If you decide that you simply must catch up with the first season of True Blood and a website has all the episodes right there, for free, something is probably too good to be true.
For example, when you try to stream the finale of the first season and you’re asked to take a quick quiz first, you may or may not infect your computer with a virus. That virus may or may not respond to standard anti-virus protocol and require that your husband spend four hours wiping the system clean and reinstalling everything.
On a positive note, the husband does love a project, and I’m always happy to oblige.
Monday, July 26, 2010
Saturday, July 17, 2010
Saturdays With Sage
A not terribly old woman, a young girl, and I didn't learn my lesson.
My apologies to Mitch Albom.
Having failed to escape detection this morning, I took Sage along with me for the running of errands. Weight Watchers (where I learned I lost the exact same increment of not quite a pound as last week) went well, as did our impulsive breakfast at Mama Margie's. It would have been a truly special mother-daughter meal had Mama Margie not thoughtfully placed a large screen television right over my left shoulder. I tried, but I simply could not compete with King Julian.
He likes to move it.
Feeling full and sassy, we toodled over to Lowe's and managed to annoy every man in the store. I only saw one other woman there without a male companion - and she was in the outdoor gardening area. I was (gasp) loitering in the paint aisle. The males there clearly had Very Important Things To Do and had not factored in the woman with slow small child variable.
After Lowe's, my child, my coupons and I went to Target and saved money by spending money. I think there was more spending than saving, but I now have enough Cheerios to keep the spaces between the couch cushions nice and crunchy for months. Sadly, my failure to sufficiently caffeinate, the heat, a low grade sinus infection and Sage's incessant questions (what are humans made of, what is God made of, what are shopping carts made of, I WANT A SPARKLY PINK PENCIL CASE) brought on a crashing headache. We cut the trip short and eliminated the HEB leg completely.
After a nap and a handful of Tylenol, I decided to tackle the rest of the grocery issue. With Sage.
I wonder if there's any Darvocet left in the house?
My apologies to Mitch Albom.
Having failed to escape detection this morning, I took Sage along with me for the running of errands. Weight Watchers (where I learned I lost the exact same increment of not quite a pound as last week) went well, as did our impulsive breakfast at Mama Margie's. It would have been a truly special mother-daughter meal had Mama Margie not thoughtfully placed a large screen television right over my left shoulder. I tried, but I simply could not compete with King Julian.
He likes to move it.
Feeling full and sassy, we toodled over to Lowe's and managed to annoy every man in the store. I only saw one other woman there without a male companion - and she was in the outdoor gardening area. I was (gasp) loitering in the paint aisle. The males there clearly had Very Important Things To Do and had not factored in the woman with slow small child variable.
After Lowe's, my child, my coupons and I went to Target and saved money by spending money. I think there was more spending than saving, but I now have enough Cheerios to keep the spaces between the couch cushions nice and crunchy for months. Sadly, my failure to sufficiently caffeinate, the heat, a low grade sinus infection and Sage's incessant questions (what are humans made of, what is God made of, what are shopping carts made of, I WANT A SPARKLY PINK PENCIL CASE) brought on a crashing headache. We cut the trip short and eliminated the HEB leg completely.
After a nap and a handful of Tylenol, I decided to tackle the rest of the grocery issue. With Sage.
I wonder if there's any Darvocet left in the house?
Friday, July 16, 2010
Well Baby Visit
Rob says I can’t call it a well-baby visit when the baby in question is seven. I disagree.
As we were leaving yesterday, I noticed that Ashton had paired her less-than-demure-light-up Twinkletoes sneakers with equally less-than-demure pink, purple and silver sparkly socks (note to self – lose those socks in the wash this weekend). My plea to please change into socks less likely to induce a seizure was met with serious resistance until Rob walked in, took one look and very dryly pronounced her 25% clown. “25% clown” was an instant hit with the adults and is currently the quickest way to provoke a foot stomp and dramatic exit. We love it.
