Saturday, April 8, 2017

Mounting the Vernal Vernon




When I was in fifth grade, I made the mistake of proclaiming that George Washington was "a famous person born in Washington State" during a class exercise. Humiliation abounds, I know. I knew at that age that Washington State was not founded until long, long after the Revolutionary War. I knew this. But I also knew that he was born in Mt. Vernon.

And I knew that my cousins lived in Mt. Vernon.

Washington.

So... brain connections occurred and relevant information informing me that there might be more than one Mt. Vernon were omitted.

And that is what I often think of first and foremost when I think MOUNT VERNON!!! The shame and humiliation of such erroneous assertions for a shy young nerd.

I suspect many more memories will supplant this over time. But I'll always be bitter about "the other Mt Vernons" out there.

However, I have officially embraced the true Mount Vernon as my own. After one huge surge of rushing, panicking, and oh so much unwanted crap still following us "home" (while sliming itself all over ex-home as well), we've made the move. And we're about as unpacked as anyone with a toddler ever could claim to be. Sure there's junk everywhere. Sure, we have no idea where anything really is. But, again: toddler. She's just well enough acquainted with home that she's figured out how to use our sink to spray water across the kitchen, and to identify all the particularly dangerous ledges worth scaling. Life is back to ordinary chaos.



The day itself was smoother and rougher than anticipated. I had grand plans that were mostly intended to stem some of the stress. Andrew took Chaya out in the morning while my mom and I rushed around the house putting things into predesignated boxes (with color colded tape). We took down all the most vital stuff and packed them into our cars. We started the wash. We started the dishwasher. And we... ran out of time. Andrew came back. Chaya wanted mommy. Or Gramma Pam. Or everyone. A little more got done, but much was left out. And the washer/dishwasher didn't finish in time. I passed out some requests to Andrew as he scurried about with the movers identifying what should or should not come (much of which I vociferously corrected or altered, having had the philosophy that less was more, and whatever wasn't identified overtly should simply stay put). The ladies got out of the way and set up what we could in the new house.


We had "lunch" (a couple of luna bars and a banana) and went to the Skagit Children's Museum. I had thought we may stay there for most of the day, but turned out (1) Andrew didn't feel comfortable unloading the dishwasher, (2) Andrew hadn't understood my request to get the sheets and blankets out of the washer, (3) Andrew thought we had the wireless router. So instead, Chaya actually ended up getting a nap as we returned to Bellingham for another emergency round of box packing and car-loading. There was a ton remaining. Even after we did our part, Andrew spent the better part of the next day going through and packing up more stuff I had never really dealt with. Almost entirely junk, but needed sorting.

And we've been here just over a week. Chaya actually slept pretty well the first couple of days. The last couple have been a little less awesome, but this is likely due to any number of the usual suspects (and the lingering paranoia that she's finally caught the stomach bug that every single child who has a playdate with her succumbs to roughly 12-24 hours after hanging out with her).




 I know where the Fred Meyer's is. I know where the playgrounds are. I have some ability to cobble together an outdoor walk when the weather permits. Just call me a native.



Fred Meyer's is an easy one. But now that we're hereabouts - and far away from the Canadian shopping paradise that is Meridian in Bellingham - it's time to embrace the Costco. And we are now members. Gulp. Not as easy.

There are two kinds of white NPR-guzzling-coffee-dazed-upper-middle-class-tree-hugging-liberal bubblelites: Those who shop at Trader Joe's, and those who shop at Costco. Ok, a lot of us do both. But there's a primary shopping style that will agree with one and not the other. Canadians flock to our Costco's and TJ's with the same strategy in mind. They load up the giant SUV and buy all the things

But for me, Trader Joe's had a more urban approach: go often, buy small and frequent snacks, frozen goodies, and pre-prepared vegetables. Rinse Repeat. TJs is somewhat a microlevel grocery store, while Costco is the shopping equivalent of either (pick your analogy based on your generational status) (1) Downing an enticingly demanding little tea-cake in Wonderland and finding yourself Lilliputian in a Brobdignangian world, or (2) entering that world in Super Mario where everything is really big. The parking lots. The shopping carts. The fans on the ceilings! HUGE!

I'm somewhat off my game in there. I have limited carrying capacity with the gremlin toddler and the teeny car. I am a shy-shopper as it is. It's hard for me to commit to much of anything, so the bulk-options are intimidating. I can buy in bulk via amazon, because that's all virtual transactions. And then it's at the house and I must commit. Like mail ordering a husband I suppose (Andrew was originally from Latvia on a 2 for 1 sale - we don't talk about Piotr much). I'm down with the friendly sample-stations (shades of Trader Joe's). I'm scared of the aisles. I rue the absence of an express lane. I never have my Costco card handy. And I end up buying about three items with the promise to "compare the price per ounce" with the other places I shop in bulk.

But we did have fun wandering around the mini-city. Chaya was especially stoked to yell BRRRRRR whenever we went into the giant walk-in coolers where produce and dairy was stored.

But Costco aside, it's a pretty sweet deal.



Chaya is having a ball with all the novelty. She now understands and relishes the concepts/words for hot-cold-warm. And can make simple commands like FAN OFF. And since a few days before we moved, she has relished saying HOUSE whenever we are away from the house, and CAR whenever we are in the house. She identifies a range of red through blue as "PUUUURPULL" and can sometimes say Gurreee (green) and Bluuuu. And her mealtimes get ever more complex as she has increasingly creative and verbal concepts of the next culinary creation.



She just started saying BAST in reference to her Vernonite buddy, Sebastian. It's pretty cool.

Now to haggle and struggle over those last bits of furniture and someday deal with the boxes that probably maybe have that bleach I packed. Just in case that darned stomach bug officially hits.

Howdy from the MV and screw you to that darned Cherry Tree

No comments: