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My oven is a piece of crap. It’s actually a very swanky stainless-steel double oven, and retails for a serious chunk o’change, but the people we bought this house from apparently didn’t know how to take care of their shit, so the oven, which is less than 4 years old, is… bleh. I’m just so tired of sighing and rolling my eyes over the apparent disregard those people had for what is in reality a very nice kitchen.

So the oven is gross. We lived in our townhouse for three years and I cleaned the oven exactly ONCE (the week we moved out, actually). But this place? We’ve been here 8 months and I am cleaning the oven for the THIRD TIME. I’m sort of grossed out by it.

The first time I cleaned it was because the oven desperately needed it. It was truly foul. So I used the self-cleaning function… to absolutely no effect. Consternation ensued. By the way, when one is in a state of consternation, do you say that one is ‘consterned?’ Find out and get back to me. I’m sure I know this, but it’s early.

The second time I cleaned it, I went all Dow Chemical on it’s ass. I got out the rubber gloves, the Easy-Off (a misnomer if ever there was one, or else my oven is just really foul and dirty), and a bucket and went to town on it. That actually had some effect, and, aside from the lingering chemical smell that gave me a headache for two weeks (unscented MY ASS), the oven got relatively clean.

Then, of course, I had to go experiementing with the cooking, and my chicken pot pie sort of overflowed a bit. I’m blaming the biscuit top, since I made drop biscuits instead of rolled biscuits and those things tend to be a bit on the heavy side. So it overflowed a bit, we all suffered from some smoke inhalation, but the food was good.

So now I’m cleaning the oven again. The problem here is that it’s morning, and my brain simply does not function well in the morning. I hit my stride around 1 PM, but no matter. I got Jillian her breakfast, made coffee, and thought “Hey! Let’s clean the oven NOW, and get it over with before it gets warm out!”

What a good idea!

Except not.

I pressed all the buttons and got my coffee together and sat at the table while Jillian had her breakfast. Then I smelled it. Oops. Little cloudy in here, eh? Turn on fans, open windows (it’s chilly), blah blah blah. Extra bonus points for me because the smoke alarm didn’t go off as it so often does when the oven is involved!

Yuck. I went in to check the progress and noticed that the bottom oven display said “2:34″ meaning two hours and thirty-four minutes of cleaning time left. Puzzled, I looked at the top display that said “8:11.”

Hmmm. I’m not cleaning the top oven, so why would it say something about EIGHT HOURS?

Hmmm.

A bit later, I went in to refill my coffee and noticed the bottom display said “2:09″ and the top display now read “8:39.” WTF? Stumped!

Oh.

That top display? IS THE CLOCK.

Sooooooo….

I am retarded.

I went for a nice quick run/walk through the neighborhood this morning. It was lovely. Then I changed clothes (I won’t shower until I’m done being sweaty for the day), gathered up my shopping bags and list, and headed out the door….

With my keys locked in the house!!

Since I am anti-cellphone, my phone was also in the house. Freddie was long-gone on his way down the shore, and is the only other person who has a key.

I was locked out. Again. This has happened before, but Freddie was on his way home so it was no biggie. This time? Hmmm. Uh oh.

So. Even though I’ve locked myself out before, I never seemed to get around to putting a key outside, and I was feeling really stupid for about thirty seconds.

Then I noticed that one of our bedroom windows was open. Could I break into my own house? I’m sure I could. However, the windows are small and placed rather high (like 7 feet from the ground) and I am big and not nearly strong enough to rock the kind of pull-up it would take to hoist my fat ass through the window.

So what’s a chubby girl to do? I’ll tell you. I took one of the patio chairs and stood on it. Hmm. Still not quite tall enough. Then I spotted the solution! Our patio set came with footstools, so I piled one of them onto the chair and it seemed like it would be enough.

Good thing the screen wasn’t locked - I stuck a thumb under it and raised it up!

Keep in mind that the window opening is roughly 24 inches wide by about 12, MAYBE 14 inches high. And I am not a small lady. I have tendonitis in BOTH wrists, which means I can’t support a lot of weight on my hands. And I have a lot of weight to support, yo.

On top of this, I am NOT athletic, and I spent all day yesterday hoeing up my garden, hauling bags of topsoil and generally trying to kill myself. I AM SORE.

