Wanderlust

Zoom, zoom... knock, knock!

When we knew we were in the market for a new car, we began dropping into dealerships on weekends and browsing. We weren't sure whether we wanted used or new, sedan or wagon, foreign or domestic. Our only criteria was not WHITE and manual. When we stopped by the local Mazda dealership, an older guy met us on the lot and after asking us a few questions, began to treat us with something resembling disdain. He said, point blank, "Mazda has the fastest selling car in the nation. These cars sell themselves." And then he practically walked away. George and I left soon after that. Obviously, Mazda did not want out business.

After a few months, however, and lots of research and test drives, we had settled on a Mazda 3 hatchback. It was perfect. Fun to drive, affordable, great gas mileage, sporty and roomy enough to be a family car without looking like one. The only problem, as previously discussed... most new Mazdas were in the Pacific Ocean and likely to stay there. We had been dealing with a great dealership out of Salt Lake City but they were unsure when they would be able to secure us a vehicle and after dancing around the issue a few weeks, I started searching out alternatives. I contacted our local Mazda dealership online and the internet sales rep told me she could promise us a 2007 hatchback in a few months with a much smaller amount down than the other dealership was requesting. We went in and order one a few days later. Our sales rep, Casey, assured us that we would have the vehicle sometime between Halloween and Thanksgiving and that she would be giving us periodic updates via email when the car went into production, when it was finished, when it was shipped, etc. All was good in the land of Mazda... zoom, zoom.

Fast forward a week or two after Thanksgiving. We hadn't heard a murmur from Casey so we contacted her only to find that our Mazda hadn't even shipped yet. We had already made plans to go to Nevada for Christmas so this was a serious problem. We made her aware of our urgency and she said she would keep us updated. More than a week later, when we still hadn't heard from her, we contacted her again. She confirmed that the Mazda had shipped and arrived in port but that it hadn't been unloaded yet. I breathed a sigh of relief. If it was already stateside and in, I assume, California than it wouldn't be more than matter of days before it arrived. Another week passed in eerie silence and so, just a few days before we were scheduled to depart, we contacted Casey again. The Mazda was still in port, sitting on it's shiny new tires, waiting. I felt completely frustrated and urged George to let her know the gravity of the situation and demand a solution. They had been more than a month wrong in their original delivery estimate and if we had known this time line previously, we would never have ordered a vehicle from them under the circumstances. After several phone calls, Casey was able to get the Mazda pulled off the carrier and sent separately. It arrived, as afore mentioned, just hours before we left for Nevada.

When we arrived at the dealership to pick up the car, it was an hour and a half before Owen's nap time, so I assumed we were in the clear. But Casey handed us off to another sales associate, Epi, who spent an enormous amount of time going over details of the warranty package and trying to imply that any service or parts done independently of the dealership would invalidate our warranty. (Not true, of course). He also mentioned a customer service survey that we would receive in the mail from Mazda corporate. He insisted that we should give him a perfect score and that if we felt we could not, that we should bring the survey into the dealership and he would "help" us fill it out in return for a free tank of gas. I was more than a bit appalled at the ethics at work here and the assumption that my honesty could be bought so cheaply. Nearly two hours and a very cranky bobblehead later, we emerged form the dealership and gratefully returned home, having avoided the pitfalls of extended warranty packages.

We were notified just a little while ago that the plates had arrived at the dealership so I dropped in to pick them up. While I was there, Epi approached me again about the survey and reminded me to bring it in for my tank of gas. I let him know it had not arrived yet and that I would be sure to take care of it when it did. I felt inclined to be honest, give them the poor marks they deserved, mail it and tell them to shove their tank of gas up their... but George was nervous about jeopardizing our relationship with the service department where we would have to bring the Mazda for warranty issues. The survey arrived about a week ago and since George has been very busy at work, it was shelved until later in the week when someone had the time to fill it out.

The day before yesterday, George received a call from Epi at work, asking him to bring in the survey and insisting he needed to have it in before the end of the month. George did the smile and nod just to get the guy off the phone as quickly as possible and then told me about it that evening. I said I would try to fill it out the following day but that they were really pissing me off and if he wanted that free tank of gas, he was going to have to bring it in himself. The next day, I received a call from Epi as well, asking if I had talked to my husband and if I could bring the survey into the dealership. Owen had a doctor's appointment that afternoon so I said no. He continued to try to cajole me, but I firmly insisted that I would not have time and that my husband would take care of it over the weekend when he was available and that if that was too late for them then that was just too bad. I let him know that we had gotten this survey in the mail only a week ago and that they were really hustling us considering the time line.