In any case, our well baby was found to have extremely loose ligaments in her knees. She does this odd thing where she can roll her knees back and forth, but thus far my concern has been limited to keeping her from doing it while walking (looks like she has spaghetti legs) and while she’s sitting next to me on the sofa. It’s hard to concentrate on Burn Notice when the cushions are rocking and rolling with her patellae. Dr. T has never seen a child do this and was amazed that with just a bit of pressure, it would be possible to push Ashton’s kneecaps out of joint. As a parent, I am less amazed and more concerned by the apparently shoddy construction habits of her general contractor - i.e., handwringing and “oh I just knew I should have taken in more calcium during the 21st week of gestation”. The long and short of it is that my high energy, high speed child is at increased risk for tearing her ACL, especially if she goes on to sports that will pivot her knees. Fortunately, some of that risk will be mitigated as her quadriceps develop and stabilize her knees.
Quads. Ashton. That’s funny. It would be funnier for you, dear reader, if I wasn’t so concerned about her finding this blog and having a meltdown when she’s fourteen – I’d post a picture of her decidedly not muscular legs. If you are a van Staveren, you know exactly what legs to which I refer.
I was feeling particularly snuggly and prone to coddling my delicate little flower until about ten o’clock last night when Sage started to scream that her finger hurt. Why? Ashton wanted to know if a bedside lamp was hot and convinced her three year old sister to touch it. One burned and blistered fingertip later, Sage had learned a hard lesson about the manipulative tactics of the older sibling. It’s a lesson I thought she learned during the “try to fly and I’ll catch you” episode that culminated in a trip to urgent care, but three year olds have retentive memory issues.
Sage, bless her heart, has decided that she is ready for preschool. At home. She refers to this concept as “preschool at my house” and much to my amusement has steadfastly refused to shorten it to “homeschooling” – which is essentially where we appear to be headed. I’m very excited for Rob, who I’m sure is simply thrilled. I have big plans involving school supply shopping, magnetic letters, books, flash cards and activities that will probably culminate in her stubborn refusal to do anything but sit at the kitchen table and draw very tiny monsters in one corner of a sheet of blank paper and insist that we keep and display them all. But I have to try, because that is what mothers do. If we throw enough mud at a wall, eventually, we hope, just a little will stick.
Not that Sage is a wall, or education is mud.
Perhaps my own mother should have worked on metaphors just a little more intensely…
As we were leaving yesterday, I noticed that Ashton had paired her less-than-demure-light-up Twinkletoes sneakers with equally less-than-demure pink, purple and silver sparkly socks (note to self – lose those socks in the wash this weekend). My plea to please change into socks less likely to induce a seizure was met with serious resistance until Rob walked in, took one look and very dryly pronounced her 25% clown. “25% clown” was an instant hit with the adults and is currently the quickest way to provoke a foot stomp and dramatic exit. We love it.
In any case, our well baby was found to have extremely loose ligaments in her knees. She does this odd thing where she can roll her knees back and forth, but thus far my concern has been limited to keeping her from doing it while walking (looks like she has spaghetti legs) and while she’s sitting next to me on the sofa. It’s hard to concentrate on Burn Notice when the cushions are rocking and rolling with her patellae. Dr. T has never seen a child do this and was amazed that with just a bit of pressure, it would be possible to push Ashton’s kneecaps out of joint. As a parent, I am less amazed and more concerned by the apparently shoddy construction habits of her general contractor - i.e., handwringing and “oh I just knew I should have taken in more calcium during the 21st week of gestation”. The long and short of it is that my high energy, high speed child is at increased risk for tearing her ACL, especially if she goes on to sports that will pivot her knees. Fortunately, some of that risk will be mitigated as her quadriceps develop and stabilize her knees.
Quads. Ashton. That’s funny. It would be funnier for you, dear reader, if I wasn’t so concerned about her finding this blog and having a meltdown when she’s fourteen – I’d post a picture of her decidedly not muscular legs. If you are a van Staveren, you know exactly what legs to which I refer.
