Thursday, May 18, 2006

This and That

Bits and pieces to write about today. Nothing deserves a whole entry, but bear with me while I blab about the little things that happen in my daily life.


Apparently watermelon is a diuretic. Did you know that? I didn’t, until I ate 3 melons in 4 days, and I started going pee every five minutes. I just thought maybe I had a UTI coming on or somesuch, but there was none of that pesky pain that typically accompanies that condition. After about 2 days of non-stop trips to the loo, I remembered Hey, wasn’t there a watermelon diet in the 70’s? I bet watermelon is a diuretic. After a quick internet search, my suppositions were confirmed.

The problem is going to the bathroom really isn’t enough of a negative consequence to interrupt my gluttony. I mean, Zane did yell, Mama Potty, every single time I headed up the stairs, but it’s not like peeing really interrupted anything. Plus, it helped his vocabulary. I got him to say, Mama Potty Watermelon, several times.

Park Chats

Zane and I were at the park earlier in the week – who would believe this since I was sure we’d have to build an ark to survive all the rain we’ve been having – when another mama struck up a conversation with me. Which is no small feat – I am not exceptionally friendly at such mama-gathering places. I don’t mean to be UN-friendly, it’s just that I don’t really like gabbing with stranger (such a surprise that my career as a therapist was short-lived). Anyway, I’m talking to this woman and her friend, and I’m struck with the thought that Wow, this is where it gets really clear that I grew up in a trailer.

One of the women used to work for our local symphony, the other was an artist. Their kids had totally-cool-family-lineage-type names, and they mentioned family who were attorneys and doctors. This in contrast to my family: one of my grandfathers couldn’t get a job teaching because he was a Black man and so spent the rest of his life in a steel mill, and the other one was a dirt-poor farmer who worked for the county as a maintainer driver to augment his income. Both honest jobs that supported their families; but let’s be clear, there will be no inheritances coming my way anytime soon.

Anyway, both of the women were lovely, gracious, welcoming, and inclusive of me in their entire conversation. It was a delightful conversation with delightful women. Makes me think I should re-think some of my stereotypes about the upper classes. And I might want to consider talking to other mamas at the park.

Neighbor Drama

Our neighbor (let’s call him Stupid Neighbor), whose house is almost the exact same footprint as ours, went on the market approximately 7 weeks ago. Sure, I cursed his name and gnashed my teeth some, but I ultimately figured that his going on the market – at a very nice price – was a great opportunity for us to get about a month’s worth of information before we put our house on the market.

Forward to the day we put our house on the market. Super Realtor Traci says, I’ve got some bad news. Stupid Neighbor just reduced his price $10K.

Cripes, SRH and I exclaim. But we’re actually still okay with this because our house is nicer and so we’re still on target price-wise. (I mean, we had just told him that we were planning to go on the market, but this could all just be a coincidence, right?)

Forward again. Our realtor wants to hold an Open House this weekend - which is fine, so she puts out an Open Sunday sign out in our yard yesterday. Well, today I come home and Stupid Neighbor has an Open House sign outside his house. This from a man who hasn’t had an Open House in over 7 weeks of being on the market. I thought the price drop was unfortunate, but I believe the competing open houses is intentional.

So I call Super Realtor Traci and say something like, Okay Traci, should I slash the tires or just graffiti his house? I know I don’t believe in violence, but I’m feeling pretty un-neighborly here. I mean, would a flaming bag of dog poo be too adolescent-pranksterish to hurt his chances of selling or do I need to step up my tactics of intimidation and sabotage?

Super Realtor Traci talked me down and explained that open houses at the same time could actually be a good thing for us. So I probably won’t give him mean looks – you know, my ultimate weapon – every time I see him now. But I can’t promise not to teach Zane to say Stupid Neighbor every time he walks by.


Mom said...

Good rule for parenting - DO NOT get your child to do your dirty work for you. If you can't mutter "stupid neighbor" under your breath when you see him, don't con an innocent child into doing it for you.

Teach him to say "evil man" instead, preferably right after you mutter "stupid neighbor". It could be some musical cadence as you walk by his house -
"stupid neighbor"
"evil man"
"stupid neighbor"
"evil man"
What a bonding experience between mother and child!

Anonymous said...

I think "mom" has a fantastic idea! And if you could get SRH to beat a cadence with his hands at the same time, it would be a family affair!

Zany Mama said...

mom -
I fail to see how this is not having my child do my dirty work, but I'm totally okay with that. I like the rhythmn you started. If nothing, I will at least laugh and not spit if I happen to see my neighbor over the weekend.

anon -
I love the idea of our family doing Partridge-Family-inspired harassment of our neighbor.

Thanks to you both for the brilliant idea!