I left to tutor last night after dinner. Owen had his vaccinations earlier in the day and in order to make the appointment, he had to skip part of his afternoon nap so he was exhausted and feeling poorly. George, apparently, had him almost asleep when there was a knock at the door. The dogs, of course, went nuts. Owen began to cry and George struggled past the lunging canines, screaming baby in his arms, to answer the door. There was Epi and another guy, at our home unannounced, asking for his fucking survey and trying to offer a gas card for the inconvenience. George couldn't hear a thing over the din of dogs and Owen and so he asked them to leave. Later, after calming everyone down, he called the sales manager on his cell phone and complained about the situation. The sales manager was apologetic to a certain extent, but told George the surveys were very important and that could he please bring it in this weekend.

After coming home and hearing the events of the evening, it was all I could do not to lose my temper. George is still nervous about pissing off the dealership but I think we should fill out the survey honestly and mail it. At the very least, I'm contacting Mazda corporate and letting them know exactly how their local dealership here chooses to do business. Zoom, zoom my ass.

A minor discrepancy

"Wow. That can't be right."

I stepped off and then on again, but the number was unchanged. The nurse gave me a sympathetic look.
"My husband doesn't even allow me to have one of those in the house. It freaks me out too much."

When I went in for my yearly pap last week, I discovered something quite alarming and it had nothing to do with my vaginal health. There was a huge discrepancy between the numbers the scale at the doctor's office was registering and what my scale at home read. And even taking into account the time of day, the clothes I was wearing, and the phase of the moon, the difference was shocking. Nine pounds.

At first, I was upset, but probably not for the reasons you think. Our scale was pretty ancient and I had doubted it's accuracy for some time. But NINE pounds. That's practically ten pounds. Double digit discrepancy. That's a pretty BIG deal, no pun intended.

I was mostly disgruntled that all the time when I thought I was only five or eight pounds away from my goal, I was really more like fifteen pounds away. And fifteen is FAR, FAR away when it comes to weight loss. Fifteen is months of hard work and sacrifice. I felt like I'd been running a marathon and then somebody took me, stuffed me in a duffel bag and dropped me back off at the start line.

We ordered a new scale from Amazon, one that gives body fat percentage because it always nice to have one more thing to stress out about. I started a new diet today, which really isn't a diet but should more aptly be called portion control. Diets are for girls. I'm also plunging head first into my exercise regimen and even considering running to make those numbers on the scale shrink faster. Yes, I really am that desperate.

I never understood why people chose to start new health habits in January. The middle of winter is the most difficult time to stay motivated. The entire world encourages hibernation, buried under blankets of snow. But I guess if you can make it through February into the promise of spring, you'll get your second wind. By then, I hope to already be ten pounds lighter.

Xmas Unwrapped

Here's a snippet of Xmas video, finally. Grandma and Grandpa spoiled the little guy, naturally, and so he had a mountain of presents. He did pretty well at keeping up in the beginning, but by the last few, he was done. Granted this all took place during his normal morning nap, which we made him postpone for over an hour, so you have to give the kid some kudos for that.

Letters to the O

One Year

It feels like just yesterday that I was laboring to bring you into this world, not able to imagine yet your laugh or that little mole on the inside of your right thigh. And then suddenly here we are, with an entire year of babyhood behind you and years of joyful, tempestuous toddlerhood ahead. Happy Birthday, baby!

This past month, to my mingled disappointment and relief, you did not learn to walk. But you managed to make such an extraordinary nuisance of yourself that I'm not sure it matters. Your mornings and afternoons are spent speed crawling form room to room, avidly attempting to ingest dogfood and marbles while you pry open the outlet covers and throw them into the air. You've taught yourself how to scramble up the stairs without assistance and how to stand, poised, for more than five seconds before your knees buckle and you crumble like a demolition tower. You've also derived great satisfaction from drinking gallons of bathwater and sticking peanut butter up your nostrils at lunch. These are the times when I throw my head back and laugh with you like a psycho ward beauty queen because hey... we were already on the razor's edge of sanity anyway. Why not just paint with our own feces? I mean really, who are we trying to impress.

Your relationship with the dogs has evolved quite a bit this month. Previously you were a loud, messy substance which seemed vaguely appealing but whose antics seemed too boisterous to allow for closer inspection. Now that you have traded in your puree mashed dinners for something with substance, Miles and Timber kneel and worship at the throne of your highchair every mealtime, eagerly waiting for manna to fall from heaven. Your favorite thing to do with food is moisten it with salivia and then push it out onto your lap like a pez dispenser. The dogs think this is an impressive trick and are eager to play groupie. I lower you chair to dog height, remove the tray and stand back as they tongue bath you from head to toe and you giggle and grunt. Hey, it sure beats trying to scrub that crap off you with a papertowel. Don't judge me.

