Open Letter to the Man at the Post Office

Dear Man at the Post Office Who, Upon Watching MY PRECIOUS SON Cheerfully and Energetically Playing With His Fire Engine in the Post Office, Said “Imagine Spending the Next Twenty Years with That” To One of the Other Patrons,

A) BITE ME.

B)  You have obviously never had kids.

C) People said the same thing about YOu when YOU were that age.

D) People STILL say the same thing about you when they see you with your Significant Other.

E) BITE ME again.

Sincerely,

Mrs Fussy Crankypants

City, 1; FussyCrankypants, 0; or, Why is it ALWAYS the bike??

When the Fussy Crankypants first got married, Mrs Fussy Crankypants had a bike (named Clive, true story) and this bike lived on the balcony of the second floor apartment they had the dubious pleasure of renting.  Clive’s history with the Fussy Crankypants was very short-lived as he was soon thereafter lifted/pinched/stolen/heisted from said balcony.

Last Father’s Day, Mrs Fussy Crankypants just happened to decide that buying a bike for Mr Fussy Crankypants would be both a brilliant and an awesome gift as Mr FC was always talking about going for a bike ride.  So one day, Mrs Fussy Crankypants left him at home with The Tyrant while Mrs Fussy Crankypants took his car (Mrs FC’s car having a carseat in it) to the Big Evil Box Store That Shall Remain Nameless But that Starts With Wal and Ends With Mart and picked out a brand new bicycle and wheeled it up and paid for it and took it out into the parking lot and put it into the trunk except she didn’t do that part because as it turned out it wouldn’t FIT in the trunk and so therefore she stood around in the parking lot looking frustrated and sweaty (did she mention it was starting to rain?) until some nice man who just HAPPENED to be an avid cyclist parked his car two cars down and came down to help and just HAPPENED to have the right kind of tool in his car to be able to take the wheel off and get the bike in the trunk at last and got it home and into the shed (did she mention the rain?).

Upon getting the bicycle for Father’s Day, Mr FC was delighted but also not in that he did not like the super-cool retro designed bike that Mrs FC had chosen, claming it was “too hard” to pedal. (Whatever) And so the bike was exchanged, after a suitable waiting time, coordiation of schedules, cramming BACK into the car and also waiting for the Only Employee Who Could Sell a Bike to get back from vacation at the Big Evil Box Store That Shall Remain Nameless But that Starts With Wal and Ends With Mart. And also it was Tuesday in the fourth quarter of the new moon three weeks before the summer solstice. Probably.

After getting the Bike of His Dreams For Under $100, Mr FC then proceeded to ride the bike around the FC’s then-neighborhood non-stop. Or at least three times.

Following the Folly of the Big Move of the Fussy Crankypants’ this year, the bike took up permanent residence in the garage, waiting for happier weather in which to be ridden.

HOWEVER.

This past weekend, intent upon mischief and also possibly finding a warm place to sleep, one or several unknown miscreants broke into said garage and proceeded to sleep in a warm place and/or  lift/pinch/steal/heist Mr FC’s erstwhile and ill-fated bicycle.

Therefore, vagrants and general miscreants in the city of This Fair City are hereby warned and notified that the Fussy Crankypants are no longer under any compulsion to offer succour (or hand-outs) to said down-and-outers as they have just made a $100 non-tax-deductible donation in your honor.

You have no house, the FCs have no bicycle.   That just about evens the score, right?

Regression; Or, why I Haven’t Had More than 2 Hours of Sleep in a Row for What Seems Like Forever

For those of you playing along at  home, you will remember that sleep has never been the Tyrant’s very strong point. But there have been spells where it has been better than others.

One of the others would be right now.

For the past 3 and a half weeks the Tyrant has been waking up every hour and a half at the end of his sleep cycle and can’t or won’t go back to sleep without nursing. Which makes it hard to sleep for Mrs Fussy Crankypants, particularly when he’s not the world’s most careful latcher.

It’s like having a newborn all over again. Except bigger and louder.

Mrs FC sometimes doesn’t know if she is going to survive and thinks she has only survived this far because for half of the time this has been going on, she’s been staying at places where she could send Miles out when he wakes up and get another hour or two of sleep herself. It not only makes her crabbier and crankier than she wants to be, it makes her eat nonstop as well as she constantly shovels food—usually sugar—into her gaping maw mouth to stay awake.

