Garage Doors: A Brief Complaint

So for 12 years of married life, I lived garage-free.

I know. Unthinkable. HOW HAVE I SURVIVED?  And with an infant for a few of those years, no less.  How un-American, how un-patriotic, how Socialist of me.

But now, not only do we own a garage, we own not one but TWO garage doors.

And do you know what that means?  That means double the expenditure to fix the damn things.

Sears was out a week ago to fix T’s side,…for $200.  My side went out a couple weeks ago when the spring broke.  And then T’s side started acting funky again a few days ago. So let’s get BOTH springs replaced.

So we called another garage door place and they were running a replacement special for $145 for one or $210 for two and then when I called them back to schedule an appt, well it was $145 per spring, so for two doors it would be $290. Ok, $300 bucks, that’s ok.

So the guy gets out here, well, it’s $145 per spring for the spring that lasts 2 or 3 years but it’s only $215 per spring for a spring that lasts 7 – 8 years. Oh and he recommends TWO springs PER DOOR so:

$215 per spring x 4 springs = $860, which is a far cry from the original $300.

So, I say, do one door with ONE longer-lasting spring.

Ok.  But then in a phone huddle with T, we decide we’ll just do the ONE cheaper spring on ONE door and then see where we are down the road


THEN, the guy comes and knocks on the door. Well, I don’t have any cables on that door so it will be $51 for the cables.  Well, my dad fiddled with the cables a couple weeks ago when he was trying get the door to open and threw them out so yeah, I need new cables. Oh, but wait, the bearings on the door are very squeaky and they could rub through the pipe and the pipe could actually break and the door could fall BUT they are running a special to get all that replaced PLUS new rollers for $499.

Ok, so.

I say no, thanks, we can’t swing that right now.

And in a phone huddle with T he says, no, we should probably do it.

So back to the give the guy the ok.

And THEN T calls back and says he saw the exact same scenario online from another customer and that that sounded kind of suspicious to him and so I rush right back out and CANCEL the $499 package, which Guy wasn’t too happy about…and it COULD have been ligit, who knows, but still,

And MEANWHILE Miles is upset because I’m talking to Guy and decides he needs milk and cereal IMMEDIATELY and isn’t afraid to voice his complaints. And I”M irritated because just tell me up front what things are going to cost so I can make a decision PRIOR to your guy coming and telling me that my garage doors could fall down and kill me and I need to spend AT LEAST $500 to make sure that doesn’t happen.

Seriously, $500 for ONE GARAGE DOOR? 

For that price, I can just keep parking outside.

Just like I’ve been doing for the past dozen years.

Just call me unAmerican but I’ll be the one with the money in the bank.  (until next week, when we finish paying the midwife :S)


Sew Merry

I hate Christmas.

There now you know.

Bah. Humbug.

Every year I tell myself I’m going to start early, start getting presents early, like really early, like May and then you can parcel out the money you are spending over the better part of a year instead of ending up, 2 weeks before Christmas realizing that a) you actually don’t have the money this month (again), b) you don’t have a clue what people would really value even if you could buy it for them and c) it’s going to be “homemade and handmade” yet again.

Then you work yourself into a fevered frenzy the last week trying to make and bake something because even though you’ve told everyone you won’t be doing gifts this year, the fact remains that you feel like an awful  heel if you didn’t have at least SOMETHING to wrap and give.

Even if that something is COMPLETELY LAME and everyone will be like “uh, thaaaanksss”, yet another home/handmade craptastic gift from  Michele, who excels at craptastic, far-from-perfect and still essentially useless gift-making.

And everybody feels like Ralphy from The Christmas Story


Well, at least I don’t make them WEAR anything I make.

And so in the back of your head are all the upcoming things that you will be paying for in the next two months (car seat, midwife, doulas, birth pool, diapers, WHO KNOWS WHAT ELSE???) and you are sewing LAME GIFTS like mad when what you really want to be sewing are diapers because EIGHT WEEKS is not that long (and still you have to re-configure Miles’ room to accomodate #2 as well) and you have all of ONE extra dish made and frozen so far when your list has about 8 more things that need to be made (oh, and how to fit THOSE into the grocery budget) and then you still have to go to the grocery store with your $25 for this week and suddenly your pre-schooler took out the humidifier filter when you were filling that and you realize you need a new filter and so that means a stop at Target and then said pre-schooler wants another Blue’s Clues dvd (and you  realize that YET AGAIN you’ve forgetten to get the other dvds back in time, which means MORE fines) so a stop at the library will need to happen.

And also, how in the world have you managed to get not one but two medical appointments scheduled THE WEEK OF CHRISTMAS HELLO WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?, therefore cutting into yet more time.

And you melt down at the thought of all the running around you have to do and say you hate Christmas and then your preschooler gets really upset and then you decide that you need to relax a minute so let’s read a book and on the way to the bedroom to get a book, your preschooler trips over all the toys lying on the floor and so then you snap and YELL AT HIM for no other reason than his toys are on the floor because you are AN EVIL MOM and then you feel horrible and tell your preschooler you have a headache and need to go to the bathroom for awhile and while he “picks up” his toys (aka, plays with), you go sob in the bathroom over the counter, dripping snot and mucus everywhere and SWEARING that NEXT YEAR you are cancelling Christmas FOR REAL (except for your preschooler’s gifts) so that you won’t find yourself in the same condition NEXT year, which you won’t because by then you’ll have forgotten all the misery.

At least the Christmas cards got out on time.

Merry Christmas.


