Saturday, June 09, 2012

Fun on deck

THE BABY STILL DOESN'T HAVE A NAME.  


I was talking to my friend K yesterday and she made a good point: the longer the baby goes unnamed the harder it is to name it.  I agree!  It's like guys, stop being such hippies, man up, and name your kid!  There's a part-time kid at the Big Yam's daycare who just showed up and has hippie parents who named their girls "Blue" and "Ocean" - I feel like this is what happens when you don't name your kid for a week.  I've only seen her once and it was classic, "parent can't discipline their kid" styles.  She's almost four and still uses a pacifier and isn't used to being told that her every whim isn't okay.  The Dotytron says she's practically feral.  LOL!  


I've kind of changed tacks - I don't think the roomie and L'Armi are going to be incapable of discipline (I hope not).  But man, parents who can't say no to their kids befuddle me.  They're always the ones whose lives are like, hell.  That being said, yesterday Bruce Wayne picked up the Big Yam from daycare and then Nana showed up for a visit and the Boobla lost his s**t.  He was bawling his eyes out and clinging to me and freaking out bigtime.  He basically thought that I was going to go away and leave him with Momma D and Bruce Wayne.  I think as he's starting to become more aware of his surroundings, he's more aware of routine.  When I rolled up, he and Bruce Wayne were having a grand time.  I think it was seeing me that set him off.  If I hadn't have come home he would have just dealt with it.  


Although lately he's started doing this really adorable thing where he plaintively cries out, "Maaamaaa!  Baaabaaa!" if he doesn't see us and I swear, the sound of him saying that in the tone that he says it has opened up a special place in my heart that I didn't even know existed.  


In other Big Yam news, our daycare provider sends me photos during the day of him doing stuff, which is cute, because it's nice to think of him having this whole day without us with his own crew.  I just love the thought of him having his own stuff going on, his own office drama, his own collection of independent experiences, ya know?  I go to work, the Dotytron goes to work, the Big Yam goes to work.  Anyway, J always sends me the photos accompanied by a caption that's written in the first person from the perspective of the Big Yam.  It cracks me up.  "Hi Mommy."  "Mommy. I love sand."  LOL!  


Unrelated:  this is why I love the Go Fug Yourself girls (besides many other reasons, not the least of it being their appreciation for the scandalously sexy glamorous oeuvre of Judith Krantz).  In talking about the decoration on some starlet's dress, they likened it to: "those froofy headbands paranoid parents stick on their baby girls' heads so that strangers don't coo, 'What a handsome boy.'"  I have it out for those things.  I just think they look so constricting on a wee bald baby's head.  And I also think it's weirdly paranoid of parents to care that people think their girl baby is a boy.  Who cares?  Why you gotta make such a big deal about it?


This weekend is gonna be fun!  Tonight we have softball at Withrow Park (so close!) and I've packed us an awesome picnic dinner of egg salad sandwiches and salad and fruit.  Then we can come home and have a slice of the rhubarb custard pie I baked up to cheer up Momma D yesterday (it was her and Poppa D's wedding anniversary and she was bummed).  


Tomorrow we're going to check out more hardwood flooring and then have a fun afternoon of games and pot luck at Lolly's new digs.  


Sunday we're going to Nany's 90th birthday party which is kind of a big deal.  It's being held at a golf course up in the middle of nowhere and it's a 5 hour extravaganza.  I personally think that's a little long for an old person party (or any person party, really).  Old people get tired!  The Dotytron's aunt is putting the party together and is going a little nuts in the process.  There's a colour scheme and we're all supposed to dress in the colour scheme and there was all this drama between me and her about these cupcakes that she wanted me to make that resulted in lots of emails and now I think she's mad at me!  LOL!  It's cray-cray.  


I feel like I totally missed my calling as a general contractor.  I've been meeting with contractors to do some work at Lil' Ugmo and it's been such an ordeal.  I'm playing hardball, wanting them to separate out in the quotes the cost for materials (which are fixed costs and common across the board) and the costs for labour.  Some of them are balking and then treating me like I'm an idiot and don't know what I'm talking about and trying to pull a Holmes-on-Holmes fear-mongering job on me to manipulated me into thinking that what they're doing is terribly complicated and beyond me.  WELL GUESS WHAT, CONTRACTORS?!?  IT'S NOT!  


My basic approach is always as follows:  Just about every damned house in Leslieville is exactly the same as ours (more or less).  Ergo, I refuse to believe that our house is a special case.  Ergo, don't try to tell me what can or can't be done by preying on fears of mine that don't exist.  There are people who are SO SCARED of everything and it boggles my mind.  I get that contractors are used to dealing with them and therefore can charge a premium based on their hand-holding of the situation, but I don't need that.  What I really want is a middle ground between the over-charging, gougey super-professional slick dudes, and the alternative, which are uber-cheap Chinamen (I generalize, but a lot of them are) who don't speak much English, make a mess, and flick cigarette butts on your floor.  I don't mind paying a bit more for some rudimentary customer service, but I don't want to them to take the farm.  


The thing is: I LOVE DOING THIS.  I love project managing the job and making a million calls and doing research and then pitting them against each other.  It's kind of the best.  I'm a born project manager and project managing your own home is the most validating work of all.  I think that's going to be my retirement profession.  


Also: everyone has got to sekkle down on their horny for pot lights.  I can't think of harsher, more unflattering lighting than pot lights (well, office fluoros, but that's a given).  Also: shopping for light fixtures is unimaginably fun from a design standpoint - why would you want to take that away?  Lamps 4-life!!!




Rhubarb custard pie.  I cut down the sugar in the recipe A LOT to preserve the tartness of the rhubarb.  It's all bound in a silky, slightly sweet custard in my patented earth-shatteringly flaky pie crust.  So good.  I gotta give some to the neighbs to get it outta my house.






Fin.





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