Friday, March 4, 2011

A Whole Other Kind of Rain

 (Note* This post is written in present tense, but the subject matter actually happened several weeks ago.)

It has been raining a lot lately.
I am one of those people who loves the rain if they are at home, but hates it if they have to drive in it.
Today it was raining, and I was at home enjoying being at home while it was raining.

And because I take showers at nighttime because I adore the feeling of being clean in bed, I wake up in the morning with a crazy head of curly hair that I just don't want to deal with. And to get rid of this craziness, it is just so much easier to put my head under the faucet and start all wet and new again.
On this particular day I wasn't feeling up to wetting my hair with the cold sink faucet water because I was already feeling cold, and I didn't want to waste water by re-showering.
So I decided to just use the front bathtub faucet to get nice, warm, comfortable water to tame my mangled mane.
Let me first mention that this particular shower/bathtub hasn't been used by our household for possibly several years because the water pipe is so old and corroded that we cannot fully shut off the water.  So it leaks. And leaks. And leaks. (This leaves us with a very costly water bill.)
And each time you use it? It gets worse. Also, the knob is independent from the little thing that actually shuts off the valve, so the handle spins. Although, if you are able to put the right pressure onto it, it will somewhat lessen the water flow.
But today I was feeling like taking my chances because my warm-water options were slim.
So I twist the knobs to create the perfect temperature, and stick my head under and enjoy the warm water pouring into my hair and down the sides of my face.
I am all cozy and relaxed, and I am SO glad that I did this.
Satisfied, I wring out and twist my hair up into a little towel hat, and push and turn the separated knob to shut off the water.

And I turn, and I turn, and I turn.

This water is so not turning off.

Panic sets in.
Panic-stricken, I go in search of a wrench or some sort of grabby tool to twist the water off with.
But me and my little towel head find nothing, and go back to trying to turn the knob manually.
The last thing I want to do is tell mother about this, seeing that her and I both know that this shower is off limits.

So I come up with a plan.
I will nonchalantly go out into the garage and ask Mom if she knows where a wrench might be. No big deal, I just need a wrench, nothing eyebrow-raising or suspicious. That won't raise any questions, right?
I decide to act out this plan, and I open the garage door to see my mom and her best friend Monica chatting.
"Hey mom, do you know where a wrench is?"
"Look on the chest in the living room."
I go look, and no wrench.
"It's not there."
"Look on the washing maschine."
-glances over-
"It's not there."
"What do you need a wrench for?"
"Um.... Well I just turned on the faucet in the front bathtub for a second to get my hair wet and I need it to turn off the water."
"Usually I don't have a problem turning it off!"
"You know we aren't supposed to be using that shower at all!"
"I know... But it was warm."
She groans and pushes past me to go try and shut off the water.
I stay in the living room with Monica and listen to my Mother's grunts of frustration with the faucet.
Then suddenly, there are sounds of a series of things falling, water flowing freely, and lastly, a scream, "MONICA!"
Monica and I look at each other with frantic faces, and Monica goes sprinting down the hall, with me at her heels.

Mother broke the faucet while trying to fix the faucet, and now water was spraying all throughout our small crowded bathroom in an indoor rain sort of way. I am expecting her to explode with anger, but she does not.
I am so thankful that she isn't the type to yell and scream and blame.
Although at this moment I feel that I deserve it.
She asks Monica to hold up the plastic container to contain the water while she goes outside to shut off the water.
Several minutes later, she comes inside all spotted with rain and looks at me with hope in her eyes, "Did it shut off?"  But it was still spilling out just the same, and when I had told her this she shrunk down and stomped with frustration then headed back outside.

Minutes later, the same thing happens.

"Did it shut off?"



Back outside.

Back inside.




Back outside.

Now she is gone for a while, so I go outside to seek her out, and I see that she has gone over to get the neighbor for help (he has been our neighbor for many years, and he is a sweet oldish man with a cantankerous wife who lives in her pajamas). The two of them (my mother and the neighbor) are crouched next to each other at the front of our house, gazing into the gaping hole in the sidewalk which contains the water valves and other important housely things.
I decide to go back inside, and suddenly, the water shuts off.
Leaps of joy!
As soon as door begins to open, I shout, "It shut off! It shut off!"
Then I see her.
And she is soaked, and she is unhappy. And it is all my fault.
I sheepishly mumble "I'm really sorry," to which she replies, "It's okay." And then pushes past me to go look at the faucet. "You're going to have to go get Dylan, because I need to go buy a gasket to fix this."
Normally I would groan and reluctantly go, but at this moment I was so happy that I could do something that might possibly make up for the fiasco I had caused her. "Okay, I'll go right now!"
"Thank you."
"It's the least I can do!"
And then there are giggles.

