Holy internet, Batman.

Son of a bitch, I love the Internet. Who knew in this day and age that it would be so friggin' impossible to have access. As it would happen, the south of Spain hates the Internet even more than the French and Italians do, and at 1 euro for 12 minutes to access the hotel lobby Internet, I decided that I could not put that kind of premium on my Muse (she's a crazy little bitch).



Which all would have been fine, but for the fact that we moved back into our house on Monday and Verizon didn't install the FIOS until this afternoon. Not to mention the fact that my computer is currently sitting somewhere in a box in DC, awaiting customs clearance (I assure you, they have top men looking into it).



So here I sit, with a list of blog topics about 20 items long just not knowing where to start. I can offer a few previews, just to wet your appetite, but I do need to wrap my brain around it all in a more calm and less humid fashion. It might take me a couple of weeks to catch my breath. But as promised, a preview:

1. The Captain loses his best friend, the television;


2. Headbanging - it's not just for teenagers anymore;


3. Luggage carts - they're not just for luggage anymore;


4. From Germany to NY - Sprechen Sie Noisy Toddler?;


5. Like a bull in a china shop - aka, like a Captain in a cheesy tourist shop;


6. A day at the water park, or, the Captain's 18 euro trip to stand in a puddle;


7. Sevilla - "To drive the undrivable streets;"


8. On returning home - house woes, daycare woes, job woes...welcome back Kotter;


9. More fabulous places where strollers suck; and


10. A Spaniard in America...the Captain meets the fast food nation.

Alright, chew on that for a night. Must go watch 700 channels of television, all broadcast in English! My head is spinning. Nighty.

Packing heat.

Yes, we're packing and yes, it's hot, hence the title of an otherwise incoherent post. It's 1:15 am, the Captain's snoozing away in his travel crib, the Dad is packing like a fiend (last minute, naturally), and yours truly is backing up computers...do you know where your children are? So since I lose my Internet connection tomorrow and will likely only have sporadic coverage at best over the next 3 weeks, I want to get in some last licks as a just in case.

On moving. CK came to the realization that "something's up" today when he saw his crib disassembled and most of his toys packed up. In our defense, we have been doing this slowly...a couple more toys each day. But he's been as oblivious to the missing toys as he is to the missing Dog. So it was a bit of a shock when he had a "wait a moment" moment earlier this evening. I took him downstairs to shield him from the trauma, but he pretty much was flipping out and attempted to jump into the pool. He chilled out eventually and seemed amused by the flying nuts and bolts.

On Father's Day. I really should do a much bigger tribute here, but I'm tired and punchy, and have boxes all over the place. So I leave you with this amusing article sent by a half-crazed friend who is studying for the bar exam. It probably helps with your enjoyment to have this bit of information. .

On lead paint. Is it wrong that I find this whole Thomas Train recall so darn amusing? Probably because I don't own any. And don't get me wrong, I have many less than mediocre friends and relatives furiously going through their collections as I type this. But what I find to be such a kicker is that for such an insanely expensive item like Thomas trains they are (a) being produced in China and (b) covered in lead paint. I would kill to know the markup on this junk.

On other crap. I am sure that I will find a minute or two to ramble on some more tomorrow, but it's looking a bit grim. I'm not sure how all my readers will survive without my mediocrity (or at least sporadic slices of it) for the coming weeks, but if it helps you fill the time, I recommend taking up some mediocre activities of your own. Here are some suggestions, but this is by no means an exhaustive list. Feel free to post if you can think of some more, but please keep it absolutely half-assed:

1. Needlepoint;


2. Paint by numbers;


3. Watch seasons 1-8 of Charmed (pretty much what I did my first 6 months here);


4. Read The Bridges of Madison County;


5. Go see an Andrew Lloyd Webber tribute concert;


6. Eat at an Applebees;


7. Attend a Natalie Merchant concert;


8. Sort through, and watch, your VHS tapes;


9. Watch the Higglytown Heroes; or, if you're really feeling saucy


10. Start a crappy blog of your own.

Hopefully, one more blog tomorrow. But if not, have a mediocre Father's Day.

I see grownup people.

It seems to me that Captain Kid has a sixth sense whenever we, his parents, become complacent or let our guard down. Which is why the snowball (or poopball, if you will) of yesterday's disasters seemed that much more sinister, somehow.

First, to set the stage:

• The Dad "conveniently" had to be out of town for a "business meeting" - oddly, somehow this meeting inovolved sailing. Weird.
• The Captain had a case of the runs on Saturday, so we went through two changing pads, had none left, and had a load of laundry on deck. We left the changing pad naked. And just to review, we live in Spain, land of the washer and dryer, hold the dryer.
• We had also changed the sheets on Saturday and Dad decided to pack up all the rest of the bedding. So we had two sets of sheets, one dirty and one on his bed.

Okay, the scene is set. So it must be time for the Captain to show me just how stupid and mediocre I am. Mediocre Mama is blogging away during the Captain's nap and suddenly hears crying. I take a few minutes to follow up and when I get there the Captain is covered head to toe in poop. I move him to naked changing table and this stuff has been stuck on him a good long while because it will not come off, except when it sticks in the grooves of the naked changing pad. I remove my good white shorts and jump in with both hands. It's bad. His legs, his back, his hands, around his mouth (which brings up other horrifying images). I ultimately dunk him in the tub and he's going mental (can't say as I blame him).

So now, in addition to packing, thanks to the Captain's 6th sense and my general overzealousness in packing up his room, I can add to my list of chores for the day cleaning the bedding, his clothing, my clothing, scrubbing down the changing pad and crib, cleaning out the funkified diaper pail, washing out the poop laden tub, all with the Dad at his "business meeting" and me with a cracked toenail.