I was feeling particularly snuggly and prone to coddling my delicate little flower until about ten o’clock last night when Sage started to scream that her finger hurt. Why? Ashton wanted to know if a bedside lamp was hot and convinced her three year old sister to touch it. One burned and blistered fingertip later, Sage had learned a hard lesson about the manipulative tactics of the older sibling. It’s a lesson I thought she learned during the “try to fly and I’ll catch you” episode that culminated in a trip to urgent care, but three year olds have retentive memory issues.
Sage, bless her heart, has decided that she is ready for preschool. At home. She refers to this concept as “preschool at my house” and much to my amusement has steadfastly refused to shorten it to “homeschooling” – which is essentially where we appear to be headed. I’m very excited for Rob, who I’m sure is simply thrilled. I have big plans involving school supply shopping, magnetic letters, books, flash cards and activities that will probably culminate in her stubborn refusal to do anything but sit at the kitchen table and draw very tiny monsters in one corner of a sheet of blank paper and insist that we keep and display them all. But I have to try, because that is what mothers do. If we throw enough mud at a wall, eventually, we hope, just a little will stick.
Not that Sage is a wall, or education is mud.
Perhaps my own mother should have worked on metaphors just a little more intensely…
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Making light of a serious situation
One might make the assumption that anything used to melt metal is a burn hazard.
Wire Feed Welders Recalled by Star Asia USA Due to Burn Hazard, http://www.cpsc.gov/cpscpub/prerel/prhtml10/10298.html
Of course, the "one" in question reads CPSC recall notices obsessively and was perversely delighted to learn that toy helicopters were bursting into flames mid-flight. At our house, that would be the hallmark of a truly outstanding toy.
Tween Brands Recalls Children's Metal Jewelry Due to High Levels of Cadmium, http://www.cpsc.gov/cpscpub/prerel/prhtml10/10297.html
We should all know better than to buy any sort of shiny trinket made in the People's Republic of Misfit Toys. Even my seven year old will flip over a potential purchase and think twice if she sees "China". I have nothing but good feelings about the people and culture of China, but I do have some misgivings about their manufacturing standards and government regulation of same.
If your child requires something shiny and inexpensive, get thee to the jewelry case at Wal-Mart and buy her something in a nice sterling silver.
On the other hand, while cadmium is generally toxic, most warnings involve ingestion. If a 10-13 year old is eating her earrings, perhaps a parent has more to worry about than reading government recalls.
Wire Feed Welders Recalled by Star Asia USA Due to Burn Hazard, http://www.cpsc.gov/cpscpub/prerel/prhtml10/10298.html
Of course, the "one" in question reads CPSC recall notices obsessively and was perversely delighted to learn that toy helicopters were bursting into flames mid-flight. At our house, that would be the hallmark of a truly outstanding toy.
Tween Brands Recalls Children's Metal Jewelry Due to High Levels of Cadmium, http://www.cpsc.gov/cpscpub/prerel/prhtml10/10297.html
We should all know better than to buy any sort of shiny trinket made in the People's Republic of Misfit Toys. Even my seven year old will flip over a potential purchase and think twice if she sees "China". I have nothing but good feelings about the people and culture of China, but I do have some misgivings about their manufacturing standards and government regulation of same.
If your child requires something shiny and inexpensive, get thee to the jewelry case at Wal-Mart and buy her something in a nice sterling silver.
On the other hand, while cadmium is generally toxic, most warnings involve ingestion. If a 10-13 year old is eating her earrings, perhaps a parent has more to worry about than reading government recalls.
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Weight Loss & Water Heaters
I lost almost a pound. Fabulous. There was some wandering off the path, and there may or may not have been a chocolate episode, so I’ll take that not quite a pound and run with it. The past ten days have revealed a few things:
1. I truly dislike exercising in the morning. It is impossible to exercise in the evenings. Right about now seems like a good compromise, but once again employment kills the fun.
2. Pei Wei’s Vietnamese Chicken Salad Rolls (the pinnacle of authenticity, I am sure) are darn tasty and only six WW points for the dish.