By the time I got back, she had already fixed the faucet. Like seriously fixed it. It wasn't the kind of fix that restored it to it's previous leaky condition, it was a complete fix, with no leakiness at all.
I do love this about my mother, she can do all kinds of guy handy stuff.
This is a quality I dearly wish I had, but unfortunately, It just didn't make it through the gene pool.

Later that night she and I are sitting on the couch together watching TV as she knits, and suddenly she stops knitting and looks over at me, "You know, I fixed that faucet better than your dad did. It's not even leaking or anything."

"Yeah, I know, that's awesome."

"Do you know what that means?"


"You have saved us a lot of money by breaking our faucet."

"You are welcome mother, you are welcome."

Thursday, March 3, 2011

Blue Satin and Brown Fur

Happy, happy, happy sighs.

My tablecloths came today.

Tablecloths for the wedding, that is.

I have been under tablecloth induced stress for the past several weeks now, seeing that plastic tablecloth providers are not fond of the Dark Royal Blue color. They either have bright royal blue, or dark navy blue. Neither are my blue  (We were originally going with plastic because we are cheap). For a while I've been toggling between which one to settle with because no one had the in between that we needed, and I wasn't willing to shell out that extra $100 to get fabric ones.

But last week? I acted on impulse and bought the dang cloths.
And today? Mother called me at work to inform me of their arrival... 2 weeks early!
(She knows just how much these little buggers mean to me.)
She said that they're more on the navy side, which is a little dark, but they're still pretty.
So I asked her to send a picture to my email...

And they are indeed dark, but they are GORGEOUS. Gorgeous, and Satin-y and luxurious looking.
People? Tablecloths have NEVER. EVER. influenced my mood as they have today.
If I was at home I would be squealing and dancing with joy.
"My wedding will be beautiful! Eeee! My wedding will be beautiful!"
But because I am at work, I will not do this.
The budget cuts are spreading funds thin, and I am not keen on giving the board reasoning to cut me.
Otherwise I will not be able to pay for these beautifully satin and luxurious table cloths. Ahem.
And this would be a sheer tragedy. (Or a satin tragedy? ha!)

These past few weeks have definitely been anything but boring.
It has been suspenseful trying to get an apartment. These people want you to turn your entire life into their hands just to allow you to pay them money to live in their smallish houses.
Social security numbers, drivers licences, current landlord's address and phone number, stock information, work place and phone number, any criminal history reports, proof of income thorough pay stubs, W-2s, and bank statements, proof, proof, proof.
When have I given any of these people any reason to suspect that I am a liar?


So I got these new boots.
My Aunt is a freak for LL Bean, and she tends to buy my family and I the clothing that goes on sale.
So every so often we receive little presents in the mail.
I know right? We are way spoiled. WAY spoiled.

Several days ago she sent me an email with a photo and a link to these crazy comfy looking boots that were on sale. (Like, seriously on sale.) They were perfect for the Alaska trip we will be going on in June (squeals of joy). I like them, so she tells me that she will get them for me.
Yesterday I got home hoping to come into my room to see a largest package on my bed from LL Bean.
And there it was!
I ripped the package open and gawked at these bootly-beauties.
They are not the most gorgeous things in the world (not like my tablecloths), but they are the most amazing boots that I have ever had pertaining to warmth and comfort.
They look like they have been knitted with love with dark brown yarn, and the inside is adorned with soft fleece luxury. At the very top is a ring of soft, brown fur (Presumably faux fur, you PITA members), with a drawstring tie to fit any calf size.
I am wearing these lovelies at this very moment.

Sergey got the day off of work today, and he was feeling extra lovely, so he stopped by my work and brought me lunch and coffee (I love it when he's all sweet and thoughtful). We met in the parking lot behind the center and I munched on delicious meat and mashed potatoes ("I'm a meat and potatoes kind of gal!") and I slurped down the coffee after discovering that the mug to the lid was wearing out and my coffee was being wasted on my shirt. It never seems to fail.
So anyway, I had forgotten to tell him about the boots.
So suddenly I hear him say, "So what, are you preparing for the Arctic?"
"Oh! My boots! Aren't they great? They're so warm!"
"Did your mom make those for you?"
I narrow my eyes, "No. She did not knit my boots for me." (My mother has just recently learned how to knit. She was a crocheting champion before, but now she has decided to take up a new challenge.)
"They look like it."
"Feel how soft they are! Why are you not excited? They are amazing! The inside is like a blanket!"
He leans over and feels the inside of my left boot.


My boots.