But, with grace born of desperation, I hauled my fat ass up through the window, managed to reach the dresser (so I didn’t have to fall on my face - a reasonable fear), and got in the house with very little injury. I am absolutely amazed that I didn’t break the window or my leg or anything else!

I closed AND LOCKED the window, got my keys, and headed out. Now I think I need a nap because that’s enough adventure for one day, wouldn’t you say?

My daughter is not what you would call affectionate. She doesn’t hug, and certainly isn’t a kissy person.

We’ve been working on her a little bit, with a small amount of success. If we say “Jillian, kiss the bear!” She’ll smooch him, complete with an “ummmmwah!” sound. It’s the cutest. Once she figured it out, she started smooching everything - stuffed animals, books, her shoes, whatever is at hand.

But she won’t kiss either of us. I can understand her not wanting to kiss Freddie - by the end of the day his face is all scratchy and who wants to smooch that? But me? She won’t smooch ME?

I’m okay with this. If she’s not a big fan of PDA, then she’s not. However, it would be nice, every once in a while, to get a hug or a kiss that isn’t also accompanied by a trachea punch, you know?

On Mother’s Day, Freddie woke up with Jillian and got her dressed for the day. She boogied into our room to wake me up, all “HEWWWO!” Freddie hoisted her up onto the bed and she crawled up to me and… gave me a smooch.

Completely unsolicited!

It was the best Mother’s Day gift anyone ever got, and is the major reason why I allow her to eat her weight in Teddy Grahams every day.

It’s not that there hasn’t been much happening lately, it’s that I am really unmotivated when it comes to writing about it. I think it might be a tad too boring to talk about how The Child asks for things by name and talks about animals and “Yo Gabba Gabba” and how it’s impossible to get her to come inside for meals.

It’s possible that I’m finding it all just a bit boring because we do the same things every day, more or less. There is breakfast, there is Sesame Street, there are errands and/or playdates, there are trips to the park, lunch, naptime, more goofing off in the backyard, dinner-bath-bedtime. It gets to be a bit same-y, and I imagine it would be bloody boring to read about, even if it’s not boring to do.

Of course, there are plenty of things going on that I can’t write about for fear that the Former In-Laws will bust out the pitchforks and torches and come after me. So I’m feeling a bit muzzled in that respect. And, as much as I would like to raise my middle finger to the sky and wave it around, I can’t because I have promised other people that I wouldn’t. Not on the website, at any rate.

Truth be told, we are a happy unit. Freddie is working a lot and trying to adjust to a much longer schedule that includes a 45-minute train ride, and we are adjusting to a TODDLER who runs and walks and is learning to jump (with hilarious results). We are now getting to the point where she needs to be entertained all the time or else she ends up standing on the coffee table or coloring the TV screen with crayons. And with an HDTV, this is akin to throwing the TV down the stairs.

But we are happy. We have a beautiful patio that we are slowly decorating with hanging baskets and lanterns. We have actual grass! In the backyard! I’m amazed, because the backyard was in sad shape when we moved in. So much so that I think I was back there all of three times before this April when the landscapers attacked it.

We are going to have a garden. Maybe. I have purchased some implements of destruction and plan to attack a portion of the backyard just as soon as I have a few free, non-baby hours in which to do it. It will help if there isn’t a hurricane or similar at the same time. The front garden is coming along nicely, with my wildflowers sprouting and sunflowers/lavender/mystery flowers chugging right along as well. I have big plans to plant a couple of trees, but the ones I like most need to be planted in the fall.

The major reason why I’ve been neglecting the blog is because I tend to write best and write most when I have something to complain about, and right now, there isn’t much. I live a pretty goddamned charmed life, and I am fully aware of it. We are all healthy, we have everything we could want or need (except for a houseboy/gardener who will cook, clean, and do laundry).

I have fantastic friends - people I can turn to day or night for support, advice, wisdom, and just general cheerleading. I love the friends, even the ones I haven’t met yet. I also have a supportive family, who, after 33 years have finally come through and started acting like - well, not normal people, exactly - but are more willing to have the sort of open communication we should have had 20 years ago.

Yeah. Things are good.