The Good, The Bad and The Pathogically Messy

As you know, we have been adding on to our house. In March, Paul Pope (Pope Builders) began tearing off our old 3 season porch and building a new, two story, two room addition and half bath. Paul and his crew have been easy to work with, reliable - a joy, really. In honor of Pope Builders, I have written a haiku:

A Haiku for Pope Builders

You come to my house
Build two huge rooms and a bath
Lovely work – no mess

Check out the most recent pic of their fabulous work:

We have never really had a good experience with a contractor. We generally have the Local News Insider Exposé kind of experience. We had our bathroom remodeled in 1999 and, let's just say, we were out of our house for five weeks and the whole bad experience culminated with our bikes being stolen. You may be wondering, "How can a bathroom remodel lead to bike theft?" Yeah, it boggles the mind doesn't it? Anyway, yesterday, we had a guy (not affiliated with Pope Builders) come to spray our living room and dining room ceilings with that textured stuff. I came home yesterday to a complete mess. Most of the furniture and floors were covered in a 1/4 inch of white dust. Plastery gunk had been tracked all the way upstairs and was ground into the carpet runner. The glop was all over the landing and on our beautiful bathroom tile. It was ground into our bath mat. We found plaster in our antique claw foot tub. I'm pretty sure they invented utility sinks in basements for that purpose. I just don't understand the thought process: "Should I mix plaster in this person's clawfoot tub cast in 1913 or should I mix it in the grungy utility sink in the basement? I think I'll go with the nice tub." The man splashed water all over the toilet and bathroom floor. Inexplicably, there was plaster on my hostas in the front yard. He did not bother to clean any of this up. Miguel, at the tender age of 4, walked into the house and said, "What a mess!" Now, if a 4 year old can figure that out, why can't a contractor? We had to go out to dinner, come home to put our dusty children in their beds and spend the rest of our evening cleaning. Luisa called the guy today and informed him that it would be best for all concerned if he did not return. Oh, I didn't mention that he only did one of the two ceilings? Yeah. So, in honor (or dishonor, I suppose) I offer the following haiku:

A Haiku for Mark the Ceiling Sprayer

You spray one ceiling
Mix plaster in my cool tub
Children think you’re dumb

Over Easy

I was on my way to the elevator when I saw a co-worker coming towards me. He smiled broadly and said loudly, "Eighteen eggs this morning!" Turns out, he was not sharing the news of a rather impressive breakfast. No, this was the number of eggs retrieved from his wife's ovaries this morning. Considering I barely know this man and have never had anything resembling a personal conversation with him, I think I would prefer "hello" from here on out.

Waves

It’s strange what can make you wistful. By “you”, of course, I mean “me” but I’m trying to be inclusive here. One moment, you are going 50 miles per hour in the bow of a speedboat, a gaggle of laughing children around you and you can’t help but laugh too because you have never seen anything funnier than children’s cheeks flapping in the wind while they sing Scooby Dooby Doo at the top of their lungs. The next moment, you are crying - not because of the 50 mile per hour wind and bugs in your eyes but because of a big ol’ wave of nostalgia that drags you out of the moment. You remember another boat and other people laughing and as your mind is perusing that other speedboat – the speedboat in a past life – your eyes finally land on the driver of that boat. The driver just happens to be your father and he is smiling and laughing his deep and subtle laugh that rumbles and resonates in your chest. In that moment, you realize that your father is one of the few people in life that made you feel really safe and you start to cry because you are going to lose him very soon. Then, just like that, you hear the children screaming again, screaming because waves are so incredible and because speed and Scooby Doo are so darn funny. You are back in the moment and can laugh again. You wrap your arms around those children and you sing along and the moment is somehow sweeter.

Extreme Makeover

1. Blog Edition

As you can see, I have made some dramatic changes around here. I know I have broken one of the main blogging commandments - Thou shalt not change things too often. Still, I wanted a new look. I plan on sticking with this one for awhile. Let me know what you think. Those of you who lurk here (and you know who you are) - take this as an invitation to actually leave a comment.