3. I require protein to function in the mornings. Subway has a reasonable egg/English muffin thing, but it’s too hot to eat while driving, the “egg white” is a rubbery disc that is microwaved to something approximating reality, and the guy who makes them isn’t a very cheerful fellow.
4. I can make a quick little omelet in the mornings, but so far I have been able to either exercise or cook – not both – before leaving for work.
5. My children will eat broccoli and asparagus in mass quantities so long as it’s served as part of Olive Garden's Ventian Apricot Chicken.
6. I am making said Venetian chicken this evening and just realized we have no tomatoes.
7. Rob can fix a water heater.
That was a graceless segue, no?
Our water heater had been slowly doing a lot less heating and a lot more sitting around and relaxing. Saturday night we did the responsible thing and drained it, only to find that it had no intention of returning the favor and giving us hot water. Realizing that we were in this for the long haul, and fresh from a grossly inflated plumbing invoice that left us wary and suspicious of anyone carrying a wrench, Rob and I decided that google and youtube could get us back to hot shower heaven. Sunday was, simply put, a comedy of errors. We knew we had sediment in the tank (everyone in San Antonio has sediment in their tanks) so we decided to use water pressure to flush it out. We filled the tank, hooked up the water hose to the tank spigot, turned the water on at the top and left the pressure relief valve open simply because it made a lot of impressive noise and sounded like important things were happening.
They were. The pressure relief valve diverts the flow to the overflow pipe, a pipe whose outlet is somewhere in our backyard. Had Rob not picked just the right moment to take out the trash, we would have flooded our air conditioner. As it was, we flooded everything around the air conditioner, garage and back patio. He dug a very nice trench from the side yard to the front, channeled the water into the front yard, turned everything off and headed to Home Depot. After acquiring two new heating elements and the appropriate tool that can be used for nothing but installing water heater heating elements, we noticed that despite everything being set to off, we could still hear water running. Obviously we had to turn it off using that spooky and often bug-occupied thingy in the hole in the front yard. Rob has a more technical term for it that currently eludes me. In any case, he spends a lot of time out there turning the water off – most memorably when he pulled a pin out of a random valve in the shower faucet and diverted the full force of the water main into our guest bathtub. The scene was eerily reminiscent of the Seinfeld episode when Kramer installed his contraband showerhead.
Back to the heater. There could be no cessation of water until I had washed the dishes (by hand) and done a load of laundry (on cold), so he had a short and fortuitous reprieve. Fortuitous because when the water was off and the tank drained, he had the pleasure of discovering approximately all the sand in the world (or maybe it was just 18-24 inches) in the bottom of our water heater. The numbers and charts at the San Antonio Water System Water Quality site are just a fancy way of saying our drinking water flows over limestone before it arrives at our house and we really should invest in a water softener. Using highly sophisticated methodology involving a spare swing set part and a grainy youtube video shot at a ninety degree angle with a phone camera, Rob was able to get most of that sediment out of the water heater and into our cute lime green cooler. Four hours later.
We are very thankful for his hard work and shall not point out that I keep an ugly old bucket in the garage exactly for situations such as this. Or maybe we just did.
Clean tank. Brand new heating elements. Water on. Tanked filled. Water hot.
No. Water cold.
Monday, wide awake after my bracing and rejuvenating shower, I frantically googled and called home with every suggestion I could locate. To no avail, Rob unplugged and replugged, reset breakers and pushed buttons on the thermostat. We were discussing our options when a co-worker overheard and very graciously emailed me her plumber’s name and phone number. I called, he was busy. I called four hours later, still busy. He called two hours later for directions, and at 8:30pm either salvation or a very large plumbing bill rang our doorbell.
It was the former – for $65 he took Rob into the backyard and showed him where to find the breaker for the water heater and other major appliances. I’m sure I was grinning like an idiot as I wrote the check, and I think Rob’s heart grew two sizes when a real live plumber told him he couldn’t have done a better job himself.
Happy wife, proud husband, clean children, functional appliance. A Monday night can’t get much better than that.
