Crib Stains and Tear Stains

This post was written the evening of June 24 and scheduled to be posted June 25, but, well, this happened instead.

 

Little A is less than two weeks away and our nursery is just starting to take shape. Why, yes, we ARE a family of procrastinators! But it was a process to even get to this point. We are utilizing our old (ancient) bedroom dressers for the kid’s dressers, meaning we couldn’t move them into the kid’s room until we picked out our new furniture and had said furniture delivered.

In the meantime, I found a crib online that appeared to match the color of the now nursery furniture, ordered that shit up and we were on our way. I knew the crib color wouldn’t match exact with the dresser, bench and bookshelf in the room – since none of those matched each other anyway – but it looked to be in the same color family so it would suffice.

Old furniture was moved on Thursday. Crib came Friday. Our new furniture came Saturday. Big A cleaned out the nursery on Sunday. Me, being all antsy in the pantsy, was dying to get the crib out of the garage (and away from the keg of Yuengling from the weekend full of shenanigans, but that’s another story) and unpacked so I could verify the color selection.

The crib made the journey. I held my breath as the tape was cut and the ties released. Big A flipped it open. I frowned. It was less “light 1980’s Oak” and more “rich 2000’s Cherry”. Not. The. Same. Not even close. I mentioned, several times, that it was Amazon and free return shipping was available.

BUT THERE IS NO TIME FOR THAT. But I tried.

Big A stood firm. He tried to tell me that it was fine. BUT IT WASN’T. Besides, he is color and design impaired. I didn’t like the fabric with it, it did not look at all like the color online, I was frustrated, I wanted the room done, I was so excited to have this KEY PIECE of the nursery and I was sitting there, on the floor, totally disappointed.

I tried to fight it. I did. I tried wicked hard. I closed my eyes and tried to find my happy place. I knew it was not the end of the world. I tried to be zen about it. But the lip quivered. And the breaths started to catch. Then the tears welled up.

And I cried. And laughed. And cried. And laughed.

I knew I was being ridiculous. But I couldn’t stop. Big A laughed at me. I laughed at me. My mascara ran. I told Big A to shut up. I couldn’t help it. I was crying over a crib.

He left the room. Probably to roll his eyes and find something to shut me up. He returned with sandpaper. He RUBBED IT ON THE CRIB.

I accused him of doing that so he wouldn’t have to send it back. Which was probably true, to a point.

But when he sanded it…it looked closer to the 1980’s Oak I desired. Somehow, it removed the red tone, distressed it enough and looked better. Not perfect, but better.

And he asked if I liked it. I said that I did, but it wasn’t enough to warrant the time that it would take. I mean, cribs have a lot of slats and pieces and whatevers. It would take a fair amount of sanding.

He said he would do it for me.

HE SAID HE WOULD DO THAT FOR ME.

I didn’t care if it was only because then he wouldn’t have to repack it all and send it back or if it was just to shut me up, but he was going to take the time to sand the shit out of that crib.

So, of course, I started crying all over again. Harder. Still laughing. But crying harder. Fat, happy crocodile tears.

And then about an hour later I went to hug him and thank him and I started crying again. I CAN’T HELP IT.

Oh, hormones.

 

Epilogue

Big A spent several hours away from the hospital in order to actually PUT the crib together so @#%$! baby would have a place to sleep upon discharge. He sanded the crap out of a hidden piece of it, only to discover it actually wasn’t going to work. But I am so over it now. More important things to worry about and all.

 

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Hosta La Vista

Last week, my mom was here to visit and man, I put her to work. She also put herself to work by bringing a suitcase – yes, a SUITCASE – full of various plants. She swore that the plants would have cost me almost $300 if I bought them all but they were free since they were from her garden. And then she got a little miffed when we found the same plants for a buck each at Lowe’s. Minnesota apparently overcharges for plants. Way to go, Minnesota.

So, yeah. I have hostas now in the yard. Hence the blog title I just couldn’t resist.

She also pulled up two dead pine trees from our back fence line, to which Big A called her a honey badger because “she’s so small and she just don’t give a f^&%. You know she went out there and just dug them out with her bare hands”. I didn’t witness it, but he’s probably right.

I shall sum up her visit with photos.

Not only did she come prepared with a carry-on full of foliage, she convinced the bakery to sell her a tub of the epic delicious frosting I swooned about. AN ENTIRE TUB OF FROSTING. It must have weighed two pounds. Shout out to P.J. Murphy’s for not thinking my mom was nuts asking them to fill up the empty Cool Whip container. And to TSA for not confiscating or eating it.

So we made cupcakes. And there is still another batch worth of frosting in the freezer for later consumption.

We played bingo. While eating Jimmy Johns. A convergence of two of my favorite things. I thought I couldn’t be happier. And then I won $500.

Unfortch, about 20 minutes before I won $500, she won $50 and somehow convinced me that we should split all our winnings. Since I hadn’t won in a long time and we usually don’t win more than $50, I agreed. WHAT THE F%&@ WAS I THINKING!? Luckily, I was able to buy her off with a $50 purse and I kept the rest of her share. I’m greedy, what can I say.

Then we played with power tools and made this broken fountain that came with our house that’s just been an algae creator for two years into a cute little herb garden.

And we painted the old office from the hideous purple

To a buttery tan sort of color. It’s on its way to becoming the (dun dun duuuuun) NURSERY.

After a week full of good home-cooked food, including homemade rouladen and spaetzle, we ended her visit with grilled cheese sandwiches and chocolate malts. I felt like I was eight again. And it was awesome.

The worst part of her visit was dropping her off at the airport. Not because I would have to say goodbye, but as we pulled into the drop-off zone she said “Well. I’ll be back soon!” Like, too soon. Like a few weeks soon. WHEN THE LITTLE %$@! IS BORN.

omg.