2. Government Center Edition

It's day two here on the flooded 14th floor. Here are a few pics of the new look in my work place.












If you think the pictures look great, you should smell the new look.

3. Addition Edition

I came home last night to the most dramatic progress on our addition yet. When they first dug the foundation, I was convinced that the addition was going to be too small. Now, I am having a hard time wrapping my head around the enormity. You can barely even see the old house.

4. Oldest Child Edition

When we picked up Miguel from school yesterday, we received the following note from his teacher:

Dear Mothers,

Miguel will need a good shampoo tonight to remove the shoe polish.

Fondly,

Mrs. Raasch

Should this ever happen* to your child, let me just tell you - that shit doesn't come out. No matter how much shampoo you use. No matter how hard you scrub. It does - not - come - out.

*The word "happen" of course implies that your child was an innocent victim to a drive-by polishing. I can't really say that this "happened" to my son. There was no other party involved in the polishing. No other child did this to him. No other child encouraged him to do this. No, my son decided to polish his head all by himself. You can imagine our pride...

Catastrophe Team

A water main burst on the 14th floor of the Government Center and half of it is flooded. I work on the 14th floor. Let me just say that the carpet here is very old. The maintenance staff no longer regularly vaccum because of budget cuts. We have had a terrible mouse infestation since I started here 9 years ago. Water...mouse urine...dirt - imagine the smell that the giant fans are blowing around in here.

There are men wandering around wearing black t-shirts that read "Catastrophe Team". If I could get one of those shirts, this would all be worthwhile.

Mothers' Day

At 1 a.m. Miguel yells for me from his bedroom. He relays the details of a horrible nightmare in which he built something and someone knocked it down. I assure him that he was dreaming, that neither building nor knocking has occurred. Zeca also wakes up but she is crying, standing up in her crib rattling the bars. We can only assume she has had a terrible dream in which someone built something and she knocked it down. She is wracked with guilt and Luisa gives her a pacifier and a back rub.

At 5:45 a.m., Miguel wakes up and begins yelling for us. I go in to tell him that it is too early and that he needs to go back to sleep. He tells me that it is Mother’s Day and he wants to make coffee for us…got up early to make coffee for us…needs to make coffee for us right now. By 6:15 a.m., we are all downstairs and I am supervising the making of my Mother’s Day coffee. By 6:30 a.m., I am cleaning up the mess made during the making of the Mother’s Day coffee. At 7 a.m., Luisa and I are preparing breakfast for the children. By 7:30 a.m., we are cleaning up the breakfast dishes. We each grab a Luna Bar and try to have coffee. We sit down to read the paper but there are many demands for attention which detract from the reading of the newspaper. I manage to look through a few ads and Luisa manages a couple of editorials. Zeca is removing all of the books from the bookshelf. Miguel is playing prairie dog on the couch which involves throwing all of the cushions on the floor. By 8 a.m., toys are strewn all over the entire downstairs. Interestingly, neither child is actually playing with any toys. It is raining outside and we are all bored.

The hours between 8 a.m. and 10 a.m. are a blur of Luisa nagging Miguel, me nagging Luisa, Zeca crying because she is not allowed to destroy various objects in the house and Miguel occasionally yelling at us that we are the meanest mothers in the world and will not be getting Mother’s Day cards next year. I begin to grit my teeth and glower. I consider locking myself in the bathroom but decide Luisa would rather deal with moody me than be left alone with the children. We decide to go to Ikea to get a dresser for Zeca and to drop Miguel off at the ball pit where he can climb and jump.

We drop Miguel off at the Ikea ball pit, plop Zeca in a cart and proceed into the store. Ikea is virtually empty and I imagine all of the other mothers having their Mother’s Day brunches or breakfast in bed or receiving numerous bouquets of flowers or gorging on chocolates in their beds. Zeca cries because she doesn’t want to sit in the cart. I explain to her calmly that she must remain in the cart. She continues to cry. I give her cranberries and she stops crying. We select a dresser and return to the ball pit to pick up Miguel. It’s lunch time and we have no food at home for lunch. Cranberries do not an entree make and there is nothing else in the diaper bag. We decide to eat at the Ikea cafeteria. We find a table among the elderly mothers that seem to have come to Ikea just for the Swedish Meatballs. We sit down to enjoy our Festival of Carbs, though “enjoy” is generous. As we leave Ikea, Miguel asks when we are going to do something fun.

