Last Sunday, my husband and I sported our New England Patriots tees and got ourselves worked up over one of the worst football games we have ever seen. It was just ugly. Goddamn Jets.
The saddest part is that was the day I finally got around to doing the family photo with the Patriots gear on for the pre-baby book. And now the memory is tainted by a crappy game...a crappy game and being blasted by freezing water in our basement.
With great sadness and heads hanging low, we climbed into bed. Tucked in nice and tight, we were reading happily (albeit sulkily) when we heard (and felt) a loud thud followed by a very strange noise that we were willing to chalk up to the heater doing something weird. So, here's what's stupid...if the heater WAS, in fact, doing something weird, we probably would have died (in a cloud of smoke, in a house fire, in some other furnace-related something), but we were perfectly content to just stay tucked in, reading.
It was when I had to pee that I finally decided to investigate.
In the front room the sound was far more menacing. It finally occurred to me that if we were dealing with a heating problem, it was most likely that said problem was going to result in the house blowing up. So, further investigation led me to the basement where I discovered that the problem was not the furnace but the water main. Sure that we were dealing with a frozen-pipe-burst, I started turning off valves that didn't require entering the splash zone. Finally, my husband was able to shut the valve off on the pipe that was blowing water all over the basement.
We are fortunate to have a good plumber who came over the next morning and fixed the pipe. And, as it turns out, it was not a frozen burst, but a poorly plumbed main line from the beginning of the house (read: easy fix, and "who I hate most today" trophy has to be shared between the goddamn Jets and the goddamn previous owners of this house). And we had two toilets with one flush each to pee before bed and again when we got up in the morning. Still, it was really cold standing in the basement in soaking wet jammies.
On the bright side, it snapped the serious Patriots fans in the house out of their "no superbowl this year" pity party.
Sunday, January 23, 2011
Thursday, January 13, 2011
as luck would have it
I'm not entirely sure how I managed to accomplish everything today given the number of things I forgot. At 5:45, as I drove to the Y to teach an aerobics class with a lot of 15- and 30-second intervals, I realized that I forgot my bag for class. The bag contains a stopwatch to time said intervals, as well as my shoes for said class, and my music for the planned routine. As luck would have it, I did have my I-pod, and the front desk had an audio cord I could borrow to connect it to the stereo. Little did I know just how much luck would need to be involved... the I-pod battery was nearly dead, so I couldn't use the stopwatch nor could I keep the screen lit for more than a few seconds at a time. I also forgot my wrist watch and the clock in the studio did not have a second-hand.
Luck, as it turns out, was also on my side when it came to shoe choice this morning. Instead of grabbing my large boots to plodded through the snow, I chose slip-ons that were sure to keep my fry warm. Not only a good choice for warm feet, but also an ideal shoe for this particular workout.
Except for a brief glitch when I pushed the wrong button trying to adjust settings on my I-pod resulting in a jarring switch from Lady Gaga to the Wicked soundtrack, I managed to get through the class, music and intervals included, with a few seconds of battery life to spare.
Having overcome nearly insurmountable odds, I thanked those who keep watch over me, and came to a new realization...I had left my work laptop at home, packed in my work bag and sitting out where I wouldn't forget it.
Speaking of work, on this day of forgetting and somehow managing to cobble together a solution, I left work (and aforementioned laptop) for a nice long weekend a mere 13 hours and 12 minutes after realizing I had forgotten my aerobics class bag - it had been a long day. I had stayed late to make sure I finished as much stuff as possible, and somehow I still got an email on my blackberry, 20 minutes after I left, requesting talking points for an interview. Bad news: talking points were on the laptop, on my desk, and my keycard doesn't work after hours. So, I point out my problem, and the next request is: I just need the reporter's number. Right, the number that is on the desk with the laptop. After 30 minutes of Web searches to try to find ANY contact info for this guy, I make one final desperate attempt to find the information - I check my work voicemail. As luck would have it, I didn't delete any of my voicemails today (keep in mind that in my little OCD world, not clearing messages immediately upon hearing them is unthinkable, so how I ended up with three messages, including the one I needed is beyond me). I was able to provide all the contact information necessary to complete the interview, and now I really can enjoy a nice long weekend.
