A rambling and self-centered account of my weekend, part 1

Dear Lord can that baby of mine wail.  I should tape record her screams and sell them to a sound effects company. She's like a little Fay Wray.

Maybe the extra income would make the last few days with her worth the effort.

Basically, it's cry, puke, cry, sleep, cry, sh** all over herself, her clothing, and anything around her, cry, eat, cry, sleep, and so on and so forth.

Here's the kicker: she doesn't seem sick. The crying seems to just her Modus operandi lately, nothing unusual. If you aren't holding her or feeding her, it's off to the races. If you are, it's all smiles and coos.

And the flu-like symptoms, well they mirror the Good Friday bug but unlike that week she's still eating like a champ, smiling, active, babbling, even dragging herself backwards around the living room.

So wait and see I guess.

 * * * *

I did a whole lot of nuttin' this weekend. We cleaned the house, had the kids destroy it to a sickening degree, cleaned, repeated, and surrendered to the inevitable and let it rot.

I did, however, manage some manly feats.

Last week the stairwell railing tore out of the wall (it had been improperly mounted into the wood lathe, rather than a stud). It normally would have been a grand ordeal, but to everyone's surprise I took it completely off the wall, remounted it into the studs, patched the hole in the wall, and made a sandwich, all in the course of ten minutes.

Then Saturday the stationary tubs in the basement decide to back up. I plunge it, I snake it, I Drano it; nada.

So I suck it up and crawl underneath the sinks, take apart the trap, and what do I find? A sock. A bleeping sock.

Cut to 18 months ago, back in our old flat. Smiley drops a block into the toilet and flushes; the landlord had to replace the toilet when the block proved a permanent fixture.

I don't know who put the sock in there (Smiley). I don't know if it was an accident (Smiley) or just mischief (Smiley).

But it sucked.

Then my dishwasher was leaking, and I mean leaking bad.  The before-mentioned Pon told me to clean the seal. So I did, and it was indeed filthy, but in the process I noticed a loose screw on the bottom of the dishwasher and a plastic piece no longer sitting flush. I clamped the piece, screwed it down, and there ya go - success!

3 for 3. Unheard of. I'm the Bob Uecker of home repair and lucky to break .200.

* * * *

A bevy of anniversary's this week, and a few birthdays.

Of course the 40th anniversary of Martin Luther King's assassination was on the 4th, but it was covered better and in more depth by nearly everyone on the net, so I relished the chance to avoid writing a heartfelt, serious piece.

The anniversary of Kurt Cobain's death lies somewhere between the 5th and 7th, and I will post on that for the 4th year.

My Mom's birthday was also the 1 year anniversary of our first night in our home. That's a biggie, and I'll try to post about that.

(note: Lisa holds that the 1st was the move-in. I'll check my records, but I'm sure it was the 5th).