Mrs Fussy Crankypants does not know what to do about this issue at this point. She certainly never set out to be in this position and is superlatively slightly horrified that she now is . If this behavior is related to the stress of moving (which the Tyrant hasn’t manifested in any kind of other behavior) then night weaning would just cause that much more stress, which Mrs FC frankly feels is unfair. Night weaning is going to be a huge calamity in his life and Mrs FC for one is not necessarily looking forward to how it will affect The Tyrant while he adjusts. And as Mrs FC is the one who will be dealing with the fall-out, she feels that she is the one who must consider that step with GREAT care.

 Also, she is not sure how to go about it. Theoretically, Mrs FC would have Mr Fussy Crankypants take over all night duties for a few weeks but now that he is commuting 3 – 4 hours everyday Mrs FC feels like would affect his cranky ability to drive crankily safely.

If she knew that it would resolve in a week or a few weeks, that the Tyrant would reach the point where he could or was willing to get back into a deeper sleep without using Mrs FC as a human pacifier, then she would just hang in there. But she is also afraid that the longer they go along, the more the Tyrant will lose his ability to settle himself. Two to 3 night wakings Mrs FC can do; 5, 6 or more are driving her certifiably and crankily insane crazy.

The next couple weeks, Mrs FC will be places where she will be able to send Himself out in the mornings while she catches some more sleep. Then after then, she’ll at least have Mr FC start splitting the night shift again, something that has gone by the wayside as while Mr FC was away before the move, the Tyrant forgot about having him help at night and just won’t settle now without Mrs FC‘s cranktabulous yelling in the night.

But don’t mind her, she’s just sleep deprived.

Mrs FC will now go mope more and also drink coffee and she apologizes for the long and tedious rant and maybe next time she’ll post some jolly Christmas photos instead of whinging ad nauseum about this mind-numbingly dull topic.

Addendum:  Coffee drunk, chocolate eaten, feeling better. Thanks for playing!

Mrs Fussy Crankypants Tests the Old Adage “You Can Win More Flies with Honey than with Vinegar” even though she is not sure why exactly you would want MORE flies

This weekend The Fussy Crankypants went looking for a new place to live. Keeping in mind the fact that while formerly they have lived in some very small apartments and studio apartments on several continents in the past, they now must consider the needs of 3 cats, one Tiny Tyrant and a hypothetical-sometime-in-the-unforeseen-but-probably-not-too-distant-future Tiny Tyrant II, they have decided to try instead to rent a house instead of an apartment, something hopefully that has at least a little plot of grass, a tree and perhaps not on a main road.

This weekend, with the help of a Very Nice Friend, The Fussys traveled around to various locations in their soon-to-be-new-city looking at potentially soon-to-be-new places to live.

Mrs Fussy Crankypants fell in particular love with one that wasn’t on her list but which she happened to drive by with her Nice Friend.

It is a 30s-style duplex…you know, the kind with the swoop in the arch over the porch?…and has a stone facade on the front, a brown stone facade with a brown window awning and lovely trees dripping fall colors in front and behind.

In short, charming.

And also located just steps away from one of the local parks and the river.

Sublime.

And also, when her Very Nice Friend called to find out, far too much money for The Fussy budget.

And also no pets.

Alas.

Chagrin.

However.

Mrs Fussy Crankypants is nothing if not retiring. She won’t say boo to a ghost if it might require her to put herself forward and if the said boo needed saying over the phone, Mrs FC’s phone-a-phobia will prohibit it outright.

So great, however, is Mrs FC’s ardor for this charming little abode that she not only called the landlord again herself to talk it over, she MANAGED TO CONVINCE (somewhat) HIM that he might be able to trust her cats and that he should think about negotiating on the price.

Mrs Fussy Crankypants is very proud of herself for calling to follow up on the Cute Stone-Facade Cottage. She was very proud when the landlord said he could drop the rent by $40 or so (until she went online and looked up the property at found it listed at the reduced rent price. Then she just said “?”).  Mrs Fussy Crankypants is particularly proud that he could tell Mrs Fussy Crankypants meant it when she said she adored his house and that she was sincere that she would take care of it AS HER VERY OWN.

As things stand, the rent is still too high. Mrs FC actually questions if he will be able to rent it at the fee he is asking since there are many other rentals for less that offer far more space.

But. The Stone Facade!

The Fussys will at least meet with his property manager and view the property and try to knock a few more dollars off the rent. 

