Thursday, February 02, 2006

Grinding the Tranny

We pretty much assumed that life in 10-OC would be at a little slower pace. Time to sit back and watch the grass grow a little. What a welcome respite from the constant on the go caffeine induced driven world of California. We figured it would take a bit of time to acclimate to the new ways of life, but if we were in it with the whole herd there, then it wouldn't be such a stretch to settle into the new routine. Problem is, we are not in Tennessee yet, we are in the fast lane of CA. And trying to have a house built in TN. Our clutch is smoking here.

We received the contract from the builder and real estate agent fairly quickly. We reviewed it, signed it and Fed Ex'd it back faster than I could change a diaper. Then we waited at the window for the Fed Ex truck to return it to us signed by the builder; our approved floor plans in hand, our contract, tract map, CC&R's...the whole thing. And we waited. And we waited some more. Actually we are still waiting. Oh we have gotten word that the terms were great and everyone agreed to them and everything is a go but the contract just hasn't gotten around to being countersigned. What's the rush? Over at the Country Boy we were told a house would be built for us, so let's not sweat the details of actually having a contract. Tennessee is just on a whole other time planet. So the challenge begins for us impatient CA folk wanting to hasten the whole house thing, to the TN folk who want to do it the way it's been done since time began.

Now I have been in similar situations before. I have tried to get 2 year olds to put on their shoes, 3 year olds to sit in a carseat, 8 year olds to do their homework and 12 year olds to get to sleep. I blew a couple of trannies during those times and some gaskets too for that matter. Sometimes one just can't force the issue, especially when the intention is good. Sorta like potty training.

For some reason I have not been blessed so far with a kid who actually cared about using the potty for going potty. They got along with the potty just fine, however. It was great for learning hydrodynamics like if things would sink or float, water suface displacement and the amount of mass needed to hold back 5 gallons of flushing water. But when it came time for thinking outside of the box and actually using the toilet for the intended purpose, well they just couldn't use their imaginations. It was always day after day of my asking, "Would you like a sticker for going potty? Would you rather have chocolate? A new toy? A trip on the space shuttle?" with no result.

So then why would it surpise me when the day came when one would decide on their own to use the potty? Well what I got on one of those delightful days was a 3 year old who just couldn't quite make it in time to "do the doo" in the potty. But not wanting to wake the baby yelling for Mommy for assistance, he instead pulled his half filled pants down to his ankles and hobbled up the carpeted stairs to ask for some help "wiping." What I find down the stairs and hall carpet is a fresh bunny poop and Hershy kisses trail leading to the pot of poop gold, slathered in gooy chocolate brown fingerprints and surrounded by yards of pooped streaked toilet paper which are then knotted up and sealed to the bathroom rug by a runny poop drop stamped in place by the soul of a Blue's Clues shoe. At least the baby was napping.

On 2nd thought, I will wait a little longer for the contracts