Projects Today

I. Reset Button
The kids had such a good time at Nama's.
Such a good time.
Such a good time that our house seems...well, kind of boring by comparison. There are no sandboxes, or tractors, or ponds. There isn't nearly as much ice cream. And there are naps. Naps that produce tiny-fisted tantrums of shrieking rage.
Yesterday was kind of a long day.
But today they're doing better. I've had them on my own all morning, and I took them on a long hike to get them good and tired down by the bay. They ate a good lunch, and they helped around the house. I think Owen has pretty much adjusted back to normal life. I thought James was close until I put him down for a nap.
"James, can you put your cars on the dresser while I make your bed?"
"I'm too tired...you do it."
"If you're too tired to put your cars on your shelf you must be too tired for a book nap, huh?"
"I'm not too tired" <lying still on the floor and not moving>
"Last chance, James, put your cars up on the shelf."
"I can't do it." <lying still>
I lifted him up into his nicely made bed and put his cars away. And then only let him take two books to bed instead of the enormous stack he'd intended to read.
There were tears.
I don't think he's quite over the weekend yet.

II. Inventory
A Presbyterian church near ours recently shut its doors permanently. It had been hanging on by a thread for years, and finally the dozen or so people left in the membership decided to call it. There were complicated questions about whose responsibility the building would be, and what was to become of some of the church's resources, but one wonderful outcome for Gates was gaining a strong alto who also happened to be the choir librarian. She was able to donate almost their entire music library to my choir, and all of a sudden our holdings have about doubled in size.
I spent an entire morning last week sorting through it with a few volunteers, and my project for this afternoon is to continue typing up the inventory and adding it into our electronic database.
It really is sad news...and it's sad to see the stamp on every copy for a church that no longer exists. But I think they're glad that the music will still be sung somewhere.

III. eBay
I've turned into quite the eBay entrepreneur. Actually, I need to be careful, because if I generate too much income flipping and selling various trumpet parts I'm going to end up paying social security taxes and whatnot on that particular revenue stream. But anyway, I finally hit a big bump in the road. I sold a modified 1C mouthpiece to someone in Denmark. I didn't mean to, really. I have a big notice in my listings that says something like "International Bidders please message first." The guy seemed interested enough to deal with the customs paperwork and the headache, so I agreed to let him bid. Well, the first part went smoothly. He won the auction, I printed out the customs forms, and sent the mouthpiece off to Denmark. He paid, and I deposited the money.
Then the mouthpiece, apparently, sat at customs for a week. And another week. And another week. He contacted me and asked if I knew anything about it, and I sent him a tracking number. The US tracking number wasn't the same as the Denmark tracking number.
Finally, the package arrived back at Harwick Road in Rochester yesterday. There was a note in Danish scribbled on the envelope. Thanks to Google Translate, I know that the package was "Never claimed." I contacted the buyer again and asked if he wanted to try over. He answered back that he might, but he was moving soon and didn't know if he would have an address.
...I convinced him to take a refund.

IV. Cleaning the Car
The boys are so disgusting. I kind of feel embarrassed when anyone besides them sits in the backseat of the car. It's covered in broken crackers and cereal pieces, there are old toys coated in unknown sticky substances, and random discolored spots. Just today while I was loading Owen into his carseat James scrambled in, pulled two-thirds empty coffee cup out of the front, and tipped it upside down (why wouldn't you, right?) back by his seat.
"Uh-oh!"
"James!! Why did you do that?!"
"Don't worry, Daddy. It's not a big spill."
"James, it is a big spill. It's a very big spill."
"It's okay, Daddy. It will dry quickly. No need to be upset."
"No, no, no. It's not going to dry quickly. You're going to have a wet butt. So...yes, we should be upset."
"It's okay, Daddy. It will be fine."
At least he's listening some of the time.
As penance, he and Owen helped me clean the car. Well, they sort of helped. They used baby wipes on glass and mirror surfaces that they weren't supposed to, and while I was vacuuming everything out they repeatedly turned the four-ways on and honked the horn (we were inside the garage), but they seemed genuinely interested in helping get it spic and span again.
James was concerned when he learned that he might have left streaks on the rear view mirror.
"Don't worry, James. It will be fine. It's not a big deal."