garage sale bandit

Saturday morning I didn't have to work. Usually when I'm off Sassy and I go on some kind of mission just to get her out of the house - the playground, the store, the mall - and that day our mission was a new stroller, one that she could fit in without sitting sideways. I began my search for the cheapest one possible without being the crappiest one possible (I'm pretty sure that's always my shopping M.O.). After reading some dismal reviews on the Toys R*Us website, I decided to look on craigslist.

The second thing on the page said POWER WHEELS - $40. All plans for a new stroller evaporated.

Micah's been trying to convince me for months that Sassy needs a car. The type that can't go very fast, but fast enough for me to break a sweat thinking of my baby plowing away from me in a motorized vehicle. I mean, I think can run faster than it, but who knows?

I knew Micah wouldn't be mad if I pursued this. I called the number and it was still there. The owners of this Jeep (Barbie!) had turned their many craigslist postings into a garage sale. They lived about fifteen minutes away, and yes, the Jeep was still there. The power wheels Barbie Jeep for FORTY DOLLARS. Of course, I had just put our pizza lunch in the oven, and we were nowhere near ready to go. If you know about craigslist (or garage sales, for that matter) you know it's first come-first claim. You can't hold something for someone who might never show.

I went into overdrive. I sloppily dressed us both, managed a couple swipes with a hairbrush, and sliced the super-melty pizza, which I hate to do, and put it in a container. Out the door. Shit! No money! But there was an ATM on the way! So far, so good.

As I turned onto the street of destiny, I saw the Barbie Jeep. I literally did the pull-a-fist-back YYYYYES! Mine. Uh. Sassy's.

I told the woman I wanted it and then I started looking around at other things in her driveway. Sassy busied herself in her new ride as if she knew it was hers. The woman and I shared that we are old enough to remember Weebles, which have made a comeback recently. I decided to buy a Weebles tree house to accompany the Weebles farmhouse Sassy'd been bored with of late.

Suddenly the woman turns, her eyes on an SUV speeding down the street.

"They must be here for the Barbie Jeep. My husband's been getting calls all morning."

The SUV bumps along into her driveway way too fast, and she mutters "whoa" under her breath. Yeah, dick, slow the eff down. Don't you see the child in the driveway? Or are your eyes focused on something else?

He jumps out. "Hi, yeah, I'm here for the Jeep?"

"Sorry, she just bought it." Yeah, you effing codpiece.

"Great. I drove all the way here just for that."

"Yeah, me too," I said a little too snidely, not giving a hummingbird's hiney about how far he drove. Did I mention he drove a BMW SUV? GO BUY A NEW BARBIE JEEP! He walked away to examine the other merchandise. He lingered a few seconds on the Weebles treehouse.

"She just bought that, too."

At that point I thought I'd better just take our booty and go. I have never experienced such pride in a purchase - nay, conquest - it was meant to be hers!

When we got it home, Sassy climbed right into it again. I showed her how to use the pedal, and she actually held her foot on it for a few minutes. She's a bit young to understand the concept of forward vs. reverse and how one might switch between the two, but she seemed to be enjoying it and kept her foot on the pedal even after driving into a wall. I couldn't believe she was getting it! I thought she had at least another few months before she'd have a handle on it. (Which...she didn't really "handle" it. She refused to put her hands on the wheel if her foot was on the pedal.) While I was cleaning it I saw the original price tag - $150. Awwww yeah.

Now, a few days later, she is inexplicably terrified of the "gas" pedal. Terrified. Won't put her foot near it! When I push it with my hand, she jumps out. GREAT. Probably karma for being so smug about my victory.

