The other night as I was putting my daughter to bed, I gave her a kiss on one cheek, and then for some reason I gave her a kiss on the other cheek as well. I told her, “That’s how French people kiss – once on each cheek.”

In hindsight I should have said that’s how European people kiss, not just the French. I know some Brits and some Belgians who do the double cheeker. Come to think of it, wealthy people from the East Coast do it too. At least, that’s what I learned from my interactions with NYC socialites…and by this, I mean watching Real Housewives of New York City.

Anyway, point being – there is another method of kissing that is commonly referred to as “French,” which I should have considered before I said it.

So I introduce her to the fancy ‘French’ double cheek kiss, and then she says, “Uncle G taught me how to kiss like French people at his wedding.”

This sends my husband and I into chuckles, given the other form of French kissing and how absurd it sounded coming from her. (Background: G married my sister a few months ago. He travels to France a lot, so my daughter automatically associates him with anything and everything French.) Not to mention I knew there was no truth even to the cheek version of it because at least half of what she says these days is a fib.

After we finish putting her to bed, I figure it would be funny to share this story with my sister. I send her a text that says, “[Kid X] said G taught her how to kiss like French people at your wedding.”

I should’ve known better.

Three minutes later I get a text back that says,”G says, “What? I did not!” I believe him, but you may call to interrogate if you wish. I don’t think they were ever alone together.”

Perhaps it’s because I know her so well, but I could instantly sense the defensive and slightly panicked tone underlying her text. And can I blame her? Poor thing was probably horrified that I seemed to be accusing her husband of something pretty heinous.

I quickly responded and assured her we knew it wasn’t true, that the kid thinks a ‘French kiss’ is a double cheeker, yada yada. Apparently G had visions of my husband punching him in the face. Awkward family tragedy averted.

Fast forward to today, when I’m snuggling on the couch with my daughter, and she tells me she wants to kiss like French people. Oh Lord.

I know I need to clarify this one before she takes it much further. I can just imagine how concerned her teachers will be tomorrow if she tells them her mom taught her how to French kiss.

But this morning, on the couch, I felt too tired to bother. I’m also afraid it might require me to explain that there is another, different type of ‘French kiss’ – one where people stick their tongue in each other’s mouth – which, c’mon, sounds pretty gross no matter how old you are. And frankly, knowing my 4-year-old, I am confident she will want to try it immediately.

So instead I leaned in and gave her a peck on the left, then a peck on the right, and snuggled up. C’est bon.

A few years ago my husband pointed out that I have a tendency to leave drawers and cabinet doors slightly ajar. He was quite frustrated by it, which I found amusing (I mean, this is the man who leaves his dirty boxers on the floor every day without hesitation). I also didn’t really believe him. But then I started to notice it, so I made a conscious effort to stop.

Then the other day I walked into the kitchen and saw this:

It’s baaack. So I wondered – why the hell don’t I close those things all the way? What is happening in my brain that stops me from going that last half inch?

So I paid attention the next time I was in the kitchen preparing dinner. The sequence of events was something like this:

• Grab can opener for the beans from top drawer.
• Begin to push drawer closed…”Mommy I’m all done!”
• Exit kitchen to wipe child’s butt on the toilet.
• Return to kitchen. Where was I… Ah yes. Dump beans in pot.
• Open spice drawer. Grab cumin and chili powder.
• Begin to close drawer…”Waaaaa waaaaaaaaaaa.”
• Rush to find baby stuck on her stomach. Roll her back over.
• Return to kitchen. Where was I…Ah yes.
• Open other drawer to get measuring spoons.
• {Sound of kid 1 grunting as she pushes kid 2’s exersaucer across the floor…with kid 2 in it}
• Rush to stop this madness.

Aaaand you get the point. I rarely complete an action or thought. That’s the nature of parenthood. I’m actually surprised by how well I’ve adjusted to this constant state of interruption. Perhaps I’ve adjusted too well.

It goes beyond drawers and cabinets.

I started a family photo wall project. The empty frames sit collecting dust because I haven’t had a chance to pick the photos.

I’ve started two different books in the past few months. I let so much time lapse between readings that I always need to re-read the previous pages to remind myself where I left off. And then I fall asleep before I get any further. It’s like Groundhog’s Day.

I have a button sitting on top of my microwave that I’ve been meaning to sew back on my sweater. For 3 weeks.

