16 March 2007
I’m still having a hard time relaxing. It’s odd. Someone as naturally lazy as I am should have relatively little problem being a vegetable, right? What happened to my laziness gene? Has it mutated? Am I becoming some kind of genetically modified freak?

The bank has, without informing us, closed out our loan on the shit heap on the hill. This means that in addition to the double electric, double insurance, double everything we’ve been paying, we now have the entire loan payment to make every month instead of just the interest and the capital on the part that was at 0%. This is in addition to the rent we already pay here, which granted, isn’t very much. But it’s a big fat kick in the nuts while we’re already flat out with the rest of the problems.

Speaking of problems, we’ve had the judgment on the house from the tribunal de grand instance in Chaumont. We won. Anyone surprised? We have to have what they call an expertise judiciaire done and that’s going to set us back another 1500€, supposedly to be reimbursed by the sub-contractor when the expert re-lists all the problems the first expert has already listed, plus all the new problems that have cropped up since. They also have six long months in which to do this, and no, we cannot begin work on the house during that time. In the meantime, said sub is supposed to advance us the meager sum of 20 000€ so things can supposedly begin to happen (like maybe paying a bit of that loan off). This is just an advance—they’re responsible for all the work that needs to be done if the expert finds that they are at fault. The expert also decides how much each problem is supposed to cost to fix. While I’m happy we won, I still get the feeling that we’re going to take this up the ass. I’m waiting for the news that the subs have filed bankruptcy. It’s an SARL, so their financial responsibility is limited to something like 7500€. Any chance of getting any money in that case would just be tossed out the window because France will make sure she gets her money first, and we’d be at the end of the list. Like we were with the builder.

I’m ready to go after every and anyone criminally (builder for operating illegally, sub for operating without proper insurance), but that’s just one of those things that will cost us even more money that we no longer have (because we’ve wasted it all in the shithole on the hill that we’ll—and let’s be perfectly honest—probably never live in. (Ha, Word doesn’t accept shithole as a word and offers the word ‘tithe’ as a substitute. Thank you Mr. Gates for that bit of Comic Relief.)

The crèche has been a life changing ordeal as well. Muppet and Pooplette are both angels when going to bed at night. No longer do we have the half hour ordeal with the Muppet having to pee or needing to do this or that before he’ll lie down and snooze. He just goes to bed. Christine is an angel to put down as well. She’s so tired out from her non-stop world tour in the LARGE! OPEN! SPACES! she gets to wander around in ALL! DAY! LONG! That she SMILES at us when we lay her down in her crib.

Getting them up and ready in the morning is easy now, too. The glimmer of hope that today is one of those days when they get to go play is all it takes to get them moving in the right direction. I feel almost guilty when they don’t go in for the day because they both love the place so much.

Of course, Muppet hasn’t quite realized that the sun does not rise and set on his ass. When he does go in he announces his presence to the entire room as though they should bow down and worship him. The other kids are less than impressed with this delusion of his and tend to ignore him. Muppet is also quite the charmer in a political kind of way. If he wants a bike, for example, he doesn’t push the kid off and then take the bike. He gently tries coaxing the other kid into trying another game or toy, and when that fails, he points out his sister and tries to get the kid to go play with her. He’s smooth. And watching him work the room is like watching Clinton pocket million dollar checks at a fund-raiser. I don’t honestly know whether to be proud or sick.

Pooplette is often the first girl to arrive in the morning, and because of this she has her own fan club. There’s a pack of four boys who follow her around from the moment she arrives to the moment either she or they leave. Apparently she keeps them all in check and asserts herself to make sure that they don’t argue amongst themselves for her attention. Of course, her attention is something precious, fleeting as it is, as there’s all that SPACE! TO! WANDER! IN! Oh, and there’s the stairs leading to the slide, too. That’s a pretty important thing as well. (The slide can drop off the face of the earth as far as she is concerned. But those stairs? Up and down all day long.) Is fourteen months too young to have a fan club? Do I need to worry about her virtue already? I mean I know kids are growing up a lot faster these days, but surely I’ve got some time left to enjoy my little girl before she turns into a young woman, right?

Sadly the attention she receives at the crèche has only made worse her condition, the one where she starts SCREAMING anytime she’s left alone for a split second and continues SCREAMING until she’s loved up and her ruffled feathers are smoothed and caressed away. I really do not like this little bit of her character, but she gives such good hugs that I let her get away with it…for now.

Ebay is still an option, though.

For both of them.

Oh, and maybe the shithole on the hill as well.
posted by Doc at 21:38 | Permalink |


  • At 10:54, Blogger PutYourFlareOn

    I just loved how you described the Creche. Sounds like a great place to be.

    Thank you for your emails as of late, they have been very, very helpful. I'm in the process of responding, I better hurry up, the baby comes on Tuesday! :)

  • At 16:30, Anonymous jessica

    That sounds kind of F-ed up. Can the bank really do that without telling you first?? shite.

  • At 20:26, Anonymous Catherine

    I'm having that can't-relax-for-the-life-of-me problem, too. Only in my case, the doctors could care less.

    Take it easy over there, babe.