We return home and put Zeca down for her nap. Miguel goes to his room for “quiet time” which consists of him yelling “Happy Mother’s Day” to Luisa from his bedroom window while she mows the lawn. He gets louder and louder so that she can hear him over the mower. While Luisa mows the lawn, I pick up all of the toys and take out the trash. I also make the grocery list. When Luisa finishes the lawn, she comes inside and I take Miguel to do the grocery shopping. While we are shopping, Luisa does the bills.

We return from shopping and Luisa puts the groceries away while I call my mother to wish her happy Mother’s Day. She says nothing about the card I sent, nor the Visa gift card I got for her. I finally ask her if she received them. She says that she did and that she doesn’t even know how to use the Visa gift card. There is a five minute discussion of how to use the card that concludes with her saying “humph” rather than anything resembling a thank you. I am fuming and call my sister to complain. My sister is very sweet to me. While I luxuriate in my sister’s kindness, the children wander around the house leaving a wake of toys in their path. I get off the phone and begin making lasagna for dinner. We decide to invite our friends (Raquel, Susan and their daughter Luca) over for dinner because they just returned from Ohio and probably don’t have food at their house. They say they will be over right after they unpack. Miguel spends the next 45 minutes asking us when they are going to get there.

They arrive and we have a lovely dinner and a bottle of wine. Miguel plays with Luca and Zeca performs all of her most adorable tricks. We have snippets of adult conversation…the first of such snippets all day. At 7:30 p.m., Luisa puts Zeca to bed and Miguel and Luca play quietly in his room. We have actual adult conversation. My jaw unclenches…could be the wine, could be the conversation. Around 8 p.m. the “clean up the mess in the bedroom” negotiations begin. I go up to check it out and am horrified to see that nearly every inch of Miguel’s floor is covered in books, toys and clothing. I tell the children to clean it up. They come down at 8: 15 p.m. and say that it is clean. I don’t believe them but I am tired and don’t care anymore. Our friends leave and I take Miguel up to bed. I walk into his room and it is immaculate. He is beaming and says, “See, I told you I would do something nice for you today”. I want to cry. We snuggle into his bed and he tells me in a fake French accent…”Zee keeds, zey like to eat zee boogers”. I respond in the same accent, “Zat eeze gross”. We laugh. He rubs my cheek and says he loves me. I hold his small hand and tell him that I love him too. He drifts off to sleep. The house is finally quiet. I go back downstairs where Luisa is doing the dishes. I pick up all the toys and make the coffee for the next day. We prepare tomorrow’s lunches. We sit down at 9 p.m.

Just another day for these mothers…

ADDENDUM:

Luisa called to suggest that, perhaps, my account of the day was the tiniest bit harsh. I didn't mean to describe a day that would drive people to drink or to give the impression that we are bitter, unhappy people. I was simply struck with the difference between the Mother's Day that is marketed by Hallmark and an actual day in the life of a mother with small children. So, I offer the following disclaimer:

Vikki and Luisa are happy, well-adjusted women raising two wonderful children. They love their children (and each other) dearly and would not change their lives for anything.

There, I've disclaimed. Besides, how I could I not love these little people...

Overheard in the Government Center Elevator

Woman (to man): You are retiring soon, right?

Man: Yes, August of 2007

My subconscious: It is hot in here and someone has been smoking.

Woman: You don’t have it down to the days?

Man: 449 days

My subconscious: Why do so many middle aged men working for Hennepin County wear Hawaiian print shirts?

Woman: And have you settled on a place to retire?

Man: Yes, we have decided on Bismarck.

My subconscious: Hmmm…there must be another Bismarck. Maybe there is a Bismarck in Germany…

Woman: Do you have family in North Dakota?

My subconscious: Man – Be gentle when you mock her for thinking that you would move to North Dakota.

