The People in Your Neighborhood
Now, I may not have the most commenters or the funniest commenters or the most high-level-intellectual commenters in the vag-osphere (a term I borrow (and edit) with full credit to Julie, who has a pretty solid combination of all-around-excellent commenters herself, and much deserved), but I think you guys--yes, you!--just might be the nicest commenters out there. So thoughtful! So civilized! So polite! I bet you don't talk with food in your mouth, either! (And for that I admit I'm unworthy of you all *monch monch*.) (Do I have shredded wheat in my teeth?)
And while I have you here, may I also say that I'm pretty sure you're the prettiest bunch of commenters I ever did see (yes, even you, T-bone)? Such shiny hair! Such lovely teeth! Why, I bet you showered this morning and everything. Oh, don't be so modest. You smell great! (Again, my August-ripe self is "humbled in your presence." (Such a great line. It worked so well the first time.)
Truly, though, I love having this virtual forum in large part because I bet half of you wouldn't talk to me ever again if I invited you over to my house to discuss sleep training because then you'd know that when I say I haven't showered in four days I really mean I HAVEN'T SHOWERED IN FOUR DAYS. It's one thing to read about, and then possibly imagine, someone's hygiene fail, but it's quite another thing to go sit across from her in a tiny room with poor ventilation. And so, as much as I sometimes wish you all lived on my block and I could pop 'round for a cup of sugar or an earful of parenting advice whenever I was in need, I think this arrangement we have is working out great for everyone, don't you?, so let's not fix what ain't broken and instead just continue to enjoy each other from the comfort of our own, separate homes.
And anyway, now is definitely not a good time to be my neighbor what with the howling that radiates from our house starting at about 7:30 each night. Let me paint a picture: If sound waves were visible, you could see Wombat screaming from space.
I don't know where you live, but in Oakland the houses tend to be fairly close together (twelve? fifteen feet apart?)*, so when someone's baby is having sleep issues, it means we're ALL having sleep issues. Our poor neighbors to the right have us on one side, a week-old newborn across the street, and another baby due in January on the other side, the lucky ducks. I'm just hoping they don't call CPS on us for putting Wombat to sleep every night in his crib of nails, wearing his new crocodile jammies (now with actual crocodiles inside!) because what else could explain such a racket?
Okay, one more thing about sleep training and then I have another neighbor story--a spooky one!--for you: While we were hanging with our friend in Chicago (the one with the 6:30 bedtime twins), he told us we needed to go into sleep training with the right attitude. "Before DVR," he said by way of example, "you were the television's bitch, right?" "Right." "But now that you can record stuff and pause live t.v. and fast-forward through commercials, the television is your bitch." Now he's speaking my language! "The key to sleep training is making the baby your bitch." Not the most tender sentiment, and not one I'm likely to record in my best penmanship in Wombat's scrapbook, but I think he's on to something. Yeah! Take that, baby! Who's your daddy now, bee-yotch? This could make all the difference.
And finally, a (spooky) story about the people who used to live in our neighborhood--or rather, the people who used to live in our house. Last weekend a former resident of our house dropped by to take a peek at the place he'd sold three years ago after having lived here for thirteen. He's the guy who dreamed up the crazy bathroom, cut the porthole in the stairway, planted the yard with one of everything he came across, painted the exterior to resemble a My Little Ponies stable (not on purpose), and spun a frightening web of sub-code electrical behind the attic walls. It's his son's name (the same as a popular sixties socialist folksinger) that's scrawled at different heights up the molding around the front door. (Wombat's name is written there at 21.5 inches from the floor and dated 12/08, for posterity.)
So this guy, who we've heard more than an earful about from people in the neighborhood, most of whom describe him as a "character," drops by randomly on Saturday and Simon of course welcomes him in and says, "Oh, we've heard so much about you; would you like to look around [at our bags from BlogHer still unpacked and spilling swag everywhere]," and the guy says "sure" and steps over the threshold and then do you know what he says the minute he steps into the house? "This house is haunted, you know. I didn't tell the people we sold the house to because of disclosure issues and all, but yeah, there's an old man here who used to sit in the armchair we had where your piano is now. I'd come home from work and he'd just be sitting there smiling."
Huh-what?
Simon retreats to the hall and pulls down our framed portrait of Henry. (Semi-relevant link here, but the short version is that when we bought our house I Googled the address to see what I could find, and one of the things that came up was the name of a bird enthusiast who lived here in the forties. A little more investigation and I'd found his picture, which has since hung in a place of honor in the hallway at the heart of our house. When we told our neighbors about him, they said he was no doubt the old man who was living here when they'd moved in next door during the late sixties. They said he was ancient and alone and his kids never came to visit him (which I took to mean he was a grumpy old fart) and ohbytheway he died in our house.)
So Simon holds out the portrait of Henry for the former resident and he goes, "That's him! That's the old man! I have chills!" We tell him what we know of our dear Henry (all news to him), and he tells us what he knows: that our ghost is a nice old man, always smiling, loves cats and dogs and kids, especially babies.