I've begun to worry that perhaps you are under the mistaken impression that you actually ARE a dog. You roll around the floor and growl or chase Timber around the table while he panics at the mere sight of your flailing approach- "atrocious baby.... must get help...." And when I see you standing next to Miles at the window, both of your peering out at the great, big world, eager for evidence that warrants announcement, I can't help but feel proud. These are your siblings and they have taught you that the world is yours to pee on. Is there a more valuable lesson than that?

There are a few things that your father and I have endeavored to teach you this month and in the process we have learned that there is nothing you will not do for applause. We discovered this quite by accident at Christmas, when your Grandmother and Aunt shamelessly broke out the adoration over every motion of your little pinkie finger. Later when we were in church and the crowd clapped, you beamed and practically bowed to your public. Just this week you mastered the art of clapping yourself, both hands meeting softly and nearly soundlessly as you smiled and looked from your father's face to mine to judge our reaction. "Coolest thing ever, right?" Yes! Except just a few days later when I taught you to put your blocks away by clapping tirelessly. That was way cooler because it meant less clutter. And clutter, in my house, is so uncool. You will learn, my son.

You've also begun, finally, to call me "mama" without pointing at the dog or looking at a graham cracker. You call me from your crib when you wake up in the dark, pitiful little wailing sounds "maaaaa-maaaaa" or it's more insistent tones when you are eager for a hug "MA MA MA MA MA." And just last night, when your father and I were having a late supper downstairs in front of the TV and you were contentedly enthroned in your couch pillow, you did the most wonderous thing either of us had ever seen. Dad said "Hi," to you and you looked at him, smiled and gave a perfect little wave of you hand like a baby beauty pageant queen and replied- "Hi!" Your father and I looked at each other speechless, and then, in hushed tones as if we were afraid the moment would shatter like glass,

"Yeah!!!!" And we clapped furiously, shamelessly while you looked from each of us, delighted that you had managed to steal the show.

Hanging with the O'

Last night after Owen was changed and clean from his bath, we were hanging out in front of the computer waiting for Mom to get home. He was sitting in my lap making noises and goofing around with me while I was doing a little internet surfing. At one point I thought it was interesting that it was so warm where he was sitting. Since it's been around 5 degree's at night here in Utah, I was really cold last night for some reason, so when Owen was warm from his bath, I thought I was enjoying his body warmth.

So I got up to go into the living room because we were done hanging out in front of the computer. I noticed that my stomach / lap was still very warm, and maybe even wet. From sweat maybe? That's when all of a sudden I realized Owen peed on me! I guess I didn't put the diaper on correctly, or he really had to pee. I kind of think it was the second one because it went through my thick PJ's onto my underwear. So I went to Owen's room, and changed both of us into completely new clothing and diapers. No, I did not put on a diaper. I am very glad it wasn't poop. Because when Owen has a blow-out, it is like a bomb went off and poop is everywhere.

It reminds me of this Chappelle's Show video...

George's Birthday Spectacular

George is back to the daily grind today, so he's probably not going to get a chance to give you the low down on his birthday weekend. I thought I'd fill in the gaps quickly.

Saturday morning, Owen and I took George out to breakfast at his favorite local spot, The Branding Iron. They have killer bacon and scones to die for. He spent the afternoon playing with his new remote control airplane and giggling like a schoolgirl. We had a late afternoon snack of huge slabs of homemade carrot cake with cream cheese frosting. Then after Owen dropped off to sleep, we smuggled Lauren in under cover of darkness and left for Salt Lake City. George had no idea where he was going or what he was doing until we arrived. We had wonderfully warm, absolutely delicious Thai food at the renowned Thai Siam and then drove over to Barnes and Noble and spent some time perusing and using our Christmas gift cards. Then we waited in line with a bunch of college stoners until 11pm, entirely past our bedtime, at the Clark Planetarium for.... (drum roll, please) The Pink Floyd "Dark Side of the Moon" laser show.

Anyone who knows George even a little will know that he was practically peeing his pants through the entire thing. Even I, little miss nonchalance, was reasonably impressed. We stumbled out of the show into the frigid night, awed and exhausted. When we finally rolled into bed at around 1:30 am, I knew we would be paying for it tomorrow but that it was absolutely worth it. And I know George felt the same.

The Birthday Boy!

George turns the undignified age of 33 today, just a few days before Owen will be one. 32 years between them and they still throw their head back and laugh when someone farts in the bath. Ah...boys! May they age happily together, as much enamored of each other as they are today.

