.jpg)
.jpg)
.jpg)
.jpg)
.jpeg)
8.23.2012
8.04.2012
Adventures in Parenting: Refrigerator dreams
It's a lazy, early Saturday morning. Ezra has had his morning nai (milk), and is playing contently in the kitchen with his dad. I think I might just fall back asleep here on this couch with Olympic diving droning in the background.
"Meesh? Can you come in here? This is bad."
Words you never want to hear from the kitchen where baby is playing happily beneath the feet of your cooking-with-hot-stuff-and-sharp-things co-parent.
I frantically rush (as only one can when woken from that place of half-sleep) into the kitchen where Bo stands dazedly at the refrigerator, with one finger rhythmically tapping the door shut as it stubbornly bounces back open. Ezra, in his walker, babbles at the out-of-reach shelf of kitchen appliances. I imagine he is telling the objects, through mouthfuls of drool, about his new favorite toy Sophie. It is at this moment that I realize my reaction is decidedly overreacted (as if it's possible for a new mother to overreact, sheesh).
"The fridge door won't close. Can you figure it out?"
I systematically go through all the reasons why the door might not close. Is the door path free and clear of any objects that might hinder proper door closure? Yes. Am I sure? Yes. Have I made sure by pushing every single item to the back to the fridge to be damn certain that a rogue carrot is not to blame? Yes. What about the janky crisper drawer, is that thing closed all the way? Yes. What about in the door; is that one-too-many bottle of hot sauce that causes the door storage to bow slightly taken out of the fridge completely? Yes. In the end, I blame the issue on the amount of rust and deteriorating door seal. Okay, so now what?
Tape the door closed to preserve Ezra's milk stash. Call the landlord (aka Bo's mom). Decide the silver lining in this situation is that I have a reason to spend too much money on my dream refrigerator.
Yeah, I said it: dream refrigerator.
It's stainless steel, with double doors and a bottom freezer. All the food will be at an easily accessible height. The appliance will be grime-free. The thing will be shiny and new and oh-so-pretty. When I open the double doors, angels will actually sing arias as the golden, energy-efficient light floods the kitchen. I imagine this fridge will make me more attractive simply by association.
So maybe I'm ridiculous. However, Major and I both squealed with delight as we described it to each other, so I'm not the only weirdo that gets excited about a new kitchen appliance (this also solidifies my uncanny connection with Major, but that is another story).
Bo's mom tells us that she knows someone that will give us a good price. Knowing the issues we've had in the past trying to get new things into our house, we measure door frames and maximum height/width allowances. I make all assurances that I have the information to make a grown-up, informed decision (so I can ultimately buy what's pretty). Ezra foregoes his morning nap to watch Mommy and Pops bounce around the house singing, "We're getting a new fridge!"
At the store, we look at each model, opening doors and getting a feel for each product. Laboriously, we make a final decision. When the salesperson approaches, I let him know what we want and give him our specs.
"That's not going to work. All double door models are too wide and all bottom freezer models are too tall given your height and width constraints."
I felt my refrigerator dream bubble burst. No double doors. No bottom freezer. No easily accessible food. No angels singing arias. No golden beams of joy. Grime-free, shiny, and new, sure, but it's a let-down all the same. But our purchase cannot wait to remove the impossible metal cabinets that are restricting its height, nor can it wait for us to remodel the layout to allow for its width. Ezra needs refrigerated nai!
So we grumpily choose a top freezer, single door refrigerator in stainless steel for half the price, telling ourselves that one day we will remodel and get our dream refrigerator. Bummer. But my baby gets something new and shiny to tell his stories to, so I am endlessly happy and grateful.
Note to Ezra: You were amazingly patient with your parents at the appliance store. I thought for sure you would throw a fit of boredom and frustration after two minutes, but you relaxed patiently in your stroller while Mommy and Pops shopped. You surprise me every day, and I love you for it!
"Meesh? Can you come in here? This is bad."
Words you never want to hear from the kitchen where baby is playing happily beneath the feet of your cooking-with-hot-stuff-and-sharp-things co-parent.
"The fridge door won't close. Can you figure it out?"
I systematically go through all the reasons why the door might not close. Is the door path free and clear of any objects that might hinder proper door closure? Yes. Am I sure? Yes. Have I made sure by pushing every single item to the back to the fridge to be damn certain that a rogue carrot is not to blame? Yes. What about the janky crisper drawer, is that thing closed all the way? Yes. What about in the door; is that one-too-many bottle of hot sauce that causes the door storage to bow slightly taken out of the fridge completely? Yes. In the end, I blame the issue on the amount of rust and deteriorating door seal. Okay, so now what?
Tape the door closed to preserve Ezra's milk stash. Call the landlord (aka Bo's mom). Decide the silver lining in this situation is that I have a reason to spend too much money on my dream refrigerator.
Yeah, I said it: dream refrigerator.
It's stainless steel, with double doors and a bottom freezer. All the food will be at an easily accessible height. The appliance will be grime-free. The thing will be shiny and new and oh-so-pretty. When I open the double doors, angels will actually sing arias as the golden, energy-efficient light floods the kitchen. I imagine this fridge will make me more attractive simply by association.
So maybe I'm ridiculous. However, Major and I both squealed with delight as we described it to each other, so I'm not the only weirdo that gets excited about a new kitchen appliance (this also solidifies my uncanny connection with Major, but that is another story).
Bo's mom tells us that she knows someone that will give us a good price. Knowing the issues we've had in the past trying to get new things into our house, we measure door frames and maximum height/width allowances. I make all assurances that I have the information to make a grown-up, informed decision (so I can ultimately buy what's pretty). Ezra foregoes his morning nap to watch Mommy and Pops bounce around the house singing, "We're getting a new fridge!"
At the store, we look at each model, opening doors and getting a feel for each product. Laboriously, we make a final decision. When the salesperson approaches, I let him know what we want and give him our specs.
"That's not going to work. All double door models are too wide and all bottom freezer models are too tall given your height and width constraints."
I felt my refrigerator dream bubble burst. No double doors. No bottom freezer. No easily accessible food. No angels singing arias. No golden beams of joy. Grime-free, shiny, and new, sure, but it's a let-down all the same. But our purchase cannot wait to remove the impossible metal cabinets that are restricting its height, nor can it wait for us to remodel the layout to allow for its width. Ezra needs refrigerated nai!
So we grumpily choose a top freezer, single door refrigerator in stainless steel for half the price, telling ourselves that one day we will remodel and get our dream refrigerator. Bummer. But my baby gets something new and shiny to tell his stories to, so I am endlessly happy and grateful.
Note to Ezra: You were amazingly patient with your parents at the appliance store. I thought for sure you would throw a fit of boredom and frustration after two minutes, but you relaxed patiently in your stroller while Mommy and Pops shopped. You surprise me every day, and I love you for it!
8.03.2012
Just like dad
Bo took two weeks off to have some family bonding time with The Dumpling. Bo has been giving Ezra a crash course in how to be cool like dad. Ezra is a great student.
Oh yeah! Ezra is only 5-months-old, by the way. Yup. He is ALL head with little, mini legs and yet the kid is strong enough to stand, mostly unassisted. And he's into shoes.
Sigh.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)