New glasses. Whaddya think?
I forgot to mention it a while ago, I think, but Sam broke my other pair. He managed to get hold of them, and when I asked him to please give them back, he took off running. Bam! he scraped them along the wall as he ran, and Snap! they broke right in the middle. It wasn't even at a convenient spot for hot gluing, which might have at least bought me a little more time. Luckily, I had my contact lenses; unluckily, they're old and make my eyes itch.
Eric's been in need of new glasses for years, so the situation was perhaps both dire and fortunate. As it happened, the glasses shop down the street was having a two-for-one sale; as it also happened, we'd recently withdrawn my retirement money from the account created from my librarian stint. It wasn't a lot of money, but it was more than enough to cover a pair of glasses. We both got our glasses this weekend, and we're more than happy to have them.
Eric's not as pleased as I am, though, with his new frames. His last frames were much more round and, well, "owlish." As he put it, "I want glasses that say, 'I know more than you.'" They don't seem to make glasses that say that anymore, in his opinion; the shelves at our shop were stocked with frames that were concerned with style over hidden messages of superiority.
I like the ones he got, honestly. He's not sure; the fact that he can actually see the edges of the frames from the corner of his eye bothers him. It will take some adjustment, I suppose. For my part, I gladly threw myself upon the mercy of the salesman, confessing my inability to pick flattering glasses for myself. He chose mine for me, and I like them. Now, that's the way I like to do business; delegate functions to those who can do them best, and toss pride to the wind when it needs tossing.
For Sam's part, he was a little jealous of the whole business. He stood by the wall of kids' glasses, trying on pair after pair, and as we prepared to walk out of the store with our new spectacles, he sighed, "I want a glasses!" The salesman then earned himself a place in my heart by running into the back room and returning with a pair of discontinued sunglasses for Sam. They're too big for him, being adult-sized, but he loves them.
Sam's entered a phase that I think I like. He's become the overly-gracious child who uses his "polite" phrases at every opportunity. It started at the grocery store last week; as a treat, I decided to buy some sugar-free bulk candy, and Sam was thrilled by my decision. With every scoop, he yelled, "Candy! Oh, thank you, Mama! Thank you!" People walking by us were giggling at him, but he didn't even notice. A few days later, at the same grocery store, he earned more giggles at the checkout counter, where he profusely thanked the cashier for every item put into our bags. "Thank you, Lady!"
He's not limiting his manners to food, either. I was cleaning the bathroom a few days ago, and he was quite appreciative of my efforts. "Thank you, Mama, clean the bathtub! Oh, thank you!" I felt at once gratified and a little embarrassed; after all, it's not as though it was some sort of rare occurrence for me to scrub the tub. He didn't need to be that grateful.
He announces his farts, waiting expectantly for one of us to respond, "And what do you say?" just so he can crow, "Excuse me!" Several days ago, he greeted Eric's arrival home from work with "Hi, Daddy! I'm glad to see you!" He sometimes doesn't even wait for a "thanks" before screaming, "You're welcome!" with a grin so big that his cheeks nearly pass his ears. It's one of the most pleasant stages we've experienced so far.
Not only that, but he's become Mr. Helpful to an even greater extent than ever before. He follows me around the house with a small brush in his hand, dusting everything I dust while murmuring, "Clean up, clean up, everybody..." He sets the table for me in the evening, though I have to precisely gauge the time for that, since he prefers to sit down and eat immediately thereafter. If I ask him to "beep-beep" his cars into his room, he frequently does it without question.
There are many aspects to the age of two that surpass challenging; many moments of my day leave me wanting to pull somebody's hair out by the roots. At the end of the day, though, when I sit back and reflect, the good moments outweigh the bad by a landslide. Perhaps I should reflect more often, especially when he's screaming because I won't let him eat his PlayDoh.
No news yet on the house. (Yeah, don't look so unsurprised.) I've resigned myself to the fact that this house probably won't sell until warmer weather breaks. Thinking of it that way helps me to feel less anxious about the whole matter; it's nothing I can help.
On the other hand, I am becoming more and more aggravated over the fact that other realtors and buyers don't seem to see anything wrong with scheduling appointments and then not bothering to show up. I bust my rear getting the house into shape and then clearing out of here, in sub-freezing weather, and they decide that my time doesn't matter to them. This is becoming a regular occurrence, and it's making me batty.
Today we actually had a successful showing, in that the realtor really did show the house to some people. (Will wonders never cease?) Not holding my breath for an actual sale or anything, but it's good to know that I didn't waste the time sitting at the health food store waiting for the appointment time to end. My realtor always checks with the other realtor after showings, so if there's any news, I should know something soon. Again, no anticipation of an offer (see my earlier thought about warm weather), but at least it's something.
I've really cut back on looking at prospective houses in Wisconsin. The market is moving much faster there than it is here, and houses in our price range go very quickly. There's no point in tantalizing myself with houses that I have no chance at buying.
Things will happen when they happen. It's out of my hands, and that doesn't bother me as much as it used to. I like the peace afforded by releasing control that you never really had to start.
And, if nothing else, all these showings are really helping me to develop better housekeeping routines and skills. My house is neater than it's ever been, and that makes for a happier family. Alysia jokes that I ought to keep my house on the market for the rest of my life, set at some ridiculously high price so that it never actually sells, but does keep me on my toes for showings. It's not an idea without its charm.
one year ago:
I think there's some unwritten rule that you have to have a salad with lasagne, and I hate garden salads.
two years ago:
The modeling was only scary for the few moments before I took off my robe for the first time.
three years ago:
He still refuses to talk much about baby boys, so I'm not sure how well he's doing with the notion that his hopes might not come true.
four years ago:
Yesterday I was called "Ma'am" for the first time.
In the ears:|
On the Bookshelf:
Bringing up Boys