Man: No, it’s #28 on Kiplinger’s list of great places to live.

My subconscious: Retiring to North Dakota?!? Please, if there is a god, don’t let me work at the county so long as to believe life would be better in Bismarck.

A Fast One

Remember how I was complaining about my boring workday and how the most exciting thing I did was wrestle with an industrial size stapler? Well, I'm yearning for that simpler time...

We are incredibly busy at work. If you sell Cuisinarts on commission, busy is great news. If you are a social worker who investigates abuse, not so much. We are investigating record numbers of abuse/neglect/exploitation cases right now which does not say much about the current state of the world.

I have 20 cases to close and about 20 more to open. I hate it when work gets in the way of blogging.

So, I just wanted to post some exciting pictures to keep you all updated on the construction progress at my house. I was looking in through what will be the windows and actually pictured art on the walls. I am way past the angst of the fork in the road and am downright thrilled.

911

Luisa and I are in the kitchen preparing dinner. Zeca is hanging on to my pant leg, begging for food. We hear beeping from the living room, the sounds of the buttons on the cordless phone. I enter the living room and find Miguel sitting on the couch with the phone in his hand.

Me: Miguel, what are you doing?

Miguel: I'm going to call 911.

Me: If you call 911 and the police come to the house and there is no emergency, you will get into a lot of trouble.

Miguel: When the police come to arrest you, do they already know which jail they are going to take you to?

Me: Honey, the police don't usually take kids to jail.

Miguel: So, they would probably just take me to juvy?


Who is this kid hanging out with?

Too Much

I haven’t slept well in days. Zeca and I both have bad colds, Miguel seems to have lost the ability to cover himself at night and, on Saturday night, I had those 7 tiny pomegranate martinis and 2 beers. That said, I don’t have high hopes for wit and coherence here. Lower your expectations right now.

Saturday night was the Lake Country School auction. I’ve gone to this event for years and always have a fabulous time. I mill about bidding on the silent auction items. I stop by the Marketplace and buy some Lake Country apparel and paraphernalia. I chat, joke and laugh with people I barely know (which is no easy task for an introvert). I feel all bubbly and happy and a part of something bigger than myself. I even start to feel like I am just like everyone else there, like we all have so much in common. Then, the live auction begins.

The big ticket item at the auction this year was a trip for six to a private home in Telluride, Colorado. The trip included travel by private jet, gourmet meals (including one provided by a top chef), private ski lessons, skiing or other outdoor activities and massages. The estimated value of the trip was $14,500 and it was donated by a family at the school. The bidding began at around $3,000 (I can’t remember exactly because of the aforementioned martinis). My friends and I stood in awe as the people around us kept raising their hands and the bidding…$5,000, $10,000, $15,000 – sold for $17,000. Then, five minutes later the family that donated the trip decided to offer another to the second highest bidder, the guy who bid $16,500. In moments, the school had raised $33,500. I could never offer such a trip (let alone, two) nor could I ever afford to bid on such a trip. It is fun to be around that kind of money but it also made me a bit sick to my stomach. Granted, it could have been the pomegranate martinis and all the free pork but I really think it was the wealth.

On the outside, I am a middle class, educated professional but, inside, I am working class just like my parents. My mother grew up poor – didn’t have an indoor bathroom poor, lost everything in a flood poor, three to a bed poor. She graduated from high school and became a typesetter for a printing company. My father owned a small bar in our working class neighborhood. As a kid, I remember a generalized feeling of stress around issues of work, insurance and money but my basic needs were always met. I remember being told that I could not have certain things because we did not have the money for them but those were extra things, not needed things. I never knew that my parents could barely make ends meet. I didn’t know that my mother hocked her jewelry one year to buy me Christmas presents. I didn’t know that she had to work overtime to pay for my guitar lessons. Even though my parents shielded me from some of the hard truths, somehow, that working class experience still shaped the person I have become. Even though I probably make more than my parents made combined, I worry more about money than just about anything else. I worry that we don’t have enough money, that we won’t have enough tomorrow, that we can’t do the things we need to do for our children. Sometimes, for an added twist (and because I am so good at this), I worry that we have too much, that we do too much for our children, that they are spoiled and will grow up feeling entitled. I alternate between an overwhelming sense of privilege and associated guilt and a desperate sense that tomorrow is the day when everything will fall to pieces and I will have to make my children’s clothes out of paper bags and duct tape.