Guantanamo Bay

I've always felt from the beginning that the detainees being held at Guantanamo Bay were a violation of the Geneva convention and something for which our nation's moral conscience would someday apologize in a similar vein to the detention of Japanese Americans during World War II. Some would argue these are not Americans and to me, this gives us even more of a reason to make sure that we're are being incredibly forthright and careful about our actions in these cases because these citizens of the world have no access to the civil liberties that we enjoy. Take a look at this video, which was made by lawyers in the case of one detainee in Guantanamo who has been held there since 2002.
Get involved at projecthamad.org

Serious lack of postage...

You may be wondering what the hell we're doing over here at Wanderlust because we sure as hell aren't posting about it. This is true. Sadly, we are doing nothing extraordinary and I find myself with very little to say about it. Anybody else want to chime in?

XMAS 2006 Redux

Have you been wondering where the hell we've been since our return from the desert? Have you been itching to read every last detail of our Christmas extravaganza Vegas style? Well, the wait is over. Christmas 2006 Redux is finally here.

After loading up the Titanium Grey 2007 Mazda 3 hatchback that we had owned (sort of) for scarcely sixteen hours, we headed south to Boulder City, Nevada, home to the Grandparents Jones on Saturday monring. We kept it in cruise around 85 most of the way and except for a couple of dense patches of fog in Southern Utah and alot of soggy raisins and cheerios in a Bajio in Cedar City, arrived unscathed early evening at my parents house. Owen was promptly greeted with enthusiastic attention but remained dazed and clingy for the rest of the evening. We unpacked, ate and turned in early.

Christmas Eve was spent lolling about the house, eating hordes of cookies and junk food and watching movies. Owen remained anxiously insistent on Mommy's constant supervision, probably due in part to being surrounded by six new people in a strange house who seemed eerily enamored with him. He was thrilled however about the rounds of applause he received in the late afternoon for inserting the correct shapes into his toy toolbox. There are advantages to a large audience. And later in the evening at a candlelight church service at my Dad's church, he beamed from ear to ear when the congregation clapped in approval at him. Of course they were clapping for him. Who else could they have been paying attention to on Christmas Eve?

Christmas morning, and every morning in fact, dawned bright and early for Owen, who was faithful to his 6:30 am wake up time despite the time difference. George and I kept him quiet in bed until the dimmest speck of light could be seen outside, and then we awoke the house only to discover my sister, Heather, in bed with a bad case of death flu. She was banished to the sick room and we did not see her for at least two days afterwards, when she reemerged like Lazarus from the dead. My mother can not function until she's ingested a lethal dose of caffeine and Christmas morning is no exception. After some gifts from Santa and stockings, we had breakfast and waited for Grandma to arrive. Then there was a flurry of paper and packages and an hour later, Owen had a small mountain of toys and clothes while George and I were the proud owners of a new Kelty k.i.d.s. child carrier. We took a long walk that afternoon and spent the rest of the day eating far too much chocolate.

The following day, after doing mostly nothing the entire afternoon, we handed off Owen to Grandma's eager arms and went out to meet friends for dinner at Lawry's Steakhouse in Vegas. The enormous hunk of prime rib that graced my plate was the best I'd ever dug a knife into and well worth the trip. We arrived home fairly early to a sleeping baby who'd cried, according to reports, for nearly 90 seconds after we left. Pathetic.

George and I had originally planned to head back to Utah on Wednesday, but an impending storm discouraged us and we decided to postpone until Thursday. We'd driven through Cedar City in a snowstorm several years previously and were not anxious to repeat the experience. We spent our extra day touring Vegas natural foods stores, including Whole Foods and Trader Joe's. The following day we packed up early and headed home. When we passed through Cedar City the streets were a mess and they had received nearly fifteen inches of snow, but we managed to escape most of the storm and except for a few slide offs on the opposite side of the highway, the roads were fairly clear.

We spent the days between Christmas and New Year's simply recovering. It alway seems to take at least three days to catch up on lost sleep, make a dent in the enormous piles of laundry and unpack in general. Our friends Scott and Lauren invited us to share in their New Year's bash with some friends of theirs who were visiting and so we headed over to their house around 6:30 New Year's Eve. After some pizza and conversation, I put Owen to sleep and we played Apples to Apples until the ball dropped. George and I made it all the way to 12:30 before we decided to pack it in, droopy eyed and head for home. Owen promptly woke up when being transfered to the car and nobody's head hit the pillow until nearly 1:30.

We've got a plethora of pictures and video to wade through which we'll post some tidbits from soon. In the meantime, here's hoping your season was jolly and your hangover was mild.