And don’t even ask about the office, where I discovered I have a hoarding problem a couple months ago.

Part of my problem has to be sleep deprivation, right? I haven’t clocked more than 3 consecutive hours in 6 months. The fog covering my brain feels much thicker this time than it did with kid #1.

But I am going to turn this ship around.

Today I plan to clean my drawers and make room for summer clothes (we are finally breaking 60 degrees in Seattle – woot!).

And this weekend I am hellbent on conquering the office. It must happen, or we are at risk of losing a small human in that mess.

I am instituting a greater degree of self discipline. I will wake earlier if I need to in order to actually complete things. I must check at least a few things off my list. I need to prove to myself that I can complete something before I

As I’ve taken on the cooking role in our household, I’ve found many, if not most, of my recipes online. Allrecipes is my favorite.

Given my lack of cooking skills, I require and appreciate the very specific directions supplied in a recipe. I follow them exactly. Isn’t that the purpose of a recipe to begin with?

So I have been mystified and irrationally bothered by the improvisation displayed by so many people who “follow” recipes and then review them online.

For example – this broccoli side dish (for now please ignore the embarrassing simplicity of this dish and the fact that I actually had to look up instructions to figure out that broccoli might taste good with oil and salt).

One reviewer said the following:

• “The only thing I did differently was use fresh broccoli and cooked it using a little bit of leftover bacon drippings. AMAZING”

Are you effing kidding me?! You could put bacon drippings on cat shit and it would taste ‘AMAZING.’ Come on, people. You did not follow this recipe!

And then there are people like this guy, providing a review of a chicken piccata recipe:

• “I have not made this yet…..some quick thoughts.”

Wait, what? You haven’t even made it but you’re going to weigh in?! The nerve! He continues:

• “To stop the bitterness do not add the lemon slices to cook with the sauce, use lemon zest and finish with the butter, the white pith is what is making it bitter.  Add lemon slice when serving.  I also am going to try grilling the chicken and making just a quick lemon pan sauce with shallots, white wine, perhaps a riesling or pinot grigo and garlic, however; no chicken broth.  I would not cut into medallions leave in breasts in tact.  To thicken maybe a little cornstarch and water if necessary.  I will let you know how it turns out. After making this, the grilling part probably not needed, pan frying would have been fine.  The sauce I made was great only wish it had made more.  Cornstarch not necessary.  But a great recipe!”

What the hell?! He says it’s a great recipe and he hasn’t even tried it??? And he suggested 8 modifications?

This kind of rule-breaking is rampant on recipe websites. Someone needs to get the Internet police involved.

If you have modified a recipe to the extent that it takes you more than one sentence to share your comment, then I think you should be forced to submit it as a new recipe entirely.

As an entry-level cook, I find recipes overwhelming enough as it is. Please do not present me with a billion variations to confuse me even further. I have tried modifying things and it has not turned out well. It also makes me sweat a lot. And I do not like to sweat while I eat. Unless it’s a spicy Thai dish and I’m wearing a tank top.

Both of my kids have had an intolerance to dairy and soy as infants. Which has been a real pain in the keester when trying to feed myself while breastfeeding.

Fortunately thanks to the uprising of the anti-glutenites, there are even more options available now than there were four years ago for those with sissy tummies, I mean dietary issues.

Here are 5 of my favorite dairy-free, soy-free snack foods. Emphasis on snacks. Because when I’m breastfeeding I find myself hungry damn near all the time. And it’s exacerbated when I can’t eat rich dairy foods (cheese…oooh how I long for cheese) which would normally stick with me and make me feel full for longer. So these are my alternative grab-n-go foods and/or indulgent treats.

I realize there are no fruits or vegetables on this list. I whole-heartedly advocate for baby carrots as a healthy snack. But that would be a boring list.

1. Lara Bars. Sweet geezus I wish I had invested in this company before I gave birth. I eat at least one every day. This was the floor of my car the other day:

Not all were consumed in one sitting, but they are never far from reach. My favorites are Banana Bread, Cashew Cookie and Peanut Butter Cookie. Satisfying without making me feel like I ate a brick.

2. Trader Joe’s Peanut Butter Filled Pretzels. Initially I was dipping pretzels in PB from the jar (peanut butter is my new cheese). But that’s not very portable. So when I found these I was delighted. I’m sure there are other brands, but at least one – Costco’s – has soy in it, so I have stuck with these. (I couldn’t find a link to these on the TJ website, but there was a bag being sold on ebay – what the hell? – so I linked to it.)