Thank you, whoever you are, with the luck and the cobbled-together solutions. Please stay close!
Luck, as it turns out, was also on my side when it came to shoe choice this morning. Instead of grabbing my large boots to plodded through the snow, I chose slip-ons that were sure to keep my fry warm. Not only a good choice for warm feet, but also an ideal shoe for this particular workout.
Except for a brief glitch when I pushed the wrong button trying to adjust settings on my I-pod resulting in a jarring switch from Lady Gaga to the Wicked soundtrack, I managed to get through the class, music and intervals included, with a few seconds of battery life to spare.
Having overcome nearly insurmountable odds, I thanked those who keep watch over me, and came to a new realization...I had left my work laptop at home, packed in my work bag and sitting out where I wouldn't forget it.
Speaking of work, on this day of forgetting and somehow managing to cobble together a solution, I left work (and aforementioned laptop) for a nice long weekend a mere 13 hours and 12 minutes after realizing I had forgotten my aerobics class bag - it had been a long day. I had stayed late to make sure I finished as much stuff as possible, and somehow I still got an email on my blackberry, 20 minutes after I left, requesting talking points for an interview. Bad news: talking points were on the laptop, on my desk, and my keycard doesn't work after hours. So, I point out my problem, and the next request is: I just need the reporter's number. Right, the number that is on the desk with the laptop. After 30 minutes of Web searches to try to find ANY contact info for this guy, I make one final desperate attempt to find the information - I check my work voicemail. As luck would have it, I didn't delete any of my voicemails today (keep in mind that in my little OCD world, not clearing messages immediately upon hearing them is unthinkable, so how I ended up with three messages, including the one I needed is beyond me). I was able to provide all the contact information necessary to complete the interview, and now I really can enjoy a nice long weekend.
Thank you, whoever you are, with the luck and the cobbled-together solutions. Please stay close!
Sunday, January 2, 2011
our first Christmas tree
We got our first Christmas tree this year. This is our fourth Christmas together, but having a tree never made sense - we just aren't home during the holidays (usually a good recipe for trees drying out and causing fires).
But with a daughter on the way, my irrational fire fears took a backseat to my husband's desire for a real Christmas totem and a new tradition.
In the past, family Christmas trees have involved either the existing house plants or a trip to a cut-your-own tree farm. Said tree farms are typically in the middle of nowhere, and our favorite includes TruckGuy - a guy who comes out in his 1972 Subaru pick-up truck once you have selected and cut down your tree somewhere in the middle of a field.
So we headed out for a Christmas tree. We drove a whole quarter of a mile before locating a tree lot. We pulled in, told the guy we were looking for a tree on the small side. He asked, "How small?". My husband resonded' "that one."
The guy tied it on the roof and we drove home.
I think it took less time to drive there, pick out the tree, get it on the car, and drive home than it did to get the tree off the car.
The sort of sad part is: we just took the Christmas tree down. We took off the ornaments. We unwrapped the lights. We went to take the tree out of the tree stand and realized we didn't take any pictures of our first Christmas tree. I hope this isn't indicative of photographic evidence of our daughter's upbrining.
But with a daughter on the way, my irrational fire fears took a backseat to my husband's desire for a real Christmas totem and a new tradition.
In the past, family Christmas trees have involved either the existing house plants or a trip to a cut-your-own tree farm. Said tree farms are typically in the middle of nowhere, and our favorite includes TruckGuy - a guy who comes out in his 1972 Subaru pick-up truck once you have selected and cut down your tree somewhere in the middle of a field.
So we headed out for a Christmas tree. We drove a whole quarter of a mile before locating a tree lot. We pulled in, told the guy we were looking for a tree on the small side. He asked, "How small?". My husband resonded' "that one."
The guy tied it on the roof and we drove home.
I think it took less time to drive there, pick out the tree, get it on the car, and drive home than it did to get the tree off the car.
The sort of sad part is: we just took the Christmas tree down. We took off the ornaments. We unwrapped the lights. We went to take the tree out of the tree stand and realized we didn't take any pictures of our first Christmas tree. I hope this isn't indicative of photographic evidence of our daughter's upbrining.
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