You know it has been a long time since you have written a blog when you sign on to the website and it forces a bunch of software updates on to your computer. Sorry. In the words of Peter Gibbons in Office Space, It's a problem of motivation.
Well, it isn't just a problem of motivation, it is also a problem of living an entire day with an almost-3-year old who has already developed the attitude of a 16-year-old. She rarely allows me time to myself, usually just to take a shower if I put on a really interesting show for her. Otherwise, she is right there. Grabbing on to the back pockets of my jeans while I clean the kitchen, turning the light on and off while I go to the bathroom, stealing food off of my plate even though she rejected what I was making for myself and forced me to make her something completely different for lunch. All of this, coupled with the fact that 85 percent of the time I am on my computer she will walk over and slam it shut, make for a difficult time when trying to craft a well-written account of the recent events of our lives. Come to think of it, this sounds more like spending your day with an old, grouchy hermit than a 16-year-old. Still equally as challenging.
Another issue I have come across is that of our beloved, cherished, much anticipated afternoon nap has all but disappeared. It was bordering on extinction to begin with, but up until last week I at least had the luxury of putting her in her crib and fooling myself in to thinking she would fall asleep. In reality, she just would play for an hour and then scream until I came and got her. Still, that was an hour of relative sanity. All of this came to a crashing (literally) end about two weeks ago when she decided that she was going to attempt the inevitable and try to climb out of her crib. She escaped the incident unharmed, aside from a bit of soreness and a lot of tears, which is a shock considering the completely idiotic method she apparently used to do the deed. According to her own reenactment of the events, rather than put her leg up and climb over, or stand on the rails and try to climb down the other side, she leaned over the railing face first on her stomach and swan dove on to the floor. Idiot.
All of this means that she now has a toddler bed that she can get out of whenever she dam well pleases. And trust me, she pleases. The only reason that I have even been allowed to try and write today is because she fell asleep in the car on the way home from the store. Because she woke up at 5:30 in the morning. Because she is a psychopath. I was able to type the bulk of this on the porch while she slept in the car in the driveway, but about halfway through she woke up and I had to convince her to start painting on her easel so that I could finish up. The clock is ticking. She is already snooping around asking what I am doing.
In any event, that is about the entirety of my day. Playing trains, cars, painting, putting together a variety of snacks, and arguing. Lots and lots of arguing. On Sunday we are going to 'take a ride on Thomas.' I can only imagine what that will actually entail, but for $18/ ticket it had better be awesome.
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Av's song choice of the week. "I want the White Jack one"
Summer vacation has come to an end for just about everyone, including this guy, so it is time to get back to work. Back to trying to keep a 2-year-old alive and out of trouble. Back to waking up before the sun. Back to narrating my life on an Internet forum that literally tens of people may or may not check on a bi-monthly basis.
A quick recap of the summer's events. The usual zoo trips and park days were slightly reduced thanks to much of our time being taken up by our long-anticipated move off of Roslyn Street. The move went slightly more smoothly than the last one, but it did still entirely suck, as all moves do. More on that in a moment.
We also took a family vacation to Sesame Place, a small, Sesame Street-themed water park buried in the doldrums of Eastern Pennsylvania. The park was a lovely time if you were between the ages of 2-6 and Av got to meet all of her idols, including Bert and Ernie and Count, who was by far the most personable.
On a personal note, I continue to question why Sesame Street ignores the popularity of Grover, who was not available for any meet and greets or picture taking. The same goes for Telly Monster, who, along with the previously mentioned adorable blue monster, is one of my favorites. I enjoy Telly for two reasons. First, he looks like the actor Craig T. Nelson, better known to many of you as 'Coach.' Second, much like myself, Telly is paranoid, neurotic, slightly bi-polar and obsessed with random things such as triangles and tubas.
Both of these characters were featured only in the Sesame Place parade, held at 2:30 each day, in which the characters danced and sang down the middle of the theme park. Pictures and meet and greets were designated only for Cookie Monster, Count, Zoe and Bert and Ernie.