How about that?
Simon is the biggest nonbeliever that ever nonbelieved--of all the nonbelievers, he's the nonbelievingest--but I...I don't know. I want to believe. As we were in the process of buying our house, I fancied Henry was the hummingbird that would buzz me in the yard (because person-Henry was an amateur ornithologist, see), and I've always wondered whether he, person-Henry, had left any kind of supernatural footprint on the place he'd called home for more than twenty years. So much rennovation has been done that we've given up hope of finding anyone's riches stowed beneath a floorboard, but an old man's spirit in the form of a brave Rufous hummy? I like that idea.
And then there's the strange case of Wombat and the fake laugh. For the past few days he's been ha-ha-ha-ing at absolutely nothing. Now I wonder if it isn't just Henry gently poking the baby in the ribs when I'm not looking.
*My love/hate relationship with House Hunters has everything to do with seeing how different people from different parts of the world judge the fitness of their potential living spaces. For instance, it makes me CAH-RAY-ZEE (but I love it!) to watch a couple burst open the extra-tall double doors to a master suite and then cock their coiffed heads to the side and scrunch their noses in unison and then delcare the space "a little on the small side." To which I say, out loud, in my CAH-RAY-ZEE voice, "Excuse me, but how big is your bed and how many people sleep in it at night because, whoa nelly, that bedroom could sleep an entire family and...Oh. Oh, I see. You never sleep-trained your children and now your six-foot-three fourteen-year-old spends nights splayed like a starfish between you and your husband? Yes. Hmm. No, no judgement here. Whatever works for your family, right? (See, I can be polite too!)
This is such an awesome post - it made me laugh out loud, smile, and even gasp - a haunted house!
And I totally agree about the house hunters statement - I've wondered that myself "besides a king sized bed and a chest of drawers WHAT are you putting in this bedroom?"
I'd love to see a photo of your my-little-pony facade!
I (want to) believe too. I think my grandfather's house has a few spirits, but they have never bothered me. I love that Henry makes Wombat laugh.
I have the same love/hate relationship with House Hunters.
More wacky house pictures!
That sleep training advice made me aspirate my OJ, oh my that's quite funny.
A friendly house ghost?!? How lucky is that! My house was only built 3 years ago, so the best I can hope for is that it was built on a sacred Indian Burial Ground. But then again, I have 2 dogs and 2 cats, and I don't want it to get all Pet Cemetary up in my backyard.
Good luck with the sleep training. MPG is just over 7 months old, and while he has been sleeping for 12+ hours a night since I kicked him out of the bedroom at 2 months, he recently has taken to waking up at 2am screaming loudly. Turns out he was cutting some teeth, but still, no fun.
Henry must love you guys with your baby and two cats. When Wombat starts talking it will be interesting to see if he has an imaginary friend.
Ooooh, yes, I love these spooky ghost story posts. And, out of curiosity, do you think babies who (maybe, possibly, I dunno what to believe) see ghosts remember it later? Or is it such a weirdly natural thing to them that they don't lodge it in their memories as an odd event? Do you read Antonia's blog? She had a ghost stories thread. The strange, the bizarre, the unexpected! (Sorry, I'm the only person left in the world who doesn't know simple html tags.)
http://yetanotherbloomingblog.blogspot.com/2009/06/my-favourite-ghost-story-of-all-time.html
I have the same feelings about House Hunters. As someone who lives in New York City, I literally scream at the TV when the ungrateful couple steps into a brand-new, 3,000 square foot space and declares it 'a bit cramped.' My husband and I are currently house hunting and I'll consider us lucky if we even get a place with a driveway.
The passing mention of hungry crocodiles reminded me of this print&play game: Alligator Eggs!
At the URL: http://worrydream.com/AlligatorEggs/
(would've been in the previous post, but your antispam protection filters anything in angle brackets)
"Yeah! Take that, baby! Who's your daddy now, bee-yotch?"
It's Simon, right?
...
Your "ghost" is the perfect opportunity to perform some SCIENCE! Never talk about the ghost to Wombat. Never mention the name Henry. If, when he's three or four years old, Wombat randomly starts talking about someone named Henry who lives in the house, then you will have proven beyond a shadow of a doubt the existence of ghosts.
And then you should call me, because...lemme tell you something, bustin' makes me feel good.
OMG ghosts scare me so much I'd never be able to sleep in the house again if someone told me that. I'd move that very second. But hey, at least your guy is friendly and likes kids and cats (double score!).
Hi, I pooped my pants at the Henry story.
But srsly, you need to make that ghost your bitch and put him to work making Wombat a better sleeper.
(Just kidding, Henry! Ha ha ha! Do not come haunt my house OMG WTF NOOOOOO)
Ha! I finally made it back here and I'm infamously mentioned in a post. Why; yes I am absolutely a sight to behold at the ripe old age of almost-36. You should see my Facebook page!
Yay for commenter credit! We are sweethearts!
Down? Down? O ye of little faith.
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