Mrs FC has another house in mind that she will also view, one that actually has quite a bit more yard (but no stone facade and no park…BUT, a Korean market within relative walking distance. Sort of. If the Tyrant is willing to sit in the stroller that long) so it may turn out that The Stone Facade is Not Meant to Be.

But Mrs FC will still carry the proud memory of being able to sweet-talk a total stranger into negotiation.

She should be a diplomat.

There’s One Born Every Minute; or, the Fussy Crankypants Do Their Best to Not be Too Wealthy

Let’s just review the Fussy house status so far, shall we?

The Fussys put down $15,000 for their mortgage as good little homeowners should do because The Fussys knew that one should ALWAYS make a downpayment or else you are just being Foolish.

In order to get OUT of their house The Fussys have so far spent:

$100, paint
$80, electric paint roller (SO worth it, by the way; absolutely couldn’t have done without it)
$100, various and sundry improvement items such as new front porch light, etc.
$250, carpet cleaning
$250, carpet stretching and repair (thanks, kitties)
$250, plumbing of 110v electrical line for gas stove (there was only 220v. The Fussys have been using an air conditioner extension cord all these past 4 years to power their stove)
$250, fix toilet leak
$766.80, kill termitez dead
$290, have a structual engineer come tell the Fussys that the support beam they installed when they moved in was fine, among other things he told the Fussys, including but not limited to how he wants to take his 3 year old grandson squirrel hunting, how the current administration is making the country go to hell in a handbasket [in 9 months, mind], how the polar bears aren’t really going extinct and how everyone in the whole country is angrier than he’s ever seen before [except, probably, when Clinton was elected])
AND
$3441.60, new sewer stack to replace the 100-year old pipes that were in the “worst condition the plumber had seen in 15 years” and which were leaking fecal matter into the house (oh. hope you aren’t eating dinner right now. sorry about that)

so where are we at?

$5636

Then the Fussys will be paying:

$3000, closing costs
$405, home warranty
$5514, realtor fees

coming to:

$14,555

leaving the Fussys with

$445 out of the initial $15,000 they invested into homeownership.

But at least they will be able to pay off the mortgage.  So that’s something anyway.

Mrs Fussy Crankypants will now go scavenge some cardboard boxes to give to her son as Christmas presents. She is sure that he will probably like those just as well as gifts that cost money because what 2 year old doesn’t love a good box?

When it rains, it pours

You know, of course, that The Fussys haz termitez.  They (the termitez, not The Fussys) will be killed dead for the tune of $766.48 next week.

Also for 500-600 smackeroos, The Fussys will get a water pipe replaced so they can continue on with the goal of paying the nice man to buy the Fussy’s house, which everyone will all hope that he will continue to be interested in doing despite the dead termites that will soon surround it.

Also, Mr. FC’s  brakes needed to be fixed this week.

Also, The Fussys still have the house inspection upcoming on Monday so WHO KNOWS what they will find and how much more they’ll want fixed.

Also, Mrs. Fussy Crankypants thinks she doesn’t want to be a homeowner ever again.

Also, Mrs Fussy Crankypants is feeling kind of daunted by the thought of making new friends again just as she’s been able to make some really wonderful ones recently not to mention getting to know her way around a new city when she’s just now started to find some really good resources here.

Also, Mrs Fussy Crankypants has a headache.

Also, Mrs Fussy Crankypants wonders how long it will take the TT to fall alseep tonight given the later-than-usual nap.

Did she mention the headache?

Also, Mrs Fussy Crankypants is tired of working, tired of taking time out of her family life, without being paid in a timely manner and then only by harrassing the people who pay her to do so.

On second thought, Mrs. Fussy Crankypants doesn’t even know if the previous sentence makes any kind of sense.

Also, there are no brownies. Nor ice cream.  There IS however peanut butter granola.

Also, when she is 80 none of this will matter (most likely because either a) she’ll be dead or b) she won’t be able to remember anything anyway). 

(Except maybe the “no brownies” part.)

Counter counter

So you probably know by now that the counter to their counter to our counter to their counter was accepted.  Apparently they realized that discretion was the better part of counter-offers where a lactating Mrs Fussy Crankypants is concerned because the most recent counter offer would have been her Final Answer.

Inspection on Monday.  The buyer is getting an FHA loan so one can only imagine how many nit-picking little things we will have to pay to get fixed.  The more Mrs FC thinks about the money-drain a house is, the more grumpy she becomes.

But at least she doesn’t have to pick up toys so much anymore…

 

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