I hate being sick. Now I’m sure most people don’t like being sick—although our kids love laying in our bed with a down comforter over them and watching DVDs until their eyes melt and run down their cheeks. If that weren’t enough, I come and bring them delectable treats like Sprite (the kids never get to drink soda) and crackers. Okay, crackers aren’t exciting, but when you’re sick they are. But, you get the picture, being sick can sort of be fun when you’re a kid. Okay, okay, let me put in a disclaimer here before I get all kinds of comments from my children…yes, I do make them do schoolwork if their fever isn’t over 100. But I only make them do reading and math. Don’t gasp. Math is easy for them—if they had to choose a subject to do, it would be math.
Back to the subject. As an adult, especially a mom, there is no redeeming value to being sick. You lie on the couch and watch your house fall apart. It doesn’t take long before the laundry is spilling out of the hampers. Right now, I see a black sock in the middle of the living room floor. Why is it there? Who knows? I find it hard to believe that no one in the past 24 hours has noticed that sock. My basket of ironing, which is supposed to be done on Thursday is, even now, reproducing. Have you ever noticed that when you get behind in ironing, even one day behind, the seven shirts that need to be ironed become 14? I’m convinced that there’s a “rabbit gene/jean” in the ironing basket.
I don’t even want to talk about the kitchen. Though, of course, I must point out that the kids have been doing the dishes. But no one seems to notice that the counters are oases of germs, bacteria, and food filth. All right, Ariel did wipe the counter last night, but the stove is still coated with brown burnt splotches, which apparently is the fault of Luke overspraying the Teflon pan and getting Pam all over the stove.
Speaking of Luke cooking, this morning I noticed him cooking his own high protein breakfast—bacon and eggs, which will be followed by a big bowl of cereal. But I noticed him using a metal spatula on a Teflon pan! I wanted to shout, “NO!” But it came out as a croak followed by a hacking cough.
Jacob and Matthew have their own response to my sickness. As soon as they hear I’m sick, they present me with arguments reasoning that it would be better for my health to let them skip school and play computer/Wii/games/read/do puzzles/etc., all day long. I give them my don’t-waste-what-little-cognitive-power-I-still-possess look, and they break out in peals of giddy laughter.
Also when I’m sick, Jezebel is bored. So, she decided to alleviate her boredom by chewing on the tassels of a table runner. Of course, she’s sly so I’ve never actually seen her do it. I’ve just seen bits of tassel on the floor. She also is fascinated by the smell of “cold.” Whenever my face is within range, she runs over and sniffs my nose. Big,wet doggie sniffs followed by a healing lick across the face.
In the vein of full-disclosure, I must admit that I’m not the best patient. I do get up and clean the stove when I should be lying down. And I cough, sneeze, smell like Vick’s Vapo-rub and run the vaporizer all day, which makes the inside our house like a swamp even though it's ten degrees outside. The problem is that I can’t take decongestants. Apparently, I’m sensitive to them, they make my hands shake, I have auditory hallucinations, they make my heart beat too fast (tachycardia) and I get chest pains.
Hopefully, I’ll be better soon. Calvin went to the store and bought me vitamin C and cranberry juice, which he sternly warned the kids, was only for mom to drink. But I’m beginning to suspect that this isn’t an ordinary cold. This is a hybrid virus, which resulted from the cross of a normal cold virus with a strain of basement-altered-sanitary-sewer-line-misery virus. Yep. That’s it. Better call the CDC.
Friday, January 16, 2009
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Mason-Dixon Driving
Our son and daughter have both learned to drive in Tennessee. My husband and I did not. I learned to drive in Hawaii where traffic was an art form and guard rails were unheard of on the twisting mountain roads—a Darwinist approach to weeding out the bad drivers. Calvin learned to drive in the Central Valley of California, which might have been fine if he hadn’t driven a delivery truck in downtown Los Angeles during his college days. Driving a delivery truck in downtown LA means being able to run your package up four flights of stairs and be back before the traffic inches forward. It also means wedging your delivery truck fit into a space designed for a subcompact—a difficult but not impossible challenge.