Maybe the Captain is just smarter than I am. Or maybe it just highlights that for all the control I try to exercise the truth is I have no control. Even if I weren't such a Mediocre Mama, you can think life through on a worst case scenario basis, pack everything under the sun on a road trip, you can be prepared for anything, but shit happens - again and again.

So, I leave you with this - mostly because I can't think of a good way to end this entry, but partially because I'm just cute like that. Just a few song lyrics from one of my favorites by Tom Lehrer -

Be prepared! That's the Boy Scout's marching song,

Be prepared! As through life you march along.

Be prepared to hold your liquor pretty well,

Don't write naughty words on walls if you can't spell.

Be prepared! To hide that pack of cigarettes,

Don't make book if you cannot cover bets.

Keep those reefers hidden where you're sure

That they will not be found

And be careful not to smoke them

When the scoutmaster's around

For he only will insist that it be shared.

Be prepared!

Be prepared! That's the Boy Scouts' solemn creed,

Be prepared! And be clean in word and deed.

Don't solicit for your sister, that's not nice,

Unless you get a good percentage of her price.

Be prepared! And be careful not to do

Your good deeds when there's no one watching you.

If you're looking for adventure of a new and different kind,

And you come across a Girl Scout who is similarly inclined,

Don't be nervous, don't be flustered, don't be scared.

Be prepared!

Don't you hate it when you're so drunk that...

you forget what the hell it was that you wanted to say?


Wednesday night, while celebrating with a group of friends our pending homecoming (or commiserating perhaps?) I came up with a drunken stroke of brilliance for my next post. The next morning, all I could remember was maybe a conversation about shoes. Weird.


So my faithful readers will have to forgive both my absentmindedness and my lack o' posting. First, it's rather irritating typing without this shift key. For the sake of clarity and posterity I am going back through and shifting/editing where I need to. Second, I'm on week 10 of nonstop house guests and have run out of steam for cleaning, typing, touring, planning, cooking, restaurants, the Captain...


So since I have painfully forgotten my fabulous post topic, I now present, for your amusement...

Doorknob, Part Trois

Payback's a bitch, bitch.

How much would you pay for this doorknob? $25? Maybe $50? Well, apparently with the current exchange rate, I would pay $135. Anyone else recall that I'm up to officially 4 broken doorknobs? So with simple math, 4 x 5 is 20, carry the 2, hit my broken shift key and return 4 times....Yep, I spent $1,000 on new doorknobs! Did I mention I was mediocre in math, too?


So, I finally got the call from the doorknob repair mechanic guy and he says he's downstairs, comes up and does a lousy installation job and demands cash payment, then and there. Did I mention that because he showed up without warning I was still in my PJ's? He installed 2 and I managed to beg borrow and steal 200 euros from my cousin, but it still wasn't enough. To make matters even more fun the guy said that unless I gave full payment (214 euros) he wouldn't give me a receipt. I call the property managers and I'm absolutely going nuts and we work something out, blah blah blah. Although now obnoxious useless doorknob installation guy refuses 5 of my euros because it's in change. I say, "but it's money?!" Apparently my money is no good here?


Well, I told the management company that I refuse to pay for their extravagant doorknobs and they told me I could come to the office with my receipt for reimbursement. Today I drag a moody and exhausted Captain to the management company and their response was, "Well, we need to submit it to the owner." Excuse me? Didn't you tell me to drag my ass down here and get reimbursed?


So then the conversation goes like this...

Me - Maica told me to come down.

Them - Well, we're not responsible and we're not the owner.

Me - You hired a guy who did a horrible job, was a complete jerk, and who wouldn't leave my apartment without money, even though he showed up with absolutely no notice.

Them - Well, we're not responsible that the doorknob repairman was a jerk.

Me - You hired the guy.

Them - We are not the owners of the property so we can't pay.

Me - Funny, I'm not the owner of the property either and, amazingly, I did have to pay.


Then, the Captain starts to pull out some rather nudgy and irritated behavior, which was just about perfect timing, because, much like the asshole doorknob repairman, I was not leaving without my 195 euros. Finally they cough it up.


So now we're faced with the following question...should we even bother paying the last month's rent or let them keep the security deposit? If I were in the State's I'd be less likely to take the risk, but I'm in Spain and living on Spanish time and I understand it takes about 6 months to evict someone and so they're probably too lazy to go after us for the money. Based on all the dinks and doohickeys around the apartment that the Captain left I am certain they're going to take the security deposit...maybe I should just make this easier on all of us. Plus, with $300 more dollars worth of doorknobs to install, anyone else think they'll find a way to make us pay for it?


Ah well, I suppose I could always hock some doorknobs to make up for the loss.

Mama if that's moving up then I'm...

Moving out.

As I sit here typing (minus one shift key thanks to a mild temper tantrum the Captain had yesterday), I can't believe I've lived in Spain almost a year to the date and that, sadly, I'll be back stateside in a little more than a month. The Captain was just a wee-Private when we left home and had literally just started to crawl.

Why is that, by the way? Is that the Murphy's Law of toddlers...if you are packing up your entire house and not baby proofed then your toddler is certain to start crawling? It was fabulous.

Anyway, though our departure will be soon, I am certain that our next adventure will give me mucho to blog about (assuming we can get Internet connections where we're heading). This is how the plan is shaking down if we can swing it...

1. Dad works for the next couple of weeks;
2. We attempt a meet up with friends in the south of France for about 5 days;
3. Back to Valencia to pack up, rest up, work and chill;
4. Two weeks traveling around southern Spain by car;
5. Fly home or possibly to my parents house a few hours from home to steal their automobile in the night, seeing as how we sold all our worldly possessions when we moved;
6. Move back into house (which is rented out until June 30th);
7. Dad goes back to his home office; and finally
8. The Mediocre Mama finds a job.

Eek.