3. Enjoy Life Snickerdoodles. Desserts are one of the hardest things to find when you can’t have dairy. I had all but given up. Then my husband bought me these on Mother’s Day. I ate the WHOLE EFFING BOX in one day. I mean, it was Mother’s Day. And that’s what happens when you go without something for too long. B-I-N-G-E. Trader Joe’s also makes a similar kind, but Enjoy Life is softer, and therefore slightly better.

4. Gluten-Free Granola. As mentioned, thanks to the gluten nerds for bringing allergen-free foods mainstream. Trader Joe’s makes it, but I’ve also bought Bakery on Main brand in the local grocery store. A good backup when I’ve OD’d on Lara Bars. (Again, I couldn’t find a link on the TJ site so I linked to Amazon selling it…? You have an interesting distribution strategy, Joe the Trader.)

5. Earth Balance Dairy and Soy Free Butter. I eat this by the spoonful. Just kidding. This one is not a snack itself, but is a snack enabler. It’s been great to have for baking and as a butter substitute in recipes. My husband thinks it tastes funky and is too abnormal to be good for us, but I don’t care. I have enjoyed having ‘butter’ for tasty treats like cinnamon toast and rice krispie bars.

I also found a few websites this time around that were helpful – Dairy Free For Baby (this is where I found the fabulous banana bread recipe) and About.com’s Dairy Free Cooking (if it calls for soy I either substitute or skip it – there are plenty of non-soy options on here too).

I fully intend to start eating dairy again once I’m able, but I will say there have been two unintentional side effects of not eating it.

1) Weight loss. I’m pretty sure dropping dairy is largely responsible for losing my pregnancy pounds so quickly. Of course I know from the first time around that my ass will puff right back up as soon as I get back on the cheese wagon.

2) Smooth moves. This is code for ‘more regular bowel movements’ – or at least that’s what I assume from the herbal tea that goes by this name and is designed to alleviate constipation. Not that I would know personally. I just saw it on the shelf once. Er, anyway.

All I know is my pipes have never been cleaner. I attributed this solely to the effects of nursing with my first daughter. It wasn’t until I had #2 (poop pun!) that I read another blogger praising her dairy-free lifestyle for regulating her bowels, and I put 2 & 2 together (poop pun!), and realized oh – that’s why.

I’m pretty sure this post has crossed far too many lines now.

The End.

I love unicorns as much as the next guy, as per my favorite socks, but I find it mildly unsettling when they make their way into educational toys.

For instance, this alphabet toy. It has animals for every letter – great way to help kids learn not only their letters, but animals too. It has a few obscure animals like Newt and Vulture – fun opportunity to teach kids about a wider array of species.

But the animal it has for U is Unicorn.

Is there not an actual living creature we can put here instead? Couldn’t this be misleading – insinuating that unicorns are part of the same animal kingdom as cows, leopards and elephants?

Here he is again in this preschool workbook by Mead.

Is this just me? Am I spending far too much time at home playing with toys? Very possible. But wouldn’t it be odd if there were jackalopes in these learning toys?

So I went looking for alternatives. Side note: I google’d “animals that start with u” and got numerous websites discussing this topic. Is that not fascinating in an incredibly boring way that so many people have cared enough to address it? Who the hell is writing the Internet anyway.

Urial, unau, uakari, uraster… I have no idea what any of these are. Isn’t at least one of these part of the human bladder? I’m so confused. What was the purpose of this blog post again?

Dinner and bedtime are perhaps the two most dreaded parts of many parenting days. The pain of these is magnified tenfold when your spouse is out of town on a work trip (shout out to the single parents who live it daily).

Preparations began yesterday with meal planning. Pick something the preschooler enjoys – this will eliminate mealtime battles. A pasta casserole – check.

Spend this morning at the grocery store purchasing supplies. Spend the afternoon cooking the casserole, which for some reason took twice as long as it did last time. Perhaps because every two minutes you are running to fetch the infant who has started to roll continously from one end of the living room to the other. Oh look – some dangling cords for her to roll into. Add babyproofing to the to-do list.

Pick the older child up from school. Hold breath and hope to hell she is in a good mood. She sees you enter. She runs in the other direction. Not a good sign. Whining commences the moment she hits the car seat. Does not end until she has the iPad in her hands at home to watch “Little Bill.” Necessary, Mommy tells herself.