1. I truly dislike exercising in the morning. It is impossible to exercise in the evenings. Right about now seems like a good compromise, but once again employment kills the fun.
2. Pei Wei’s Vietnamese Chicken Salad Rolls (the pinnacle of authenticity, I am sure) are darn tasty and only six WW points for the dish.
3. I require protein to function in the mornings. Subway has a reasonable egg/English muffin thing, but it’s too hot to eat while driving, the “egg white” is a rubbery disc that is microwaved to something approximating reality, and the guy who makes them isn’t a very cheerful fellow.
4. I can make a quick little omelet in the mornings, but so far I have been able to either exercise or cook – not both – before leaving for work.
5. My children will eat broccoli and asparagus in mass quantities so long as it’s served as part of Olive Garden's Ventian Apricot Chicken.
6. I am making said Venetian chicken this evening and just realized we have no tomatoes.
7. Rob can fix a water heater.
That was a graceless segue, no?
Our water heater had been slowly doing a lot less heating and a lot more sitting around and relaxing. Saturday night we did the responsible thing and drained it, only to find that it had no intention of returning the favor and giving us hot water. Realizing that we were in this for the long haul, and fresh from a grossly inflated plumbing invoice that left us wary and suspicious of anyone carrying a wrench, Rob and I decided that google and youtube could get us back to hot shower heaven. Sunday was, simply put, a comedy of errors. We knew we had sediment in the tank (everyone in San Antonio has sediment in their tanks) so we decided to use water pressure to flush it out. We filled the tank, hooked up the water hose to the tank spigot, turned the water on at the top and left the pressure relief valve open simply because it made a lot of impressive noise and sounded like important things were happening.
They were. The pressure relief valve diverts the flow to the overflow pipe, a pipe whose outlet is somewhere in our backyard. Had Rob not picked just the right moment to take out the trash, we would have flooded our air conditioner. As it was, we flooded everything around the air conditioner, garage and back patio. He dug a very nice trench from the side yard to the front, channeled the water into the front yard, turned everything off and headed to Home Depot. After acquiring two new heating elements and the appropriate tool that can be used for nothing but installing water heater heating elements, we noticed that despite everything being set to off, we could still hear water running. Obviously we had to turn it off using that spooky and often bug-occupied thingy in the hole in the front yard. Rob has a more technical term for it that currently eludes me. In any case, he spends a lot of time out there turning the water off – most memorably when he pulled a pin out of a random valve in the shower faucet and diverted the full force of the water main into our guest bathtub. The scene was eerily reminiscent of the Seinfeld episode when Kramer installed his contraband showerhead.
Back to the heater. There could be no cessation of water until I had washed the dishes (by hand) and done a load of laundry (on cold), so he had a short and fortuitous reprieve. Fortuitous because when the water was off and the tank drained, he had the pleasure of discovering approximately all the sand in the world (or maybe it was just 18-24 inches) in the bottom of our water heater. The numbers and charts at the San Antonio Water System Water Quality site are just a fancy way of saying our drinking water flows over limestone before it arrives at our house and we really should invest in a water softener. Using highly sophisticated methodology involving a spare swing set part and a grainy youtube video shot at a ninety degree angle with a phone camera, Rob was able to get most of that sediment out of the water heater and into our cute lime green cooler. Four hours later.
We are very thankful for his hard work and shall not point out that I keep an ugly old bucket in the garage exactly for situations such as this. Or maybe we just did.
Clean tank. Brand new heating elements. Water on. Tanked filled. Water hot.
No. Water cold.
Monday, wide awake after my bracing and rejuvenating shower, I frantically googled and called home with every suggestion I could locate. To no avail, Rob unplugged and replugged, reset breakers and pushed buttons on the thermostat. We were discussing our options when a co-worker overheard and very graciously emailed me her plumber’s name and phone number. I called, he was busy. I called four hours later, still busy. He called two hours later for directions, and at 8:30pm either salvation or a very large plumbing bill rang our doorbell.