So, it’s surreal for me to stand next to a person who can bid $17,000 for a vacation, seemingly without much thought. I have to force myself to focus on the school. I can’t allow my mind to wander or my working and middle class sensibilities begin to plot an uprising. It’s just too much…too much money, too much comfort, too much ease – just too much. I have to remind myself that the money is for this very special school. I have to think about the values of Lake Country and that those values have nothing to do with wealth and privilege. I have to think about the school’s focus on independent thought and community service. I have to think about my son’s love of his school and I have to reflect on all that it has given him. Then, I can applaud the winning bidders. I can laugh and drink and play Twister – my middle class self all tangled up with the rich.

Foundation

Yesterday morning our backyard was covered with 3 enormous piles of cement blocks and when I got home from work, there was this:




















Just like that, we have a foundation for our addition. Miguel spent the evening giving us high fives because, “They are really building on”. He’s been a bit skeptical about the process but, now, he is a believer. Me, well, I’m not so sure. I am biologically predisposed to anxiety and I am an overachiever. As you can imagine, this is not a good combination. Last night, I said to Luisa, “Well, there’s no turning back now” even though I know that the “no turning back point” would have been before we got rid of the realtor, refinanced the house, hired the contractor, tore off the back of the house and dug the giant hole in the backyard. She looked at me blankly and I could see that she was trying to compute the most reassuring response. She made a slight tactical error by starting with, “Well, I did think it was going to be bigger…” but recovered quickly and followed with, “It is going to be great...it’s so exciting…I can’t wait…”

This whole process has made me realize that I am a person who really likes to keep all available options open. I am not indecisive – I enjoy possibility. I am happiest when faced with the fork in the road. I would like to set up camp at the fork in the road and have cheese and crackers and a nice Bairrada. I could be a one woman Chamber of Commerce for Forks in the Road. But, alas, I can’t really stay there…too much noise and traffic.

I know we made the right choice when we decided to stay and build onto our house. After a childhood filled with constant moves, I am tied to a place for the first time in my life. It grounds me. I cannot imagine leaving our home, the park, our friends and our history as a couple and as a family. It’s time to move forward and to allow my anxiety to give way to joy about the new possibilities in our house. I know this will come in time…too bad I’m also impatient.

Rattle Rattle Thunder Clatter

My car rattles. Not my VW Golf of Loveliness but my 2002 Saturn Vue. It was not that long ago that I loved my Vue. The Vue and I were close. Then…

Last fall, the Vue started to rattle. Luisa first suggested that the car had always done that. I knew that was not true but I let it go because I’m generous that way. Then, it got a little bit worse and Luisa said that it was because the car was plastic and it was expanding and contracting with the changes in temperature. Saturns do that, it’s true, but this rattle was not that kind of rattle. Things continued to deteriorate and the rattle got to the point where friends riding in the car would shout over the din, “What the hell is that noise?!” It was bad then but you should hear it now. Pedestrians turn their heads toward me when I drive by. They fear me and my rattle. Music does not drown out the rattle. Talk radio does not drown out the rattle. My son, the boy who has no volume control and is never silent, CANNOT DROWN OUT THE RATTLE. It’s like there is a mischievous gnome clumsily juggling glass bottles under the front end of my car. Sometimes, the gnome clacks them together because that’s how car gnomes are. I cannot stand the rattle.

This morning, it came to my attention that I may be a little obsessed with the rattle. Apparently, when we are in the Vue, I talk about the rattle and nothing else. This seems to be a source of frustration to those around me. This morning, while Luisa was driving me to work in the Vue, I mentioned the rattle…just in passing, of course. I might have also laid down an edict (the tiniest of edicts) in which I said that the car would be sold if the rattle could not be repaired. I find that edicts go down easier if they are put to music, so, I sang a little song, “Bye Bye Saturn Bye Bye” but my musical stylings were not at all appreciated. Luisa saw my edict and raised me one. She said that we would not be selling the car and that I would just have to wear ear plugs. You don’t solve a rattle with ear plugs. I was outraged at the fact that she was dismissing my incredibly legitimate concerns. We then arrived at my building and I gave kisses to all and that was that. Luisa then dropped Miguel at school, picked up some friends at the airport and took the Vue to the mechanic.