On the other hand, she's already taking ownership of her new vehicle. When I flipped it over to look at the battery, she ran into the other room and got our screwdriver, which just blew me away. The connections she makes! She knows everytime I flip something over I'm going to need a screwdriver to change the batteries. My little mechanic.

any stroke'll do

Today we took Sassy swimming. It was the hottest day of the year so far, but we couldn't tell. At first she was very shy about it, acting like she could care less if she ever put more than a finger in the water. I believe she acts more reserved when I'm around, and it drives me nuts. It should be the opposite - mommy's here, I can be brave! - but when Micah tells me stories about the swimming party they went to, it sounds like she was the star of the little swimming show. Today it took fifteen minutes to get her in the water, and that was the baby pool. Like a big bathtub! Get hep, chica!

What has definitely changed as of late is Sassy's interest in other children. She attends daycare part-time and evidently it's helped her. Now she focuses on what the other children are doing, no matter where we go. If they are screaming, she screams. If they are playing with toys, she wants them, which is a potential crisis every time. Try explaining to a less-than-two-year-old that those toys aren't hers. Does not compute. Not when any and every toy she's ever seen (besides at a store) is hers if she wants it. Quick, let's have another kid so we don't raise a brat! AHA! That was the most kiddingest that I ever kidded. Because seriously.

So Sassy climbs out of the baby pool eventually and tears off toward the big pool, lured by the happy shrieks of bigger kids. Immediately she decides she'd rather be in her daddy's arms than mine, which...harumph. I wanna swim with her! I had visions of throwing and swishing her! When I most want her, she wants her daddy. Harumph.

I got her attention with the ol' George Washington "wig." You know, where you flip all your hair to the front and then fold it back? Well. She stared at me like I'd grown a second head, one with bloody fangs and pussy boils, like she was disgusted and genuinely concerned.

"Ha ha! Isn't that funny, Sass?"

Nothing.

"Ha ha! Mama's hair is so funny!"

Nothing. Eyes bugging.

"You don't like the hair?"

"Uh-oh," she finally says, very slowly, pointing at me.

And I proceeded to laugh so loud and long I think I made a spectacle.

something new

Welcome to the new blog! When I saw the postpartum depression-soaked entries that I ended with on the old blog, I thought I'd best just move away. Quickly.

Little Rubber Feet is an homage to my daughter. No one told me that a child's feet feel like rubber when they drag across your skin. This dragging is especially painful when it happens on your own feet. I can't properly describe the pain so I won't even try. Henceforth Little Rubber Feet shall be known here as Sassy.

I manage a stable full of expensive, spoiled, over-fed dressage horses. (Dressage is kind of like horse ballet. It's all about making the horse do very pretty, controlled movements.) Working in a stable is a dream come true, but the compensation is a nightmare. My list of responsibilities stretches on for four (single-spaced) pages. I defy anyone to show me a manager who must do so much for so little. That said, I hope to be there for years and years. I can wear dirty clothes to work. I can bury my face in a horse's soft mane and cry when I'm having a bad day. These are the little pleasures. Did I mention the tractor? I get to drive a tractor! And, you know, do stuff with it!

Besides that I mostly just clean up horse shit. No better shit exists, though, I'm telling you. They eat grass. How nasty can that be? I'd rather muck 20 stalls than clean one litterbox.

In exactly one month we will live in a house at the front end of the gravel driveway that leads back to the barn. "Gingerbread" is how I'd describe the modest, two-story brown house. The living room ceiling is the roof, creating the most lovely, airy feeling. Windows on every wall burst with sunshine. The yard is so big we'll never use it to its full potential (unless we held two simultaneous softball games) though I think I'd be content to fill a small and busy niche with a fire pit, chairs, and tiki torches. A propane grill will be cleaned and moved from the front to the back, and used regularly, for cabobs and pork steaks. A baby pool, one big enough for a few adults, will be off to the side. A hose will stretch perfectly straight out into the yard with a sprinkler at the end. Sassy will never want to come inside. Neither will I, come to think of it.

I'm ready to kiss apartment living good-bye. More like kick it in the nads goodbye. Auf wiedersehen to neighbors yelling, stomping, and feeding the shit-tastic ducks outside our door. Hello, living 300 steps from work! Howdy, little gingerbread dream.

Something new. I need it.