So, Ariel categorizes us as aggressive drivers. Calvin and I aren’t sure what that means. Okay, so we talk to other drivers and point out their faults—that’s just being helpful, right? We frequently explain to people that if they can’t talk on the cell phone and drive at the same time, then they pull over before they place a call. I think that’s encouraging them to do the right thing—even if the only people that can hear me are in our car. Another example of Southern driving that elicits emphatic words and gesticulations is the left turn. For example, when making a left turn at a green light without an arrow, does one pull into the intersection so that one can make sure he/she gets through the light? Of course, one does!! Otherwise, it may take several changes of lights to get through the intersection—dinner will never get done! My daughter, however, informs me that the Tennessee driver’s test says: “You are making a left turn at an intersection. Do you: 1. Rudely pull into the intersection, thus ensuring that you can make your turn when the light turns red. 2. Politely wait for a break in the traffic when you can make your turn without stopping.” Guess which answer is correct?! I’d pick number one, but the correct answer is two.
FYI, Calvin speaks to the traffic too when someone rudely doesn’t pull into the intersection and is going to make our dinner late! So, all you Southern drivers, when you're making a left turn, pull into the intersection when the light’s green! Thanks.
So, Ariel categorizes us as aggressive drivers. Calvin and I aren’t sure what that means. Okay, so we talk to other drivers and point out their faults—that’s just being helpful, right? We frequently explain to people that if they can’t talk on the cell phone and drive at the same time, then they pull over before they place a call. I think that’s encouraging them to do the right thing—even if the only people that can hear me are in our car. Another example of Southern driving that elicits emphatic words and gesticulations is the left turn. For example, when making a left turn at a green light without an arrow, does one pull into the intersection so that one can make sure he/she gets through the light? Of course, one does!! Otherwise, it may take several changes of lights to get through the intersection—dinner will never get done! My daughter, however, informs me that the Tennessee driver’s test says: “You are making a left turn at an intersection. Do you: 1. Rudely pull into the intersection, thus ensuring that you can make your turn when the light turns red. 2. Politely wait for a break in the traffic when you can make your turn without stopping.” Guess which answer is correct?! I’d pick number one, but the correct answer is two.
FYI, Calvin speaks to the traffic too when someone rudely doesn’t pull into the intersection and is going to make our dinner late! So, all you Southern drivers, when you're making a left turn, pull into the intersection when the light’s green! Thanks.
Monday, January 12, 2009
Smells like...
Our latest news is that the sewer line backed up. It's enough to say that day old ham and bean soup that backs up onto the laundry floor smells exactly like vomit. And since people either loved the drain picture or hated it, I won't post any pictures of the laundry room floor.
The plumber came with his power snake (I laid on the couch since I woke up with a nasty cold) and cleaned out the line. Apparently there was a blockage where the kitchen line and the laundry line come together. Now, thankfully, everything's runny smoothly.
In my heart, however, I can't help but suspect that somehow this must be related to the basement fiasco. BTW, the basement's empty just damp. And the heater is functioning again, to the tune of over $500. The heater repairman told us, after he replaced the circuit board, that the air conditioning system of which the heater is part will have to be replaced this spring. Lovely. I'm telling myself that the cattle on a 1,000 hills belong to the Lord. I wonder if I can exchange a cow for an air conditioning system...
This picture has nothing to do with my blog topic. But, it's lovely, and I feel I need to make up for the drain photo. :-) This is a picture of Ariel wearing a beautiful costume that she sewed during the Christmas holidays--the back is gorgeous too with a gold cording lace-up from the hips to the neck.
Thursday, January 8, 2009
The Drain To Nowhere
The Noah situation is improving. Though it's taken a while to get there. First, the "city" came out. This consisted of a man showing up with a xeroxed drawing (not a schematic, but a hand drawn map) of the city storm drain system. This did not bode well.
Him: Uh, there's no water coming out of the man hole.
Me: No, that was yesterday during the storm.
He makes a move to get into his car and drive away.
Me: Um, there's still a problem.
Him: What?
Me: We have three feet of water in our basement--it came up through the drain in our basement.
Him: You have a drain in your basement? (He said this like one would say "You're from Mars?")
Me: Yeah. The storm drain water came up through our basement drain.
Him: It can't be from the storm drain.
Me: Why?
He points to the ditch in front of our house, "That's the storm drain."
Me: A ditch is the storm drain?
Him: Yep.
I'm thinking--Then why did you need to bring that official city map? Clearly, you weren't concerned about being able to find it. But, I say, "So where did the water come from?"
Him: I don't know.
This too did not bode well.
Me: Well, what other possible source of water is there?
Him: Uh, the sanitary sewer line.
Me: So, the water in my basement is from the sanitary sewer line?
Him: No.