The Mistress of the Flans returned from Brazil today and I mentioned the issue of the rattle. She had noticed it when Luisa picked her up from the airport but said that she did not think it was that bad. Long story short, she suggested that the problem was not the car but me and my fickle self. Then, I talked to my friend Kristin and she said that she, too, was with Luisa on this one. Neither believed it was reasonable to suggest selling a car because of a rattle. I was beginning to consider introspection when the phone rang. It was Luisa. The mechanic called and the swaybars have gone bad on the Vue. I don’t know what they are but they are important and if they had not been properly addressed they would have broken and caused $600 damage to surrounding very important car parts. They might have also killed that mischievous gnome. No one wants a dead gnome. So, Luisa gave the go ahead for the repairs. It will cost $400 and I have never been so happy to spend $400. I also get to say that I was right…it has not always made that noise and it is not because the car is plastic. This was a bad rattle and, because of my vigilance, it will be fixed. It’s a good day when you get to reclaim your sanity and say “I’m right”. A good day, indeed.

The Peep Finale

On Saturday night, Luisa and I sat down with 150 peeps (30 of each color I found - red, blue, purple, pink and yellow), a box of toothpicks and 200 bamboo skewers. I had a few ideas but no definite plans. We turned ourselves over to the process and created this year's centerpiece together.

Luisa: Alright, we have 30 rows of each color.
Me: Let's create squares.
Luisa: We have 30 rows and we need 4 skewers per square, so, four goes into 30 7 times.
Me: We can make 7 squares then?
Luisa: Yes, but some will be multi-colored.
Me: No, I don't want multicolored squares...

This is what happens when a math geek and a Peep freak get together. Luisa was right there with me...skewering, figuring, theorizing and creating. As we were lining up the skewers to make the squares, I said, "They have to face out." Luisa said, "Of course they do!" It was one of those moments when I realize that she just "gets" me and I fell in love with her all over again right on the spot. By the way, Happy 13th Anniversary Luisa!

One thing we noticed this year is that the Peep eyes were rather haphazard. One purple Peep had three eyes, one of which was on its tail. There were also some weepy Peeps...

And without further ado...I present the 2006 Peep Centerpiece...

That's it...we are done with the Peeps until 2007!

Peepy Friday

I took today off from work because Zeca only has daycare for half of the day. I have many phone calls to make and errands to run, so, this will be short.

First, the Mystery of the Purple Peep has been solved. Jil, a parent at Miguel's school, stuffed the Peep into Miguel's box. Apparently, Jil has been secretly reading this blog which is very cool. So, thank you (and hello) Jil - the Peep is very happy in its new home...

Secondly, today's picture is of the Peep centerpiece from last year. In my defense (yes, a defense is needed as you will soon see), we had a newborn baby. Newborn babies excuse everything. I didn't come up with a vision for the centerpiece until the morning of Easter which is never good. It is hard to create when the baby is crying and wants to nurse, your post partum hormones are raging and your 3 year old is begging for Peeps and licking Peep sugar off the table. There would have been no centerpiece at all if not for Luisa who took the peeps from my trembling hands as I sobbed and did the best she could with the materials and Peeps we had available. We learned a lot from the making of this one...1)Peeps do not do well threaded onto wire - there is ripping and sticking and terrible deformities 2)Grand Peep Visions should be tested in advance and 3)There are some things that even cute stickers can't fix.

The Peep Fairy

When Luisa picked Miguel up from school last night, she found a giant, plush, purple Peep stuffed into his school mailbox. I tried to explain to him that it was probably meant for me because people know how much I like Peeps. He insisted that it was meant for him because it was in his mailbox. He insisted that he needed the purple Peep. I was faced with a dilemma...love of Peeps versus love of child. I let him have the damn Peep.