It was the former – for $65 he took Rob into the backyard and showed him where to find the breaker for the water heater and other major appliances. I’m sure I was grinning like an idiot as I wrote the check, and I think Rob’s heart grew two sizes when a real live plumber told him he couldn’t have done a better job himself.
Happy wife, proud husband, clean children, functional appliance. A Monday night can’t get much better than that.
Saturday, July 3, 2010
Confession time...
I have a time or two alluded to my ongoing weight struggles that began sometime in late 2007 and continue as of July 3rd 2010. I'm not going to post any numbers, but let's err on the side of kindness and say that I have a full-on mom figure, the figure I swore I'd never allow. A figure that keeps from wearing what I want to wear, doing what I want to do, and sadly, going where I want to go. I'm not morbidly obese, but neither am I the person I picture in my mind's eye on the very rare occasions that I think to picture myself in my mind's eye. In fact, I have a humorous tendency to stop short when I catch my reflection in a store window. Who is that person and why is her backside so large?
I can't blame pregnancy - I successfully lost the baby weight and then some after both girls. I'd love to be able to blame my thyroid, but those numbers came back normal last month. It's a sad day indeed when you hang a serious amount of hope on the possibility of systems failure. The doctor offered me a weight loss supplement, but of the many many things I not need, prescription stimulants are in the top three. Rob says I'm high strung, but I prefer... Hell. Who are we kidding? I'm high strung.
No, what I blame is lack of control and early childhood. It was so amazingly easy when Sage was nursing and Ashton thought green beans were haute cuisine. Now, despite earnest efforts to the contrarily, I do give in to the treat monsters. I bake rather than buy (Bless their hearts, they both prefer our kitchen to any commercial bakery.) and I'm just not the kind of girl who can stop at one cookie. I desperately want to be that person, but so far she eludes me.
My other bugaboo is a bad day at work. God help me, all it takes is one minor disaster and I'm stopping for pizza on the way home - and the crazy bread that arrives at our house will mysteriously be short two pieces. It's even worse if I leave work hungry. There is simply no telling what brightly lit sign will beckon and whisper that really, cooking is simply beyond you at this point.
So what to do. I'm a weight watchers veteran, used it successfully to lose weight after two babies. If I have the tools, I have the know-how, I have the membership, meetings, books, scales, recipes, even brand new pots and pans. Why then, can I not seem to use any of it?
Maybe I'll quite boringly journal these efforts. Maybe not. In any case, baby steps this week. Cook at home, exercise daily and drink more water than Diet Coke.
I can't blame pregnancy - I successfully lost the baby weight and then some after both girls. I'd love to be able to blame my thyroid, but those numbers came back normal last month. It's a sad day indeed when you hang a serious amount of hope on the possibility of systems failure. The doctor offered me a weight loss supplement, but of the many many things I not need, prescription stimulants are in the top three. Rob says I'm high strung, but I prefer... Hell. Who are we kidding? I'm high strung.
No, what I blame is lack of control and early childhood. It was so amazingly easy when Sage was nursing and Ashton thought green beans were haute cuisine. Now, despite earnest efforts to the contrarily, I do give in to the treat monsters. I bake rather than buy (Bless their hearts, they both prefer our kitchen to any commercial bakery.) and I'm just not the kind of girl who can stop at one cookie. I desperately want to be that person, but so far she eludes me.
My other bugaboo is a bad day at work. God help me, all it takes is one minor disaster and I'm stopping for pizza on the way home - and the crazy bread that arrives at our house will mysteriously be short two pieces. It's even worse if I leave work hungry. There is simply no telling what brightly lit sign will beckon and whisper that really, cooking is simply beyond you at this point.
So what to do. I'm a weight watchers veteran, used it successfully to lose weight after two babies. If I have the tools, I have the know-how, I have the membership, meetings, books, scales, recipes, even brand new pots and pans. Why then, can I not seem to use any of it?
Maybe I'll quite boringly journal these efforts. Maybe not. In any case, baby steps this week. Cook at home, exercise daily and drink more water than Diet Coke.
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