Redheaded Armageddon

I told Kate yesterday I'd post something about the achievements she wasn't aware she'd made.

Remember I said I got the Definitive Word that we'd be back in the house by the 12th of January? Please note - I'm writing this from the living room of the family we've been staying with since November. It is not the 12th of January...that came and went.

Rewind a bit to earlier this week. We got word from the property owner about two weeks ago that things would be done, then word from his wife that it'd take a bit longer (to last Wednesday). Okay, we thought - it's been two and a half months, another two days is not going to kill us. Went over to the house before work, moved cats so they wouldn't be in peoples' way, and went to work in the conviction that soon, all would be right with the world.

Imagine my suprise, then, when we arrived a teensy bit after noon, and not only was nothing further done, it was rampantly obvious that nobody had even been there. I consider myself a reasonable guy, most of the time, and I have my self-interest (and that of my family) in mind, so the call to the property manager was as polite as I could make it.

Red felt no such compunctions, being a) redheaded, b) pissed off, c) a mother anticipating explaining to her children for the seventy-second consecutive night why they had to sleep on somebody else's floor, and d) having a high blood content of a medication that significantly increases her aggressive nature as a side-effect of its primary purpose. All I could do was stand back and respectfully urge that she either try very hard not to permanently maim anyone or hide the bodies afterwards and be very thorough in her cleaning. She declared that the time had come, as we'd actually been planning, for a visit to the property management people to hand off the utility bills for the house (the contractors had reconnected everything in our name without our permission - remember that snow I mentioned? Furnace running to heat the house, windows left open for over a week....$400 gas bill we are so not going to be paying...).

Holy shit.

I think the next time I have a problem...with anybody....I'm going to allow her to handle it, because Oh My God did she get results.

Red isn't one of those women that stops making sense and goes into hysterics when she's angry. Instead, she develops this laser-like precision and zeroes in on her target's weakest point - in this case, it was an obviously upset mother with a crying baby asking why the property manager seems to never have any idea what's going on with the repairs, plopping down over $500 in utility bills, and mentioning all of the other goodness I may have mentioned over the last couple of months about this.

Oh yeah.

We went back after I was off work...mind you, four hours earlier, nothing whatsoever had been done. Carpet, wall to wall, was done for the entire upper floor. While we were there, the property manager called me to reassure me for the eight hundredth time that he was looking into things, and I decided to drop Kate's suggestion on him. I haven't actually spoken to an attorney, as of yet, but he of course didn't know that...I simply told him that I'd spoken to a friend of mine who is an attorney (yes, Kate, I know you're retired, but that wasn't significant in this context) and she had suggested speaking to somebody local about constructive disposession. Having taken Kate's suggestion and Googled it already, I had a pretty good idea what the term meant. I think it got his attention though.

The following day (this would be Thursday), the property manager called Red again. The owner was evidently coming down. Countertops would be installed. Appliances would be delivered. Things would be done, and by God he was going to make sure that they did. Red went by the house....you'd think she'd stuck a stick into an anthill the way these guys were scuttling around. The tile guy didn't actually get there for the countertops till that afternoon, having had to come from the coast very late the night before, but he got quite a bit done nonetheless.

We went by late yesterday. The countertops are finished aside from some edging - they're this really dark greenish-black marble, 8x8 tiles laid edge to edge and almost seamless. Edging around the windows has been replaced. The storm damage to the big tree outside has been cleared. The vents on the stairs and the railing for the stairs have been put back. Lights have been installed. The dedicated electrical line for the sauna is in place. The trash has been removed from the kitchen. The appliances have arrived and are sitting ready to be installed on Monday morning. Plumbing for the washer and the vent and electrical for the dryer are done.

Red got no less than three calls from the property manager yesterday assuring her that he'd been checking with the contractor and giving her updates. I think she scared him.

Overheard

Me: ...How about a mouse like this one, except bright green?

Little Red: Um, no?

Me: Why not?

Little Red: Because I don't need one?

Me: Why?

Little Red: Because I don't have a home?

Me: Why?

Little Red: Because you suck?

Me: Why?

Little Red: I don't frickin' know, ask your gay partner.

Red: *paralyzed with laughter* Look, he's blushing!

Me: I'm totally blogging this, you two.

Being snowed in...well, at least for Oregon

Oregon's a little strange, at least the Willamette Valley is. Other places get snow a foot deep, and it barely fazes them (at least, as long as the snowplow guys don't pile 12' of snow in Kate's yard, anyway). Salem gets a couple of inches, and people have to stay home. I reconcile it by observing that the people that aren't fazed by snow have never seen Oregonians driving in the rain.

Here's Red, Thing 1, and the Little Pirate headed out for a stroll earlier this afternoon. As I couldn't drive anywhere, I went along with the gang for the photo op.