Later in the evening, I called my friend Peggy (a teacher at Miguel's school) and asked if she had put the Peep in his box. She has yet to respond but I don't think it was her because the Peep does not smell like her house. Yes, my sense of smell is that impressive. I then called my friend Kris (also a teacher at Miguel's school) and she said that she did not put the Peep in Miguel's box. I then called my friend Kristin and asked if she had, by chance, been stuffing large Peeps in people's mail boxes and she said that she had not. So, we have a mystery here.

Who put the purple Peep in Miguel's mailbox?

Today's peep photo is of the the second Peep centerpiece that I made (2004). This is the one that set the standard for future centerpieces. After the Easter egg hunt, I took it to work where my colleagues nibbled on it...until a staff person threw it unceremoniously into the trash without even asking me. I still haven't quite gotten over that.

Peep Fact (Courtesy of Raquel): Employee Candy Madea is Peeps eye inspector. Peeps with missing or mislocated eyes are melted down.

Where are the PETA activists when you need them?

Home Stretch

For all of you that are just trying to survive the peep posts, we are in the home stretch now. There will only be two more peep posts and then a post-Easter recap that will include a picture of this year's peep centerpiece.

I would first like to declare peeps to be the winner of the official Up Popped A Fox poll that pitted peeps against circus peanuts. Circus peanuts came in second and dental surgery came in third. The poll was illuminating...I did not know that circus peanuts were such scoundrels. Thank you all for voting.

Peep Fact: Just Born is America's largest manufacturer of seasonal marshmallow confections, with PEEPS® hailing as the top selling non-chocolate Easter candy brand for the last decade. PEEPS® even outsell jellybeans.

Today's peep picture is the first of three depicting the evolution of the Vikki Reich peeps centerpiece. From simple beginnings...

My professional life

For those of you that don't know me...I am an Adult Protection social worker for Hennepin County in Minnesota. I investigate reports of abuse, neglect and financial exploitation of vulnerable adults. It's a great job and it is shocking or mundane, depending on the day. Today, things are more of the snoozy variety. Here is what I have done since I got to work today:

1. Co-facilitate a meeting to discuss case load standards and case assignment issues
2. Obtain copies of case load statistics for the past 5 years
3. Write the minutes for the meeting and e-mail to everyone
4. Go to Starbucks for beans - purchase Organic Shade Grown Mexico Starbucks coffee beans (recommended by Starbucks barista barely old enough to have facial hair)
5. Eat turkey and cheese sandwich with a side of baby carrots
6. Read and respond to e-mails regarding the minutes (6 people praised me, 1 shamed me)
7. Talk about crazy colleague with work friends
8. Report to a supervisor that my meeting minutes offended a co-worker to head off the complaints about me that will surely follow
9. Return to my desk to find a GIGANTIC stapler on my desk with instructions from the head clerical person that say, "Vikki - here is the new stapler for CEP/Intake. Being such a smart person, I'll let you read the instructions and explain to others."
10. Recycle numerous pop cans in cube (11, to be exact)
11. Read stapler instructions and curse at heavy duty stapler that will not submit to my intellect
12. Engage in e-mail conversation with offended co-worker regarding meeting
13. Give up "working" and start blogging

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No peep fact for today...just a picture of my son eating his very first peep ever (Easter 2003)...

Cars and Peanuts and Peeps

We did it...we bought a second car. We bought a used, I mean "pre-owned", Volkswagen Golf. It's a nice little car and, though I haven't driven it yet, I am told that it is zippy. My girlfriend cited many wonderful things about the car...not least of which is that the odometer is in kilometers rather than miles. This brings my European gal pal great joy. We bought the car in Hudson, Wisconsin and as I followed Luisa back to Minneapolis, I could see her singing and doing a little dance in the Golf. I could see her joy from the car behind - that's some joy. There is no doubt that the second car will make our lives easier or, at least, more flexible but the car cannot go grocery shopping by itself which makes it a little less useful than I would like it to be.

