reality. This happened to me the other day while unloading the groceries from BJ's. I had bought 24 eggs.

Who Buys 24 Eggs?

The f'ing Easter Bunny? People with 5 children? Health nuts? ....me. I buy 24 eggs now. And Thomas' English Muffins in a 12-pack. Because as a housewife, I now make Egg McMuffins for the Husband and myself almost every day. I put the eggs away in the fridge, wondering what happened to me. Five years ago, I bought Egg McMuffins and Large Diet Cokes on my way to work. That's me, the lady who orders an Egg McMuffin and a Diet Coke for breakfast at the drive-thru, then eats it at her desk while answering emails.

Who is this person who makes 8 cups of coffee, 3 sandwiches, and 2 Egg McMuffins in the morning while Baby hangs out in the pack n' play, Husband gets ready for work, and Thing One and Thing Two get ready for school?

Who is this person who gets up Sunday morning after a night of drinking, rushes Thing One and Thing Two to church school, then comes home and makes scrambled eggs and toast (and 8 cups of coffee) while juggling the Baby?

Who is this person who thinks, "We could really use a banana holder" ?

Who Likes Mondays?

Apparently I like Mondays now. It's the start of a fresh new week; it's laundry day; I have a plan! I will finish the day feeling accomplished because the laundry will be DONE (until Thursday).

Who is this person who wakes up Monday morning with a pep in her step as she takes the kids to school and waits for the bell, excited to get home and start laundry?

Who Has Time to Plan Meals?

For years, my modus operandi has been to buy whatever meat was on sale, bring it home, add the least number of ingredients to it as possible to make it edible, and serve it with a Knorr side and frozen vegetables. (Technically, defrosted vegetables.) Now I cross-reference the sale flyer with new recipes and plan meals for the week. I make the shopping list from recipes, to include items like shallots (where does one find a shallot??), rice noodles (these I could only find in one out of three stores), and leeks.

Who buys leeks? What the heck is a leek? Who gets excited for their mother to pass along the newest Good Housekeeping so she can check out the recipe section?

Don't Worry -

I'm (still) not a domestic diva. I do not have a spotless house; I still hate cooking. I frequently throw the bed together at 5pm so that the Husband thinks I have it together. I'm still me, with or without an office job, but at least once a week I wonder what being me means.

Apparently, I buy two dozen eggs. I,

-A Real Housewife of the North Shore

First World Problems: Fall

It's Fall.

Some people love autumn. They love the weather; they love the leaves; they love... I forget what other things they try to convince me are awesome about this season.

I hate fall, the time of the year when everything dies. The leaves die and fall off the trees. The good ones turn the color of sunsets. The ones in my backyard just turn a sickly yellow and brown and twist their way to the ground with resignation. Frosts come and kill the morning glories and the hydrangea. Worse than the cold and the dying plants (and the squirrels running around like evil, bushy-tailed rats, shoving more nuts into their pie-holes than they can digest and regurgitating the remains on your porch) is the slow, steady decline of the sun, each day growing darker more quickly than the last.

They call it SAD 
For Seasonal Affective Disorder. I used to claim that I have a mild case of this. But to be fair, I keep functioning. I get up every morning (even as they get darker and darker); I drag myself through the day (is that a patch of sunshine in the kitchen? It must be time to do dishes!); I sit on the couch in the evenings stuffing more food than I need into my pie-hole. But I do turn a bit taciturn. While whining passive-aggressively at the Husband yesterday, I realized it's not really SAD, it's more like SAG: Seasonal Affective Grumpiness. And because of me, everyone in the house is subjected to it.

I'm mopey, not really depressed. I snap out of it every year and go back to being a reasonable human without any intervention - usually come December. I'm fine in the winter; I love snow and I don't mind the cold. I like the smell and sound of the heat starting up, filling the house with warmth; the frost on the windows in the morning.

It's just that fall that turns me into a grump. It's losing 6 minutes a day of sunlight. It's the way the sun no longer comes into the living room in the morning; no longer shines through the bathroom window in the afternoons. It's the end of a season of flowers. It's the cold rain that doesn't help anything grow, just seeps into the ground and floods the basement.

What a great thing to blame a season for my grumpiness. "I can't help it; I just have to wait it out until the Christmas lights start showing up in December." But since I don't live in a bubble, I need to write it out, roll it up (metaphorically), and stick it on the shelf. After all, whining about the seasons is not befitting of

-A Real Housewife of the North Shore (The name says it all!)

Adventures with Tools

...actual tools, not people who act like idiots.