Me: So, there's another source it could be from?
Him: No.
(I'm trying very hard not to be frustrated by the lack of basic logic skills.) Me: There are two possible sources of water: storm drain (ditch) or sanitary sewer line. So, if it 's not possible that it's the storm ditch it has to be the sewer, right?
Him: Well, if it's the sanitary sewer that would be illegal.
Me: Okay, but that must be the source, right?
Him: (note: he's mumbling and trying to think of ways to get away from the sewer-obsessed woman that reminds him of a Lab with a bone) Well, some older homes do have drains into the sanitary sewer line. But that would be illegal and you'd be liable.
Me: Great, just great. I'm thinking: The stupid city knows these things exist and doesn't want to deal with them so they made them illegal.
The city man decides to look at the basement.
Him: Yep, that's a lot of water. You should call a plumber.
Me: Right...
At this point, I walked away. I know when I'm beat, and I left him to Calvin. Not too much later, he packed up his crumpled drawing, got into his hybrid car, and drove away.
Cal called the plumber who said, "Can't do much with all the water down there. You gotta get that water out first."
So, to cut to the chase, using two sump pumps, two siphoning hoses, and homemade drain plug, the water is now gone. Tonight, we're going to turn on the circuit for the heater, which was under water. Hopefully, it works. Otherwise, we might need to call homeowners insurance and explain about the flooding and the drain to nowhere. I really, really don't want to do that.
Here's a picture of the drain to nowhere.
Him: Uh, there's no water coming out of the man hole.
Me: No, that was yesterday during the storm.
He makes a move to get into his car and drive away.
Me: Um, there's still a problem.
Him: What?
Me: We have three feet of water in our basement--it came up through the drain in our basement.
Him: You have a drain in your basement? (He said this like one would say "You're from Mars?")
Me: Yeah. The storm drain water came up through our basement drain.
Him: It can't be from the storm drain.
Me: Why?
He points to the ditch in front of our house, "That's the storm drain."
Me: A ditch is the storm drain?
Him: Yep.
I'm thinking--Then why did you need to bring that official city map? Clearly, you weren't concerned about being able to find it. But, I say, "So where did the water come from?"
Him: I don't know.
This too did not bode well.
Me: Well, what other possible source of water is there?
Him: Uh, the sanitary sewer line.
Me: So, the water in my basement is from the sanitary sewer line?
Him: No.
Me: So, there's another source it could be from?
Him: No.
(I'm trying very hard not to be frustrated by the lack of basic logic skills.) Me: There are two possible sources of water: storm drain (ditch) or sanitary sewer line. So, if it 's not possible that it's the storm ditch it has to be the sewer, right?
Him: Well, if it's the sanitary sewer that would be illegal.
Me: Okay, but that must be the source, right?
Him: (note: he's mumbling and trying to think of ways to get away from the sewer-obsessed woman that reminds him of a Lab with a bone) Well, some older homes do have drains into the sanitary sewer line. But that would be illegal and you'd be liable.
Me: Great, just great. I'm thinking: The stupid city knows these things exist and doesn't want to deal with them so they made them illegal.
The city man decides to look at the basement.
Him: Yep, that's a lot of water. You should call a plumber.
Me: Right...
At this point, I walked away. I know when I'm beat, and I left him to Calvin. Not too much later, he packed up his crumpled drawing, got into his hybrid car, and drove away.
Cal called the plumber who said, "Can't do much with all the water down there. You gotta get that water out first."
So, to cut to the chase, using two sump pumps, two siphoning hoses, and homemade drain plug, the water is now gone. Tonight, we're going to turn on the circuit for the heater, which was under water. Hopefully, it works. Otherwise, we might need to call homeowners insurance and explain about the flooding and the drain to nowhere. I really, really don't want to do that.
Here's a picture of the drain to nowhere.
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
You gotta smile!
Okay, I'm getting lots of emails about the flooded basement pictures and the fact that Calvin and I are smiling. Two reasons. First, I always smile when my picture is taken. Two, you can either laugh or you can cry. This is God's providence, so I am going to laugh. (Besides I cried the last time the basement flooded. And that was a pittance compared to this.) Now, it just strikes me as funny because there's absolutely nothing I can do besides pray. And the water's getting higher and higher--we couldn't walk around down there now without getting throughly soaked.
Hey, Noah, we may need an ark!
So much for the drought. We now have way too much water.