Now, let's talk Peeps...

In last week's episode, our heroine (Vikki) is betrayed by two of those closest to her. Her partner (Luisa) dared to say that all the Peep talk was driving readers away from this blog. Then, a so-called friend (Kristin) compared Peeps to Circus Peanuts. Circus Peanuts people!

The differences are stark, no? The Peanut does not glisten like the beautiful peep. The Peanut has neither beak nor cute tail. The Peanut has no personality. Then, there is the taste. While I don't eat a lot of Peeps, I am not repulsed by the thought. I would never eat a Peanut - they smell like the bottom of my grandmother's purse...kleenex and lipstick.

Let's take a poll - Peeps or Peanuts?

About last night

I rush from the car to the house in the pouring rain, Zeca bouncing in my arms. We get inside and get out of our soaked outerwear. Zeca goes into the kitchen and I go to listen to messages. Suddenly, I hear water running in the kitchen. I think, "What the hell is she in to now?" I run to the kitchen and Zeca is playing quietly with the refrigerator magnets. I follow the sound into the pantry where I see water streaming in from the ceiling. Not dripping. Streaming. There is a plastic basket nearby and I put that under the stream. The basket has holes in the side and the water seeps out, cascading down the counter onto the wood floor. I run to the dining room and grab a large bowl. I put the bowl under the stream while I go to grab towels. When I race back with the towels, the bowl is already full. I empty the bowl and run back. I start to mop up the water with the towels when I am pelted with small objects flying through the air. I turn to see Zeca, her fat hands full of cat food. She is tossing it into the air like confetti. I am being pelted with celebratory kitty chow. I yell, "NO!" She laughs and works faster. I grab her and carry her to the other side of the room while I try to scoop up the food to put it back in the bowl. She runs back, grabs more - food rains down on us again. I kneel, stretch out one leg and put my foot on her chest to keep her at bay. She squeals and strains but does not figure out that she can just walk around my foot. I scoop up the food and throw it in the bowl. I put the cat bowls on the counter. I go back to the pantry and the bowl is full of water again. I need a bigger bowl. I pick up Zeca and run to the basement. I find a lovely green bucket and I bound up the stairs with Zeca hugging the bucket. I pry the bucket from her hands. She cries...she does not want to be separated from the bucket. I put her down and place the bucket under the stream. I go to the refrigerator and get the cheese. I cut cheese cubes for Zeca so that she will not mourn the bucket. She eats cheese and I mop up water. Soon, she is gone and I hear banging in the foyer. I run to the foyer to see her banging on the storm door. She is gleeful - she has mashed cheese all over the glass. I shut the door, leaving cheese on the storm door. I carry her to the other room and call the contractor and beg him to come fix this. He promises he will be there as soon as he can. I hang up. I stand there in the foyer, holding my cheesy daughter while water streams into the bucket and the power flickers. The door opens and Miguel and Luisa walk in - "Welcome to the not so fun house!" I say.

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Peep Fact: It would take approximately 8,000 vertical PEEPS® to equal the height of the tallest building in North America, Sears Tower in Chicago.

In this picture, our peeps enjoy a nice campfire on the beach.

Another day

I got home from work last night and the back porch of our house was completely gone. It actually looks better now. It's weird to look out the door in our bedroom that used to lead to the deck and see nothing but sky. Miguel is fascinated by the changes and is also mourning the loss of the deck and porch. Last night, he kept saying, "I'm going to call Paul Newman and tell him I want my porch back!" We tried to explain that the contractor's name is Paul Pope but he insisted that Paul Newman is taking our house apart. Here is the most recent picture - you can see Miguel frolicking in the foreground.

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Peep fact: This Easter, Just Born expects more than 800 million PEEPS® Chicks, Bunnies, and Eggs to be consumed by men, women, and children throughout the United States and abroad.

I love peeps but I do find it hard to believe that they are consumed "abroad". Today, I went to buy my peeps and Target was already out of yellow and pink! I hope that I can find them somewhere else. I did pick this up for myself, though...

The peep plush pack is new this year. I have one sitting on my desk right now. You're jealous...I know...