You may be asking yourself the question, 'What about Elmo?' Well, I'll tell you something about that over-hyped little red punk. He has star disease and he needs to be taken down a notch. Elmo has his own area of the park. His own studio where you have to go if you want to watch him perform. If you want your picture taken you have to go to a separate area and pay to have it done. Even worse, we paid for the 'lunch with the characters' in which characters join you in a cafeteria and sit at your table for photo opportunities. Count, Cookie Monster and Big Bird were readily available for everyone to love while Elmo was placed in the corner, on a chair, and there was a charge for pictures. This is unreal to me. Elmo sucks. This is all because of that stupid 'Tickle me Elmo' doll from the 90's. Elmo is the worst. Can't even talk right, ambiguous voice, gold fish having little pansy.
Like I said, the theme park was great for the kids. The location of the theme park was dreadful for adults. I don't know if any of you have even been to Pennsylvania, but it is a miserable state. There is nothing there but retail and Wa Wa convenience stores. And don't even get me started on beer. I had to go to a pizza shop to ask where I could buy beer. The kid tells me that in the state liquor stores can only sell beer, wine OR booze. One of the three. Not both. Not all three. He gave me directions to the nearest store, which was like trying to track down pirate booty. When I finally found a place, the only place around that even mentioned alcohol sales, it was an empty garage with a neon sign that says 'our beer is cold. Yeah, if you have to advertise that the beer is cold, you have a problem. Anyway, I go in to the store and realize that all they sell are cases. No 6-packs, no 12- packs. Cases. So, I got a case of Yuingling, the beer that everyone who doesn't live in Pennsylvania or New Jersey says is the greatest beer of all time. It is not. It tastes like vanilla Budweiser.
All-in-all the trip was fine. Av had a fantastic time and that is all that matters. But if anyone ever asks you to go to Pennsylvania, I suggest you say no. Just some advice.
The move
Leave it to us to be the only people who have ever moved out of the ghetto, to the suburbs, on a tree-lined street, two houses down from a cop, across the street from a firefighter, and find ourselves in a worse situation than we were in before. Allow me to explain.
As I have mentioned a million times here, Roslyn Street was the armpit of Massachusetts. It was loud, it was ghetto, we lived above a bunch of crazies and we absolutely had to move. Buried among the 7, 000 equally as shitty apartments we looked at on equally as shitty streets, was one gem. Located one town over in the suburbs. Beautiful, big, bright, air conditioned. Lovely. We hustled and fought and paid and did everything we could to get it, and we did. Great.
One thing the landlords failed to mention was that there is a family of 11 Spanish, or Portuguese or whatever people living up stairs. Of those 11 people, 6 of them are children. Children between the ages of 2-8. Needles to say, it is like living above a bowling alley. To make matters worse, they have a boat. A boat that is constantly parked in front of our house. Blocking half of the street, making it impossible to back out of the driveway safely. One of the adults that lives upstairs is a 450 lb woman who does nothing, NOTHING but scream at the kids. ALL DAY LONG. And for some reason every day between the hours of noon and 3 p.m. all they do is move furniture around. Their kids look in our windows. They throw trash in the back yard. Oh, and the father, Angel, is a carpenter. Of course he is. So the two days a week he isn't cleaning his boat or gutting fish on the sidewalk he is in the driveway sawing wood. Now, I don't even want to begin to speculate how a family of 11 can fit in a 4-bedroom apartment. But I don't care.
Our moron landlord, you know, the one that didn't check to see if any of the appliances worked before we moved in (three out of five of them didn't) says he has evicted them. Well, he obviously doesn't understand the eviction process because they are still here. And their court date keeps getting pushed back. Great. Perhaps the most infuriating part of all of this is that everyone in the neighborhood seems to be supporting the giant family. They love them. Well, they haven't had to live beneath them.
So, that's that. That is where we stand right now. Monica want's to move again but I'm not doing it. I'm just gonna take my kid to Petsmart during the day and avoid the noise. I'll keep you all updated on that progress.
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These are the baby's two current favorite songs. No, I can't make sense of it, either.