This weekend we had a baptism, and we had people over afterwards for a collation (fancy word for food that makes me feel accomplished while sending invitations). Since it was rather cold, I turned the heat on to make our guests feel more comfortable. After they had left, I realized that the house never got up to temperature. Huh. I went down in the basement, and it was plenty warm down there, so clearly the boiler was TRYING to do its job, but failing.

So while I had some time during the baby's nap yesterday, I decided I was going to fix this problem. After all, in the past two weeks I've fixed a closet door (by tightening the hinge screws), fixed a bedroom door (by gluing the hinge screws) and caulked the shower. I was 3-for-3 in home repair jobs and ready for a new challenge.

We had some issues with the boiler last winter, where it wasn't heating the water for some unknown reason (the oil company could not find the reason, and then it magically fixed itself), so the boiler and I are good friends at this point. I went down to the basement, screwed in the light bulb, and checked it out. Everything was in working order; but my radiators upstairs were cold to the touch. Except for one or two. So I figured it was time to bleed the air out of them. Seems simple enough; I'd seen the Husband and the Heat Repair Guy do it. So I pulled off the radiator cover and saw this:

So I went in search of the proper tool, which I figured must be pliers (I haven't graduated beyond the school of hammers and screwdrivers yet). I could not find pliers (luckily?), but then I found the wrench kit, and that seemed like a superior tool. The wrench and I turned that bolt thingy on the top, air came out, and when the water started to come out, I turned it back closed. Ta-da! Immediately, the radiator got hot. It was a huge win. I celebrated my success by repeating the procedure on several radiators and patted myself on the back. I may or may not have eaten a celebration brownie.

But then the Husband came home. He was displeased. There may have been yelling involved. Apparently you are supposed to bleed the radiator by turning the screw that's in the bolt (do you see it in the picture? Because... I did not see it IRL). And the bolt thingy is supposed to be basically glued in place. Which MAY be why it was so hard to turn the one in the baby's room. Maybe. Ok, probably. I just thought it was because I have no wrist strength.

The Husband attempted to order me to never perform home maintenance again, but I refused to consent. I did agree to perhaps research my tasks on the internet before jumping into them wrench-first.

I'm not sure if I'm 3-for-4 or 4-for-4 on these home repair jobs at this point. Either way, I'm definitely not a handy(wo)man. I'm just a-

-Real Housewife of the North Shore   

Impossiblemaker

This post requires a prelude.

Prelude:

Several months ago, this spring, I was a new Housewife. A new Housewife, who thought, "Surely, now that I am a Housewife, I will have time to take on a more active role in the PTO." You know, more than just baking brownies and attending (most of) the monthly meetings. So I volunteered to be Field Trip Coordinator.

They make this seem like an esteemed position by having an election for it. The first clue that it is not should have been when no one was running for it. So I "won." Perhaps you have made a similar mistake. If people thank you for volunteering for a position and no one is running against you, you might want to start running away.

So, Now:

I've now been Field Trip Coordinator for several months and I am ready to resign. Exactly one field trip has happened. I have had to employ all of my skills from 15 years of working in an office to get this far. There is no budget to work with, just a random set of rules. Despite years of going through this drill, most teachers do not seem to have any trip plans. I think some of them regard me as the Field Trip Fairy and are waiting for me to wave a magic wand and make some school busses transport them away to a mystical Field Trip Place. The previous Field Trip Coordinator tries very hard to be helpful, but there are a lot of random tasks involved that were not previously mentioned, such as how I need to photocopy and distribute the permission forms.

To be fair, the first field trip went fine. The second field trip is tomorrow and the planning aspect went well. The third field trip was NOT the charm. The bus company claimed they didn't get my request. I called three times before they told me, a week before the trip, that they didn't have any busses. Other bus companies cost twice as much. I'm frankly surprised we were able to get any busses at all that late in the game. Then the PTO officers balked at paying the invoice, despite the fact that the field trip cost falls well within the random rules prescribed. They want me to go back to the teacher and say it's only okay if they agree to have their second allotted trip (one of the rules is that each grade gets 2 trips) be an in-school "trip."

In lieu of resigning, I will be discussing the random rules and proposing operating off of a budget instead. At tomorrow night's PTO meeting. It has not escaped me that a resignation of this position is not without consequences, including years of public shame and hiding my face every day at student drop off and pickup.  I do not want my legacy to involve PTO shame.

This position is not without personal costs. My housewifely duties have been neglected while I email and call the same people again and again. The laundry got wrinkled; the bills are unpaid. I had to break open a beer at 1 PM.

Coordinator is a pretty title that means Impossiblemaker. I've been a Coordinator before; I should have known. Everyone you are coordinating with wants you to make the impossible happen. But I lack the Fairy magic to be Impossiblemaker. I am simply -

-A Real Housewife of the North Shore