Dinner begins. Ends 30 seconds later when child declares disgust for casserole.

Mother knows trying to bathe both children would be ludicrous, so goes ahead and fills the tub. Kid 1 steps foot in bath when kid 2 awakes crying from nap. Fastest bath in the history of ever takes place.

Mom hears kid 2 struggling in crib, rushes in to find her smothering herself with a blanket. Then hears kid 1 cry from the draining tub, rushes back to find her distraught by a case of accidental face submersion = water in the nose.

Mom asks kid 1 to put on her pj’s while she quickly bathes kid 2. Thirty minutes later, a naked kid 1 has seemingly found a vial of cocaine somewhere because she is racing around the house like a mad woman, singing Chinese showtunes (or thereabouts).

Eventually kid 2 is asleep, and kid 1 is quietly playing in her room, so Mommy sneaks into the kitchen to eat a cookie to refuel her for the final 20 minute push of book reading.

The moment Mommy sits on the bed to begin, kid 1’s frighteningly-sensitive snack radar goes off and she leans in to sniff Mommy’s breath. “WHAT DID YOU EAT. Your mouth smells like…chocolate? I want some.”

Mommy can’t help grinning just a tad. She regrets it immediately, knowing the perceptive child will recognize this as an admission of guilt. She attempts to distract the child with small talk. No luck. “WHAT DID YOU EAT?” The child’s intensity is mostly amusing, slightly alarming.

Phone rings. It’s Dad calling to say goodnight. Successful distraction. Tragedy averted.

One hour later, Mom clears a spot on the crap-filled table to place her computer and glass of wine. Pats self on back. Two nights down, two left to go.

I don’t have any major highs or lows from the past week – just a bunch of mediums.

I didn’t make anything new that was tasty. I’ve gotten to the point where I’m now recycling recipes. Made meatloaf. Again. Made tortilla soup. Again. Made apple crisp. Again.

All were as good on round two, but lacked the thrill of their initial debut.

The one dish I made anew was a real testament to my inability to use spices. In the crockpot I threw two chicken breasts, a can of diced tomatoes, chicken broth, diced peppers, and about two shakes of oregano. Almost as tasty as a damp towel.

My husband came home late that night. I was rocking the baby to sleep and could hear him load up his plate in the kitchen, walk downstairs to eat it, then immediately walk back upstairs and shake the life out of the salt and pepper trying to revive that dish.

I have not felt very inspired on the cooking front. What if I already peaked with the gyro meat? What if it’s downhill from there, back to bag meals and butter noodles?

I would attempt to find a new meal to conquer this coming week, but my husband will be out of town on business for his longest stretch ever, so I’m just going to stock up on PB&J and pray I survive.

In other news, I think my former coworkers discovered this blog. If I’m right, maybe one of them can comment on this post and tell me how awesome it is.

On the craft front, I’ve been similarly uninspired lately. In an attempt to find something new, I pulled out a Barbie coloring book that my mom bought my daughter last year. It entertained her for a bit, but I couldn’t help feeling a bit leery about it.

Barbie is like the anti-Christ for a lot of parents. I played with Barbies and think I turned out OK, but there is undeniably something hooch-ish about that girl.

Why yes, my skirt is see-through.

I gave her the benefit of the doubt because my daughter was having fun decorating her with stickers and clothes. But then my husband got involved.

As he chose a dress to stencil on Barbie, he commented on how nicely it hugged her hips, and kept asking me what it’s called when a dress gathers around a waistline (ruching). Next he put Barbie in some thigh-high black boots to accentuate her “nice long legs.” Then he brought her into the kitchen to show me the finished product, and joked that maybe I should get an outfit like hers.

That sealed the deal. I threw that homewrecker and her trampy coloring book in the garbage the next day when the kid wasn’t looking.

Back to the safety of Minnie Mouse and her nonthreatening, oversized mitten hands.

Although it looks like even Minnie can’t resist sexing it up now and then.

She is totally flirting here, right?

Seriously, what do you think is under those mittens? Why can’t she take them off even at the beach? Webbed fingers? And actually now that I see her giant club feet in those flip-flops, I’m even less concerned about her stealing my man. Granted, I have Paul Bunion, but homegirl has a bit of sasquatch in her.

I quit working to spend more time with my kids, but another benefit has been the ability to untether myself from what had become a suffocating case of information overload. I was a slave to email, and the churn of messages in my inbox made my head spin. My smartphone and laptop were always within reach, and I felt a constant need to check for new messages – always in fear I would miss something.