In which Mrs Fussy Crankypants admits to being un-American enough to hate the splash park

Mrs Fussy Crankypants actually kind of hates the splash park.

The Tyrant loves it but Mrs FC hates it.

First, there are the wide variety of Big Kids, kids who barrel around running as fast as they can like loose cannon. What are their parents thinking to let them run like that? Oh, wait, they AREN’T.  They are up on the deck under the trees gossiping with each other and not paying a bit of attention to the fact that their huge enormous bowling balls of kids are just about to take out Mrs FC’s Little Kingpin.

Then there’s the Little Kingpin himself. He pretty much goes at one speed–fast–his chubby little legs chug-chug-chugging along and his head bent to the ground so he can watch his cute little be-sandled feet and NOT the near-death experiences clothed in Big Kid forms that threaten to smash into him at every turn.  The whole experience is one big reflexive whince for Mrs FC as the countless number of near-misses give her 8 zillion myocardial infarctions.

And of course the whole area is concrete. Concrete covered in water. And we send our kids out to “play” in the “fun”.  Who doesn’t know that wet concrete = fun? Fun at the children’s hospital, that is, which is no kind of fun, Mrs Fussy Crankypants can assure you.

Let us also not forget those vicious hooligans who add insult to very-near injury by standing on the jets of water, thereby spraying streams of cold wetness on everyone but themselves including inoffensive, long-suffering mothers who don’t REALLY want to be wet but are determined to suffer through numerous visions of toddler heads meeting solid concrete just so their Little Kingpins can have a fun afternoon. Mrs FC knows they do it on purpose. They not only hate MRS FC personally, they hate puppies, butterflies, and the universe in general.  She is sure they are juvinile deliquents waiting to happen.

Therefore Mrs FC submits to you proof that she is not only unpatriotic but also curmudgeonly and that she HATES the splash park and all things splashy but that she will probably continue to submit herself to such unmitigated torture because


He loves him some water

He loves him some water

Wait, WHAT Gun Problem?

Welcome to the U.S., ya’ll!  Hope you got yer six-shooters ready ’cause yore gonna need ’em here in the Good Ol’ Wil’ Wil’ West, Shoot-Em-Up-Till-They’re-Good-N-Dead U.S. of A!  Yeehaw!

Allow me to complain

Let’s just review the sleep thing, shall we?

Yesterday, Miles napped for about 5 minutes.

Last night:

I hear him at 1:35 (even though Troy is on call; gotta love that Mommy Radar)

1:50 Troy comes out to go potty (see that all adult use of the lexicon has disappeared along with the finer points of tact) and so i switch with him since Miles will probably want to eat soon

2:00 Miles wakes to eat

2:30 – 4:05 Instert 3-4 awakenings as Miles fusses and farts and tosses and turns and nurses a couple more times

5:00 Next rousing. decide to put Miles back into crib to see if he sleeps better there. Nurse Miles. Walk Miles. Put Miles in crib.  Pat Miles. Walk Miles. Nurse Miles. Put Miles in crib. Listen to repeated “mama, up” “all done” “down”

no dice.

by 6:24 am so angry want to spit nails so just decide to give in and get up.

throw pillows vigorously onto bed while making it, YELL at hubby when he gets up and DARES to peek into Miles’s room at 6:30. Hubby tactfully (since he has not lost his tact) takes Miles into bathroom while he readies for work while Mama brews, stews, steams and throws some more stuff before finally pulling up her Big Girl panties and going to make herself a tea latte. with a couple cookies to make her sweeter.

Lather, rinse, repeat the next night for 18 months and counting (w/ occasional variation*).

Feel free to volunteer your services as a night nurse. I won’t say no.


*to be completely honest, usually the TT goes back to sleep until 7:30 or so; hence the pillow throwing when it became apparent that he wasn’t going to be doing that today.

WHAT Problem?

I think you know how I feel about this

and that’s just the past couple days.

Oh, you say, but guns don’t kill people, people do.

Here’s a thought: since it isn’t possible, sad to say, in some cases, to get rid of people, what about getting rid of the guns, then? 

sure, there’s still knives, clubs, rocks, poison, you name it, but I betcha that pregnant mom might have at least had a fighting chance against a knife-wielding 11-year old.


Alledgedly, Freecycle is awesome. You can get free stuff and you can give away all the crap nice things you don’t want cluttering up your house anymore.

Personally, I haven’t had a lot of luck with Freecycle.  I’ve offloaded given away some crap nice things, but for the most part either a) no one responds, or b) they respond but never come get it.

I have had someone write to say they would like it but can’t pick it up…*pregnant pause*, thereby insinuating that not only should I bestow my crap bounty on them, I should also give them door-to-door delivery service as well.

I have even had people take the time to write and tell me thanks, but they don’t need that right now.


And then, the subjects that are in the Re box are often hilarious on their own.  Quite often they involve the word “desperate”.

Now I equate desperate with needing an emergency kidney transplant or having recently suffered from a house fire or going-to-be-evicted-tomorrow-if-XXX-doesn’t-happen.

But today’s winner was:

“Desperately seeking queen mattress and box springs”

Someone is DESPERATE for a mattress and box springs. What?  The world will grind to a screeching halt if they have to sleep on the sofa tonight?  They will be forced to rob a bank to get money to support their harrowing Queen Mattress and Box Springs need?  Kittens will slaughtered by the masses unless a queen mattress and box springs are taken possession of immediately?

Call me crazy, but needing a mattress does not rank right up there as a desperate situation.

Ah, Freecycle; the Land of the Free and Home of the Desperate.

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