One of the area middle schools has a hill that is simply awesome for kid-sledding. Red swiped some kid's sled, plunked the little guy on it, and took him for a ride. I think he looks bored....although he was pretty stoked when he got to the bottom and realized that it was fun.

Dinosaur's First Snow

Snow, you say?

RAWR!!!!!!!

Gratuitous baby photos

Overheard

(from the kitchen) Red: AAAaaa!!!!!
Me: What's the matter, hon?
Red: Um, hi....I have a fire?
Me: *obscenity*

Going in, I spotted a flaming paper towel on the floor and Red standing there with no shoes. I set a pot lid over it until it went out, and swept it up.

Of Poo and Parenting

My son was less than a full day old when he demonstrated the bare essence to me of what boys are all about. Red and I were giving him a bath (the one right before the picture in the last post, in fact), and Red had put a washcloth across his boy business. I didn't realize immediately that she knew something I didn't, that being that it was not for sanitation, but for protection. I moved the washcloth, intending to scrub down his legs, and before Red could warn me, he whizzed all down the front of me from about 2' away. I was amazed.

And then there was yesterday, the Little Pirate's first day home. He'd had a messy diaper, and I was changing him. I'd gotten just to the point of hoisting feet in the air and cleaning off the butt with a wipe, and with the sort of loud irreverent noise that most teen boys congratulate one another for, he hosed a cone area to my right with a scattershot of flying poo. I was astounded, not just because of the volume, but the pressure. I've got to get him one of these if they still have them in baby sizes.

Red and I took the Little Pirate to see the pediatrician for a weight check this morning, and while in the car on the way, we had a very calm, rational discussion that went something like this:

"I'm hungry."
"Are you? You want to stop & get a latte or something before we get back to the house?"
"Yeah. Oh, hey, don't let me forget to ask the pediatrician when we're in there about the diarrhea (Little Pirate) has been having. I'm wondering if that's why he'd had that weight loss, he seems really gassy."
"Well, when you changed him this morning, was it dark greenish/black, or was it a mustard brownish-yellow? If it's a kind of yellow color, that's just him adjusting to eating breast milk."
"Oh, okay. Oh, here's the coffee stand."
-=laughing=- "You realize you're now officially a parent, right?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well, we just talked about getting something to eat and the color and composition of poop in the same conversation,...and you didn't even blink. Congrats, Dad."
"I'm totally blogging that."

Incoming!!!!

About an hour ago, the doc came in and broke Red's water. She now has her epidural in, and we're watching her contractions slowly ramp up - he should be arriving within the next several hours. Stay tuned....we'll be right back after these messages.

Edit: 1:45 AM 7/8/08 He's here! 8 lbs 14 oz, and 20 1/2 " long. I'll post photos later after family's had a chance to meet him. :)

Back and forth, redux

There aren't many things that will wake me up out of a dead sleep - I sleep really deeply most of the time and I usually wake up very slowly. Snooze alarms are usually a 3-time affair, and the less said about midnight runs for Taco Bell the better.

So far, things I've found that will immediately wake me to full awareness include:

1) Bare kid feet on carpet trying to sneak into our bedroom.
2) One of the cats (Snuggles, usually) pawing at the window wanting in.
3) The sound of a weight-bearing foot sliding off the carpeted stair, followed by a -=whump=- and whimper of pain.

The last was what awoke me this morning. I knew immediately who it was, too, since Red wasn't in bed, and mindful of the fact that her "official" due date is TOMORROW, this was obviously a Very Bad Thing. I got her to the hospital, of course - the doc is keeping her for a minimum of four hours, and since she's having contractions and is dilated at 4, they may just decide to get this show on the road.

One can hope, I suppose. Updates to follow!

Edit: 10:20 AM - all seems well; she's uncomfortable and sore from the tumble, but she and the Podling are both okay.

Edit: 11:30 AM - Doc is here, they're admitting her for a few more hours, and we'll be moving to a room with a jacuzzi. :)

Edit: 12:50 PM - Okay, I'm not going to keep doing hourly updates here, so don't get too excited. She's being admitted overnight, however, and they're prepping for delivery - the room we're in now is all set up for it, and she just got in the tub with a big "AAAAAHHHHhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh....." of relief.

Back and forth

Okay, I promised I'd post baby updates, so for those of you that have asked (being aware when Red's due date is...), here 'tis.

No baby yet.

Tuesday evening, she ate a hamburger, and evidently something about it wasn't good, because I took her in to the hospital yesterday morning with extreme nausea and abdominal cramping. We got as far as the Labor & Delivery triage room before the puking started. The attending physician decided to admit her for 24-hr observation after they realized how dehydrated she was quickly getting (9mo pregnant + dehydration = bad juju).