I felt like my email owned me. It was a gravitational pull, always sucking me back in.

SSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHHHLLLLLLUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRR (this is a huge sucking noise)

It has been so liberating to disconnect from that side of life and regain control of some of my time.

But now that I’ve been home for a few months, I’ve noticed a transference of some of those work ties to other demands. There’s always another load of laundry that can be done. The house is never clean. I swear within minutes of drying the last dish the counter is filled again with more. And perhaps most unexpected – I have a new and different relationship with technology as I’ve dipped my toes into Twitter and this here blog.

The social media director at my job was so frustrated by my failure to use Twitter. But at the time I felt like my brain was already so maxed out, I truly could not open one more stream of information to manage.

Now that I’m using it for personal reasons, I’m enjoying it. Useful parenting tips, smart women who inspire and motivate me…not to mention last week when my daughter’s daycare was on lockdown with a deranged gunman on the loose nearby, I got the fastest updates by following it on Twitter.

I have also learned new words like “Amazeballs,” and have a new tendency to say “BOOM” when I want to emphasize something. Very handy.

However – all of these new demands, including the Twitter, can feel like they are pulling you in a million directions in any given day, let alone the needs of the two children you are supposed to be spending more time with.

Some days I have started to hear it again …. sucking me ….

SSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHHHLLLLLLUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRR

So yesterday morning when I started following @Submommy, I clicked on her blog and had a much needed face slap. The first post I read was this one – Play With Me Mommy? – a sweet recap of how she prioritized time with her son. It hit so close to home that I immediately shut off the computer, turned off the TV my daughter was watching, and said to hell with the mess in the kitchen.

We proceeded to have a fabulous craft party where we made a robot suit and hand puppets. That was followed by a scrumptious tea party where we built a train of desserts. And then a dance party where she laughed far too hard at my moves.

It was probably only 45 minutes of play until the baby woke up and we were then on the go, but for those 45 minutes she had my full attention and I could tell she loved it. As did I – it was actually easier to enjoy playtime when I had chosen to focus on it.

So thanks @Submommy for the reminder about what is important (surely there is some irony in me finding inspiration online to get offline, but whatevs).

I realize I need to put more intention around how I manage my new set of life demands. Stop trying to clean every mess as I pass it – set a specific day or time to do it. Pick a day where I focus on household bills and organizing so it’s not always hanging over my head. And be OK with staying in the JV league of Twitter users, using it when time allows, but not at the expense of quality time with my kids.

In short, YOU WILL NOT OWN ME, TWITTER – I WILL OWN YOU.

Because in the end, will I wish I had read a few more funny tweets, or will I wish I had enjoyed a few more tea parties?

Last night I met up with some former coworkers, including a few who had flown in from Europe for a big client meeting. One of them has two young sons (we joke that our children will marry someday…I am actually somewhat serious – surely European men are more chivalrous than American, non?) and she was asking me how it felt to stay home.

She and I worked closely for 3+ years right after I returned from my first maternity leave. We had a huge demanding new client, I had a new baby, and they were easily some of the toughest times of my life. So I always feel a close bond with her that we somehow managed to survive.

But we are also very different, in that she is always operating at 100+ miles per hour. She thrives on it. She’s crazy smart and successful, and has endless amounts of energy. Even when she was on maternity leave, she was responding to emails at an hourly rate. In the middle of the night. She truly cannot unplug or slow down.

I, on the other hand, loved to unplug from work when I could. When I hit the “off” button, sometimes I worried I would forget to turn it back on. I was desperately craving a slower pace and near the end, was struggling to give a damn about going to work.

So when she tells me she is curious because she has considered if she should stop working too, part of me wants to tell her, “Yes! It’s the best! More time with the kids, more time to just be, and enjoy the little things.”

But knowing her, and knowing that some days I even struggle with the change of pace or the monotony of staying home, part of me thinks I should tell her, “Dear Lord do NOT leave your job. You will go insane at home.” But that sounds horrible or like a huge judgmental assumption, doesn’t it?

I think I may have inadvertently addressed the issue and thwarted her interest anyway, when she asked, “So what do you DO all day? What’s a typical day look like?”

I felt pretty well occupied up until a couple weeks ago, but admit that recently I have been asking myself the same question.

So my response?