In fact, we have so much that the city storm drains can't handle it. Water fountains up and out of the man hole covers in the middle of the street. And guess where the water goes when it can't get out through the storm drain. That's right, into our basement. At about 4pm we had 4inches in the basement. Now at 6, we have 12 to 14 inches and rising. Cal and I found plastic bins floating in the basement. Paint cans bob up and down like sailboats. A lot of the bins have been safely relocated to the laundry room along with Sam's Club versions of toilet paper and paper towels. The only concern at this point (beyond the need for an ark) is that the water doesn't short out the heater and blow out the electrical.
Matt and Jake think the whole thing is cool. Jacob says, "It's like a scene out of U571." Whereas, others wonder if it can be turned into a massive hot tub.
Enjoy the pictures.
p.s. It's supposed to rain tomorrow too. ugh.
In fact, we have so much that the city storm drains can't handle it. Water fountains up and out of the man hole covers in the middle of the street. And guess where the water goes when it can't get out through the storm drain. That's right, into our basement. At about 4pm we had 4inches in the basement. Now at 6, we have 12 to 14 inches and rising. Cal and I found plastic bins floating in the basement. Paint cans bob up and down like sailboats. A lot of the bins have been safely relocated to the laundry room along with Sam's Club versions of toilet paper and paper towels. The only concern at this point (beyond the need for an ark) is that the water doesn't short out the heater and blow out the electrical.
Matt and Jake think the whole thing is cool. Jacob says, "It's like a scene out of U571." Whereas, others wonder if it can be turned into a massive hot tub.
Enjoy the pictures.
p.s. It's supposed to rain tomorrow too. ugh.
Monday, January 5, 2009
Mason-Dixon Shopping Addendum
If you've not read Mason-Dixon shopping, then you should stop right now and read it first.
Several months ago, Ariel and I were shopping at Sam's Club. As we approached the checkout, the female cashier snarled at the the woman in line ahead of us. "Don't stand up near the register. Move back." Ariel and I exchanged mortified glances. Where was the polite, "How y'all doin'?" Then, when the shopper tried to load her groceries back into cart in a way that kept her bread from being smashed by the milk, the cashier snapped, "Don't touch the groceries--I load the cart."
At this point, I got the giggles--this was too pathetic. I kept my eyes focused on the floor when it was our turn and the cashier said, "Push your cart foward and around, you will place it between you and extra cart, which I will be loading. And stand one step back from the register." By now, I was nearly in stitches. And it didn't help that I and the lady behind me kept exchanging sarcastic whispers like "Whoa, bad case of PMS." And "Someone needs to buy that lady some Midol."
Finally, we were finished. I couldn't hold back the laughter anymore especially when the cashier found out that the lady behind us in line didn't have a cart and her whole system was blown to smitherines, and especially when the lady behind had said she was going to tell the cashier, "Um, yeah, I had a cart, but then thought I didn't need it. But now, I realize these groceries are too heavy--can I have your extra cart?"
On our way out to the car, Ariel commented, "Someone should talk to the manager. You can't get away with the kind of behavior here. Maybe in New England, but this is the South! You have to be nice."
Several months ago, Ariel and I were shopping at Sam's Club. As we approached the checkout, the female cashier snarled at the the woman in line ahead of us. "Don't stand up near the register. Move back." Ariel and I exchanged mortified glances. Where was the polite, "How y'all doin'?" Then, when the shopper tried to load her groceries back into cart in a way that kept her bread from being smashed by the milk, the cashier snapped, "Don't touch the groceries--I load the cart."
At this point, I got the giggles--this was too pathetic. I kept my eyes focused on the floor when it was our turn and the cashier said, "Push your cart foward and around, you will place it between you and extra cart, which I will be loading. And stand one step back from the register." By now, I was nearly in stitches. And it didn't help that I and the lady behind me kept exchanging sarcastic whispers like "Whoa, bad case of PMS." And "Someone needs to buy that lady some Midol."
Finally, we were finished. I couldn't hold back the laughter anymore especially when the cashier found out that the lady behind us in line didn't have a cart and her whole system was blown to smitherines, and especially when the lady behind had said she was going to tell the cashier, "Um, yeah, I had a cart, but then thought I didn't need it. But now, I realize these groceries are too heavy--can I have your extra cart?"
On our way out to the car, Ariel commented, "Someone should talk to the manager. You can't get away with the kind of behavior here. Maybe in New England, but this is the South! You have to be nice."
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