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October 27, 2005

steam heat

In this our new East coast home, we have steam heat. Or should I say sssssteam heat, hissing at us like serpents from behind thin sheets of decorative and hammered tin. The walls, they are ALIVE! Although we had a man come round to be sure that the entire system wasn't going to blow the first time we turned it on, it did blow up or at least in two of the rooms it did. Oops! At least no toddlers were in the vicinity when the scalding sulfur geysers did erupt.

My husband, a man known for his all-consuming yet short-lived obsessions (the WWF, velour track suits, WWII-themed Playstation games) is currently transfixed by the heating system. He bleeds air from the radiators daily. He disappears to the basement. He travels to hardware stores near and far to replace hard-to-find parts. The other night, we were lying in bed and, apropos of nothing, he whispered "I love the steam heat." Cold-weather folk everywhere agree: steam does make a nice heat.

Today a woman from California Closets told me the closet in our bedroom was too crappy to make into a fancy, with drawers and shelves and so forth type of a closet. "To be honest with ya, you should save ya money and go ta Tahget." It was refreshing to have a salesperson be so brutally honest, especially since she had driven in from another state (Massachusetts - fifteen minutes away but still). But now aforementioned husband wants to buy a table saw and rebuild the closet, perhaps outfitting it with steam heat so our clothes will stay warm for winter.

Speaking of things that hiss like demons and then blow up, the Bean had a very impressive meltdown the other night. It's surreal having a toddler because you find yourself saying stuff like "It is NOT okay for you to hit Mommy with your huggy monster OR throw raisins at the kitties." Then you have to try and not laugh as you dole out whatever punishment that particular crime merits. Bean hadn't had his nap on this one day and was so toddler tired that he began furiously sobbing and then couldn't remember why he was mad, which made him cry even more. We tried putting him in his room so he could have alone time, which sometimes works, but he was too upset for that. Instead, he lay down next to the dinner table and sobbed facedown into the rug while my husband and I ate dinner. I felt bad that he was so upset, but still I ate his spinach. I can't help it, I love me some leafy green veggies, especially when they're steamed.

Posted by Max at 12:56 AM | Comments (1)

October 19, 2005

to everything there is a season

Yesterday I rocketed the Bean waaaay up the cool factor chart at school. We've had a temporary lull between (fizzled out) hurricanes that's resulted in some fantastic fall weather complete with dazzling foliage, crisp autumnal air, and anthropomorphic apples linking arms and high kicking through the streets. Because I am an "autumn", this time of year I tend to like to be outside as much as possible, leaning against trees and fence posts, looking wistful over the change of seasons in sweaters of russet and amber.

So I hopped on my bike and pedaled the 2.5 miles to Bean's daycare trying to enjoy the ride even though I was winded the entire way. The front wall of the daycare building is made of glass. As I pulled up wearing my really fricking spiffy helmet with Bean's little bike carriage-thingy in tow, one by one each toddler dropped whatever toy they were holding and stumbled, zombie-like, over to the window. When the Bean realized it was me, he hitched his pants up a little higher, gave a nod to the room, and sauntered over to the door to meet me. As I strapped his helmet on and settled him into his seat, he was giving double-guns to his whole class, who were glued by their upturned noses and mouth-breathing all over the glass.

It's funny that what is cool now will be so spectacularly, heart-breakingly uncool in about six years. To this day, one of my most excruciating teen memories is of my mother picking me up at the roller rink wearing a purple bandana tied around her head Olivia Newton-John style circa "Let's Get Physical" and coming INTO the rink to find me. Beanie, I promise I will try and spare you similar mortification if possible. But it may not be possible.

Posted by Max at 06:20 PM | Comments (3)

October 15, 2005

this entire verse was replaced by a banjo solo

It's fall and you're two. What are you doing? You're learning about pooping in the potty, and you're pumped up about wearing your Halloween costume. Sometimes, little friend, the two events meet and what a happy time it is for you. Praise be to Grandma that she had a camera at the ready. I am sure some future day you will love her for it.

Speaking of happy times, who here loves train systems? Um, me! The other day I discovered that six bucks and about an hour will magically transport me from Providence to Boston, where my good friend and former Seattle colleague P-OK was waiting for me to come and drink drinks with her and hang out and make lists and invent things that will make us fabulously wealthy. P-OK is the best and if you ever need someone to invent things or drink with I highly recommend her.

She was there for the UIE conference, which I've been to before and it made me get all fired up about the technologies and the superhighways etc. etc. Because I love those things, I really do. However, both of us are terrible networkers, the worst ever, and when alone in networky situations we sputter and flail and end up watching bad TV alone in our hotel rooms. I felt it was my duty to spare her from that.

We went out drinking and had planned on maybe playing a little hooky from her conference the next day to go to the Boston Museum of Science, which is one of my fave places in the land BUT NO we are such geeks that instead I looked at her conference agenda and said "Huh. Some of this sounds pretty cool..." So I put on my false moustache and listened to a guy speak about The Future and folks, the future sounds pretty great from a web perspective. I really hope we don't get blown or bombed or shaken or drowned so that we can stick around to enjoy it, together.

And P-OK, I'm telling you that song is real and damned catchy.

Posted by Max at 03:51 AM | Comments (1)

October 07, 2005

grantastic

One of the many benefits of working from home is being able to go to the gym on your lunch hour. Where I live, when I say "gym" I mean the Y and when I say "being able" I mean that if you are at the Y in the middle of the day, you are at least 150 years old.

Today was my first experiment with cramming a little lunchtime fitness into my busy day. The last few times I've gone has been in the evening, when the place is full of gangly teenaged boys checking themselves out in the mirror, thickening middle-aged men checking out The Ladies, and snack-lovin' moms like me checking out Entertainment Tonight on the tee-vee. Mid-day is a whole 'nother story, my friends. Mid-day the oldies are there and they are sweating.

Next to me was a woman, at least eighty years old, going to town on the ROWING machine. Row row row, did she, looking a bit frail but otherwise fabulous, even giving me a wide, pearly lipstick grin as I hopped up onto the elliptical machine. I tried to chat her up in the locker room later, but I think she was hard of hearing so she just sort of smiled and backed away as I went on about my glasses steaming up and needing to get contacts. You know what? She didn't even have glasses! A POX ON YOU, MINE EYES.

Is it inspirational to totally go a billion times faster on the elliptical than the seventy-five year old guy next to you? Not really. In fact, I found myself getting inappropriately nervous, this time about being young-ish compared to this gentlemen, wondering if he was lamenting the decline of his abilties etc. etc. Seriously sir, if I am in 1/10th of the shape you are even next year, I will consider it an accomplishment.

This one is going out to exercising seniors. I pour a little prune juice on my stick-filled yard* for you.

* Sticks are everywhere on the East coast. A whole seaboard of blown and broken nature litter. The Bean and I have a new hobby and that is picking them up, putting them in bags, and sometimes pretending they are fishing poles, if they are long.

Posted by Max at 02:06 AM | Comments (1)