“I made gyro meat.”

What the hell? She just stared at me for a second. So I continued to blather on about how exactly I made it, as if it was riveting.

She and the others were very sweet and supportive of this landmark achievement, but there was an undercurrent of “Geezus that sounds dreadful” in the air. Who knows – maybe that’s just what I was thinking.

I’m just glad I didn’t tell her I’ve also been taking pictures of my cooking by the toilet and then putting them on the Interwebs.

Either way, I need to work on my talking points for the next time I get that question. And I think I’m ready to find a few out-of-the-house activities to engage in.

BUT – most importantly, let me show you a picture of that gyro meat. Because seriously – it was impressive.

That just looks like a big turd. Let me show you another one – as served on the plate.

Good job, me.

This is a cautionary tale.

After much deliberating, this weekend we bought a swingset/play structure off Craigslist. This was my idea, as I thought it would be a great way to occupy our oldest daughter now that she’s home more often. My husband was not a fan of junking up the yard, but eventually came around.

And therein lies the trouble – this was my idea. Sooo the shit-show that ensued was therefore my fault.

Turns out the swingset, which looked legit in pictures, was homemade. Which means while it was lovely and sturdy, there was no thought put into the placement of screws for disassembly, let alone reassembly. The wood had also rotted in spots that were not visible until you started taking it apart.

My husband spent a miserable 5 hours wacking that thing apart on Saturday. And I mean wacking – he had to use a sledgehammer. I only witnessed the first hour, but within that hour I saw him go from casually unscrewing and hammering to an all-out bludgeoning. It wasn’t pretty.

Further dampening the experience – the husband of the family selling the swingset would not help us AT ALL. The wife was very nice and chatty, but when I asked if her husband might be able to help lift a heavy piece into the truck, she explained that he “doesn’t really like Craigslist” so didn’t want to get involved. WTF THEN SELL YOUR SHIT AT A GARAGE SALE, BUDDY.

She also mentioned that he didn’t want to be liable for anything. This, in hindsight, should’ve set off alarm bells. I’m guessing that wise guy knew it wasn’t going to come down, or go back up, very easily. But even so, I cannot believe he had the balls to sit in his house watching TV while some poor guy slaved away for 5 HOURS in his yard, and he never bothered to come out and offer help. Or even a glass of water.

Adding to the fun, our truck was too small to hold this massive beast. So we had to leave part of it behind to come get the next day.

Fast forward 4 nerve-racking hours after I left the scene, and my husband finally pulled the truck into the driveway with a million pieces of wood strapped in the back, and the biggest scowl I have ever seen on his face.

He said he didn’t blame me, instead he blamed himself for not paying more attention to the details beforehand. But there was clearly some tension in the air. He also had a lot of time alone with his thoughts, because he kept mumbling that he “learned his lesson” and was now going to “take control of his life.” I kept asking for explanation, but he just repeated himself and stared creepily out the window. I seriously thought he might have gone a wee bit insane. Then I realized he had nothing to eat or drink since lunch, so gave him dinner and some time alone. He proceeded to sleep on the couch in the basement that night.

In the end, he says he will need to re-build about half of the structure where the wood had rotted or is just not usable. My mother, bless her heart, thinks we should take them to small claims court for selling us something that is unsafe for kids. I had to explain that this is Craigslist, not Sears. I think the refund policy is more along the lines of “Go ahead, try to get your money back, and maybe I won’t cut your throat.” No thanks.

Meanwhile our backyard is littered with boards that have rusty nails sticking out of them, and has been cordoned off to kids for the foreseeable future.

On the upside, we decided not to return and pick up the piece that we left in their yard. They are on the verge of moving and needed it gone, so this is our small, but meaningful, way of saying, “WE WON’T DO ALL YOUR DIRTY WORK, JACKHOLE.”

If I could share any takeaways from this experience, they would be:

1. Ask if a swingset is homemade and/or has instructions before you buy
2. Ask if the owner will be able to assist in disassembly. Or, assume you should bring another set of helping hands other than your wife who has not lifted a weight since 2006.
3. Pay by check, not cash, if you can (just in case you want some recourse)
4. Bring the biggest possible truck to minimize tear down
5. Don’t bother. Just go to the park.

I think we are finally starting to recover from the emotional trauma of the past 48 hours. As I said to my husband, “I’m sure we will laugh about this someday.” His response, “Not today. And probably not tomorrow.”