Anyway, she's feeling better-ish this morning, and although the doctors said it was close enough to her due date that they'd just kinda push things along if she could get going, of course he's being contrary and is happily sitting in there. I did get to see his little face yesterday - they were afraid Red had a problem with her gall bladder, so they did an ultrasound and were good enough to take a look at the Podling while they were at it. He has his mother's nose and the fattest little cheeks you ever saw.

'Nudder baby update, and Overheard

So here we are in Labor & Delivery on a bright Monday morning. Red's lying here trying to pretend that her labor pangs don't really hurt that much (and simultaneously succeeding totally and failing utterly, which if you have been thru this you understand, right?). I have my laptop out and am perusing today's news, trying to find something interesting to help her keep her mind off the fact that she's in pain.

Me: Oh no!

Red: What?

Me: George Carlin died last night.

Red: Uh oh. You know what that means, don't you?

Me: No, what?

Red: If this kid's born now, he'll be born with George Carlin's soul. Just the fact that he's your son, and will be a smartass, is bad enough.

Me: I'm totally blogging that.

Edit: about 12 hours later - they sent us home, as Red wasn't "far enough" along, although since I'm no OB/GYN nurse, I have a hard time seeing how a woman in obvious pain and labor isn't "enough".

Baby update

Been a while since I posted anything about how my little guy is faring along the road to birth. Red has been in and out of labor since about 7 yesterday morning, and we were at the Labor & Delivery unit of our local hospital until about midnight last night. Things are a-movin!

Apparently, the big reason we aren't welcoming him to the world just yet is that he was facing the wrong direction (front, rather than back). Red got him flipped around last night after coming home, and I think both of them are more comfortable now. Her labor pains have eased off a bit, but she's still having regular contractions about 10 minutes apart, which hasn't changed since yesterday.

My sister suggested she do some jumping jacks - I had another suggestion I won't repeat here, and fortunately I was out of reach or she might have smacked me. I think we'll plant some things in the back yard and do some yard work out front, then maybe go for a walk....that should do it.

Overheard

Editor's note: To understand this anecdote, you must understand that when Little Red was a toddler, she absolutely LOVED spicy food - she would drink salsa straight at Mexican restaurants. After an incident at the age of 4 in which a habanero was mistaken for a cherry tomato, she refused to eat anything that was spicy, even black pepper & salt.

Me: Did you guys like the (curried turkey with lemon) soup?

Little Red: Yeah....

Red: What? You didn't like it?

Little Red: It was kinda bland.

Me: I made it a lot less spicy than I would have otherwise, because your mother's stomach can't handle food that's really spicy.

Little Red: Yeah, but I thought you were gonna make it all flavorey, like you're supposed to.

Red: Flavorey???? (laughing)

Overheard

Me: I like those electronic billboards; they seem classier. You know, less paper peeling and graffiti. They're cool.

Red: I hate them.

Me: Why?

Red: Because there are too many stupid people out on the road that get distracted by shiny things. I can just see us sitting here at the light, with some idiot in front of us mesmerized by the sign, going, "Hey!!!! Fucker!!! Green light!!!"

Gestational rhythm?

So Red, Thing 1 and Thing 2, the Podling, and I all went to watch Little Red's choir performance. It was a really impressive show - the music programs in this school district really have their act together. Along the way, we discovered something...apparently the Podling has both a good grasp on musical rhythm and likes all-male a capella groups that sing about dames. Red gasped about halfway through the performance, leaned over, and had me put my hand on her belly. "He's kicking me in time with the music!" she said. Sure enough, he was.

Neat!

Dreams

I had a dream just before waking up this morning that Red had a (literally) cottage industry of mice putting together jewelry with their tiny paws, and that her HR person was one of our cats. Nothing like an HR person that can eat you to inspire effort.

I wonder if this has anything to do with my nervousness about a job I just applied for?

Weird.

Piano Man, and how not to run a restaurant

Red got me tickets for my birthday, over a month ago, to go see Billy Joel in concert at the Rose Garden in Portland today. First, let me say that the Piano Man certainly does not disappoint in his concert - a thorough mix of favorites going back to before I was born up to much more contemporary stuff, and at one point getting a member of his road crew up to do the vocals for an asskicking cover of Highway to Hell. Simply awesome.

But let's backtrack just a bit, for I have something about which I wish to rant.

Consider this. You run a restaurant which, on nights that the Rose Garden is actually doing something, represents the closest (and, for all I know, only) thing resembling an actual restaurant with real food within walking distance. As such, you are guaranteed standing-room-only attendance from people who, like me this evening, are hungry, and who, like me, want to partake of something with alcoholic content. One would think that, under such circumstances, one might make an effort to create an environment where people are interested in eating, with food people are interested in eating, and with staff capable of delivering it.

