Our big outing today was Home Depot. I wanted to get some paint to touch up the walls in Gavin's room. When I painted it I used every last drop of light blue paint we had. And then a few days later I gouged the hell out of the wall in two different places while moving a small dresser. Stacy and I were going all feng shui in there yesterday trying to figure out how we could hide the electrical outlets behind pieces of furniture. Not only did I notice some more dings, but we also ditched the dresser I'd marred the walls with in the first place and now the wall's unsightly complexion is in full display. Granted once I finish touching up the walls Gavin will probably get ahold of a Sharpie and go to town graffiting in some kind of alien alphabet. But this is the battle before me right now.
We also bought furnace filters at Home Depot, but they were the wrong size. I forgot to check ours at home before I left so I had to guess. So as soon as we came home we turned around and went to the much closer Ace Hardware in Oak Park and bought the correct size because changing the filter really couldn't wait. Basically it was at the point where the house was going to burn down and/or we were all going to get Legionnaires' disease or something. The furnace filter is one of oh so many things that I was much better about taking care of before I had a baby.
My dad, a.k.a. Grandpa Mike, dropped by for a short time today. He kicked off the visit by making Gavin cry almost immediately. I don't know what he did because I was in the bathroom. As soon as my dad got here I handed Gavin over saying, "Good, you're here. Because I really have to pee." I probably should have warned him that Gavin was getting tired because his nap time was fast approaching. But even if I had I doubt that would have done any good. I'm sure that my dad did something overly boisterous that scared Gavin. What can I say, my son is easily spooked. He's also in the wary-of-strangers stage and although Grandpa Mike isn't technically a stranger, he isn't someone Gavin sees every day or anything. He's also a very loud, over exuberant, big Polish man with no OFF switch.
In any case, I come out of the bathroom and Gavin is sitting on my dad's lap real-tear crying and as soon as he sees me reaches his little arms out me like, "Help me!" I scooped him up and reassured him that everything was fine and that Grandpa Mike was a nice guy. "He thinks I'm crazy," my dad said, to which I answered, "Oh, no doubt."
My dad's next move was to try to get the giant mange-ridden stuffed gorilla he gave Gavin at Christmas time down from the top of our entertainment center. "He's sad because you don't let him play with this," he said. Realizing it might be difficult to excavate the gorilla without knocking down the stereo speakers on either side of it, he resorted to grabbing the gorilla's hand and waving at Gavin: "Hi little guy. Why don't they let you play with me?" Gavin did not wave back.
"He's tired. He needs things to be low-key," I said, handing my now not-crying son back to Grandpa. As he held Gavin and they looked out the window together at the street in front of my house, he said in a soft voice, "Pretty soon you’ll be out there in a car, squealing the rubber, the cops chasing you, saying, 'I’m going to White Castle, Mom. Fuck you and the soy burgers.'"
Is it any wonder why I swear so goddamn much?
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