Keeping it Down

I have not kept my resolve to write every day. It has been 12 days since my last post and 10 since I wrote anything coherent. The day after I made my grandiose commitment it was rainy and dreadful. I spent all my time and energy keeping McKenzie busy and myself sane. I wrote a little diatribe against the rain, which I didn't think anyone would find interesting. The next day I wrote a few paragraphs from McKenzie's perspective about the baseball games. She woke up from her nap before I finished. It's cute, but "half-baked," as they say.

I have been rather busy since. Josh left on a seven day road trip last Monday. McKenzie and I spent the entire day looking fruitlessly for a pair of little white sandals. Apparently summer is officially over here and the stores are putting out winter apparel. Considering that they have had bikinis out since January, it makes perfect sense to put away summer stuff in the middle of June, I suppose.

The following day we had a disastrously poopy experience at the mall, which included a very dirty baby, a dirty stroller, a dirty car seat, dirty shoes, and dirty everything else. It was an exhausting afternoon. The day after that my friend Maria came over to listen to the baseball game and eat dinner with us, and the day after that McKenzie and I drove six hours to meet Josh for his birthday in Connecticut, which involved driving through New York City and paying over $30 in tolls to travel on the freeways, which are not free.

We arrived late in the afternoon, long after Josh went to the field, so we went and toured Mystic Seaport and devoured a hamburger at Five Guys Burgers and Fries (Probably the best burger joint ever. Sorry In-and-Out Fans). The Seaport was quaint and interesting and really a must see if you are ever in Connecticut. McKenzie and I enjoyed it immensely. That night after the game we followed the bus to New Britain, CT where we spent Friday and Saturday.

Sunday was my birthday. After breakfast and packing up, McKenzie and I waved to Josh as he headed to the field with the team. We filled up the gas tank and started south. Thankfully it was not foggy as it had been on Thursday and I was able to see the skyline as I drove through New York City. Hopefully we'll get to experience the city some day. We made it home around 4:30 that afternoon.

Grocery shopping, laundry, dishes, and unloading the car occupied the next several hours. Maria dropped by after work to deliver a birthday card and gift. She and I are the only girls here "full-time." She is really a pleasure to be around and I am so thankful for her friendship. I had just made a pot of coffee, so she drank a cup with me. Shortly after, the guys arrived. It was about 10:30 pm. They had made good time, but had not stopped for dinner. Josh was hungry, so we came home and had quesadillas and beans.

That brings us to yesterday, an off-day and the day we had officially set to celebrate our birthdays, which never fail to fall on road trips. We did lots of nothing, which was plenty. We ate good food, took naps, and only left the house twice: once for half an hour to drive five minutes to Kohl's and once for Josh and McKenzie to go to the grocery store to get a corkscrew to open my birthday bottle of wine.

While they were gone, I made dinner. Afterwards, we sat on the balcony. Josh smoked a cigar. I sipped my wine. McKenzie couldn't decide whether to be in or out. She did both, depending on the moment. Suddenly, there was a rap, rap, rap on the door.

"Josh, someone just knocked on the door. Go get it," I whispered.

He answered the door. All I could hear was a woman's voice and a "uh, huh. o.k.," from Josh.

"Who was that?"

"The neighbors downstairs asked that we keep the noise down."

"Keep it down" I hissed. "Are you serious? The most noise we ever make is when McKenzie trips and falls and what exactly am I supposed to do about that?"

"I know."

"This is an apartment for pity sake, not a spa. I put up with our neighbors running their steamroller vacuum over the floor at all hours of the day and night, hearing rap music blaring through my bathroom wall at obscene hours, and waiting for the local herd of wildebeests to come stampeding out of the stairwell and through the kitchen wall after school lets out. That doesn't include the yelling of profanity at two in the morning or the lady who bellows and guffaws into her phone in the hallway at midnight. If they want to hear loud, I can show them loud."

"Why don't you answer the door next time?"

"No. That would not be a good plan. They might get an earful."

I was furious. My devilish self wanted nothing more than to do a rousing set of calisthenics, jumping and stomping with all the force I could muster right in the middle of the living room. Thankfully, grace won out and the Holy Spirit happily restrained me from such antics. I just sat there, sipping my wine and fuming.

By the time I went to bed at 11:00 I was still upset about it, and as you can see, am not quite over it. What absolutely galls me is the presumption that one deserves quiet continuously in an apartment. Quiet+apartment= an oxymoron. By moving into an apartment we waive our rights to a certain level of peace, tranquility, and even to some extent privacy. If absolute quiet is necessary, one ought not to live like a bologna sandwich, stacked layer upon layer upon layer with other people.

With that, I will sign off for the day. McKenzie just waltzed out of her room, apparently done with her nap. She needs a fresh diaper. Clean laundry is cascading off the chair and the floor is checkered with crumbs. Work calls from every corner. The game starts in an hour and a half and I need to run to Target for shaving cream, soap, etc., etc., etc. I must be up and doing.