Sadly, this is not the case.

First, we came into the Rose Garden before the concourse was actually open. How we managed this, I'm not quite certain, but Red and I were chased off the "concourse" by an officious red-bejacketed harridan demanding to know what I was doing as I was walking by, as if it weren't relatively obvious that a) I was walking and b) I had no particular destination as evidenced by my inquisitive looks at all and sundry. I was told I could go into the above-mentioned restaurant, or exit the Rose Garden, but one way or another, my foray into the wild realm of Breaking The Rules was at an end. I felt like such a lawbreaker.

Anyway, so the restaurant was an option, right? I could go and get a drink, whiling away the hour and a half I had to await for the show with a beer and food. Ah, bliss!

Sadly, this was not the case. We didn't have a reservation. Lawbreaking denied, we were ushered toward the doors with all the hospitality of a dinner hostess toward a guest bearing a roadkilled possum as a door gift. Into the actually sub-freezing temperatures we went. Were there other options for food and drink, you ask? Well, no. Not so much.

25 minutes and approximately three frostbitten toes apiece later, we were permitted entry once more upon the concourse, somewhat chastened. We made our way to the restaurant, and waited in line for a table, were seated by a pleasant hostess, and then the real fun began.

Were I a waitress (and I'm not - I don't have the legs or the pleasant temperament for it), I would make an effort to learn the ways of fermented spirits; specifically, I would take the time to learn the difference between an amber ale and a cream stout porter. When asked for one, and given the wrong one by the bartender, I would not deliver it and ask with a blank gum-chewing look, "Well, that's whatcha wanted, dintcha?". No, see, amber ale is reddish/amber in color and transparent. Cream stout porter is as dark as strong coffee, and has a distinct creamy head on it.

Were I a professional cook (and I'm not, see above), I would not serve up a requested reuben sandwich with a) soggy, greasy marbled rye bread, b) enough mayonnaise that, if one were to wring it out, could be used to fry the accompanying fries in, c) a mere wisp of sauerkraut, and d) barely enough corned beef to constitute a halfhearted insult. The sandwich was vile in every describable way, and a few that can't be put in English. Not that I didn't try. Its sole redeeming feature was that it was hot, which I appreciated more than the revolting texture or cardboard-soaked-in-axle-grease taste. Were I a professional cook, I would also not serve up limp fries that had noticeably been fried in the same batch of nasty oil that had been used for deep frying fish of some unidentified kind.

The less said about Red's "Asian Salad", the better.

Were I an owner of an establishment, I would not charge $11 for the aforementioned sandwich and fries, and I would not be charging $8 for a 14-oz plastic cup of porter. The beer, at least, tasted okay, but that's probably because they had somebody from another company doing the tap cleaning and carbonation. I would have left a $.03 tip if I had had any pennies, but since I didn't, I left a note reading as follows:

"You have accomplished and served the most inedible food at the most unreasonable prices I've ever found. Congratulations on your achievement."

I got home, and my woman is streaking...

...her hair, that is. Frosting, I suppose, is the correct term, but it's funnier this way.

Okay, I'll admit, I have a thing for long curly red hair. She knows it, too....I said something about shaving my beard a year or two ago, and she looked over at me and said, "You do, and I'll cut off my hair." I was horrified.

Anyway, long curly red hair with blond highlights. Looks good, baby.

Edit: Here's what I'm talking about on the right.

Mmmmmmmmm ribs

There is nothing in this universe quite like my wife's recipe for ribs (originally that read "like my wife's ribs", but that reads entirely the wrong way), and I thought I'd share.

Take one large rack of pork or beef ribs. Remove silverskin from the back and wash. Pat dry, and put in a big pan with a dry rub:

Grill seasoning
Allspice
Ground black pepper
Salt
Seasoning salt
---proportions to taste, requires a bit of experimentation.

Rub it in & then allow to sit in the pan while the sauce is prepared in a large sauce pan:

1 bottle of Mr. Yoshida's Gourmet sauce
A couple splashes each of Yamasa soy sauce, worchestershire sauce
About 4-5 pieces of crystallized ginger, chopped fine
A handful of dried apricots, chopped fine
A small handful of dried cherries, chopped fine.
Let simmer until sauce has reduced to a thick consistency, and remove from heat.

Cook ribs over medium heat on the grill for about 30 minutes, and begin basting both sides at about 30 minute intervals. The ribs are done when the meat begins to pull away from the bone & is still soft & juicy; estimated time about 3 1/2 hours to 4 hours.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go make a total pig of myself.

Overheard

"Man, I love fried mushrooms with grilled onions, garlic, and a little butter. It's almost as good as sex."

"So you're saying sex with me is like fried fungus?"

"Uh....I love you?"